the brightness, Persephone pulled open the door of the folly. According to the notches she made in the frame, thirteen days had passed since she’d planted a variety of seeds in the various troughs and pots in the little hut. It had been a little over twice as much time since she’d decided to facilitate her escape by gaining Hades’s trust. Neither course of action had come to fruition. That wasn’t unexpected; she knew the plan to secure her freedom would take time. As for the seeds, she hadn’t enough knowledge to decide when she should admit defeat, but it seemed if something green didn’t emerge within the next few days, it likely meant she had failed.
Persephone crossed to the troughs on the table in front of her. Nothing in them except dark, moist dirt. The bridge of her nose burned with threatened tears. She bit her lip to drive them away. It was only soil and water and dried, husks of potential plants. If she accomplished nothing here, it would have no impact on anything of importance but the thought of failure still made her heart ache. All might not yet be lost though. There were still the troughs on the other side of the room, the ones shaded by the drape she constructed and hung from the ceiling before she planted the seeds.
She lifted the swath of material and ducked under it. Even from afar, little dots of green were visible against the soil in the troughs. Persephone let out a cry, then hurried to the closest one. There were only five or six tiny sprouts in it, but they were undeniably there, undeniably alive. She’d done it.
Persephone stretched out one forefinger and stroked a miniscule leaf. Something behind her navel lurched. It was similar to what she felt when Hades touched her now, a sensation that was almost pleasant but still somewhat unsettling. The plant under her finger doubled in size. That was wholly disquieting. Gasping, Persephone drew her hand back.
How had this occurred? It was her mother who had dominion over Gaia’s green and growing things. Persephone’s only skill seemed to be her ability to mismanage all but the simplest undertakings. And yet, here were these plants, all of which she’d nurtured herself, one of which had grown because she’d merely brushed it with a fingertip. Such a thing had never happened before and she’d touched all manner of flora in her life, though, perhaps, not any seedlings. The only place those were found in abundance were in the fields where her mother purposefully bared the ground so she could cultivate the grain she wished to grow there. Had that been why Demeter denied Persephone access to the fields, not because her mother was concerned Persephone would destroy the crops with her bungling, but that she would be too successful in aiding their growth? No, such a thing couldn’t be. Surely, her mother hadn’t known of this ability any more than Persephone had.
Persephone reached out to stroke another seedling just as a knock sounded on the door behind her.
“Persephone?” Hades called. “I can ride with you now if you wish.”
Persephone turned to look at the door. Hades might have some explanation for why the sprout responded in such a way to her touch. She could bring him in, and show him what she’d achieved here. He’d long been aware of the time she spent in the folly and hadn’t barred her access to it. Neither, though, had he asked her what she was about in the little building. His discomfiture when she mentioned it, or when, like today, he summoned her from it was apparent. Likely, his failure within its walls was a source of pain to him, a feeling she understood all too well. No, she wouldn’t involve Hades, but she would return later, after their ride, for further experimentation.
With one last glance at the plants, she passed under the drape to the door and pushed it open. “I’m ready.”
Hades made no effort to peer behind her, simply spun on his heel and set off for the rear entrance to the stables as he asked, “You’re certain the asphodel meadow is where you want to ride today?”
“It is,” Persephone answered. It was fortunate he had his back to her. Otherwise, he would have had no trouble discerning the apprehension that was likely inscribed in every line of her visage.
“Then that’s where we’ll go.” He pulled the door to the stable open and disappeared inside.
Stomach lurching, Persephone followed Hades into the stable and approached Lethe’s stall. Now she was committed to riding in the asphodels. Would that she could have found the exit she sought in Elysium, but their near-daily rides there hadn’t revealed any such thing.
She’d seen many other things, though. Hades took every opportunity to show her what was beautiful in the Underworld: a flock of oddly formed, yet graceful, winged creatures landing on the River Lethe, a strange flower that bloomed only in one shadowed nook near the rock that made up the west side of the palace, a sheer cliff veined with gold, pockmarked with rough gems. His characteristic quietude was hardly in evidence except one notable occasion when they happened upon a white poplar grown tall and strong, very unlike the few other stunted trees that dotted Elysium’s grasses. When Persephone wondered aloud about its difference, Hades said only it was a farewell gift from a dear friend. It was clear from his expression that inquiring further would elicit no more information so Persephone refrained.
True to her plan, however, Persephone asked all manner of other questions as they rode about, all the while keeping alert for any sign of a possible route of escape. There was very little to learn about Elysium beyond what Hades already told her and it was, at times, difficult to formulate credible queries but Persephone did her best.
