Receiver of Many

by Rachel Alexander

  Hecate accompanied her each day. She toured the palace and gardens with Persephone, explaining the myriad complex rules of the Underworld by way of hints and riddles. During those first few days walking with Hecate, Persephone thought her mind was playing tricks with her, echoing the cryptic words of the selenite-crowned goddess. But Hecate had in fact aged rapidly before her very eyes, her brilliant red hair streaking with more and more silver every day. Her pale skin grew wrinkled and fragile. Their walks grew shorter and slower. Three days ago, she had stopped visiting Persephone entirely.

  When she asked Askalaphos the gardener what had happened, he simply shrugged. “She just does that,” he said, then returned to carefully pruning the poplar trees. For weeks Persephone had tried with all her might to make a flower— any flower— grow here. Even the flowers already rooted in the ground wouldn’t respond to her. She’d spent several days in a row trying to open just one asphodel before eventually giving up, deciding that these flowers were as dead as everything else here, and that the life-giving powers she had spent aeons perfecting in the world above had no effect on them. Askalaphos wasn’t any help there either, shrugging once more and telling Persephone that making the flowers grow down here was his job.

  When he wasn’t busy harassing the sheep and chasing down wandering souls, Cerberus had taken to trotting up to Persephone as soon as she reached the portico. Persephone had nearly trained him out of bothering Menoetes’s herd by asking Askalaphos to fashion her a large stick out of one of the smaller poplar branches. Cerberus had gone tearing after it each time, tongues lolling out of his three mouths and after he dutifully brought it back to her. His long tail would wag and inevitably crush the asphodel in the garden, to Askalaphos’s chagrin, until she threw it again. The herd of black sheep grew every day. Menoetes himself said that he’d never seen so many offerings from the world above as he’d seen in the last two weeks.

  A rustle of cloth interrupted her thoughts.

  “My queen?” a small voice said from the doorway.

  Persephone startled and turned around to see a young girl with strawberry blonde hair staring back at her. Her hair was crowned in selenite beads and her white peplos draped and gathered over her hips and hung to the floor, worn as if she were an adult. A half moon hung on her forehead.

  “H-Hecate? Is that you?”

  “Yes, I’m me! It’s very nice to see you again, Persephone,” she said in a mature but tiny voice as she curtsied.

  “What happened to you?!”

  “Didn’t Aidon tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  Hecate rolled her eyes and let out a small sigh before shaking her head and grumbling to herself. “Aeons and aeons… I should know better by now.”

  She walked over to where Persephone stood and cocked her head to the side. The young queen’s eyes were wide with wonder, her mouth dry.

  “Ooh, look at you! You’re like a tree showing its first full leaves! And your hair got darker. It’s very pretty on you!”

  “Thank you. I’m still not sure what that means for me exactly…” Persephone said trailed off. She was still trying to absorb that this little girl and the ancient wise woman who had guided her through the Palace of Hades were the same person.

  “Oh! Yes, I’m younger now…” Hecate said, remembering where she left off. “See, your parents are Olympians, so they won't ever die, as long as there are mortals who worship them.” She paused and examined Persephone, wrinkling her brow. “Well, it’s like that up above, but it’s different for you down here. This world is changing you into the goddess you were born to be. Since you’re the queen here, you won’t need the mortals to worship you as much any more.”

  “That I was born to be…” she thought about her younger cousins, Artemis and Athena, Hermes and Ares, who all looked older than her though they were born later. The woman who stared back at her in the mirror was who she was meant to become. But what was that, exactly?

  “I don’t need worshippers to live forever either: I’m connected to the moon. That’s because I’m even older than the mortals,” Hecate continued with a giggle. “Up in the world above, the moon is small, but it’s getting bigger. And when it is, so am I! I’m a woman when it’s full, and then a wrinkly old crone when it’s disappearing again. And oh, you should see this place when it's full! Its silver light shines through the Styx…”

  “You’re older than the mortals… are you not an Olympian?”

  “Oh, no; I’m much older than that. I’m a Titan.”

