Hades and Seph

by Eileen Glass

  Seph chuckles softly to himself, thinking that he’s had enough damage done to the ego area. And healing from it hasn’t been pleasant at all. Half the time he isn’t sure if the world is real unless Hades is around. The other half he knows Seph doesn’t exist. It’s someone else’s life he remembers.

  Then he hears a woman’s voice on the other side of the door. She speaks sharply to the dog, but she has a deep, smooth voice — one that matches his mother’s!

  Seph opens the door again, a few inches at first, and he peeks out. The woman stands out of view, speaking praise to the dog. Cerberus’s big black tail thumps happily on the floor, and Seph sees a giant bangle held in the woman’s hand. That is, until Seph opens the door wider, sneaking a foot out cautiously while holding onto the door frame, and the beast whips his head around, erupting with fury again.

  “Down, dog!” shouts the woman, and the voice is all wrong. Immediately Seph knows he was mistaken—his mother is not here. He’s disappointed, and he doesn’t know why.

  The woman raises a coiled rope in her hand, and the dog falls silence at once. She didn’t have to use it. He whines and his tail curls limply on the floor, his butt going down. He scoots closer to the woman with his ears back, hunched in submission. Seph blinks to see the three heads of the beast acting in unison, exactly as he remembered, exactly as Hades described. And he does not feel so much like an ‘other’ in this world.

  It’s as if he’s floating sometimes, and Hades or a memory of this place will weigh him down.

  For the women, however, there is no such familiarity. Seph examines her closely, but he can’t find her in any of the stories.

  She pets the dog with both hands, attention equally given, and says to Seph, “Hello, master. I am Hecate, your loyal servant.” Then she regards the dog. “And this monstrosity is Cerberus, your husband’s hell hound. He has no love for strangers I’m afraid, but he’s a slobbery, adorable goof for his masters. Come. Approach slowly with your hand low, and I will introduce you.”

  Her clothing is unusual. Her gown is shimmery, flowing and loose—but also, somehow, skintight. It clings to her so well he can see the indent of her navel, and though the pattern of the gown is a vivid red and gold, his initial impression is that she’s bare naked. He can see every detail of her nipples through the thin material, though it is not technically see-through.

  Around her waist is a golden snake belt which looks very expensive. And snakes seem to be her favorite animal. She has them on her wrists and dangling from her ears as well.

  “You can trust me, master. I am your appointed bodyguard. Hades found me after your injury. And besides being unable to refuse the Underworld King—as long as I wish to remain in his lands I have to accept his rule—I have my own motivation to serve as your handmaiden. Protecting you is a great honor… and should find me many battles. It has become so boring helping my sisters train dogs to guard Hades’s gate.”

  “Oh.” Seph thinks hard. He doesn’t have all the pieces of his most recent memories, but he’s certain that trusting someone without Hades here is what caused the damage in the first place.

  “Where’s my husband?” he asks, wishing he had never stepped out of the door. He is too weak to fight off a goddess, especially one with a whip, and he knows enough of himself to remember that he never would’ve been a match for her.

  I need Hades here. Or I’m not safe.

  “On a hunt, my king. He is looking for that wicked nymph who tried to send you into Tartarus, making sure the rat is truly gone. I would’ve liked to go, but Hades was insistent on doing it alone. I guess he finds it to be a personal matter. But he left his two best enforcers—me and Cerberus—to look after you.” She takes one of the dogs faces like she’s pinching the cheeks of a favorite child. “Isn’t that right, big smelly boy? Who smells like the barn, huh? Who’s a big jealous boy?”

  She might be entertaining two of the heads, but one of them looks back and lets out a bellowing bark.

  “Hey. Down.” She straightens up, and with the hand holding the whip, she points to the floor. The dog whines and immediately lies down, all the way to his stomach. His ears press flatly against his head, and he has a wrongfully chided look.