As though inspired by her inquisitiveness, Hades took to inquiring about Persephone’s life aboveground. She told him about Doso and Phlox and the things she loved about her life in the Upper World, but she shied away from stories that included some unkindness on either the Sicani or her mother’s part or both. Speaking of such harshness felt not only disloyal to Demeter, but to the entirety of Persephone’s existence in the Upper World. When she found herself without a happy memory to relate, Persephone would turn the talk from herself by asking Hades about those on Olympus.
He always answered with lively and, at times, amusing stories about his fellow Gods and Goddesses. And so many other tales, accounts of the Titans, notable deeds of the half mortal bastards of those on Olympus and even some anecdotes about the Achaeans; an entire history of a land and people and Gods Persephone had known nothing of in her narrow existence in Henna. Knowledge her mother could have shared with her but had chosen to withhold.
On occasion, when Hades wished to show her something far afield from the palace, the rides lasted days, beginning at first light and ending where Persephone and Hades happened to be when darkness fell. Those nights, with nothing but pale grass and a blanket separating their bodies caused Persephone no little anxiety, but her dreams were the only things that unsettled her sleep. She was grateful that Hades, as he softly snored at her side, had no reason to suspect the role he played in her nocturnal imaginings.
The previous day, when they’d come upon the white poplar once more Persephone realized they were revisiting parts of Elysium. This had forced her to a conclusion she’d been avoiding. If she wanted her freedom, she had no choice but to ask Hades to take her to the more forbidding parts of his kingdom.
Lethe put his head over the rails of his stall and bumped her shoulder. Laughing, Persephone shook free of her thoughts and put a hand on one of the big round bones of Lethe’s jaw while rubbing the flat of his forehead with the other hand. He lipped at the top of her tunic.
“You may ride Styx or Akheron if you wish. You needn’t always use Lethe as your mount,” Hades said.
Persephone kissed the downy skin on the big horse’s nose before saying, “If I left him behind, I would surely break his heart and I couldn’t bear that.”
A great maw of silence opened behind her. Persephone turned to see Hades giving the easy task of removing the rails from the front of Akheron’s stall an undue amount of attention.
She’d hurt him with thoughtless words yet again, for she’d made it abundantly clear that, given the chance, she’d leave Hades with no thought for his broken heart. Shamed by the wound she’d unintentionally inflicted, and angry at that shame, she wrestled the rails of Lethe’s stall out of their notches then shooed the horse into the aisle.
Persephone went to retrieve the mounting block from the alcove by Phlegethon’s stall just as Akheron trotted into the hallway. Persephone flattened herself against the wall to let the big horse pass, but his shoulder still brushed against her, pulling her tunic and belt askew. After he moved clear of her, she looked down and tugged her clothes straight. When she raised her head, she found herself pinned by Hades’s gaze.
He stepped across the space between them and lifted his hand as though he meant to brush away a lock of hair that the wind of Akheron’s passage tugged free of Persephone’s plait. She ceased breathing as she waited for his fingers to graze her skin. If he touched her, it would be the first time he did so purposefully and without permission since the day she’d spurned his gift of the bow.
A rueful smile turned his lips but didn’t reach his eyes. He dropped his hand and moved to Akheron’s side.
Persephone’s guts settled heavily inside her as the buoyancy of anticipation and uncertainty fled. Sighing softly, she fetched the mounting block and brought it back to Lethe’s side.
After Persephone climbed aboard Lethe, she and Hades rode out of the stable and made their way toward the judge’s temple.
Persephone had to play her role of inquisitive queen well if she was to convince Hades she wanted to discover the mysteries of his realm and so learn to content herself with living in it. She could find nothing in her muddled thoughts, however, except the memory of the sad smile Hades had given her before dropping his hand and turning away from her.
Finally, gesturing to the crowd milling in the distance in front of the judge’s temple, she burst out, “Why are all these shades here?”
“Because their mortal bodies have perished,” Hades replied. His mouth twitched slightly as he spoke.
He had never teased her before, but it was a gentle jest and wholly unexpected from this somber man. Persephone waved a hand as though that could negate the foolishness of her inquiry. “Not here in the Underworld, but here in front of this temple? Why must they go in front of the judge?”
“I know that was your meaning.” Hades’s lips still trembled suspiciously. After he gained sufficient control of his expression, he continued, “Aecus must review their lives . He then decides how they deserve to spend their eternity. Some he sends to Tartarus; those whose great wrongs earn them great punishment. Some few are sent to Elysium. There have been heroes in that land in the past, but their shades faded and, for now, it’s empty. Most go to the asphodel meadow or the Vale of Mourning.”
When they were nearly upon the horde of shades in the road waiting their turn to be judged, Hades admonished Persephone to be still. Remembering all too well from her short time on the banks of the River Styx what happened when the shades there became aware of her and Hades’s presence, Persephone held her peace. Even so, as they drew closer the shades began to shift and dart glances at them, their attention lingering especially on Persephone.