  Persephone recoiled briefly and composed herself. Titans were the monsters her mother told her stories about as a little girl.

  “It’s okay,” Hecate said with a laugh, reading her thoughts, “My mother told me all kinds of stories about the Protogenoi just like that. Oops! Sorry. I forgot I’m not supposed to read your mind anymore.”

  “Don't worry, Hecate, it’s— Who are the Protogenoi?”

  The girl rolled her eyes again. “Ugh, Aidoneus tells you even less than Demeter,” she whined. “Chaos, Hemera, Gaia, Ouranos— my mother had the worst stories imaginable about him— You won’t meet them. But Nyx and her sons live here. She’s the goddess of the night. And Charon is the boatman, and Morpheus is the king of dreams, and there’s Hypnos, who rules over sleep.” Hecate paused to frown pointedly. “And Thanatos looks like a skeleton and makes people dead.”

  “What’s the matter with him?” Persephone asked.

  Hecate wrinkled her nose. “Nothing. We… don’t get along.”

  She could feel Aidoneus approaching her room. Warmth washed over Persephone and her skin prickled. Her entire body pulled in the direction of the hallway beyond as he came ever closer.

  “Persephone?” his voice echoed through the amethyst antechamber outside her room.

  She twirled a lock of hair and fussed with the crown of asphodel she had made that morning before turning around to see him slowly approaching the door.

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course,” she said. She thought it strange that he should ask since only last night they were tangled together in the sheets of her bed. Persephone glanced at the rumpled sheets and felt heat rush to her face.

  Hecate failed to suppress a smile as she slid off the edge of the bed and walked toward the door. “Well… I have to go now. If you need me, my queen…”

  “Thank you,” Persephone said, nodding back at Hecate.

  The small girl strode regally out of the room, leaving her alone with Aidon. He watched her eye the bed nervously once more and push a loose lock of hair behind her ear, her arms folded across her chest. Aidoneus shook his head. This was the only reason she thought he would ever visit her. Then again, it was the only reason he’d ever given her.

  He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you would like to come with me today.”

  A smile peaked the corners of her mouth. “Where are we going?”

  10.

  Only one poplar in the grove retained its leaves and the sharp wind whispered through the topmost branches. The naiad laid her cheek against the leeward side, leaning against the tree just as she had leaned against her mother’s hip so long ago. Minthe kissed her palm and planted it on the cold bark, then lingered until the icy wind became too much to bear. She wrapped her shawl around her and headed south toward Thesprotia.

  Minthe knelt at the side of the road to tie her buskin boots and leather leggings above her knees. She disliked the heavy footwear, but it kept her warm. The ash and poplar trees surrounding her were covered with frost, their branches sparkling. The frozen landscape would look beautiful were it not deadly. Minthe tried to ignore her growling stomach. She wasn’t a deathless god, and being ageless didn’t exempt her from hunger.

  Or death.

  She shivered and turned off the wind-battered road, following well worn deer tracks. Her memory of the path was distant and feeble. She’d been here only once, as a child, gripping her mother’s hand. Gray leaves crunched under her feet. She c
aught the faint smell of food as she came upon a stagnant creek, its banks shallow, its surface frozen solid. The falls that fed it were a cascade of icicles, but light shone from behind them.

  This was the place she sought— the home of her father, Kokytos.

  Go to him, Demeter had instructed. Helios made it clear that he will not defy Zeus. Selene sides with Hecate in all things. The gods of the sky have abandoned us. But the gods of the waters might come to our aid. Go to your father. Do not fail my stolen Kore. With that, the earth goddess had set off for Poseidon’s court, hoping to sway her tempestuous brother. Minthe was glad to stay away from there. Her nymph cousins had too many stories about the Lord of the Seas.

  She stepped around the pillars of clear ice, their surfaces faintly glowing in the light of a distant fire. Piles of wet leaves smelled sweet and rotten. Faint drums and pipes from within the cave mingled with raucous laughter. The warmth radiating from inside should have invited her, but she stayed on guard, not knowing what lay beyond.

