by Eileen Glass
The children wear all kinds of things. The girls wear dresses mostly, but of many strange fashions, and a very few only wear a grass skirt. They are all shades of pale, occasionally a few have lightly golden skin and some are just a tinge of almond. They dress themselves in varying colors, all light pastels, and white or gray is the most common color of all.
In fact, Seph realizes there is not a shade of green to be found anywhere. The trees are mostly gray with brighter leaves. A very few are tinged blue or pink.
“Your home is gorgeous,” Seph whispers to Hades. He doesn’t know anything about the man, but they are married now. He will start with compliments and hope for the best. “And your people are…”
He tries to find the right word. Something besides gorgeous, though yes, they are. He wants to say that they are generous and good and they seem to be well-looked after, which hopefully means Seph will be as well.
But all he comes up with is: “Enchanting. They are lovely. This place is… amazing.”
The dark god shifts the reins to one hand again and puts an arm around him, bringing Seph close and putting him under his cloak. It is such a strange feeling, but not unpleasant. He expected it to feel as if he was falling into that icy creek again. Or as if grabbed by cold, hard talons. But if anything, Seph is more warm for the embrace. And Seph has no complaints about the male form beside him, which is muscular but not as thick and sturdy as Seph himself.
Hades has a far more pleasant face than the youthful-but-always-sly-looking Apollo. The god of the underworld, thankfully, doesn’t seem to be into long beards to make him seem like an older man. And his slender, muscular frame is far more preferable than the burly, squat Hephaestus, the smithing god.
I can be all right. This won’t be such a bad thing.
Then Hades tells him, smiling slightly, “I am happy you like it here. It solves many things. You won’t return to the upperworld ever again.”
Six
They steadily, slowly travel towards a dull silver palace in the distance. When Seph first noticed it, he thought it was a mountain or a very large rock. But actually it is a palace that seems to grow out of the cobblestone road itself, made of the same texture and color, shaped with sharp angles and tall spires that mimic Hades’s crown.
Thankfully, the palace isn’t black. Seph would probably die of depression after a few years if it was black.
Gray marble isn’t so bad though, and many tall narrow windows are lit up blue from the inside. There is no bridge or moat, and strangely, there are no guards anywhere to be found. The huge double doors are wide open, and the children-seeming souls ahead of them continue in a line up the broad steps and inside.
Several children are playing instruments before the doors, strumming on lyres, blowing into pan flutes, and a few are mildly pounding on large drums. Some children stall at the doors and begin dancing. Their chatter is loud and excited, and Seph stands corrected on his initial assessment. He initially longed for the yellow-lit homes of the upperworld, constantly now thinking of all the things he will never see again.
But the ‘cold fortresss’ is unguarded and full of happy children. No other king’s home, not even Zeus’s on Mount Olympus, has ever contained so much playfulness and security inside its walls. The chariot pulls up alongside the bottom steps, and Hades exits first, providing a supporting hand as if Seph is a woman.
Seph accepts, carrying Hibus on one arm, who has thankfully calmed down. But Seph makes sure the blanket stays on with one hand as they are surrounded by many curious children now, who might squeal and act excited if they see the small bunny.
Or would they not?
The boy who comes to lead them makes a formal bow and seems well-behaved.
The children part for their king and do not grab at either Seph or Hades. Nor do they shriek or call out or get in the way. They are more orderly than mortal children would ever be, and the boy who leads them only taps and nudges to get the attention of those who need to step aside.
A mortal king would need many guards and possibly a town crier to pass through a crowd like this.
So many differences run through Seph’s mind. From the assortment of the children’s clothes to the very way the steps are carved. There are no blocks or bricks or seams in the stone. It’s like the palace was carved out from one mountain-sized boulder as a single piece.
Even minute differences are important to him now because he’s never going home. There are so many things he will never see again.
But maybe I will grow to like it here. Maybe. I suppose I must.
And maybe Hades won’t turn out to be too bad. He’s Zeus’s older brother. He spent many centuries in the stomach of Chronos, Seph’s cannibalistic grandfather. So maybe he’s worse than the great thunder god? Maybe he’s more damaged?
Seph hopes not.
My mother was swallowed too, he reminds himself. She doesn’t talk about it, but she wasn’t damaged by it. So hopefully…
He takes a big breath and reminds himself not to freak out. He climbs the many steps uphill to the great palace, looking back once to see the horses and chariot being led around the palace to where there must be a barn.
“Veil or no veil?” his dark god husband asks.
“Uh, w-what?” Seph asks. They are arriving at the musicians now, who take on a lively tune, and many villager children begin to clap with the rhythm.
“For your wedding,” says Hades, only looking forward, not smiling or showing anything at the moment. “A woman usually wears a veil. But you don’t have to, of course. I—would like it if you carried flowers.”
Did Seph imagine that pause? It was so brief, it could have been caused by an accidental inhale of breath.
The dark god does not show any hint of nervousness, shyness, or awkwardness. Nothing like Seph, who must look like the slaughtering calf being brought to the altar.