With dark mutterings, the crowd parted to allow them through. Hades went first. Persephone drew herself up and kept her eyes locked on the far horizon, not glancing at the shades even as they shifted closer to her. The cold emanating off their flesh chilled her to her very marrow and she shuddered.
When they’d put the mob behind them, Persephone asked, “Why do they hate me so?”
“To their eyes, you’re a mortal. They likely see you as a traitor. You’re here, alive and unharmed, and yet you do nothing on their behalf or attempt to better their existence in any way.”
“In what way do they think I could better their existence?” Persephone asked, paused, and glanced back over her shoulder. “I would aid them if I knew how.”
When she looked at Hades again, astonishment glimmered over his face, but it was quickly replaced by his accustomed somber expression. He shook his head. “There’s nothing you or anyone can do for them, Persephone.”
By this time, they’d reached the juncture of roads. Persephone shifted her weight to one side and pressed her leg against Lethe’s ribs to urge him to turn left. They crested the small rise and made their way down into the Vale of Mourning.
As they rode through the Vale, Persephone took in the misery of its occupants in darting glances. Their visible despair clawed at her heart. It was the same feeling she did battle with almost every moment of every day here in this Underworld, but she couldn’t let Hades suspect that, not now.
She swallowed past the tight, stretched feeling in her throat and asked, “You say Aecus sentences most shades to the asphodel meadow or the Vale of Mourning. What is it that determines to which of those places they’re sent?”
Hades’s gaze roamed over the pitiful souls before he turned it on Persephone. “The River Lethe takes from each shade who drinks of it all memory of their mortal existence. Once a shade releases its grip on that which was most significant to it in the Upper World, it slowly fades, eventually ceasing altogether to exist. Aecus informs the shades, those whose eternities are to be spent in the asphodel meadow, of this. The choice is left to them whether or not to drink of Lethe’s water. I believe it’s a mercy to be unable to remember all they experienced while they lived, especially as they are forever bound to this place which doesn’t and can’t bear any resemblance to their life in the Upper World. It’s a mercy not extended to those sentenced to Tartarus or Elysium, though those in Elysium eventually choose to drink of Lethe’s water and I don’t turn them from that purpose. Eternity, even a peaceful one, perhaps especially a peaceful one, can become a heavy burden to bear.”
Stroking a hand down his bearded chin, he continued, “Yet, there are many who don’t drink. They are those that now dwell in the Vale of Mourning. In my time here, I’ve found those who choose not to partake of Lethe’s mercy are those who spent their lives in the Upper World pursuing something they could never have—wealth, power, beauty, another person—while spurning those things that, with time and effort, could have brought them joy. The shades that inhabit the Vale of Mourning are in death as they were in life: clinging to an impossibility in hopes it will give them substance and meaning. They are, I believe, the most wretched of all my subjects.”
It was a relief to leave those desolate souls behind as they entered the asphodel meadow. The shades didn’t cluster nearly so thickly there, though each one they encountered worked at some mindless task, their hands absent the necessary tools to perform it, their minds absent the necessary consciousness to realize they accomplished nothing.
Persephone turned her head to look at Hades. “If those here in the asphodel meadow have no memories of their mortal existence left, why do they continue in these menial duties?”
Hades shrugged. “They do that which took up the most part of their time in the Upper World. I know not why, but it consumes them and to question them about it or attempt to turn them from it only enrages them, so I leave them in peace with their work. And some continue to serve a purpose of a sort, for it was shades from this place who aided me in building my palace and the other structures here. They also perform the necessary tasks for the running of my household.”
“They’re so numerous. Surely among all these souls,” Persephone began as she swung an arm to indicate the whole of the asphodel meadow, “there were some who did good in their lives, some who deserve to go to Elysium?”
Hades followed Persephone’s gesture with his eyes. “You see for yourself that which their mind or heart clings to after partaking of the River Lethe isn’t great love or great beauty or even great sorrow or great hate. It is the minutiae of their day-to-day life. They went about their lives in an unremarkable fashion and influenced the world not a whit for either good or ill. Why should their eternity be any different?”
While Hades’s words were convincing, the shadow in his eyes as he looked over the shades that populated the asphodel meadow belied what he said.
“Were there so many here when you first arrived?” Persephone asked.
“When I arrived, the shades ….” Though Hades looked at Persephone, he wasn’t taking her in at all. Instead, he appeared to be searching his mind, struggling to remember, or perhaps trying to forget the memories her question called up. After a time, he continued, “All the shades of all the dead since the beginning of time were congregated on the far bank of the River Styx, and I had to pass through them when I first came. They—”
“Did they all know this place?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Sicani whom I lived among in Henna knew nothing of the Underworld, nothing of you. They thought death was but a sleeping and the time beyond it an endless dream in which they would dwell with the Mother Goddess. I believe it would shock and frighten those folk to find themselves here. Is none dismayed to discover this afterlife is so different than expected?”
