Persephone: Chapter 7

I think this chapter was the most fun I’ve had writing! It was a hard week, but writing this helped me get through it. What helps you get through hard times?

Read the first chapter of Persephone here. 

Chapter 7
​Persephone

I need to admit something. Yes, I love horses, but that time, when I ran to Hades’ chariot, it wasn’t for them. They truly were wonderful creatures, but I needed something to hide behind while Hades was with me. I felt too exposed, too vulnerable—not that he would hurt me or anything—no matter how tall and imposing he was. I just… When he looked at me, I felt like I needed to hold onto something. My thoughts were a jumble, and I needed something to tether me to the earth.

It wasn’t hard to feign excitement over the horses. I really did love them as much as I let on. But they were the perfect buffer.

We stood with both horses between us. I avoided looking at the dark god as I tended the stallion. Instead, I focused on the horse’s eyes—bright and intelligent. The stallion’s lips moved happily as I scratched him.

I could feel Hades’ gaze upon me still.

“Tell me more of the underworld,” I said haltingly. “You have a gardener there?”

“Yes, Askolophos keeps a small garden on the palace grounds. Nothing too grand, but it’s respectable, and he takes great pride in it.”

“Is it,” I hesitated. “Very dark down there?”

“No,” Hades laughed and his serious face transformed. “That would be a miserable home, indeed. Well, I suppose Tartarus itself has very little light, but otherwise, it is as bright as the surface during the daylight. Brighter even, perhaps, because we have no nighttime there.”

“You have no night.”

“None, that is, unless Nyx or Hecate are in a particularly dark mood.” He said.

Nyx. I tried not to flinch.

The stallion nudged me, protesting the lack of attention as my hands had frozen in place.

“But no. No night in the underworld,” Hades replied.

I wouldn’t let jealousy creep in. There was nothing to be jealous of. I had no interest in Hades. None whatsoever. And Clytia was wrong. He wasn’t interested in me either.

I squared my shoulders.

“But how?” I asked. “It should be dark there always, shouldn’t it? Helios only travels across the skies.”

“True,” he said. “But we have our own sun… of sorts.”

“Of sorts,” I repeated and scratched the stallion’s chest harder.

The horse’s mouth moved more animatedly. He turned to his partner and groomed her in tandem.

“What sun is there in the underworld?” I asked, holding back a laugh at the horses’ shenanigans.

“Do you remember hearing of that business between Zeus and Ixion, son of Ares?” he asked.

“The foolish one who slayed his kin and tried to seduce… Hera?” I said the name as quietly as I could. “The nymphs spoke of nothing else for months.”

“That’s the one,” he said. “Zeus cast him from Olympus.”

“And threw a thunderbolt at him!” I added.

“Yes, but Zeus was so angry, the bolt missed the mark. Hermes dragged him down to the underworld so the king didn’t kill anyone else with his little misfires. He bound him to a fiery chariot wheel and flung him into the air at a high spin.”

He turned to me and smirked.

“This is our sun. Well, technically Aries’ son but…”

I blinked.

“A man tied to a burning wheel? Is he in pain?”

“Naturally,” he said. “What sort of torture would it be if he wasn’t in eternal agony? Only way Zeus would accept it as justice.”

“The sun never sets in the underworld because a man being tortured is the sun?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “You can’t even see Ixion unless you squint really hard, he’s so high up. And his cries are only barely audible on the worst days.”

“Sounds like a lovely place,” I said.

He flinched, and I instantly regretted the words.

“It’s not all bad,” he said.

With a small pat, he moved an eager horse head aside, and stepped closer.

“The underworld maintains a strict and delicate balance of light and darkness,” he said. “Good and evil. It is a place where judgment is pronounced and justice is served.”

“Is it only a place of punishment then?” I asked, and stood near him despite myself.

“That’s a problem, actually,” he said. “When almighty Zeus gave me the job, it was more of a do-it-yourself project. We’ve been slowly building the place and solving problems as we go.”

“We” I asked, and began to braid the black mare’s mane and deliberately didn’t think of the night goddess.

