by Eileen Glass
Maybe he should put the wine down. Seph needs him. But Hades doesn’t know to soften this truth anymore than he can do it for the mortals.
Since it is cruel to make Seph feel guilty and ungrateful, he doesn’t say:
It is worse for the souls. You are losing a bunny, but they lose everything. Loved ones. Daughters. Little babies and siblings they were hoping to be reunited with.
And they are so loyal. So loving. They feel great pain when they learn the truth of this place.
My souls learn to make new families here in Elysium just to cope.
That is why they go back across the River Styx at the cost of themselves. To warn others. To tell them, when choosing between rebirth back into the world they love or living forever in Elysium, what rebirth actually entails. How the ego is stripped away and reformed. Only odd little traits, branded into the essence from all the things that essence once was, can live on in the ego of a new person. Not every stain and glitter comes out in the wash.
And that’s what Tartarus is. A place to process. And wring and rinse and destroy.
He calls it the thresher.
And it is vitally important.
But that is not a thing to tell Seph or even hint at.
If he feels this bad for a bunny…
It shall be a long time before Seph is ready for the full tour of the underworld.
He thinks all of this while continuing to drink and hearing Seph try not to sniffle. This might be easier if he was gone, but he can’t decide. He wants to be loving with Seph. He does not want to be his cold, usual self around the young man. Leaving would let him cry in private. But it is too much of a him thing to do.
If he’s ever going to have a love, this will be it. Hades certainly doesn’t have any cousins or nephews arguing over him.
He gags in his drink imagining it. And sets the goblet aside for now.
He looks at Seph and sighs. His destiny is to be a villain, even though his intentions are to act so differently than he must.
“Let me take him.”
He reaches for the bunny.
“No!”
As expected, Seph curls around the rabbit with his entire body, guarding him like a mother wolf over her cubs.
“He doesn’t have to go right away just because you found him! He can stay for a bit. A couple days. That’s all. I promise he can go when… when he needs to. But not right away.”
Great. Now how to argue with him without being an asshole?
“Hibus has been starving for days already. He’s without the sunlight and the nutrients he needs. Also, it is cold. Even for a thickly-furred bunny. Don’t you think he would like to be hopping up there in the sun? In a green field? Full of butterflies and birds?”
That might be pushing it on the imagery, but it is summer.
Seph snorts. “He won’t be hopping in the sun. He’ll be in a tiny cage in the shade somewhere. Until it’s time to eat him.”
“I will find him a nice field.”
Hades touches Seph. He expects to be rejected, the lovely face turning away, but surprisingly, Seph scoots a little closer.
“He’ll get eaten by a dog.”
Probably, yes. But it is a cage or a field for a bunny. There are not many options.
“Nobody wants to keep a rabbit as a pet,” Seph says, having the same thought. “No one will be as good to him as I am.
“I will put him somewhere pleasant.”
Where exactly? he challenges himself. Though Hades does want Seph to feel better, soft words are not something any god is good at. His family, especially, has been pummeled with reality harsher than this. Worse than Seph or the mortals can imagine.
Zeus was mad at him for not killing their father when he could. When it should have been his responsibility as the oldest.
But Hades was eaten first. And it was him alone in there, his flesh continuously melted by acid, feeling love and betrayal for his father. Then the agony when his sister Hera joined him. His sister would not exist but she wouldn’t be the unstable monster she is today if he had acted responsibly. He is the strongest god now and was the second strongest when Chronos was alive. He probably could have killed their mad father.
Their mother could not. Nor any of the others. Chronos was the most powerful god any had ever known. Zeus barely managed to trick him, and it required the cooperation of Gaia and Rhea, who faced annihilation if they were caught.
“Why are you crying?” Seph asks, and these thoughts stop.
“What?” Hades checks his cheeks quickly and around his eyes. “I’m not.” Am I? “No, I’m not.” He takes a big breath. “Why would you say that?”
“Well, you’re looking at yourself in the mirror over there. And you look so sad.” Seph isn’t focused on the pet anymore, reaching over to grab his shoulder. “It’s alright. I don’t blame you. I know if you could do something for Hibus, you would. But… wouldn’t it be nice if I could go to the upperworld for a little while? Just a little while! So Hibus could grow old with me and live a good life. Please, it’s the one thing I ask. Hibus is old already, and a few years is nothing for an immortal god.”
“You are right,” Hades says, patting that hand touching him. He longs for yet another drink, but he lies down instead, getting close, with Hibus the hungry rabbit between them. He gives the rabbit a pet and forces his features into a mild smile.
He has not cried since leaving his father’s stomach.
“And I would give you your wish. Except, like I said, Zeus is curious about you and will not let you return to me once he lays eyes on you. He is mad, Seph. Almost as mad as our father was. And Demeter, knowing this and hating me, would not let you return either. Not for any reason. My guess is she’ll stash you in some sea cave.
“Seph… you are not powerful enough to resist her. You are her rabbit, don’t you see?”
And now you are mine.
But Hades has enough tact not to say that. All the things that are not powerful enough to face a god are sort of rabbits in a way.
“I’m her son. And—ugh—and you’re right. She wouldn’t let me come back.”