A smile twisted Hades’s lips. It wasn’t a pleasant expression. “Very few, for in death as in life, most mortals see only what they wish. The glamour of this place works on that willingness to be deceived. In some eyes I’m the Mother Goddess. To others, I’m a being known as Osiris. Some call me Ba’al. And there are other names, too many to tell. No doubt they’ll find their own titles for you as well. And once they partake of the River Lethe. they perceive nothing anymore and so it matters not if they see me or my realm true.”
Persephone searched Hades’s face. “Do I see you true?”
“Do you?” he responded, returning her look of out flat, opaque eyes.
She waited for him to say more, needed him to say more, but the silence ate up the space around them until Persephone couldn’t break its confines to ask for the reassurance she so desired. Finally, she looked away from him.
Hades spoke then, but only to take up his tale again. “The shades on Styx’s banks attacked and forced me into the river. During the struggle, I inadvertently drank of Styx’s water. I was in terrible pain by the time I escaped, but I managed to drag myself onto the opposite shore.”
“Where was Charon when you reached the River Styx? What of the ferry?” Persephone asked. Allowing herself to be drawn into the tale was a distraction, something to blot out the consideration of whether she saw Hades as he truly was. She knew too much of him now to simply say he was a monster who had taken her captive and dragged her to his monstrous realm and, yet, how could she define him as anything else?
Hades responded, “Together Helios and I built the ferry the day he brought me my horses, the day I learned I had slumbered for nine years. Charon didn’t come to this place until later.”
“Is Charon not a shade? Didn’t you simply select him from those on Styx’s banks?”
“Charon isn’t and never will be a shade. He’s Immortal. Zeus made him so at my request, but Charon was mortal and alive when first he came to me.”
“Did he come here seeking a loved one?” Persephone asked, horror coating her voice.
“Don’t waste your pity on that man. He wasn’t of those who seek the shade of their beloved in my kingdom. Those who venture to my realm with such an intent are returned to the Upper World, though no memory of their time here or the one they sought remains with them. As a mortal, Charon was as he is now, warped, cruel, full of dark thoughts and desires such as you could never dream. He was spurned by every community of which he thought to become a part. Starving and desperate, he forever bound himself to me by eating the food off the graves in the Upper World before Hermes could collect it to bring to me. From that moment Charon became my tool to do with what I chose.”
Hades’s gaze fixed on the dark line of Styx on the horizon. “And I chose that he should pilot the ferry across the River Styx.”
“Charon ate the food of the dead out of necessity?”
“He did.”
“As I would, had you not provided me different fare.”
Eyes downcast, Hades toyed with Akheron’s mane. “I thought, as the daughter of a Goddess, you would know what it means to eat of the food here. I put it before you because I believed when you partook of it, it would be to show me that you found some pleasure in my company and were content to stay.” Hades’s lips quirked with a bitter little smile that disappeared as quickly as it had come. “When I saw that, like Charon, you would eat of it only out of necessity, I chose to give you an alternative because I ….” Hades lifted his head and turned his face away so she could see only the jut of his cheekbone, the curve of one pale ear, and the dark hair that fell in loose curls behind it. “I’m a God, Persephone, with a realm full of subjects who, if they have any mind left, long each moment of every day to flee beyond the boundaries of my kingdom. My subjects who are content here are those who chose to remove all consciousness. They’re no better than animals, indeed worse for they have no finer emotions left to share. Were I not Immortal, Charon would put his hands about my throat and gleefully stop the breath in my body. Aecus is judge here only because that service appealed to him more than an eternity of tedium in Elysium. The few who spend their time in my company willingly are but dumb beasts and, of those, only Lethe and Cerberus have a true affection for me.”
Hades turned back and met Persephone’s gaze. “Do you wonder that I long for one . . . that I long for you to live with me in this realm because you find pleasure in my company and joy in the sight of me, not because I bound you to me against your will?”
Hades searched her face for a moment with eyes that pled for understanding. Then, looking away from her, his voice lower, harsher, he said, “I should never have brought you to this land, but now that you’re here I find it beyond my strength to give you your freedom. For that, I’m sorry.”
Before Persephone could respond, Hades bent low over Akheron’s neck, shouted ‘tcha,’ and the horse leaped forward in a gallop.
Lethe lunged after Akheron. Persephone clenched her buttocks and leaned back. Lethe snorted, tossed his head, and danced under her in agitation but he did obey. Persephone held him in check until Hades and Akheron were out of sight.