by Lianyu Tan
When they were all gone, Persephone closed her eyes for a moment, counting petals in her head. The dizziness eased a little. She walked to the bed and poked at the chiton. The fabric dimpled, catching the light like the flash of a carp’s belly.
Prior to that moment, Persephone had assumed that Hades wanted what all the other gods wanted from a young maiden—a fleeting pleasure to be taken and just as quickly forgotten. That would have been terrible enough, true, but as soon as Hades tired of her, she would have been able to return to the surface and see the sun once more.
This chiton, though? These jewels, the stephane?
A wedding would bind her for eternity, no matter if their marriage was happy or not. Zeus could not free himself of Hera, as powerful as he was. If they wed, how would Persephone ever be free of Hades?
She began to cry, shedding tears that she could not afford to lose. She could not stay here forever; she simply could not. Reign in the underworld and never see the sun again? Never dance barefoot over dew-kissed grass, never frolic in the streams of sweet water so crisp and clear that one could count every pebble in the riverbed?
Xenia walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please, don’t be frightened. She may seem cruel, but she is a just ruler.”
Persephone had forgotten about Xenia’s presence. She shook herself free of the woman’s touch and straightened to her full height, raising her arm and pointing at the door. “Get out.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Xenia hurried out. As soon as the door closed behind her, Persephone picked up an amphora and threw it, the jar shattering into thousands of pieces as it hit the wall. She fell to her knees, cradling her head in her hands.
“Demeter, Mother, Bringer of Plenty, Heart of the Harvest, can you hear me? Am I too far from your gaze?”
She’d not prayed to her mother before, having never been separated for any significant amount of time. Who else could she turn to? None of the other gods would be looking for her.
She shifted her weight, stretching her arms up before her, knees locked together in prostration. Her breath fogged the cold tile. “Forgive me, Mother. I should have listened to you. Should have been more wary of Hades. If only I’d kept your favor...”
She remained in that position for long minutes, until her fingers and toes grew numb and her joints protested. Demeter would not hear her. And even if she heard her, what could she do? Hades’ rule in the underworld was absolute.
She picked herself up off the floor, walked through the rubble of the shattered amphora, and tried the door. It was locked. She banged on it with her fists, but no one answered.
The chiton on the bed seemed to mock her. She shoved it to one side and fell into bed, curling up with her knees to her chest. Few options seemed to remain. A virtuous human woman in her position might have killed herself, but Persephone wasn’t even sure how that could be done, and besides, a successful suicide would bind her to the underworld forever, putting her eternally under Hades’ command.
She could mutilate herself, make herself so hideous that no one would want her, but most wounds of the gods could be healed.
Persephone wrapped her arms around her knees, holding on tight to make herself as small as possible. No matter what, if she were ever to see the surface again, she had to survive. If she couldn’t escape, she had to live until someone came for her.
She had to believe that someone would come.
6
The River
A sound woke her in the middle of the night. She sat still in bed, thinking to cry out to Demeter before remembering that she wasn’t at her mother’s estate.
She wiped a tear from her eye and sat up. She had kicked off her sandals before falling asleep, but now she put them on again, remembering the floor was littered with shards.
The pale light of night time in the underworld streamed through her windows. She walked to her door, broken pieces of amphora crunching underfoot, and tested it.
The door swung open with an ominous creak. Persephone had been leaning her whole weight against the doorknob, and the unexpected lack of resistance meant she almost spilled out into the corridor.
Outside, all was silent. She could not see any servants or guards, nor any sign to indicate something out of the ordinary.
Had something happened?
As much as she longed to run and make her way out of the palace, she couldn’t just leave. She quietly pulled the door shut once more, leaving a small gap in case it locked automatically, and grabbed a himation from her storage chest, wrapping it around her shoulders. She went to the dressing table and picked up a jeweled torc, placing it around her neck. There could be servants she might have to bribe, though she wasn’t certain whether mortals still cared for riches in the underworld.
Something else caught her eye. On the dressing table was a dagger and a ceremonial belt with a sheath. She took both, strapping the belt around her waist and sheathing the dagger. The blade was useless for everyday wear, the hilt encrusted with jewels, but it still seemed sharp enough to cut or to threaten someone.
She had scarcely even raised her voice in anger at another person before now; what made her think that she could use a weapon?
Persephone tried to ignore the worm of doubt inside her and pushed open the door. It creaked upon opening, but once again, there was no one outside.
Something wasn’t right. The door had been locked before. Someone must have opened it—but to what end? Had Xenia’s conscience gotten the better of her? Persephone couldn’t believe that.
Regardless of whether this was a trap, she had to take the opportunity. Persephone walked quickly through the empty corridors, heading to the kitchen. There was only one servant boy stoking the embers of the fireplace, so she pressed herself against the wall and waited until she heard him walking to the other side of the kitchen. When his back was turned, she ducked into the cold cellar and grabbed a link of sausages hanging from the ceiling. She draped them around her neck like a pungent scarf and headed back out past the kitchen when the servant was not looking.
