by Eileen Glass
“Wait! If we’re going home, let me take the flower first.” He recognizes the danger, but it is a very pretty flower, and he has had a very bad week. The flower is the only thing good that’s happened lately. “It will only take a second. And I need to bring Hibus, too.”
“There is no time—Master, please!”
Fortunately, the nymphs are not his mother, and Seph is both male and a god. Though, fighting off the four of them is difficult. They are like the children who come to swarm him with hugs and tiny fists whenever he walks through the village. Small and insignificant, but capable of slowing him down in a pack.
“We need to get going now!” Thimena says loudly in his ear as he reaches the flower.
And then an unusual sensation comes over him. An awareness. There is something wrong with this place. The wheat…
Visually, it seems fine. All is normal. Seph shades his eyes and looks up at the bright sun, which isn’t disturbed by Zeus in the slightest. Yet.
Zeus certainly isn’t rushing toward him in any great hurry. Though, he is present for some reason.
So what is it?
Just the flower. Then I will leave.
But now the flower seems to be glowing. The wheat all around him—the world seems different somehow.
The wind. What happened to the wind?
Trees all around the field shake and wave their branches like an audience clamoring for his attention, trying to give him the answer. But the wheat grass itself?
Still.
Standing eerily silent and unmoving.
Even the nymphs have frozen for now, hanging off his arms and waist. While the flower seems to be looking at him, beckoning him to come closer and take it.
“Let’s go.” He’s been foolish. There is terrible danger here! And he starts to make for the lone tree, urging the girls with him this time, for they seem to be stuck with fear. Thimena only looks at the flower with wide, terrified eyes. And then he hears the sound of distant horses’ hooves.
He stops, though whatever it is will be awful. He’s afraid to turn around, but he does, if only to dodge the coming attack.
There is nothing here. So where…?
“Come on, we have to go.”
But not even he can make his feet move because he can’t figure out where the horses are. They are not in the field, they are not in the sky, they are not anywhere, though they seem to be rushing upon him, diving on this very spot.
And then he has a new sensation. The ground wobbles. But not as in an earthquake, which would rattle and rumble. It wobbles as though the soil has become water. What he thought was a solid surface, the field, is actually the flimsy barrier to something deeper.
The horses are rushing at him from underneath. And there is nowhere to go. The distance to the tree does not feel calculable and real anymore. It is as if everything is floating and it’s a miracle he hasn’t sunk into the depths already.
He should run. Even if the ground isn’t real anymore, he should struggle to get as far away as his legs can take him. But like Hibus, he is too scared. He and the girls huddle where they are instead.
Until, from a rising steam out of the ground, a dark figure emerges.
Four
Four horses snort and toss their heads against the reins, their trot antsy but subdued, their master holding them back. They are solid black, like the night, so that their legs and bodies seem to blend in with one another, making a wicked creature with many heads and frenzied eyes. They are harnessed to a golden chariot, which is elegant and bright and not at all foreboding. The complete opposite of the creatures. It would look right at an emperor’s palace, perhaps carrying him to a race.
The man inside the chariot, however, wears robes that match the creatures. He seems to be one with them, though his skin is so pale. Moon white. And he is almost boyish, too young to be an emperor, though certainly tall and regal and manly formed. His eyes are wise though, making Seph take back his assessment. The god is old. Very old, older than Zeus.
The chariot turns rather than approaching them directly, and the god steps off the back once the horses have stopped. They look like they could take off at any moment. They don’t seem to be comfortable here, dancing like the sunlight spurns them.
The god, on the other hand, approaches slowly, relaxed. Almost bored. He looks down at his flower as he passes it, but there’s no emotion on his face. Seph huddles with the girls, and the god’s eyes fix on him.
Why is he here?
What does he want with me?
Then his gaze shifts. To Thimena, who is bravely the first of them to rise, her fists clenched.
“The goddess is not here!” she shouts in a tremulous voice. It does not seem to travel far over the air. And the god does not seem to hear her as he continues his approach.
“You go back!” she shouts, and then quickly, quietly over her shoulder, “Take him now, girls. Go!”
To the god again, she says, “This is Demeter’s son. And you have no right over this realm.”
“Move, nymph,” says a toneless voice. “His father has given him to me.”
The girls start to take Seph away, whispering ‘Run!’ and pushing on his back, but Seph feels bad about leaving Thimena. A nymph has a long life and spiritual sensitivities, but the girls are not magical. Physically, they are barely stronger than a mortal. And a god as powerful as this?
Seph knows who it is, but he isn’t brave enough to think his name.
This god will not like to be disobeyed.
“It is best if I stay,” he whispers back. And the girls don’t have the strength to move him. They begin to cower behind him as the god comes very near, and only Thimena stands to face the great power, her knees trembling under her dress.
It’s not right. Seph forces himself to stand also and not to run, as the nymphs who were helping him scuttle back to the others at the lone tree.
The god regards him with a hint of a smile. And this expression stays as he returns his eyes to Thimena.
He only sets a hand on her shoulder. She whimpers and stumbles as if she was hit. Her steps carry her to the side so that she does not stand in the way anymore.