Hades expected stubbornness. Illogical arguments going in circles for hours. Like the begging of a mother asking to go back to the babe she just gave birth to. These things do not sway him any more. Hades does not flinch from responsibility.
Seph has surprised him again. One this young should not be so sensible. When Hades married Seph, he did not expect to have anything in common with the man for a millenia. If at all.
“That is correct.” He doesn’t know what to say.
“And he has to go back soon. I get it.” Seph sighs and pets the little creature, who scratches inside his ear with a big foot. He shakes his head and twitches. He sniffs around Hades hand to see if he’s hiding any treats there.
He’s extremely tame for a rabbit. There must be a little child in the upperworld somewhere with doting parents.
“I will find him a good place. I promise. I will do my best.”
Seph nods. “But can I keep him one more night? Can he go in the morning?”
No, is what the usual him would say. Though the days may seem long and endlessly repeating, Hades has a great responsibility down here in the underworld. It’s his job to make sure the creations on Earth do not vanish forever into nothing. That is what happens when life has divided so many times and the essence grown so much, spread so thin, that it can no longer sustain itself.
The days are long. The underworld is forever. But Hades is actually in a hurry, and work cannot be postponed. It is one of his policies.
But for Seph…
Maybe just once.
“Alright. Another night. I’ll take him back after breakfast in the morning.”
It is worth it to see Seph nod, his eyes wet with tears. Hades strokes a thumb underneath one and finds his touch wandering to his cheek. They kiss. And it is sad. And sweet.
Hades feels…
Remorse.
Genuine re
morse.
About a rabbit.
Twenty-Three
Hades frowns at the bunny the entire night—in his manner, which means his expression is one of quiet, slightly displeased concentration. What does it say about him that the fate of one rodent animal should suddenly become so important? Why should this small thing’s pain matter at all in the grand scheme of a larger world?
Of course, it is his new husband’s sorrowful face that makes it so. And that is just as confounding. As troublesome. As worrying.
Yes, Hades did not intend to be cruel to his sweet, young bride. Of course not!
That does not mean he intended to be treating Seph’s things as precious objects, and for the sake of comparison, Seph’s desires count as objects. He did not intend to court his young husband. He did not think they would have very much in common at all. He still thinks that—for if he asks Seph a small question after a long-winded explanation of botany, he gets a shrug and a clueless expression.
But the young man is very polite, smiling and paying attention throughout. He just doesn’t seem to retain anything that’s been said.
Regardless. This being nice to each other should not have formed a genuine attachment from him. Hades is nice to a lot of people. A lot of creatures, too.
He did not bring Seph here because he loved him. It has weighed on his mind for many centuries now that he is alone here. He has no equal, no true companion. And he began to wonder…
How long can I keep this up?
A god lives forever, but forever? Designing neighborhoods? Playing with his dog? Sometimes bringing back an errant citizen?
He forced himself at times to stray out of the underworld. Just to be where there’s other gods and drama and life. To cure himself of the deepening gray of this place, which seemed to have faded himself as well.
He brought Seph here to be his equal in most respects. For as much as the young god can be trusted with. And then he assumes the natural course of two equal beings will be to challenge each other. That will bring him back to life, he hopes.
He did not account for this first spark of emotion to be for a rabbit. When the screams of your own beloved children do not sway you from punishing them, you can safely assume you are empty of all compassionate emotion.
Not today, however. Seph fusses over his rabbit in the morning, and Hades lets him, frowning at himself in the vanity mirror. His sapphire earrings go on again today.
Or maybe he should opt for the rubies?
Would Seph like that?
The fact that he cares at all is astounding.
And then, from his stool, applying an ointment to protect his pale skin from the piercing sun rays in the upperworld, he says, “Say your goodbyes.”
He feels like the passive tone is an act. A practice. After Hades has ordered many mothers to forget their own babes they left behind.
“Wait! Can I just…”
He’s searching for any reason. Any excuse to delay the inevitable.
Hades should not tolerate this.
“Can I show him your solarium? Please? It’s nice in there. I’ll make sure he doesn’t eat your flowers.”
“Yes,” Hades replies, and without much hesitation. And the corners of his lips draw downwards on his face, to the point where he can feel them. He is not used to such strong emotion.
Was bringing Seph here a mistake? Will Hades now start to feel the remorse and burden of his actions?
He has a difficult responsibility here. It is his alone, and he doesn’t pine away in acid anymore, moaning in self-pity and agony.
So what is this?
This… humanity inside him?
They go to the solarium, which is open to any of his subjects so long as they respect the plants. It is empty this morning, for once. Seph places the bunny, untethered, on the floor. And while Hades did not think a rabbit could bond with a person very much, the two of them are soon exploring together. Seph is like a father with his infant son, showing the rabbit things and lifting him up to a bench seat or planter.
The rabbit seems intelligent enough to comprehend a simple game of hide and chase.
And of course, it chews a lot.
He tells Seph not to mind. “Don’t worry about the leaves, they grow back.”
But what would he do to a soul if he found one running through his solarium and plucking leaves?
None would dare.
