Chapter Ten

The immortals sat around a fire in the spirit realm, eyes locked on Hades and Persephone as they told their revelation of finding the long-dreamed-of golden apple. Getting them all together in one place for a meeting on short notice had not been easy. It had taken a good deal of searching to find some of them in the first place, as plenty of them still couldn’t track one another. But Persephone, Hades, and Demeter had urged the importance of the topic upon everyone, and insisted they come at once.

Demeter still wasn’t speaking directly to Hades. Hades understood and tolerated it, but Persephone privately told him that her patience with her mother was wearing rather damned thin. However, Persephone seemed to be curbing her irritation for tonight and concentrating upon breaking the news to her aunts and uncles.

An immortality discussion was too dangerous for the mortal realm; they might be overheard. But several of the immortals still loathed venturing into the Underworld, so they didn’t hold the meeting there either. Hades felt it was just as well, as he preferred to keep the exact tree’s identity and location secret as long as possible. So they had gathered on a beach alongside the gulf near Zeus and Hera’s palace.

After their explanation, Persephone stood and walked around the fire to show everyone her healed scars. She switched realms before their eyes and came back again. The other immortals murmured in astonishment or stayed silent in thought. Demeter looked perturbed, her hands clasped tight in her lap. But Aphrodite jumped up with a squeal of delight and hugged Persephone.

Meanwhile Hermes spun to shove Hades on the shoulder, and said, “Hades, you lucky sneak! I would have called dibs if I knew there was a chance.”

“And I still would have said no,” Persephone told him, but she grinned.

Ares, the soldier whom people were calling the god of war, studied Kerberos. “The dog too, you say?” He swayed a spear back and forth, its tip on the ground.

“It would appear so,” Hades said.

Ares rose, and before Hades realized what he meant to do, he had done it. The spear flew and skewered Kerberos through the belly, emerging out the other side and pinning him to the sand. Blood splashed. The dog yelped a choked sound and went into spasms.

Several people shouted in protest, and Aphrodite threw herself across to seize Ares’ arm, but he had moved too fast. Hades bellowed in rage and leaped upon him, knocking Ares’ head back against the log he’d been sitting on. “What in the Goddess’ name is wrong with you?” His hands tightened around Ares’ throat.

A glance back showed Persephone and Demeter crouching by Kerberos. Persephone broke the spear and yanked it out, and she and her mother soothed the dog with gentle hands. Hades returned his attention to strangling Ares, whose neck was being crushed in satisfying fashion beneath his hands, and whose face was turning purple. But Aphrodite and Zeus and Poseidon hauled at him and clamored for him to let go, and since he wasn’t going to succeed in killing the fool, he finally relented and did so.

Ares lay a short while gasping and rubbing his throat, then sat up and glared. “It’s an important thing to test,” he spat out, his voice croaking. “Would you rather I threw the spear at your wife?”

Hades lunged for him again, but his friends restrained him.

“He’s recovering,” Persephone called, her voice proud and cold. “You wish to see your test? Come look.”

Though Hades and Ares exchanged glowers, they joined the group clustering around the dog. The bleeding from the spear wound was already slowing, and Kerberos was moving and breathing more easily, though he panted in pain. Persephone stroked his head, and Demeter used a handful of leaves to wipe away more blood and show the healing skin. Persephone sent her a grateful, chastened glance. A breath of solace softened Hades’ anger—at least mother and daughter might be reconciled, if only temporarily and only where innocent animals were concerned.

Hades sat in the bloodstained sand beside Persephone, and drew the dog’s head onto his lap. “Try that again and the spear goes in your belly,” he said to Ares.

Ares answered with a mocking half-bow, and returned to sit on his log.

Hermes gave Aphrodite a pitying, probing smirk, as if to question her frequent dallying with Ares—a relationship (if one could call it that) that was no secret to anyone. Aphrodite sighed in response, with a look that seemed to beseech Hermes to tolerate a man less intelligent than himself.

Athena studied Persephone and Kerberos with her arms folded. “So the question is, do we give this fruit to anyone else?”

“Indeed, that is the question.” Artemis still sat upon a rock, chin on her hand, watching the flames. She hadn’t bothered rising for the scuffle. It took a lot more than such antics to alarm her. “You were nearly one of us already, Persephone. We all love you, and I’m sure we would all have chosen you as the first to eat it anyway. But who else deserves it?”

