Hades And Persephone: Curse Of The Golden Arrow

by Heidi Hastings

  “Do not let go, Persephone,” a deep voice whispered in her ear and she tried to turn back to glance at her captor but his fingers kept her face tucked into his chest.

  Screams echoed in the darkness as the Earth seemed to fall apart around them, dust and rock hitting and tearing into her skin. The piercing cries intensified and suddenly she felt hands pulling at her. The smell of decay was overpowering and she could feel cold fingers reaching and grasping at her. She began to slip from the horse when a sudden burst of light blinded her and the fingers fell away. Down and down they fell,

  the horse galloping swiftly and savagely through the ground and air. The dust was covering her face and she could not seem to catch her breath. They seemed to be falling through darkness, and she feared she would suffocate when suddenly, she realized they were standing still.

  She opened her eyes slowly and saw that they were in a stone courtyard that was dimly lit by torches on the walls. The arm loosened slightly from her waist and she pushed herself from the horse and staggered to the ground, landing in a crouch. The rider stared down at her, his face still hooded, and then he jumped down landing quietly on his feet. She stood quickly and staggered back, staring at him with wide fearful eyes as he threw back his hood. He was tall; the paleness of his skin was enhanced by the black hair that curled slightly around his face. There was a darkening beard around his firm jaw and his lips were full -- though curved currently in an unpleasant expression that hinted at cruelty. Her gaze darted up to his, and for a brief second a hint of purple flared around his irises, but then it was only black eyes that blazed into her own. She knew three things: He was a God. She had never seen him before. And he was furious.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “You are a child indeed if you do not know who I am. Are you not able to recognize the King of Death when you see him?” he answered impatiently.

  She gasped and took another step back. “You are...you are Hades?”

  He gave her a slight bow. “At your service.” He took a step closer to her, narrowing his eyes. “And now that we have completed introductions, I must ask you to remove this.” He jerked his robe down baring his chest, and she gasped. A golden arrow was embedded directly over his heart, and the wound was seeping dark red blood that oozed slowly onto his pale skin. Her eyes grew wide as recognition flared in her mind. By the Gods, that was an arrow of love! Persephone looked at him wildly, her mouth gaping open at him as she processed his words.

  “I-- what? You wish me for me to remove this arrow? That is why you brought me here?”

  He studied her, anger flickering again in his gaze. “It was you who shot it at me, was it not?”

  She gasped in outrage, the shock of his words momentarily abating her fear. “It was most certainly not! I have never seen you before and I can assure you I am not in the habit of entrapping any God with love arrows. I do not know who did this to you, but it was not me.”

  He regarded her for a moment as one dark brow arched, and then turned walking down the nearest dark tunnel. “Interesting,” he murmured, his voice echoing behind him as the horse followed docility behind him.

  Persephone blinked. He was mad, she thought, completely mad. Was she truly in the Underworld? Hades was little spoken of on Olympus and she had heard he was unstable, a God to be feared. What could he want with her? She was a Goddess of minor importance. He was obviously as mad as everyone said. Her mother would come looking for her sooner or later, and the less she moved from this spot the easier it would be for Demeter to find her. But would she know how to find her, she wondered with a prickle of fear? The scorched field would be a clue and if anyone was able to figure out where she was it would be Demeter. What did this God mean by all of this, she thought angrily, bringing her down here and now leaving her! And what reason could he possibly have to suspect it was she who had shot that arrow at him? She would stay right here and wait for Demeter to find her. Unfortunately, her resolve was weakened as a painful moan echoed loudly in one of the adjacent chambers and she felt compelled to hurry after Hades, as he was rapidly moving away.

  She was panting by the time she caught up with him, his dark robes billowing behind him like he was an angelic demon, and she raced in front of him to halt his relentless progression. They seemed to be heading down deeper into the Underworld and that was not the direction she wanted to go. She must resolve this, try to reason with this unreasonable God, and have him release her. She pushed her hair out of her face and regarded him.

  “Why do you think it is I that shot this arrow at you? I can promise you it was not.”

  He looked at her with fathomless black eyes and a slight curve of his mouth as he considered her, his head cocked to one side as though he found her a curiosity. “Every love arrow is inscribed with a name, did you know that?” She nodded. Her mother had told her this when she was but a babe, when she had still believed in love. “Why don’t you read the name that is written on this one?”

  “Oh, very well,” she muttered. She furrowed her brows leaning forward, getting close enough she could feel the heat radiating off of his skin.

  Strange, she thought he would be cold, like marble or like death. Instead he felt… hot. She shook her head slightly and looking at the hilt of the arrow buried deep in his flesh she read: -ersephone.

  “No,” she silently gasped.

  “I assure you -- yes. The P is currently embedded in my person. As I am sure you are aware, only the name of the person inscribed on the arrow can remove it. Hence, why your presence is required.”

  Persephone stood rooted to the ground, horror in every rigid line of her body. “This cannot be. There must be some mistake. Who would do this?”

  “Cui bono. Who indeed?” It took her a moment to realize he had set off once again at a leisurely pace. She ran after him. Glancing around she realized the horse was gone. Where on Earth had it disappeared to so quickly? Her footsteps echoed eerily down the long hallways while his feet moved noiselessly over the ground.