“Yes, we,” he laughed. “You didn’t think I lived in a deep, dark cave all alone, did you?”

I tried to laugh lightly.

“The underworld has many caretakers. I just run the show,” he said and bowed dramatically. “Many gods, monsters, and immortals live there permanently, like Hecate.”

And Nyx the famously gorgeous goddess of the night.

“But a few just work and visit, like Hermes,” he said.

“Ah,” I said with a nod.

I’d forgotten Hermes didn’t just serve the gods. He guided the souls of the dead to their rest and was the only being I’d met who traveled freely between the realms. Besides Hades, that is.

I braided flowers into the horsehair.

“You mentioned problems,” I said and dared the briefest glance up at him.

His eyes met mine for a moment. A breeze blew a lock of his coal black hair over his eyes. Suddenly regaining my ability to move, I looked back at the horse.

“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I was tasked with the care of the souls of the dead. It seems straightforward, but it’s proved complicated. It’s easy enough to punish the wicked, but, as is, the underworld is a place where everyone else waits for rebirth after their judgment.”

My hands worked deftly, as my mind mulled over his words.

“Mortals are born, die, and are reborn again and again. Unless they commit some crime that warrants punishment,” he said and picked up a dandelion puff and popped off the top with is fingers. The fluffy was caught in the wind.

“It’s almost like we’re sending people back to live until they’re wicked enough to punish,” he said frowning.

“What about the good ones?” I asked. “Men who live lives of goodness and courage. I’ve heard of mighty heroes taken to Olympus and rewarded with immortality.”

He looked about to speak, but I rushed ahead. “I’m not suggesting that they all be granted immortality, but is there a reward that their deeds can ever merit? Or, as you said, are they perpetually caught in a cycle of rebirth until they make a mistake and punished forever?”

“Perhaps.” he said and looked at me with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “You know, you’re the first to suggest such a thing to me.”

I stood awkwardly, then moved on to braid the stallion’s tail.

“It probably wouldn’t work,” I said. “Most of my ideas don’t.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Nothing, really,” I replied. “It’s just that I have a lot of silly ideas that never really work out. Sometimes, I think I have it right, but it ends up hopeless or a mess that Mother ends up sorting out.”

“You mother sorts out a lot of things, doesn’t she?” he asked, but it didn’t sound like a question. “She’s very good at her job.”

“She is,” I said quietly.

“Demeter is a very… Hands-on sort of goddess. Always has been. Used to drive us all nuts,” he said.

I smiled.

“It sounds like that hasn’t changed much,” he said. “She still likes to take charge and handle things on her own.”

“She does,” I sighed and tried not to complain. I didn’t want to sound like a whiny child.

“The fruit you showed me,” he started.

“The pomegranate?” I asked.

“Yes, that,” he said. “Might I trouble you for a few seeds? I would love to bring them to the underworld. I’m sure Askolophos would love to try planting them there.”

He stopped, and I looked up. His dark eyes trained on mine.

“The pomegranate has become a fast favorite of mine,” he said. “It is rare, indeed, that something captures my attention so quickly.”

“Of course,” I stammered and walked back toward the grove.

The flowers beneath my feet reminded me of something. A question.

I barely spotted Clytia flee behind the far trees.

I paused and turned. Hades nearly stepped into me. I pushed my hands out to prevent the collision. They briefly touched the warm cloth at his chest. At the same time, his arms grasped my shoulders.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern etched on his handsome face.

“Fine,” I squeaked and jumped away.

My cheeks were hotter than Helios. (First and last time I ever try that expression, by the way.)

Clytia. Flowers… I reminded myself and squared my shoulders.

“Lord Hades,” I said formally.

“Yes, Lady Persephone,” he replied. His face was all seriousness, but I could have sword he was teasing me.

“There is a question I meant to ask you,” I said.

“No,” he said flatly.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“Or yes,” he said. “Perhaps maybe. It really depends on what you ask, I supposed.”

“Good grief,” I exclaimed. “Are you Hades or Hermes?”