To her growing unease, she saw no one else between the kitchens and the side entrance. Even the stables were empty, save for the horses greeting her with soft whickers.
“Hey, boy,” she said, greeting a gelding she vaguely remembered Hades calling Alastor. She fitted him with a bridle and blanket and leapt onto his back.
Alastor obliged her by trotting out of the stables into the brisk night air. She wished she had brought a torch. Overhead, pale light akin to that of a full moon rained down upon them, but still she feared that Alastor might lose his footing and throw her. He seemed quite content to venture out in the near darkness, however, increasing speed as they hit the open road.
The nagging feeling that something was wrong never left her. Where were Hades’ guards, her other servants?
Persephone could not let such doubts plague her. She rode Alastor as hard as she dared, only slowing when they approached the great gate. Cerberus was lying down with his heads resting on his paws, but he raised one of them as she drew near, cocking his ears toward the sound of Alastor’s hoofbeats.
Persephone unwound the sausages from her neck and broke them into three equal segments. She tossed each one to Cerberus’s heads, and the giant hound happily began to gnaw on them.
Persephone clucked her tongue at Alastor, and they slowly trotted away. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Cerberus was still eating, paying her no mind. Once she saw that the beast would not follow, she urged Alastor into a canter, leading them to the marshlands where the Styx and Acheron met.
At the sight of water she dismounted, leaving Alastor by the road. She ran down to the river bank, where there was a pier and a boat but no Charon. Even when she turned to the south, searching for a glimpse of him, there were no signs of any activity. The water was flat, a dark mirror reflecting her ghostly form clad all in white.
She untied the boat from its moorings and climbed into it, picking up the pole
. It drifted a short distance from the pier, then stopped, as though stuck.
Persephone looked pensively into the water, using the pole to push against the pier. The boat resisted her again.
She had no desire to step into the water, but saw no other choice. She took off her sandals and tied them to her belt by their straps. She left the pole in the boat and hiked her chiton to knee length, tucking the excess into her belt, before jumping from the boat into the water.
She regretted this decision immediately. The water was colder than she’d anticipated, and the weight of her sodden chiton clung to her like a ballooning sack. Nevertheless, she took a breath and dived down, feeling around the sides of the boat for whatever it was caught upon.
After some groping around the hull, she thought she had found the problem. She surfaced for air, shivering as rivulets of water ran down her face. As she treaded water, she unsheathed her dagger, then dived down once more and began sawing through a fibrous cord that seemed to be holding the boat in place.
As she cut the last thread free, the boat began to drift to the side, no longer constrained. Persephone rose to the surface and gulped in a mouthful of air before grabbing the side of the boat. She sheathed her dagger, then clung to the boat with both hands, preparing herself to climb aboard.
She was still catching her breath when cold, spongy fingers grabbed her ankle, pulling her off balance. She swung her legs around wildly, trying to kick her attacker, but it was no use. With a mighty tug, they dragged Persephone beneath the water.
More hands grabbed at her, pulling at her hair, clawing at her arms. She flailed, kicking and scratching at the bodies surrounding her. The flesh of the dead was cold and clammy, their skin disturbingly soft as she fought off their advances.
Bubbles escaped from her nose as she fought to stay conscious whilst not accidentally ingesting the water. Beneath the surface, it was so dark that she couldn’t tell which way lay the pier or the riverbank. Dead fingers trailed down the side of her face, and it took all her discipline not to open her mouth and invite water into her lungs.
One of the dead pressed their lipless mouth to her cheek in the parody of a kiss. Persephone flinched away, but there were more hands on her, tearing at her chiton, pulling free the jewels at her neck and shoulders. Cold, bony fingers ran over her newly exposed skin, and she had to grind her teeth together to stop herself from trying to scream.
She fumbled at her waist for her dagger, but even if it was there, she couldn’t quite reach it due to the floating folds of fabric obscuring her belt. She thrashed, the water churning to white froth around her. Her lungs burned, and her struggles grew more faint. Above, vague lights glimmered, but reaching the surface now seemed like an impossible dream. Tiny bubbles escaped from her lips as her mind screamed at her. She had to breathe.
The dead ran their fingers through her hair, but she could hardly feel them. Persephone kicked weakly, but the surface seemed so far away. It was easier to sink deeper into the water and accept her fate. This marsh would be her grave.
7
Not Yet Wed
Strong arms grabbed hold of Persephone and pulled her out of the river. As soon as her head broke the surface, she coughed up the mouthful of water she’d been trying so hard not to swallow. Her first breath of fresh air almost made her delirious.
Hades carried her to the shore and laid her down on the grass. Persephone clung to her, shivering, her teeth clicking as they chattered. Her sodden chiton hung precariously from her left shoulder, the right side torn loose by the hands of the dead.
Hades’ arms remained around her, banishing the chill of the river. Persephone’s teeth ceased their chattering, and she slowly relaxed to the point where she could close her eyes and not see the faces of the dead swimming before her.