Seph physically forces himself to breathe as the god comes closer. His crown makes him look terrible. It is black and spiked and rises up in a broken, frayed manner, like a tree that was snapped and burned. And froze in the winter. It shines like glass, and it is sharp, though it is not any precious metal Seph has ever seen.
His clothes are strange. Foreign. He’s dressed like someone from the north, his arms and legs covered, and the robe Seph thought he had is actually a cloak tied around his shoulders. He would be very warm indeed for a regular Greek man here on a summer’s day.
Both his clothes and his features do not look Greek. He does not look like he belongs here. Seph has only seen a face so smooth and perfect on a woman.
When he arrives, Seph expects to be grabbed. That is how this marriage ritual works. In the mortal world, the girl’s family would throw a party for the bride, and the husband would carry her off over his shoulder, with the family in tow making a mock show of outrage. Of course, these are fun and games for the very real, very dark claiming of old times past. Times that a god still remembers, and this is the real thing.
“I-I’ve been married,” Seph utters, facing the god now. They are the same height.
He is not angry, but he could be… if Seph runs.
“You will be. Our ceremony is waiting at home,” says the formidable being, and he lifts his elbow from his side.
Seph takes it, setting his hand lightly around his arm. He doesn’t want to, but he does. He even looks helplessly back at the nymphs, who have disappeared, and then at Thimena, who’s finally collapsed to the ground. But none of these smaller people have the power to save him, and his mother is nowhere around. So he starts to leave. The god leads him in the same bored, unhurried manner.
Then he remembers.
“Wait!” Whispering, he asks in a more
appropriate tone, “Wait please. I have to bring something.”
The god only stops and gives no indication of yes or no. Since it is so very important, Seph lets go anyway and races back to the tree. Hibus has hopped as far as he can go on his lead, and still struggles against it as Seph closes in on him.
“Girls!” Thimena yells from far away. “We can’t let this happen! Demeter will punish us! Get the boy! Get him back to the house!”
Their slender forms appear in the shadows of the rustling trees beyond the wheat grass. They had retreated back to where the world is real.
“Hurry!” Thimena yells, and they rush forward like warriors taking a battlefield.
Seph recognizes that he doesn’t have much time, so he gathers Hibus into his arms and yanks the peg free by the lead. He runs to the basket which will make do as a carrier, dumping the bread and cheese on the ground, and he covers Hibus tightly with the small blanket. He begins to stand when the girls are on him, pulling at him again, urging him toward the house.
“Young nymph,” says the dark god to Thimena. “Do not do this.”
“I have to,” she says, sobbing. “Spare us, please! His mother will kill us if we don’t give our lives to protect him.”
He presses his lips together, thinking. Then he turns, his black cloak billowing out from his feet. His horses toss their heads and move toward him as he approaches. His hand trails along one of the reins as he walks around to the back of the chariot where he steps in and takes control. Seph feels himself giving in to the overwhelming instinct telling him he should run.
Absolutely, he must.
Because the dark god Hades is after him.
The girls scream and shriek in his ear, fueling his panic, and finally, as the god snaps the reins and the horses bound forward toward him, Seph runs with all that he has. He leaves the girls behind. He clutches the basket with Hibus to his chest and sets his eyes on the rooftops of the villa in the close distance.
As a god, he can be there quickly, and he focuses all his meager power into his legs. But in moments, the path in front of him becomes dark and shaded. The many-legged beasts overtake him and run beside, huffing and neighing shrilly. Their master actually has to draw them in so they won’t leave him behind at their pace, and they toss their heads with reluctant obedience, their hooves stamping the earth.
Hades gives them just enough lead to let the chariot pull up alongside Seph. His long silver hair blows back in the wind, and his brow is lowered over a pointed gaze of concentration, focusing on the horses.
Seph is nearly at the villa, but Hades will be there first. The chariot almost leaves him behind, but then the god turns his head at last as he ties off the reins. He jumps to the chariot’s edge, balanced with his arms out, holding a perch that no mortal man could. And he grabs Seph with both arms, like a hawk snatching him out of the sky.
Seph is enveloped in that dark cloak. It smells like winter. Like snow and frozen cold.
Then he falls against sturdy planks, grunting, and making sure the basket is cradled safely against his chest.
He is inside the chariot now. At the dark god’s feet.
Five
The chariot goes down, down, so far vertical and so fast that it seems he is free falling and the chariot only happens to be going with him in this manner, not like he is riding in it. The dark god looks at him at one point, as Seph is curled around Hibus and trying not to scream. He switches the reins over to one hand and squats down to grab Seph’s shoulder.
Perhaps the gesture is meant to be comforting, but his expression is almost cruel. Impassive.
And then he takes up the reins again because the horses are charging at full speed and their direction must be manned.
It is better as the chariot levels out. The world is complete gloom. The gray sky has no stars. But at last forms appear, and looking out the back of the chariot, Seph sees a winding river, very wide, snaking through a dim forest. He sees a pier and a large crowd of people gathered on the shore, but they quickly pass that.
