from the top of Rhea’s tall, cylindrical hat to the bottom of her long, belted robe. Though the lion curled at the side of her throne gave Rhea an undeniable aura of power, under the veil, which covered her head to foot, Rhea looked diminished, aged, almost ugly, nothing like the small-breasted, trim-waisted, youthful Goddess that Demeter remembered. Rhea’s dim dusty throne room also spoke to how far she’d fallen since coming to the land of the Phrygians.
“I apologize my exterior is so appalling that you can’t seem to take your eyes from it, Demeter. However, it is this form which the people of this land recognize, and so it’s how I appear here.”
“I don’t find you appalling, Mother. I’m only eager for your answer to our inquiry.”
“And you believe gaping at me will speed my response?”
“My daughter has been in that place nearly a score of days,” Demeter retorted. “I very much desire her return. I’ll do any and all things I can to speed your response.”
Rhea grunted, shifted, picked up a blackened metal rod that rested against her throne, and began poking at the fire burning in the hearth before her.
Demeter could almost hear the ponderous working of the Titan’s brain as Rhea sorted through her eons of memory, questing after knowledge of the rite which Demeter sought.
“So much to hold onto,” Rhea mumbled, stroking at her forehead. “It began by paying homage to the three realms, flesh into the sea, blood into the ground, smoke into the sky. I recall that much.”
“As did Hekate, Mother. Can you remember any of the parts she can’t?”
“Patience, Child.”
Demeter looked at Hekate where she squatted in the shadows near the wall just outside the ring of light cast by the fire. They might have more success if the older Goddess would join Demeter in her attempts to chivvy Rhea along, but Hekate only gazed silently into the flames.
Rhea sighed, shifting. “No, no it won’t come. Give me rest and time, and perhaps I’ll recall it.”
“Time and time and more time. There is no time. Think, Mother!”
Rhea pointed to a chair. “Sit and be silent, Child. You weary me.”
Demeter took a step toward her mother rather than toward the chair to which she’d been directed.
The lion extended one paw, unsheathing his claws.
Demeter sat.
“Perhaps tomorrow after I’ve slept, I’ll recall something.” Rhea settled back in her throne, stroked the lion’s mane. “Now tell me, how goes it on Olympus? Are you all steadfast and conscientious in your stewardships? Do you govern and keep mortals in the fashion we Titans did?”
There was a scuffing sound. Hekate emerged into the light. “No, Lady, I fear in the time I spent with your daughter and granddaughter, the Olympians care of mortals deteriorated a great deal. Zeus is displeased by how many of them still subscribe to your worship. In his efforts to induce your followers to his temples instead, he’s used violence, subterfuge, and various other tactics, some quite vile. When he’s garnered all the power he can, he intends to destroy humans and fashion a new race, one Zeus hopes will do great deeds in his name and so increase his following even more. He’s gone so far as to speak with Prometheus about it.”
“Oh, my son. My golden-haired boy.” Rhea shook her head. “And what of Hera? What does she say to this scheme?”
Demeter exchanged a quick look with Hekate before speaking. “Hera is—she’s mad, Mother. Her power is Zeus’s to do with what he likes.”
Rhea shifted in her seat to look at Demeter. “Well, Daughter, what reason have you for not opposing him?”
Demeter put a hand to her chest. “I? I’ve been a mortal for the past score of years.”
“Now you are a Goddess once again.”
“And my daughter has been taken by Hades. I won’t play shepherd to those pathetic creatures of your creation and leave my child to languish in darkness for eternity.”
“As you think I did you?”
“Didn’t you?”
Rhea flapped a hand. “I’m too weary to trip down that oft-trod path with you, Demeter.” Rhea turned to Hekate. “Do any contest Zeus’s plan?”
“Prometheus does. And I’ve joined him in his attempt to dissuade Zeus since my return to Olympus. We are, however, too weak to prevent him should Zeus decide to proceed in this course.”
Rhea lapsed into silence and her metal pole found its way into the heart of the fire again, causing it to snap and flare in a way that was maddening to Demeter’s senses.
After a time, Rhea looked up. “Daughter, what if I charged you to return to Olympus?”
“I wouldn’t go.”
“You have no desire to aid the mortals, though you lived amongst them as one and know well the trial of their existence?”
“No.”
“You must be an icy thing indeed, if that experience couldn’t stir you to pity,” Rhea said.
“As the travail of our time in Kronos’s belly stirred you, Mother? When we called out to you unceasingly night and day from inside that dark place, what answer had we from you then?”
Rhea erupted from her throne, the lion at her side roaring as she shouted, “I did what I could when I could!”
Demeter surged to her feet, her fury matching her mother’s. “You forsook us there for time out of mind, then bound us as veritable servants to your golden-haired boy by choosing him as the one to rescue us. Hera stole my Godhood and Zeus left me to fend for myself and my child in the mortal world for twenty long years. Now you chide me because I find no pity in my breast for those who call out to me for aid. This icy thing I am, you created—you and Hera and Zeus.”
Rhea’s bosom heaved as she sucked in breath to retort. She opened her mouth, closed it. Her shoulders slumped, and her head drooped. She clutched the arm of her throne and lowered herself clumsily back onto it.
