by Eileen Glass
“Oh, you should have seen it! Lots of gods were lurking nearby, ready to see Zeus put the angry goddess in her place. But you called it right, uncle—she sits like a mountain, just weeping. A little bit of thunderstorms and zaps around her head aren’t even noticed. She’s gone far away from the mortals, where it’s icy and cold and she can’t hurt anything—well, everywhere is icy and cold now, but you know what I mean.”
He’s older than Seph by a few lifetimes at least, but from an ancient god’s perspective, they might as well be twins. He is Seph’s half-brother, and Hermes inherited the same wavy hair, the same smile, and physique. Though, none of the sensitivity and vulnerability that drew him to Seph.
“Stole that off of my mother’s table, I did,” he points to Hades’s apple. “Might be one of the last ones ever in the upperworld. The apple trees are dormant for now, but in a couple more years, they might not exist.”
Nothing is said for a moment. Hades turns the apple in his fingers and wonders why his nephew would bring him this. They have a working relationship, but they are not necessarily friends. Hades doesn’t have any of those.
“Eat it,” Hermes prompts him, and then turns the scroll on the table more towards himself, righting the image for a better look. “This is indecipherable.”
“It is many levels designed on one sheet.”
“And underneath it?” He follows some of the red lines with his fingers. “These are the streets I see.” He glances at said streets being laid with cobblestone nearby. “This is all a mess, isn’t it? You have a map of the city underneath the drawing of your house plans? And what is all this?”
“Bad ideas.”
Periphetes shifts his posture and clasps both hands tightly in front of him.
Hades slides the paper back from his nephew so he can roll it up from the end and tie it with a ribbon. “The red lines aren’t to be considered, and the blue drawings are to be improved.” He hands the scroll to the waiting architect, who accepts it with a displeased expression but he does not complain.
Hades waves his hand once, and all the architects turn around and leave. They will wait in the vicinity, understanding that they are not welcome company while he speaks with his nephew. And Hades sinks into the plush chair parked for him at the table, a sigh escaping him, his whole body stretching and slouching. He shuts his eyes a moment, wishing he could drift away.
Then he opens them and reaches for his wine goblet.
But it’s already been snatched up by his lounging nephew, and his head goes back as he tilts the cup all the way up.
Hades glares. He doesn’t have another pitcher nearby, because more than one nowadays makes him too tired.
Hermes smiles when he’s done, wiping his mouth with an ah and smacking his lips. Then he looks at the apple still on the table.
Hades picks it up and bites into it, the chewing giving his teeth and tongue something to do while his mind launches into an angry, imaginary explosion, summoning his scepter to frighten the stupid brat out of his kingdom.
But Hermes is one of the few relatives he keeps in contact with nowadays. And he is not usually so annoying.
“You have spoken to your father, I take it? And maybe helped put some ideas in his head? There must be some plan to bring Demeter in line. All the gods are watching, you know.”
“Yes, well, for now he’s playing up the delay as sympathy for my aunt. ‘Poor Demeter, and how could Hades do this.’ You know, he’s almost turned the whole marriage thing around. Of course, too many gods know the truth for him to outright lie. But when he talks about the marriage, it’s like you snatched my young cousin up on his fourteenth birthday. Barely an acceptable age.”
Hades snorts. Seph is young, but he isn’t that young. His mother has raised him to be naïve, but twenty-six is considered middle-aged by human standards.
The apple is sweet and lustrous and his stomach growls as it goes down. He was hungrier than he thought, so consumed with fixing the architects’ mistakes that he didn’t notice the needs of his physical body… which has been a bit weak and skinnier lately. He can sustain on the underworld foods just fine, but he would do better with more of the real stuff.
Hermes says, “About that extra task you set me upon…”
“Yes, what about it?”
Hermes sits up straight, crossing his ankles. He’s good to look at, always. The sight of his short chiton pooled around the side of his buttocks and his muscled thighs sat heavily upon the table (like a good, fat roast) is always appreciated. But there’s no hunger for the young man anymore, which Hades always ignored. Now there is only the awareness of physical beauty. Like all of Zeus’s sons, Hermes is gorgeous.
He is also a thief and a charming charlatan when he wants to be.
He tilts his head. “Well… it’s not that important, is it? I mean, the whole world is going up in flames—or ice, as it were. So who the heck cares about one little—”
“I care. And I’ve already explained why. Have you found it?”
“No. And forgive my rudeness—no, never mind, don’t. Just hear me out—” he raises his hands like a man proclaiming he’s innocent. “Are you smitten?”
“What?”
Hermes has never respected boundaries or formalities, but he has never been rude.
“Well, you have to see this from my perspective! Here I am on a dying Earth, completely frozen, and I’m running around as fast as I can—you have to understand, the job isn’t easy. I go around the Earth in a few seconds, sure, but it’s not like the lost souls are raising flags for me to find. All these new ones don’t even weep when they go. They just kind of wander around moaning, all ghostlike—appropriate, I know. And then you come along—”
Hermes is also a bit of a rambler, yet another difference between him and Seph, and Hades has never second-guessed his decision to not ask for Hermes’s hand in marriage. He was a consideration when Seph was nearly born.