“I tend some flowers here. I would like you to carry them in a bouquet. As—” A definite pause, but he continues as calmly as before. “A symbol.”
“Okay.” Seph, this is your husband. You can do better than that! “Yes, I would like that.”
He expected another smile or a thank you, or even a nod of the head would’ve been nice. There is no change at all from the dark god, and they pass through those enormous doors and into a hall lit with blue torches. The flames are only blue, dark blue on the bottom and bright aqua on top. They flicker and put out light just like real flames. No heat though. There is no temperature difference from going outside to in, like there would be at home.
The voices, mostly children, are louder inside but not rambunctiously so. The villager children do not have parents to mind them and don’t seem to need chastising for a quieter voice.
One more strange thing is how they wander anywhere and everywhere, as if this is their home. Up the stairs or crossing from another hall, they drift off and through various archways, knowing the palace.
“This is it,” Hades tells him, stopping. Beyond is a great dining room, with couches set up to make many island squares, and food is already being carried around on platters to the guests.
Here, at least, the souls are exactly like mortal children. They eat with their fingers and crowd together on couches, having none of the formal manners that Seph learned.
Hades’s pale fingers reach up and begin to organize Seph’s hair. Seph recoils initially—just at first. This is all so new and frightening and strange. But not necessarily bad.
It’s Hades himself who causes him the most fear. That and the prospect of never going home again.
“Veil or no veil?” Hades asks, and his tone gives no expression of which he would like. He seems to be looking directly at Seph’s hair and not into his face.
“Um.” Seph tries to picture himself wearing a wedding veil and winces. “No veil, I guess.”
Hades nods once.
Then, “I would like to marry you just as you are. In these clothes, if it’s all right. It is good, I think, to show the
contrast of who you were then to who you will become. After the ceremony, I would like you to don the fabrics I prepared. A servant will help you dress. And then we will recline and eat as normal. Husband and husband.”
There is a small smile then. Perhaps an inkling of happiness?
Or the pride of ownership?
Well, whatever, it’s his call. Either emotion would be correct.
“That sounds nice.” Seph bravely fakes a smile for him.
One nod, and Hades is back to looking impassive again.
They step out of the archway, and the villagers take notice, sitting up on their couches, clearing the middle of the floor to stand around the outer edges instead. They start clapping as Hades and Seph go to the center of the dining room. There is a small table here set up with a pitcher of wine, one large chalice, and a fruit cut in half that Seph has never seen before, but he has heard of it. Both the wine and the pomegranate are similar colors of red, and it is the most vivid color Seph has noticed since coming to the underworld.
The chalice and the table are gold, and come to think of it, many ordinary things are completely gold. Such as the serving platters themselves and the couch legs, and even the brackets to hold the torches on the wall.
His mother told him Hades was richer than Zeus. And this, it seems, was true.
She must have been wrong about him being gaudy though. Hades removes his cloak, giving it to a helpful young man Seph’s age, one of the few. And Seph eyes his now-husband for the oversized jewels and gaudy rings his mother claims the god has.
He has large sapphire earrings. That is true. They’re a deep vivid blue, very different from the faded pastel colors all around. And around his neck, over his shirt, he wears an enormous crystal stone on a gold chain.
So that rumor, he supposes, is true. And on his right hand there is indeed an enormous ‘gaudy’ ring of the same glittering stone, in an oval shape and covering most of his finger. It’s rather beautiful though, and in Seph’s opinion, it looks perfect on the dark god’s hand.
That hand lifts and points a direction with two fingers that Seph isn’t looking. It takes him a moment to realize and react. He blushes, realizing the dark god knows he stared, and turns to accept a large bouquet of the same flower he had been admiring earlier today.
They look just the same down here as they did up there, except that the stems are grayish blue instead of green.
Seph holds them in front of himself properly and bends his head a little to sniff. They smell lovely. Maybe he will get to keep them on a windowsill after all. Just a different windowsill than the one he imagined.
Hades lifts one arm and the room falls silent.
“People of Elysium! I would like you to meet… my mate. My husband. This is Persephone. God of the End of the Harvest. Son of Demeter, Goddess of the Fields. And son of Zeus, God of the Skies.”
That arm lowers, and Hades lets the backs of his fingers rest on Seph’s cheek. A shiver runs through his body. Now the dark god smiles. And it is a soft smile. And they are looking at each other like lovers, the way a husband and wife—or whatever the case—should.
“With this ceremony, you will be the second king of Elysium. Your home will be here. My table will be your table, and my children will be your children. I will provide for you. Extensively.”
His touch disappears, and Hades pours the wine pitcher over the chalice, filling it up with the maroon liquid.
“Neither you nor our children will ever be hungry. You will never know poverty. And we will be prosperous and better for our union.”
He lifts the chalice with both hands, holding it before Seph.
“From you, I only ask for your companionship and compliance. I ask that you make this your home and serve in your position as selflessly and faithfully as I do. Do you accept?”
There is a little gasp from some girls watching in a pile on a nearby couch, their fingers pressed over their mouths. They look like sisters, though a longer glance reveals that they come from different parts of the world. They could never have met before they died.