  “I’m sorry, my king. He uses his nose to determine who fits or not. Troublemakers and trespassers are bound to have the smell of arousal—fear probably, or simply excitement. Your emotions are telling his instincts to execute you. It’s what he’s trained for. But he is a good dog. Come.”

  She reaches for Seph like grabbing for friend. Seph can’t help but notice that every part of her is delicate and beautiful, including the polished nails on her hand. Beauty and a friendly tone mean nothing though, and Seph moves back.

  “No, I’m going to wait for Hades—”

  And as he speaks, the door to the solarium opens. The very name he spoke walks through the door as if Seph summoned him.

  He’s dressed like the night, and for a moment Seph has the sensation that he’s huddled on his knees in some kind of a carriage, Hades looking down on him with an impassive frown. His eyes were cold.

  But that passes as the real god before him takes off his crown, his expression concerned.

  “How are you out of bed? Has something happened? Hecate, you didn’t let Cerberus wake him up, did you?”

  “Mother hen,” she says in a snide manner. Then, “Your timing is rather perfect. You haven’t put a watchful spell on him, have you?”

  “Of course I have. And he knows it.”

  Hades crosses to him at once, cool fingers inspecting Seph’s cheeks, and his eyes are full of worry and love.

  Everything about the old Seph just feel so different.

  “Why are you out of bed? Did something frighten you?”

  “Cluck cluck,” says Hecate behind them. Then she holds the coiled whip over Cerberus’s three heads. “Stay.” She moves toward them, her dress hugging every line and glinting as if her body is naked and wet.

  She points the whip at Hades as if she is commanding another dog.

  “Do you consent to this man’s curse, master? Or do you wish for me to punish him?”

  She smiles twistedly, like she’s trying to hold back a huge grin.

  Hades stares at her a moment, his frown deepening, then he turns Seph toward the room.

  “Ignore her. It’s too soon for you to be out of bed. Come on. I’ll get you some soup.”

  “I don’t want to be in bed anymore.”

  “Ha! You have heard my master’s wish, and if you do not yield to his command, I shall have to guard him with my life! What will it be, Hades, my king? Will you let him out of bed, mother hen? Or will I draw my blade?”

  She poses in a low fighter stance, one hand near her belt, and now Seph notices the large curved dagger sheathed there.

  Hades does not sound the least bit intimidated.

  “Hecate, the purpose of your position is not to annoy me.”

  “My position was made abundantly clear. You unclipped my leash and tethered it to another. You are not my master anymore, Hades. I serve the new king now.”

  Forty-Three

  Seph does not want to return to bed. While Hades has the best intentions, Seph feels like it’s time to start something—something about finding his life and who he really is. The old Seph is gone, and all that remains is an empty, confused shell. He feels like if he can start this journey, the separation in his mind and personality will heal.

  And so he shakes his head and says, “I want to stay out of the bedroom. I’m tired of it in there… Maybe I can eat in the dining hall?”

  “Why do you ask him?” Hecate says in a threatening manner, but when Hades looks at her she eases out of her fighting stance and lowers the whip. She tucks it into her belt by the dagger and clasps her hands peacefully in front of her. By her unassuming but generally satisfied expression, Seph guesses that Hecate is a bit of a prankster, and her threat to dual with Hades is only a joke.

  He also wonders what kin
d of expression she saw in Hades’s eyes, because Seph only sees a bit of tiredness and frustration, but overall, overwhelming love.

  “Alright, my king,” he says, and Seph is surprised that it’s that easy. He half expected Hades to scold him and take his arm and steer him back to the bed. But that seems to be a misattributed story in his mind, one that belongs to someone else.

  But something that happened to him supposedly in another lifetime. Seph feels that it was quite common.

  But not here though.

  “What about a bit of soup in the solarium? I’ll have the tables and chairs brought in. Sometimes I eat there for a special occasion, and the subjects love it. We can have a small lunch, and the ceiling is glass, so you will not feel so boxed in”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  Then Seph spends some time sitting on a bench in the solarium, side-by-side with Hades, watching the servants make preparations. They are silent and extra careful to avoid unnecessary clatter and furniture scrapes as they bring the equipment in. Some planters and benches are moved out, giving them a wide area beside Cerberus’s likeness, the statue dog in the fountain.