What a disaster that would’ve been…
Hades interrupts him with, “It is one little pebble in a sea of pebbles. I get it. But the pet was a family member, and Seph’s home here is forever. He should be able to bring one thing that makes him happy .”
“But it is just a rabbit.”
“It became more than a rabbit when it was adopted and named by a son of Zeus, the King of Mount Olympus. Unless you can think of some other rabbit who has managed that?”
“It is not really the rabbit that should get complimented for—”
“Do you have it or not? Did you fail the task? Or was the rabbit simply not there to find?”
Hades takes a larger bite from the apple. It crunches deliciously and he has to wipe juice from the corner of his mouth.
Hermes watches him for a moment and seems to almost look sad.
“Delicious, isn’t it?” he asks, and his tone is subdued.
He’s distracting him.
“Yes, it’s fine. Now what about the rabbit’s soul?”
“Zeus is making it out like you’ve gone mad,” Hermes says instead and quickly rushes on, “Oh, I didn’t tell him about the whole rabbit thing, but it would have started rumors and backlash, that’s for sure. He’s making you out to be an evil uncle, and the lecherous type too. For now, people still remember who you are, and Zeus did announce the marriage to the court after all—he’s trying to say you persuaded him. Soon he’ll say you blackmailed him! He’s just not clever enough right now to find the words.”
“That’s precisely why I sent you to listen to gossip, Hermes. So I don’t have to deal with it.”
Hermes hops off the table at last, scratching his head. His nephew is someone always moving, always laughing, and it is desirable for most to just listen to him speak. As he rambles, he takes you on a series of stories, leading you down many paths. And in a short while, though you’ve told him nothing, you will feel like two friends who’ve shared many adventures.
Hades does not have the patience for it.
“If you haven�
�t found the rabbit, then keep looking. Or get me one that’s just like it. You can find something amongst all the humans.”
“Oh, don’t blow a tit, I’ve got your rabbit right here.” Hermes also has fun inventing his own phrases. He takes off his shoulder bag, reaches inside, and pulls out a white rabbit by its ears. It kicks twice and just hangs there, it’s eyes huge with fear.
Hades stands immediately, reaching across the table. It looks just like Hibus—the right size and everything! Could it be?
But Hermes does not pass it over right away.
“How was your apple?” he asks instead.
“I see.” Hades collapses back into his chair. “You wish to barter.”
“Not so much barter as lecture, dear uncle… and barter,” he adds quickly, for while Hermes is clever and thieving, he has never been dishonest with Hades yet. He puts the rabbit back in the bag, knots the top, and sets it up on the table. Hades is wishing Sefkh or anyone would appear with more drink.
“Apples will cease to exist in the upperworld if they aren’t allowed to come back. Humans will be gone sooner than that. I know you’re busy down here, uncle, but I want you to come up top with me, so you can see how bad it really is.”
“I will not. I know it is bad.”
“Do you know that snow is starting to swallow entire towns? Do you know there isn’t a babe to be found in the cities? The children have perished, and the adults are eating from their bones. There’s not a rat in Athens either. Nor a cat or a family dog or a chicken. Humans don’t have years left on the earth, uncle. Months is all I give it.”
“That’s a bit dramatic. Some places have been spared. And humans multiply quickly. When Zeus gets Demeter under control, the calamity will pass. I admit, it’s nearly the apocalypse for the Earth. But Demeter has a kind heart underneath it all, and she will come to her senses on her own if Zeus cannot throw a lightning bolt big enough.”
He reaches for the rabbit to see if Hermes will stop him. His nephew pulls it closer.
“Well, I don’t think Demeter is the only one being stubborn here. Do you?”
“Seph is not going back.”
Can he tell how much the gift means to me?
This might only be a rabbit, but he represents everything that Seph lost.
And maybe, if he can remember this pet, he will stop calling me ‘bunny’.
Hades forces his expression to remain passive, and he maintains lounging indifference as well.
“Well, maybe let me talk to him? Maybe just that? If I can bring Demeter word from her son, that he is happy and safe and whatever, then maybe that will alleviate the grieving mother enough to grow smaller and warm the Earth with her love.”
“Tell her so. And let me know if it works.”
And then gave me the fucking bunny.
Not yet. Hermes is clever, but he doesn’t have a lot of patience. He will reveal all the cards in his hand to flaunt a weakness if his opponent refuses to play their turn.
“Well, I haven’t spent significant time with Seph, you see. So I couldn’t invent any words that are his. They ought to come straight from the boy. Something so that when I speak she knows only her son could have said it. That would go straight to a mother’s heart and warm it maybe.”
He says nothing more. Even though Hades picks up the reed and taps the uninked end slowly on the table, something that makes the waiting seconds seem longer than they are.
So that’s it. His hand.
And Hades decides how to play his turn.
Forty-Six
Seph’s horse, Demeas, leaps over a log, and he holds on tightly with his knees, his hands making fists with the reins. It is difficult to get used to how a spirit horse flies over obstacles, overshooting the distance by several feet, or how they can change speeds in an instant, even coming to a complete stop with little more than a few steps and no slowing stride.