The trees are like tiny toys because they are so far up. And the people are only like meager blades of grass. He sees a little ferryboat bobbing down there, somewhere, and then they are gone. It is just wilderness again for a long time. And then a road of dim white and gray stones. Houses appear next, in colors of white, blue, a tinge of yellow or pink, and silver. These grow larger and larger as they descend, and Seph begins to fear the impact of the chariot against the ground.
He will be okay, but what about Hibus?
He holds the blanket top down over the basket with the hopping rabbit inside. Hibus squeaks and scratches and claws. Then his little sniffing nose appears out of one corner, and Seph squishes him down, sealing the edges as tightly as he can.
The dark god is staring at him. Seph meets his eyes, wondering what he’s thinking. Wondering where they’re going. And then the elegant man stares forward again and snaps the reins, urging the horses to go faster, of all things.
Seph winces as he prepares to feel the road. He hopes Hibus won’t jump out. There are many dazzling trees and a big lake nearby, but the scenery is moving so fast he can hardly take it in.
Then they are slowing. Not crashing, not colliding, just slowing, and it seems that the wheels are on solid ground. There are minor bumps and jostles from the cobblestone road. They slow down enough to spend a little time passing each of the houses, and villagers of wherever this is begin to step out of their homes and crowd onto the streets.
It seems his fear of landing was not warranted. And Seph has been looking like an idiot hunkered down in the chariot like this.
I should stand.
He tries, but the blood and balance hasn’t returned to his legs yet.
Hades slows the horses down all the way to a walk. The villagers are starting to jog to catch up and follow alongside them, behind them too, filling the streets. The horses don’t pull at the reins or shake their heads more than once, occasionally. The wild, mad beasts seem to be at ease while they’re at home, and their hooves make the regular clip—clop of a lazy, unbothered state.
The villagers, Seph sees as he climbs shakily to his feet, even walk in front of the horses. They have no fear of being trampled, even the small children, of which there are many. If this were a mortal village and Hades was a mortal emperor, mothers would be shouting and dragging their children back by their arms.
These ones freely approach with their hands outstretched, petting the sides of the horses and even quickly feeling up their noses as they pass. A mortal horse would not be comfortable with this. These are very tame beasts.
And the dark world is nothing like he imagined. There are no crows staring down at him from the rooftops. There are no walking skeletons or ambling hoards of lepers. There is no three-headed dog, Cerberus, and Seph is at least certain that monstrous creature exists somewhere.
There are only beautiful, immaculate houses, all of them equally sized and generous, like the middle class homes where he’s from. There are many pale colors, like pastel pinks, blues, and yellows. The children’s faces are fair and perfect, their innocent eyes wide with wonder.
“King!” calls a little boy over the chatter, walking near the chariot on the dark god’s side.
For the first time, Hades’s expression changes from an impassive scowl to a smile, and he bends to notice the boy, who only waves with childlike eagerness.
“Where are all the women and men?” Seph asks, just loudly enough to be heard. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to speak, or allowed to speak, or anything at all about how this works. This will be the first male-only marriage amongst the gods, which was put forth when his cousin Hephaestus caught him kissing Teysus.
“Where are their elders?”
The oldest villager here cannot be near thirty, and there are far too many children and no parents.
“This is Elysium,” says the pale god, returning to his impassive expression. “Their parents are dead. And most of their children are
dead. These are very old souls, and only the best, most gracious kind. When villagers are new, they will look exactly like they did in the upperworld. There—see those two?”
On the steps of one of the houses, a frail, withered man and woman hold each other’s hands, watching Hades pass with timid fright.
“They were led here only months ago. The other souls are looking after them. In time, they will begin to heal from their mortal lives, and their physical form will simply be a reflection of who they feel like they are. Most mortals are still just children inside.”
“What is your name?” asks a cute little girl by Seph, barely taller than the wheel axle. She grabs the turning spokes as they pass—an extremely dangerous act in the mortal world. Seph almost wants to scoop her up and save her from the danger. It is not so uncommon to lose a child under a wagon wheel.
But instead, he stutters, “I-I am Seph. Persephone.”
“Well, you are very beautiful,” she says matter-of-factly.
“T-thank you. You are as well.”
Her voice unfortunately loud, she states, “I think you’re more beautiful than our other king!”
Internally, Seph can feel himself shrivel in terror for the child. Hades is known for his merciless, eternal punishments.
But in this case, he only snorts like one of his horses, and his lips lift in a smirk on one side.
“Are you cold?” asks another girl, this one looking to be eleven or twelve, just before her teen years. She looks smart like Thimena, with straight dark hair.
“Uh, no, I’m fine.”
She nods, then explains her interest. “Most people say the underworld is cold.”
“Well I—I suppose it is. But coldness doesn’t bother me. It never has.”
Seph’s powers are annoying in that they are small and too intuitive to be controlled, but his power to keep warm was tested once when he slipped into an icy creek. And now it has been tested by an unearthly cold even the king of the underworld feels. Seph eyes the dark god again, understanding his need of thick, full-covering clothes and the cloak.