  Only one person here will occasionally speak too loudly and too sharply—and he will be spoken to softly and quickly, reminded to be quiet again by his doting mother. Styx is joining them for lunch (Seph finds out she’s staying in the palace for now), and she looks after a little one named Adonis.

  “His mother was turned into a tree,” Hades whispers, his knees touching Seph’s, and they lean into each other like courting lovers. Seph likes the normal, quiet romance of this.

  “She was said to be more beautiful than Aphrodite—and I saw her once, it wasn’t true. But Eros, her foolish son, took it upon himself to defend his mother’s honor. Her reputation spread too far and was too boisterous. He cursed Myrrha to fall in love with her father, and when the spell wore off, the father set out to murder his daughter for what they’d done.”

  Seph listens, frowning, as he watches Hecate take the hand of the boy. She produces spinning tops for them both, and then the boy sits manneredly beside her, both of them spinning the toys as perfectly as possible on the ledge of the fountain. The young boy blows at the base, trying to guide the spin and save the toy from the water.

  “Myrrha accepted her father’s sentence, but wished life for her son. Aphrodite brought him in a box to me, for the magic in place at his conception made the child unusually beautiful. She feared another Narcissus if he was left to be raised by mortals.”

  “How can Eros get away with that? Why isn’t he in Tartarus?”

  Hades lips quirk on one side. “And why isn’t Minthe there as well? Who can say.”

  Seph ponders an answer, but he has no logic to argue with, only the feelings he felt. He was certain Hades was a murderer, and he felt such terror for the pit that he didn’t wish it on anyone.

  Hades’s expression fades, and he gives him a real answer without requiring Seph to speak.

  “We make mistakes in life. Eros is still young. His mother caught him and tried to teach him better, but she could not undo all the damage he had done. To fix a mistake like that requires a massive amount of effort. She would have to change the memories of everyone who had heard of the father and daughter’s terrible act. And magic done imperfectly can have terrible, permanent consequences. It is easier to let the mistake live, learn from the consequences, and move on.

  “Eros was distraught after what he’d done. He was not raised with the humans as you were. He thought Myrrha would be horribly embarrassed, perhaps even disgusted with what she’d done. He didn’t realize all of humanity would hold her accountable to a crime punished by death.

  “He is a better person now. Though, he is known for his youthfulness and not his discerning wisdom.” Hades smiles at him. “He is spoiled, and he is not you, my king.”

  The brief hate Seph feels for Eros mildly disappears, equally weighted by understanding. Though, he is conflicted about this mercy, seeing the consequences of god’s curse before him. A boy without his real mother. And the gods do not regard her death in the same manner they would one of their own.

  Persephone, why don’t you get to know one of your nice cousins? Mortals die like ‘that’ you know. She snapped her fingers. She wore green bracelets and golden rings that day. They are the only companions your age who will stay your age. So why don’t you try getting along?

  “Tell me about Hecate,” Seph says, looking at her. She has gold jewelry, though not golden rings on this particular day. Something about the adornments and how she secures her hair with glittering pins reminds him of the mother he’s never net.

  “She is your handmaiden. And your guard. And anything else you want her to be—besides your lover of course.” Hades’s hand closes briefly. “I won’t allow that. But otherwise I have appointed her to be an extension of yourself. More specifically, your enforcer.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The meal arrives, and Hades stands instead, helping Seph up. Thanks to a little help from Hades or himself (he can’t tell which), his body is light enough that he doesn’t have to hobble like an old man, though his balance is unsure on his own. The couches are perpendicular with the heads put on the same end for private conversation. Everyone else eats a ways away from them, and there are several souls here, quietly dining as a gesture of support from the public.