Persephone rose from her crouch. “We thought it only fair that all the immortals should decide as a group. Perhaps bring forth candidates and then cast votes. Anonymously, with a black stone to vote ‘no’ and a white one to vote ‘yes,’ as people do in some cities.”

“Would a single black stone veto a candidate?” Hera asked. “Or does the side with the largest number of votes carry the day?”

Persephone glanced at Athena. “What do you think?”

Athena scooped up a handful of beach rocks. “There are now fifteen of us. What do you all say to a two-thirds majority?” She tipped a few rocks into one palm. “If five or fewer say no, and ten or more say yes, then we acquire a new immortal.”

“That seems fair,” Rhea said.

The others voiced agreement.

“How many candidates may each of us present?” Poseidon asked quietly.

Hades, and probably everyone else, thought at once of Poseidon’s situation: a wife and three daughters, all of whom he would surely wish to give the fruit to.

Persephone made the same calculation. “Perhaps four?” she said.

“Well, I know I won’t be proposing any,” Hera said. “All my children are long dead, and my grandchildren don’t know me. I can’t think of anyone I’d bother keeping around forever.”

“We should definitely think about it a while,” Apollo said. “This would be a bad time to be impulsive.”

“Well, the next fruits won’t be ripe for nearly a month,” Persephone said.

“Then we shall give it another month,” Athena proclaimed, “and meet again with the names of our candidates.”

Again the group murmured assent.

“In the meantime,” Hermes said, “aren’t you going to show us this fruit?”

“I admit I’m dreadfully curious,” Aphrodite agreed.

Hades caught Persephone’s glance, and drew strength from it before answering on their behalf. “We’re not sure that’s wise.”

“It isn’t that we don’t trust you…” Persephone began.

“Yes it is,” Hades muttered, not looking directly at Ares—and, in truth, it wasn’t merely Ares he distrusted. He shuddered at the idea of the chaos Zeus might create by immortalizing one lover after another, sneaking them down to the Underworld to find the fruit.

“Someone could easily become desperate to use it for a loved one,” Persephone explained, “and might go so far as to take it without asking the rest of us. I’m sure we can all imagine a situation where we’d do that ourselves.”

“But the two of you could do it without asking the rest of us.” Hermes studied them, looking shrewd now rather than affectionate.

“The dog’s and Persephone’s immortality happened purely by accident,” Hades said. “We live in the Underworld, with the ghosts, exactly as none of you wished to. You might find a similarly powerful discovery on the surface yet. You’re welcome to look.”

“It’s the Goddess’ wish that you should find it,” Rhea said. She gazed at them from across the fire. “And that you should control it, at least for now. I respect your choice, and see its wisdom. I suggest we all do the same for the time being, and think instead about who among mortals is truly worthy to join us.”

The others already looked absorbed in their thoughts, and nodded in acceptance. All except Hermes, who jumped up and tagged along with Persephone, Hades, and Kerberos as the meeting broke up.

“Honestly? You’re not going to show it to me? After all I’ve done for you?”

Hades peered at him. “What exactly have you done for us?”

“I took your side! I wanted you two to get together. And I’m not afraid of your realm, the way most of them are. I happen to admire it.”

“Hermes, we love you,” Hades said, “but you rarely do as you’re told, and you always do as you wish, and I haven’t the slightest idea what you’d do with an immortality fruit, but I’m sure it would be both creative and disastrous.”

Persephone laughed, and petted Kerberos, who was already well enough to walk and wag his tail.

Hermes pointed from her to Hades. “My revenge on you for not showing me the plant could be equally creative and disastrous.”

Persephone let go of the dog, stepped up to Hermes, and slid her hands around his neck. “Someday, Hermes. But please wait just a little longer?” She added a gentle kiss on his lips, which looked sultry enough to stir a spark of jealousy in Hades.

She stepped back. Hermes remained silent, gazing at her with interest and gratitude. “Oh, very well,” he finally said. “As long as that’s how we greet each other from now on.”

She grinned.

Hades rolled his eyes and latched his arm around his wife. “Come on, darling.”