“Tell me of the rite, Mother, so I may go. We, neither of us, find any joy in this visit.”
“I can’t recall it.”
“You won’t aid me?”
Rhea passed a hand over her eyes. “I cannot.”
Demeter clenched her fists until she felt blood oozing over her fingertips. “Very well. Goodbye, Mother. I hope not to see you again. Hekate, come.”
Hekate rose, moving toward Demeter.
“The Achaeans suffered much in the time you spent with my daughter and her child, did they not, Hekate?” Rhea asked.
Coming to a halt, Hekate responded to Rhea. “As I said.”
“Though you know Zeus plots their destruction, you would leave them without an advocate once again, while you strive to free Demeter’s daughter?”
Hekate looked from Rhea to Demeter then back at Rhea.
“You won’t give me your aid, Mother, and now you seek to wrest from me the only one who will?” Demeter asked.
“There are more weighty matters than the loss of Persephone, Child. As I’ve abdicated my power in the land of the Achaeans, and you won’t work for their benefit, I must have one on Olympus who will. Hekate has long been partial to mortals. I know she’ll guard their interests against Zeus’s ambition. Will you not, Hekate?”
“All you say is true.”
Demeter opened her mouth, but Hekate held up a hand. “Patience, Demeter.”
Demeter subsided.
Hekate turned to Rhea. “As I said, I have a particular reason for desiring to see Persephone freed. I ask only that you give me time to accomplish this task. Then I’ll return to Olympus and take up my role as advocate for mortals.”
“What reason?” Rhea asked, leaning forward.
“A reason none need know but myself.”
Demeter said, “As Persephone’s mother, I believe I have a right to the knowledge of your reason, Hekate.”
Hekate shook her head. “I made an error, but I intend to do all I can to make recompense for it.”
Demeter moved toward Hekate, eyes narrowed. “An error that led to Persephone’s abduction?”
Hekate looked down, tangling her gnarled fingers together. “Yes.”
“Tell me.”
Hekate was silent for a long moment, the only sound that of her harsh breathing. Finally, she looked up. “After I left you and our kore, I went to the Underworld to shelter there for a time.”
Hekate’s fingers tightened on each other, turning into bloodless twigs. “I told Hades about her. He wouldn’t have known of her otherwise. I believe my words inspired him to take her.”
Demeter rushed forward, gripped the old woman by her upper arms. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Demeter,” Rhea barked. “Cease that. Loose her.”
Demeter shook Hekate. “How could you betray her? I thought you loved her.”
“It wasn’t my intent,” Hekate said, tears dampening her withered cheeks.
“Demeter!” Rhea shouted.
“You were meant to protect her.” Demeter pushed Hekate backward. The older Goddess stumbled but caught herself.
Demeter moved toward Hekate again. “Why would you betray us that way? Why did you go to him at all?”
Hekate wiped at her damp cheeks, her eyes opaque with misery. “Because I already perpetrated a greater betrayal against you and Persephone than the one I performed in speaking to Hades of her.”
Demeter stopped. “What betrayal could be greater than that?”
“Some days ago, you asked why I came to you and Persephone. Do you remember?”
Demeter nodded.
“It was at Hera’s bidding. She removed my tongue so I wouldn’t forget myself and speak to you of Godly things. She meant for me to aid you in your labor then leave you in Henna so the Sicani could teach you how to care for yourself and your child in the mortal world.”
Hekate paused. Her fingers found their way to one another once more. “I came into being as you see me now, a fruitless, hideous hag. I have never and will never know the love of a man nor bear a child, but I loved Persephone as my own the moment she entered the world. Rather than leaving as intended, I decided to stay to ensure she was taken care of, watched over, loved. And she was. You were so fond, so affectionate with her as a babe.”
“No,” Demeter protested. “I was angry, frustrated, exhausted by her constant needs. The nights she called me from my sleep, kept me awake, the days she wouldn’t settle, only whined to be held, to be carried about, I wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. I wanted to strike her until she stopped her unceasing demands.”
“Did you?”
“You know I did.”
“When she was a babe, did you?”
Demeter began to nod then paused, her mind traveling back over the years of Persephone’s infancy. “I didn’t,” she said at last, her voice quiet.
“You were as any other mother, Demeter. Loving, tender, but worn at times. Caring for a babe is no easy task and none comes through it without feeling the frustration and anger you experienced. It was only after Persephone grew some, after the time she fell mostly under my care while you labored in the fields, that you became impatient and unkind.”
“Why then did you stay? When you saw I was caring well for Persephone as a babe?”
Hekate hunched forward, and her face seemed to blur and crumple. “I wanted her for myself. I envied that you had her love, every moment of it. Every smile she bestowed on you, every kiss, every laugh. It twisted like a knife in my heart when she turned in my arms to reach for you.”
Hekate clutched at Demeter’s hand with both of hers. “I didn’t mean to, Demeter. You must believe me. I didn’t intend it. As soon as I became aware of what I was doing, I left in hopes that, without me standing between the two of you, you would find your way to each other once more.”