At his sudden laughter, a small flock of birds fled the tree above us.

“Hades or Hermes,” he laughed. “I don’t think anyone has ever mistaken the two of us before.”

“Then no one else seems to have ever met you before,” I said.

“I suppose not,” he said. “You see things in a unique light.”

I did not care for the way he looked at me then. Something flashed in those dark eyes of his.

“Your sense of humor is very similar,” I replied indignantly.

He gaped at me in silence.

“Now, since you seem to have lost your tongue,” I nodded. I’d put this off long enough. “I’ve wanted to ask: When you first came to me, you said it was for a flower. But you left without one.”

“That’s not a question,” he said quietly.

“Don’t do that,” I huffed. “You know what I mean. Why did you leave without a flower if that’s what you came for? And why have you not asked for one since?”

“Perhaps,” he considered me carefully. “I was waiting until I found the right one.”

This was sounding much too like double-talk for my liking.

“Please,” I said. “Will you just be frank with me for a moment? No one takes me seriously. Not my mother, Artemis, or even my friends. I don’t want another person in my life like that.”

I struggled to hold back the tears. That would definitely be proof I was just a child.

Hades stepped toward me slowly and, with eyes looking carefully into mine, gently took my hand.

“Persephone,” he said. “I do take you seriously. I don’t know how anyone could not take a goddess like you seriously.”

He took a deep breath.

“That is the very reason I was sent to you,” he said reluctantly. “Because, much like your parents, you are no one to be trifled with. Zeus takes you so seriously, he has demanded our betrothal.”

I gasped, drawing away, and he held out his hands pleading.

“I did not come here to marry you,” he said quickly.

My mouth, ready to scream, slowly closed.

“What do you mean,” I asked, feeling a strange mixture of rejection and relief. “Are you telling me you didn’t lie to me? That you’re not just one of them? Another god just trying to force me into something I never asked for?”

“I never asked for this either,” he said. His tone went from pleading to exasperated. “Your father decreed it. I came to you that day, with every intention of weaseling my way out of this mess. I never wanted to marry.”

He began to pace.

“My whole life,” he said. “I’ve lived by someone else’s bidding, and I’ve spent all of it trying to free myself.

“Being tied to you is not what I thought it would be. Not what I feared,” he said. “But it’s also not my choice.”

He looked at me.

“Or yours,” he said sadly. “I would not force either of us into a marriage we didn’t enter by choice.”

Emotions stormed and swirled inside of me.

“Marriage?” a harsh but melodious voice shouted, and I cringed.

Cousin Artemis entered the grove, silver bow drawn tightly. It was aimed at Hades.

“Kore, stand behind me,” she commanded. Her hounds bristled and growled.

I could not have moved if I tried.

Instead, she moved swiftly between Hades and I, her aim never wavering.

“Artemis,” Hades sighed. “I see you are as pleasant and cheerful as ever.”

“And you are as impertinent and troublesome as Hermes,” she answered.

“Now, hang on,” Hades protested. “That’s the second time I’ve been unfairly compared to him today.”

“You will leave this place, and the daughter of Demeter will come with me,” she said.

“I have very little objection to that,” he said.

And I nearly sighed in relief. A peaceful outcome. I was sure Artemis could not hurt him badly, but I would hate for anyone but me to cause him pain right then.

“Except,” Hades continued, even as Artemis attempted to back us away. “That the Lady Persephone has not said what she wants to do.”

“You will not take her,” Artemis shouted.

“Of course not,” he said. “ But surely she has the right to decide when and where she comes and goes.”

“The girl comes with me,” she spat.

Hades took a step forward, and darkness gathered around him. The earth rumbled beneath us.

“She is not merely a girl,” he said in a deceptively calm voice. “Persephone is a grown goddess. She can speak for herself.”

Artemis shook with rage.

“Cousin,” I said and touched her arm, but she brushed me off.

I looked pleadingly at Hades and shook my head.

With the briefest nod, he was gone.

Read the next chapter of Persephone here!