Do I accept?
What a strange question! Especially to be asked so long after his ceremonial abduction. These lines are not rehearsed nor common. They sound like they come from a few places actually, since the part about ‘table being your table’ is practiced throughout the Mediterranean, as well as varying promises to feed the bride and her future children.
Nobody ever asks the bride a question though. She usually just listens. The dowry payments will have already changed hands, after all, and there are many gifts to receive.
What sort of father or husband would give her the chance to possibly say no so late in the agreement?
But Seph supposes that he worded it this way since they are two men, and there are no official wedding vows for two husbands joining together.
Silently, as a bride would do, he lowers his lips to the edge of the chalice, and Hades obligingly, gradually lifts and tilts it into his mouth.
Fortunetellers have various interpretations for how the bride accepts the drink and what that portends for the couple’s future. It is generally bad to choke or spit. To drink too much, too heartily, means you will be unfaithful.
Somehow, there is just the right amount to drink, and Seph watches the god’s eyes for some indication of how much that is.
When he is almost out of breath, the chalice straightens. And Seph sucks in his lips a little bit to clean them of the wine. Wiping your mouth with your hand might mean something bad, as might a spill or a dribble.
Did I do it right?
It’s impossible to tell with the chalice tilted now to provide Hades the drink. Only his gray eyes watch Seph over the rim of the cup. He licks his lips openly when the drink comes down.
Seph knows what that means. He will be a heavy wine drinker. Possibly a drunk in mortal terms, though a god never gets more than a little tipsy.
“Our first meal, my mate,” he says, lifting the fruit. It has so many seeds inside. “Every meal of your days onward will be provided by my hand. You will never need provisions from your father again.”
They say something like that in the wild northern tribes who sometimes trade with the townspeople near his mother’s country villa.
But instead of cutting the fruit into wedges, he plucks a ruby red seed from the white inside. He sets it to Seph’s mouth and says, with his finger still attached, “Bite and swallow the juice.”
Seph must let the elegant fingers go inside his mouth slightly, and then he must bite down carefully with the fingertips behind his lips. Obedience, chastity, and demureness are desirable traits in a bride. So he keeps his eyes lowered and lets the dark god feed him the next one and the next one.
The juice is good. Different, exotic, and thankfully delicious too.
A little messy though, and Seph has to lick his lips or else wipe his mouth or let the juice stay on his chin. His tongue accidentally slightly slides against the god king’s fingertips, and there is a reaction.
Seph can’t say whether it is positive or negative, but it does seem there’s a twitch in the god’s expression.
Cheers and applause break out, and the formal part of the ceremony is finished. Seph takes a big breath of relief. He lets the dark god feed him several more seeds from the exotic fruit, but they are done with the wedding rites. It is over.
There is only one part left. The wedding night.
And then the rest of my life.
Seven
All he can think about from the moment they finish the wedding ceremony is the impending act to take place in the bedroom, but the dark god is not in any hurry to get there, it seems.
First, Seph is led away from the enormous dining hall to put on new clothes and discard all the things his mother provided for him. The helpful servants are even adamant that he gives away his braided belt, which was a gift from Teysus. Seph regrets wearing it today. And they eye the blanket atop his basket as though they’d like to ask for that as w
ell, but Seph says firmly, “This is mine. Hades said I could keep it.” And while a teen-looking boy looks particularly doubtful, he doesn’t say anything against it.
Seph is at a loss of what to do to keep his rabbit safe, and worries about him jumping out and shooting through the palace, getting lost for good. Then the servants present the new clothing he will wear per Hades’s instruction. Seph almost tells them it’s a mistake. This must be a throw blanket from one of the chairs! Or perhaps another picnic cloth like the one that covers Hibus.
But the servants efficiently wrap him in it, a new solid gold belt going around his waist, and there is just enough material to cover his front and back. Just enough. The hems end far too soon, not even halfway to touching his knees. If Seph was to bend over very far, the bottom of his ass would be seen by all.
This is not an uncommon way to wear a robe, but it is usually done by younger, growing boys who have merely sprouted up in their childhood clothing. And sometimes men wear boys’ garments on purpose to show off their form. Athletes are especially well-known for wearing next to nothing or literally nothing. But Seph usually wears the longer robes of older men, which reach his ankles.
His new outfit only attaches on one shoulder, so half his chest is bared as well. He almost wants to cover his exposed peck shyly, like a growing girl.
The only good thing he can say about his new clothes is that the fabric is unbelievably soft, shimmering, and has pleasant patterns around the edge in gold. The main material is the deepest black, just like the dark god’s current outfit. The symbolism Hades sought is blatant. Now they match and Seph clearly belongs to him.
Finally, at last, servants present him with a circlet on a purple pillow. It is made of the same glossy black stone as the dark god’s crown, but instead of jagged spikes and spires, it is a carved laurel wreath. The servants help him fix his hair so that several narcissus flowers from his bouquet become part of his new crown.
Seph likes it fine, though it does make his head a lot bigger. His clothing though…