  Adonis cannot keep still, and Styx’s patient tone does not seem to be the antidote. Hecate, fortunately, puts the small boy on her lap, and his boisterous voice is not heard over everyone else again. There is chatter and pleasant laughs, but the meal is far quieter than the wedding reception Seph remembers.

  Hades pours him a drink. They have both taken to it heavily in the past week, and Seph enjoys when his mind can relax as well as the aches in his muscles.

  “You are my mate. My lover. And my everything.” Hades taps their goblets together as a toast before drinking deeply.

  It is not romantically spoken with longing eyes under a moon, but more like a heavy burden. Seph smiles into his cup anyway and plans to tell Hades that he feels the same, except the dark god speaks before him.

  “But I cannot be your caretaker. Not faithfully. I have turned it over in my mind several times, and though it stresses me greatly—it seems that surely the task of your protection should be mine alone—I have appointed Hecate to take that position instead.”

  “Thank you. I like her. I think.” He does not know enough for her to say for certain.

  “I might as well tell you,” Hades mutters, and then they are interrupted by a platter of sweet grapes brought by Verah and then carried to the other diners once they’ve taken their fill.

  “Hecate is not just your guard, Seph. I’ve ordered her to become an extension of yourself. She is your subject only. She is not loyal to me. And her purpose is to use her magic however you command it.

  “You should have been able to protect yourself from a mere nymph. If you were a full god, that is. Hecate is your power now. And if you command it, she will even protect you from me. Or curse me in the manner you see fit.

  “We are equals, Seph. And now you have a god’s magic disposable to your will. As it should be.”

  He plucks food from another tray carried by the little Alfric, which they both have to reach down for. Alfric wears a proud, beaming grin, and whispers to Seph before moving on, “I’m glad you’re okay!”

  Then when he is gone, Hades says, “That is why she’s being annoying. Unless you order her to stop, she’s going to use every opportunity to irritate me. She doesn’t like me, you know. She wishes for the old days of Chronos and anarchy. But don’t worry. She’s bound to you unbreakably, and her oaths are better than loyalty.”

  Forty-Four

  As the days pass, the feeling of having woken up from a dream and being unable to discern what is real and what is merely a pre-existing fantasy gently fades from Seph’s consciousness. As does his desire to sleep, which is unfortunate for hi
s ailing body at first. He becomes bored and frustrated, and while Hades is generous with providing physical pleasure, release, and much desired company, the needs of the kingdom pull him away more and more.

  It is a bad winter in the upperworld, he says. And it has started early, after a cool summer and a lousy crop. The weakest are always the first to go, and there’s already an influx of children who have to be looked after. Hades says his newest neighborhood, which is not yet complete, might be filled by the end of winter. The swell of deaths could be that bad, when usually he would keep all the newest Elysium citizens near the palace.

  “What is happening in the upperworld will be as bad as a plague,” he says, kissing Seph’s forehead goodbye one day.

  And so Seph is left alone for a long time, and while Hecate offers some amusing company and Cerberus will occasionally nuzzle his hand nowadays, Seph cannot abide being so useless. And his mind, left alone, only tries to sort the things that are fragmented and not in order—all those little broken pieces of a past life.

  He orders the servants to bring scrolls, and soon it is common to see his bed covered in reading material. Fiction and memoirs at first. They are great for learning of the world’s many cultures. And then he starts seeking more practical documents. The memoirs of kings. The writings of government, laws, and science.

  He decides that to be a king alongside Hades, he has to educate himself. And while he recovers many memories of his life, an education does not return to him. Mostly, it seems that he was outside in the sun, surrounded by animals, friendly men, and helping in some task required of a farm. Or hunting.

  “You will live forever. There is no need to learn it all now,” Hades tells him one night, when he has a hand trailing up Seph’s thigh, and Seph only has a few more turns of the scroll to finish his current text.

  “Oh? Did you learn to be a king without reading?”

  Hades frowns (pouts more like) because he knows he has to wait. “Well, I didn’t read it all in one night.”