Spirit horses have no weight, but they use the same ‘muscle memories,’ as Taushev calls it, to maneuver their bodies.
Demeas sails far into an open meadow, and Seph uses the voice command, “Slow. Whoah! Easy there,” to let the stallion know of his intentions as he pulls back gently on the reins.
Otherwise, the horse may take his signal to stop too suddenly, and his own momentum will throw him over the saddle horn or possibly unseat him. He manages to slow down with very little turbulence for both the horse and the rider, and he pulls Demeas into a circle with the extra momentum, his eyes scanning the trees for the dog.
Cerberus howled and barked before, the signal that he’s found somebody. But now he’s gone silent.
“Do you think it was a stag?” he asks as Hecate arrives, her horse trotting and coming to a smoother stop. The animal and master know each other well, having ridden together for many years, and Taushev says that’s more important than any training when it comes to taming a spirit beast.
“If that dumb dog has led us to a stag again, I’ll…” She never finishes exactly what she’ll do, and it would probably be an empty threat anyway. Hecate is a fierce trainer who is not above using her whip, but Seph has never seen her beat an animal.
“It may have been nothing,” Seph says, turning this way and that, trying to get an eye into the trees and looking for crushed grass where the dog may have passed. He does not exactly sneak through the woods. “I told you, we need a better system. We shouldn’t be out here chasing down ravens and stags and moving shadows. We look like fools. And we’re putting too much responsibility on a dog with no brain.”
Hecate picks the direction and they proceed. Perhaps she saw something in the grass that he did not.
“Alright, but what is the plan, master? Even if you do come up with a system for a—what is it called again? A census… What a stupid human thing. Even if we did do that, it wouldn’t change the fact that we’re out here every day patrolling these woods. Who cares if we know the exact number of the population missing. Someone will tattle and tell us they’re missing.”
“But they’re not missing every day, are they? And we don’t even know when the dog actually found something or when he’s just… chasing his tail, I don’t know what.”
Hecate is an excellent servant, always there when he needs her, but she is not an adviser. Any kind of law or policy is viewed as an unnecessary restriction of freedom or an overreach of power by others.
She’s a much better hunter than she is a diplomat. But lately, though they initially took on much work and freed up many of Hades’s hours, there haven’t been many souls who come to Elysium and try to escape.
“Wait a second.” She holds out her hand and they bring the horses to a stop. They huff, and Seph’s horse shakes his head. There is a rumble in the trees to the right. They both turn in that direction, nudging the animals forward, and they find the dog digging at the base of an old tree. He furiously moves piles of dirt, and then the three heads push against each other to get their noses into the hole, sniffing and snapping.
I was right. Another rabbit, Seph thinks. But then he hears the voice of a young woman.
“Sirs, please come back! Sirs, please save me! Please, before he comes! He can’t find me! I didn’t do anything!”
And it is a good thing they slow the horses as they approach from within the shadows of the trees, because a man’s voice answers from somewhere else far off.
“He’s supposed to find you! That’s the whole point of the thing!”
There’s a laugh, and another man’s voice says, more gently, “Don’t mock her, Pirithous, the trap is working. We’re the abductors after all—”
“Theseus! I think I see something.”
“Search around the trees,” Seph says quietly behind him, and Hecate nods, maneuvering her horse. She can move more silently than he can, and she’s a full goddess with fighting experience besides.
He takes it upon himself to ride into the trap, whatever it is, and he calls Cerberus off with a whistle.
Cerberus is not used to taking orders
from anyone but Hades, and Seph would swear he can read the disdain in the dog’s eyes every time he issues a command. Sometimes he does not listen. And his growl grows louder even though he hesitates, a sign that this might be when he’s stubborn.
Seph guides the horse quickly to the tree, using Damia’s body to block Cerberus from his target.
“Go on! You’re done. Go on!”
The dog is reluctant, his hackles raised. Seph brings the chains off the back of the saddle, holding the iron the way Hecate does her whip, and giving them a shake.
The noise startles his horse, and he does a skittering dance, but Seph soothes him with a quick soft utterance and the reins held firmly in his other hand.
“Go on, dog. Don’t make me tell you again. I’ll call Hecate on you.”
Cerberus puts his ears back and sulks. He moves a short ways away and sits lowly, though his demeanor communicates reluctance rather than shame. As Seph decides how he wants to dismount—his legs are not always steady, so he needs his hands free—Cerberus picks up his three heads again, his ears pointed forward, and his snouts turn to the side like nocked arrows finding a new enemy.
Sending the dog might be useful, but Hecate might still be sneaking in the shadows.
“No. Sit. Cerberus—sit!” His haunches were starting to lift up, his feet tempted to run. But this time, Seph’s tenuous control of the dog maintains. “That’s a good boy. Now stay.”
Neither the praise nor the stay command happen to be very effective with him. Seph merely pretends that the words will be obeyed for now. For the sake of the girl and perhaps springing the ‘trap’ for Hecate, he has to move more quickly.
His knee is having a bad day however, and he limps like an old man, heavily leaning on his cane, before he kneels to the tree and looks at the pit.