Demeter pulled herself free of the older woman’s crooked hands. “What didn’t you mean to do? Of what are you speaking?”
A harsh and broken breath escaped Hekate “I allowed Persephone to perform badly those household tasks you most hated so you would have to take them on yourself and be reminded of how onerous the yoke of your mortal life was. I encouraged her to leave you tokens that by their very simplicity would remind you nothing you possessed in the mortal world could compare with the gifts you left on Olympus. I applauded her simple, unsophisticated manner, so at odds with those you knew in your existence as a Goddess. For years, I stoked your bitterness at your mortal existence and your longing for Olympus through Persephone’s actions. And I accomplished what I wished. I turned your heart from her to all you lost.”
Hekate looked down, clasped her hands together. “But I couldn’t turn her heart from you and therein lays my greatest shame. She wanted your love so badly, and I made that impossible. Of the pair of you, my actions inflicted deeper wounds on her than any that scar your heart.”
Hekate’s sad eyes lifted, settling on Demeter’s face. “We believe we’re better than mortals, but even we Gods have a way of keeping our deepest thoughts and darkest desires hidden even from ourselves, especially from ourselves. The moment I discovered the truth in myself I left, vowing to never look on Persephone’s face again as punishment for my sin against her.” Hekate bowed her head. “Do what you will with me, Demeter. I deserve all your fury for my sin against you, and I’ll submit to any punishment you see fit to mete out.”
Rage unfurled its burning wings in Demeter’s belly. She felt her power uncoil with it. Her Godlight sparked and crackled.
Hekate looked up, but true to her word didn’t back away as Demeter advanced, only stood, tears tracking down the deep creases in her face.
With a roar, Rhea’s lion came to its feet. It leaped at Demeter, its massive paws landing on her shoulders, bearing her to the ground. Her head cracked against the floor. Points of pain erupted in her shoulders and legs where the lion’s claws pressed into her skin. Something hot and wet dribbled down her neck. Demeter struggled in vain to fling the creature off.
“You’ll not harm a fellow Immortal, Demeter. Not where I can prevent it,” Rhea said.
Demeter could only grunt in response, the great weight on top of her making it impossible to do anything else.
“Leander, loose her.”
The lion stepped off Demeter. She clambered to her feet, clapping a hand to her neck. It came away, not smeared with blood as she expected, but coated with lion spittle. Wrinkling her nose, she wiped it off on her tunic, then sidled away from the great beast whose tawny eyes tracked her every movement.
Looking at her mother, Demeter said, “Why did you prevent me from punishing Hekate? Surely you can’t dispute she wronged me and my daughter greatly.”
“Don’t presume to tell me what I can’t do, Child. Hekate couldn’t know speaking to Hades of your daughter would lead him to abduct her.”
Demeter gestured at Hekate. “Did you not hear? She worked to turn my affections from my daughter?”
Rhea raised her eyebrows. “Surely, Demeter, as Goddess of the Harvest, you must know, as none other can, you only reap that which you sow. Had you no bitterness to stoke, Hekate would have been unable to turn your heart from Persephone. Your cruel treatment of your daughter is no one’s fault but your own.”
“Liar,” Demeter screeched, lunging forward only to be brought up short when her arm was caught within the confines of Leander’s teeth.
Panting, Demeter fell back. “I will free my daughter. She’ll know the truth of Hekate’s treachery. She’ll see I’m the one who truly loves her, who never betrayed or forsook her the way I was betrayed and forsaken by so many.”
Tears started in Demeter eyes. After bearing up under so much shame this day, this was the final, ultimate humiliation, to weep before her mother who had never had any regard for Demeter’s suffering.
“Demeter,” Hekate said. “I would still aid you in freeing Persephone if you’ll let me.”
“No,” Demeter spat. “I’ve had a bellyful of Immortals and their games. I wish to have no more truck with any of you.” Demeter turned to Rhea. “Call off your creature, Mother, that I may take my leave.”
Rhea opened her mouth.
“Wait, Rhea,” Hekate said and took a step toward Demeter. “Be wiser than me, Demeter. I know you desire to free Persephone, but be sure that’s your only intent. Dark deeds and much harm can be done in the name of love. I know you believe Zeus and Hera and perhaps even I have much to answer for, but—”
Demeter sliced her hand across the air. “Enough. I’ve had enough from both of you. I go to do what I must to save my daughter. Call off your beast, Mother.”
“Cease, Leander.”
The lion released Demeter.
Rubbing at her arm, Demeter turned and walked toward the door.
“Daughter,” Rhea called after her. “Just as rites can be forgotten, they can be made new again by one with enough determination and power.”
Making no response, Demeter crossed the threshold of her mother’s temple.
Rhea continued. “I hope you have more success in liberating your daughter than I did mine.”
Demeter clasped her shaking hands in front of her until they stilled. Then, chin tilted, shoulders squared, she walked down the steps of her mother’s palace. Once outside she looked up at the night sky, replaying Rhea’s words. Determination she had. Power she would get. Success she would have. She would go to the city of Eleusis. Her only temple and what followers she had left were there.