Try as she might, she couldn’t let go of Hades. She needed to feel something real, someone alive beside her. The trees here wouldn’t speak to her, the grass wouldn’t answer, and so there was nothing left but to seek comfort from the one person she should despise the most.
She rested her head against Hades’ shoulder, listening to the steady beat of her heart. She was alive. Hades was alive. The warmth radiating from her body was proof enough.
Tears ran down Persephone’s face until she was weeping in a breathless fit and the circle of Hades’ arms turned from a comfort to an unbearable cage. She pushed against Hades’ shoulders, trying to wriggle free, but Hades only tightened her grip in response.
“Hush. You are safe,” Hades said.
That was laughable. How could she ever be safe in the underworld?
Another, more disturbing thought occurred, and she stilled, examining it from every angle. There could be no mistake.
Hades, sensing her shift in mood, brushed a sodden lock of hair back from Persephone’s face. “What is it?”
Persephone flicked her head to one side, as if to throw off the memory of Hades’ touch. “You knew.” She coughed and tried again. “You knew where I was going and what would find me.”
The empty hallways. The unguarded stables. Hades must have planned for it, must have suspected what she would do before Persephone herself had thought of leaving.
“Of course,” Hades said, as though she were insulted by the mere suggestion that something could happen in her realm without her knowledge.
Persephone took a deep breath. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. But most of all, she wanted the sun to soothe her frozen limbs. “I almost drowned!” she said, her waterlogged throat making her voice hoarse.
Hades gave her a pitying look. “I have seen more drowned souls than you could dream of. You were nowhere close to joining their ranks. I would know,” she added with a touch of peevishness.
Persephone still wore her jeweled dagger, nestled at her hip and currently poking into her side. She shifted her weight, as though trying to get more comfortable, and drew the blade, thrusting up.
Hades moved, taking hold of Persephone’s wrist, her grip tight enough to bruise. “What are you trying to do, Kore?”
The tip of the blade had grazed the underside of Hades’ arm, and a bead of ichor welled up on her skin, the golden liquid almost black in the low light. Persephone’s fingers shook at the sight of it.
Hades plucked the blade from her nerveless grasp and released Persephone’s wrist. She wiped the blade clean on the grass, then offered it to Persephone hilt first. “Try again. Mayhaps your luck will find you.”
Persephone looked down at the knife, then back at Hades. A small smile played upon Hades’ lips, though her eyes were cold as the morning dew.
Persephone sprang to her feet, turned and fled. The hateful sandals had been lost during her struggle in the marsh, and so she ran barefoot, the muddy ground squelching under her toes. She had no idea where she was heading, only knowing that she could not stand Hades’ presence a minute longer.
“Persephone,” Hades called behind her, softly, her voice carried by the wind.
The eerie glow that passed as moonlight here was enough that she avoided tripping over her own feet. She reached Alastor, waiting patiently by the side of the road. He snorted in alarm as she drew near, as though startled by something in her bedraggled appearance.
“Whoa! What’s wrong, boy?”
What little light there was glinted off his bridle, and Persephone reached for it. As her fingers closed around the reins, Alastor reared, throwing her off balance.
A dark shape slammed into her side, and she fell into a roll just as Alastor’s front hooves came crashing to the ground where she’d been standing just moments ago. She righted herself and caught her breath.
After pushing Persephone out of danger, Hades had taken hold of Alastor’s bridle and was soothing the horse with a touch. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Should I be flattered?” Hades asked, her voice clipped.
Persephone’s hip ached where she’d bruised herself in the fall, but nothing seemed broken. “I don’t understand. He was so docile bef
ore.”
Hades gave Alastor one last pat on the nose and then walked to Persephone, crouching beside her. “Where are you running to?”
Persephone shook her head. “I don’t belong here.”
Hades reached out to touch her face, and Persephone drew back. This time, Hades allowed her to maintain her distance. “You will learn to see its beauty, one day.”
The taste of ichor was bright on Persephone’s tongue. She must have bitten her cheek during the accident. “If you must, then... take me as your m-mistress, if that’s what you desire. I will go to you every time you visit the surface. But please, don’t condemn me to live here.”
“Oh, Persephone. Is this world truly so awful that you would consign yourself to live such a life, without the protection of my claim, to suffer the predations of your father and others of his ilk?”
“I have been doing just fine without your protection!”
Hades gave her long look, then shook her head. “Your father had plans for you. Demeter would not have had the power to intervene.”
Persephone wanted to deny it, to defend her mother’s power, but she knew Hades was right. As for Zeus... It was unthinkable, but she would be a fool not to examine her father’s history and be wary. Still, Hades’ protection would only extend so far, unless the other gods recognized them as bound by marriage.
Persephone would never be her wife.
“We are not wed,” Persephone said.
“We will be.”
“You haven’t even asked me!”
Hades’ lips quirked in a lopsided smile. She swept the skirts of her chiton behind her and lowered herself gracefully to her knees, uncaring of the mud ruining her fine attire.
“Persephone, daughter of Demeter, would you do me the great honor of marrying me?”
If this were a comedy, not even the chorus would be laughing. “No!”