  “You - you must believe it was not I who did this. Why would I do such a thing to you? I have many suitors, I have no need to use a love arrow. You may ask my Mother if you like--”

  “Why would I ask your mother when I can ask you?” He stopped and regarded her with cold black eyes. “You will not remove this arrow?”

  “No! I will not!” To remove the arrow would be as good as to admit guilt to him and she crossed her arms firmly over her chest to emphasize her resolve.

  “Very well,” he said and raising both hands he began to pull on the arrow.The muscles in his arms bulged as he attempted to try to pull it out of his flesh, and though his face remained stoic, fresh blood began to pour from the wound. The arrow remained firmly in place. She felt her own her heart contract in agony for him. She would not let a creature in the forest suffer like this, how could she treat this God as any less?

  “Stop!” She laid her hands over his and she felt his hands tense under hers. “Stop,” she commanded softly again, wrapping both of her hands around his, around the arrow. “If it is indeed somehow my name on this arrow, I will help you. And then you will release me.”

  He looked down at her, his blood dripping down both of their hands. “Then pull, Persephone, pull and do not stop until it is free.”

  He placed his hands over her own, and as their eyes locked she thought she saw pleasure reflected in the dark depths of his gaze. She hesitated and then began to pull, looking only at the arrow and not the God who seemed to watch her with some strange triumph. For a moment nothing happened, and she felt hope soar in her heart that perhaps it had not been her name on this arrow. Then slowly, she felt the arrow begin to slip from his flesh. Fresh blood flooded over their hands and she loosened her grip.

  “I’m hurting you!” she cried.

  “No do not stop, pull harder. Do not stop until it is out.” His lips were close to her ears and she gave a shudder of revulsion at his nearness.

  Furrowing her brows, she br
aced her feet against the ground and began to pull, ignoring the tearing of his skin, the ripping of muscle, the pounding of the heart which it had pierced, until the P appeared, until the very tip left his torn flesh and the arrow fell to the ground clanging at their feet. His hands tightened almost painfully over her own and a slow quiet laugh escaped from his lips.

  She looked up in surprise, and it was as though a mask had been removed from his face. Small lights danced in his eyes as he stared at her, and the wild look in his gaze caused the fine hairs on her neck to rise. He looked untamed and dangerous. He looked like the King of Death and there was possession in his eyes as he stared at her. Panic filled her mind and she tried to step away from him. For a moment she was afraid he would not release her, but suddenly he allowed her hands to drop from his bare chest -- hands that were covered with his blood. She snuck a look at him again, but his face was free from any expression and she wondered if she had imagined the madness in his eyes. She hesitated and then lifted her gown, still damp with the blood from the scorched field, and pressed it tightly to his wound, new blood darkening the fabric. He pushed her away gently, his face paler than before if possible, his breath coming in quick gasps.

  “That is unnecessary.” He bent down to retrieve the arrow as blood continued to seep from the gaping hole in his chest, and then inexplicably continued his downward descent. She watched as the trail of blood from his chest left small, dark pools on the stones below them and then she hurried after him.

  “Wait!” she desperately cried. “I did what you asked. Now, let me return to my Mother. She will be missing me!” She strained her ears-- was that water she heard ahead?

  “Oh no, Persephone, that was never part of the bargain,” he replied, not breaking his stride, not even doing the courtesy to glance at her.

  “We made a bargain,” she appealed to him, outraged. “I helped you and now I demand that you return me to my temple!”

  He suddenly stopped and quickly turned to her. “You do not know all there is to know about a love arrow if you do not understand why you cannot leave this place. Why you will never leave this place.” When she shook her head, he grasped her by the arms. “Love is a poison that drives even Gods mad. If you leave, I will find you, and I will bring you back. Even now the poison from the arrow is spreading through my veins and will slowly drive me to madness. In time, without your love, I will become deranged. I, the God of Death will wreak havoc upon the land. I want this no more than you! But someone took away my choice.”

  Persephone’s hands trembled. “I will not stay here.”

  “I tire of this. Come,” he demanded. Keeping a firm grasp on her arm, he dragged her forward down the dark chamber and bellowed, “Charon!” They came suddenly to an opening and a dark river moved swiftly ahead. A small boat sat near the shore with a man huddled at one end, a staff leaning against him. “Is it ready?” Hades asked. The old man nodded and Hades walked over to him handing him the arrow. “Here, keep this for now.” Charon reached out to claim it, and then before she could blink, he had resumed his previous position, huddled over in his seat as the boat rocked gently in the murky water below.

  Hades caught her watching the river guide. “Do not mind Charon,” he said, “he is no longer used to the living.” While he spoke, he began to gently tug her towards a darkened anteroom. The room was lit with only a few candles, there was a marble white altar, plush rugs lined the walls and the rich scent of frankincense perfumed the air. As her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she made out a lone figure standing at the head of an altar, a glow emanating from his skin. A God, she thought with trepidation. Another God, she corrected herself. Maybe she could ask for his help.