This is a dangerous emotion. I must watch it and be wary.
And why does it exist? What is it about Seph that rekindled something in him?
“You’ve had enough time. I’m sorry, Seph, but it’s nearly noon in the upperworld where I will take him, and I think he will fare better if he’s discovered before the cooks have started heating their pots for stew.”
Seph bundles the rabbit close. What has Demeter done to him to make him so attached to this ball of fur?
Hades expected tears for the people Seph would leave behind. But come to think of it, he has not said anything about the friends he left in the upperworld. There is just this rabbit and his mother. That is all Hades knows.
I will discover more when I return. Maybe over dinner. On another day, when he is not sad.
Surprisingly, Seph approaches with the rabbit cradled in his arms needing no threats or further cajoling. And after a last pet and a loving kiss, he holds Hibus out to him. Hades expected to take it from him forcefully by the end. And he knows he would have hesitated more before completing the task.
It is not comforting. These emotions are inexcusable. A king should act once the correct decision has been made.
Fortunately, such an ignoble hesitation is avoided by Seph’s own willingness to part with his pet in the end.
“Where will you put him?”
“I will find a good place. I’ll check your mother’s home first—”
“Not the villa!” Seph exclaims, his eyes wide.
Hades nods. “No, of course not. I promise I will not set him near any nymphs. No, I think… a healthy town is the best place for him. In a household with little daughters, cared after by a somewhat wealthy man. A friendly rabbit like Hibus should be safe there.”
“Alright. Nobody mean, okay?”
Ah, but none of the souls are mean. Not usually. They are injured and imperfect, yes, sometimes fractured within their essence. But they are not cruel in the willing way that only gods can be.
“He will go to a sweet household. I promise.”
“Okay,” Seph says with a sigh. He touches Hibus’s foot with a finger. “Bye, little one.”
Hades’s own eyes are blinking more than they should be. Strangely. Is there dust?
And then he almost speaks. I do not want to take him from you.
Odd.
He shifts the rabbit to one arm and embraces Seph with the other. He kisses the top of his head, as if he is a son, and then makes a promise.
“It will not be long. I will give him to a happy home, and he will be well looked after until his life ends. He might come here and he might not. But if he does… I will find him. I can watch his soul from here and tell you how he is at all times.”
All of this—for a rabbit.
“Thank you,” Seph says with a nod and hugs him back.
The rabbit kicks impatiently. He wants to eat Hades’s entire garden and then wonder why he’s so hungry at the end.
“This is truly what’s best for him.”
With those words, he leaves. Away from Seph, not looking back at him, he feels like a man prodding his own chest and wondering why he’s bleeding around a large knife. He put the knife in himself. He brought Seph here. And now this.
What is this?
Twenty-Four
The rabbit goes into a small chest with a latching lid, his smelly blanket lining the bottom and a few substance-empty treats added to satisfy his constant gnawing urges. Hades carries him through the palace, which has noticeably fewer faces and quiet conversation throughout the halls. Despite the distance he keeps from
his subjects emotionally, he always welcomes the proximity of their presence, and the doors to his palace are open to the public.
Was the hunt truly so terrible this time?
“Sefkh,” he calls, seeing his servant cross from one room to another. “Where is everyone?”
Sefkh pauses, bowing over his broom. “They heard you had trouble, my king. They are keeping away so no one gets hurt while gods fight.”
“There is no fighting,” Hades says, confused. Why would they think that? Do they think he’s furious about the bunny being where it doesn’t belong?
Actually… that might make sense.
“May I ask, my king—what is in the box?”
“It is Hibus, a living rabbit. The source of the ‘trouble’. He was Seph’s pet, and my mate smuggled him here in a basket. Would you like to see?”
Blinking, Sefkh nods once and sets his broom against a table to come close. Hades undoes the latch and brings the lid up slowly. Without Seph here, he can’t be sure that the rabbit won’t try to hop away. It sits still inside, its nose twitching quickly, watchful for danger. But it doesn’t seem scared.
Not like Sefkh, whose eyes widen considerably. He curls his hands in front of his chest like a scared boy. Sefkh is sweet, appearing around the age of fourteen, but he was ancient when he came to Elysium. Barely four feet tall, for humans were smaller when Egypt was new, and he was so wrinkled, without a tooth in his mouth. He had lived a long life and had approximately fifty sons and grandsons by then.
He longed for the upperworld greatly when he arrived.
“It has so many… different… parts,” he says, knitting his brows, seeming confused or wondrous or both. His hands twist over themselves nervously. “It is not one piece, like I remember. It is not a rabbit. It has all these… parts.”
“Yes. All the pieces of its body are living. Together, combined, to make a whole. Some parts of him, like his fur and claws, grow without consciousness, like… like a plant on top of your head. Or moss on a rock. They are separate, living off of the body, growing out of the spirit with roots in the soul. Do you want to touch?”
Only one finger goes down into the box, cautiously.
“I used to hunt these with my brothers,” Sefkh says. “And then with my sons. We used rocks and a slingshot. We—we pummeled them. We thought it was fun. They used to eat our vegetables and dig holes in the fields.” He rubs his eye with his other hand.