  “What is this?” she asked, noticing the cups he held in both hands. She dragged her feet against the ground as fear settled into her heart. “Who is that person?” Hades watched her silently, his dark eyes burning with hellfire as he met her gaze.

  “Hymenaeus, son of Apollo, has kindly agreed to facilitate the wedding vows.” The God stared back at them with a nod of his pale, silvery head.

  “I owe Hades a debt. It is a pleasure to finally meet the lovely Persephone.”

  Persephone looked wordlessly at him and then shook her head. “What are you talking about? What wedding?”

  Hades moved them closer to the altar. “I understand that Ares was asking Zeus for your hand in marriage. You will trade one husband for another, I can assure you I will be no worse a husband than he, and probably a great deal easier to live with.”

  Persephone glanced wildly around the room and noticed Charon had moved from his ghostly boat to accompany them, to bear witness to this farce. Her whole body began to shake with violent denial and her mouth twisted with rage. “You must be mad if you think I would consent to be your bride! I will not live my life in such a tomb! I will not marry you, I will not!” She ran quickly to the door and Hades lifted his arm, drawing her to him as if an invisible chain had pulled her backward. His face hardened as he looked down at her.

  "No," he said, "you are not leaving." He firmly grabbed her arm. “Ares will not be the one calling you his wife tonight. Hymenaeus, bring forth the goblets.”

  Persephone watched as Hymenaeus reluctantly stepped forward and she released a violent cry. She fought and clawed like a wild beast, drawing blood from both the Gods as they tried to approach her. Fear wrapped around her heart as tightly as vines. Hades swore a savage curse and wrapped his arms around her even as she clawed him, his hands holding her face up towards the God of Matrimony.

  “You make this needlessly difficult, Persephone,” he whispered in her ear. “There is no escape for you. Stop this now!” She could feel the tears coursing down her face as she panted in helpless rage and Hymenaeus eyed her warily as he tried to approach her again.

  “Perhaps if she is not willing, Hades,” Hymenaeus began, “you could delay your nuptials.”

  “Continue,” Hades snarled at him. As Hymenaeus lifted the cup, Hades made a vow, “This is the water of the Styx, the river of unbreakable oath. By drinking from this cup, you vow that you will be my wife.” She began to thrash her head back and forth, biting her lips closed and Hades held her more firmly. He pinched her nose and she held her breath as long as possible, but eventually was forced to gasp open to breathe and Hymenaeus poured the contents of the goblet down her throat. The black putrid water burned her throat and she spit the drink out into Hades’ face. Without expression, he bent forward and sipped the remaining water from her lips. She bit his mouth hard and watched with satisfaction as dark blood oozed against his pale skin. With a cruel smile, he grabbed the cup from Hymenaeus and gripped her arm like a vice, forcing the evil draught once more down her throat. He held her jaws firmly shut until she choked the dark murky water down, gagging like the most wretched of animals. There was no option to refuse the marriage. Sobs of anguish rang from her lips through the chamber of the secret ceremony as she collapsed to her knees in defeat.

  Hades refilled the goblet and drank from it deeply as Hymenaeus began to recite the unbreakable vows. He picked up her limp body, forcing her to stand, and she kept her eyes tightly closed. She imagined the softest touch against her mouth and a whisper so quietly in her ear she was not sure if was real.

  “I’m sorry little flower. In time you will come to realize why this has to be.”

  When she opened her eyes, he was placing a golden ring on her finger, “Say you will be my wife. She shook her head back and forth, her long chestnut hair whipping her in the face. Grabbing tightly to her arms, he pulled her fully to her feet.

  “Say it!” he bellowed.

  Persephone looked into his furious face and an icy calmness settled into her bones, a sense of finality. Her face was pale and ravaged by her tears, but she stared back at him boldly with hatred filling her beautiful eyes. Had she been paying

  closer attention she would have noticed his slight flinch. However, she only saw his fingers digging tightly into her arms and the ring
he had forced onto her slim finger. She stepped back from his embrace and he let his arms fall. “I am--.”

  Merciless eyes burned back at her, his low, dead voice echoing once more, “Say it.”

  “Your wife,” she whispered.

  Hades swung his dark cape around her and pulled the hood over her face.

  “We must cover your sweet face lest someone mistake your tears for anything other than joy,” he murmured as he pulled the cloak tighter around her. With that, he lifted her up and quickly carried her through a long hall and into a private section of the castle. Too tired to fight at the moment, Persephone watched listlessly as he took her down another long hallway, kicking open two large doors that led into a bedroom. She looked around briefly to take in the large four post bed made of emerald, a tree barren of leaves hung upside down from the ceiling. Crystals were dangling from each tree branch, swaying two and fro, creating a sound similar to that of wind chimes.The light of the fireplace bounced off each stone, scattering tiny fragments of light onto the ceiling and floor. The room was opulent, mystifying and strange. Hades suddenly bent and laid her on the satin bed. She scurried off quickly and pressed herself to the far side of the wall staring back at him with a searching, frightened gaze. A faint smile curled his lips as he went deliberately to the bed and sat, sprawling out his long legs.