  She turned a corner and screeched, flailing back, falling hard on the ice. Her voice echoed loudly and the music in the cavern stopped. Minthe looked up again, her heart racing. It was only a drowned stag, partly submerged and mirrored on the ice, his tongue swollen, eyes open and frozen opalescent blue. His antlers dangled with icicles. Minthe swallowed and stood up.

  “And who is this?” said a nasal voice behind her. She whipped around to face a creature with short horns, a toothy smile, and a hairy chest. A fleece was pinned over his shoulders with a silver fibula. His legs were like that of a deer, and emphasized by the deerskins wrapped around his hooves to keep out the cold. They had also silenced his footfalls, allowing him to creep up behind her. She gulped and averted her eyes from his exposed phallus. The satyr laughed like a goat. “Like what you see?”

  “I…” Minthe stuttered as the woodland daimon twined his finger around a windblown strand of her hair.

  “You are such a pretty thing.” His organ twitched and thickened. Minthe could not take her wide eyes off it. “But familiar, I think. Have I not seen you before?”

  She straightened her back and lifted her chin indignantly. “I am a lady's maid of the great Harvest Goddess and the daughter of Kokytos. I am here seeking his counsel.”

  He guffawed, ignoring her protestations, his golden eyes sparkling. “That doesn’t make you very remarkable, girl. The river king has many sons and daughters.”

  “Phorbas!” A voice from within bellowed. “Who goes there?”

  “No one, milord,” he called back, cupping Minthe’s chin and forcing her bright green eyes to stare up into his golden ones. “A wandering naiad… claims she’s your daughter.”

  “Bring her here.”

  The drummer and piper picked up again and murmured conversation filled the air, the court within satisfied that Minthe’s scream hadn’t signaled danger.

  Phorbas nodded and offered her his arm, escorting her into the hall. Minthe pulled back from the satyr with a scowl and walked ahead of him stiff as a plank, arms folded, her insides shaking. She could have been ravished. But if Kokytos had saved her from a man of his own court, perhaps he would be willing to hear her…

  Once she passed the threshold, the smell of food and drink was overwhelming. Roasted hind and broiled rabbits lay on a long table, surrounded by amphorae of dark wine. Pomegranates with ripe red seeds and split figs with tender sweet flesh beckoned to her. Spiced olives glistened with oil and brine. Her stomach rumbled painfully.

  The music died down upon her entry, and loud laughter and voices echoed from every corner of the hall as nymphs and mortals and woodland daimones of every sort drank and feasted in various states of dress. She shrank away from one pair copulating in a niche and faced the throne. Kokytos regarded her, his mouth hidden by folded hands. Silver hair cascaded over brown fur robes and a circlet of interlocked antler bone embedded with blue topaz hung above his sharp, beardless face. Dark eyes glowered at her. The music stopped again, all eyes turning to the fresh arrival, many with lascivious intent.

  “Speak,” he commanded, startling her. Minthe knelt at her father’s feet, her eyes cast to the floor, and placed a hand on his right foot in submission and supplication.

  “Milord, I am Minthe, y-your daughter b-by—”

  “I know who birthed you. Her tree stands in a copse of poplars to the north.”

  “M-milord,” she began again, “A-as you know by the desolation outside your halls, the Corn Mother has w-withdrawn her favor from the earth. She mourns her lost daughter.”

  A wizened satyr whispered something into the king’s ear. “Everyone knows that. Why did you come all the way from Eleusis to find me?”

  Minthe stood and opened her mouth.

  “Let me guess,” Kokytos said with a wry grin. “Your great mistress wants my help, to bring back her dear, unfortunate Kore from the halls of the Unseen One.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “And if I do, will the mighty Demeter grant me her protection and promise to deliver bountiful harvests to me and my beloved subjects?”

  “Of course.”

  He smiled. “And would she raise me above my lowly station as a rustic god?”

  “She gladly would, milord!” Minthe said brightly. “That and more. We greatly value your assistance. How soon can you help us?”

  Kokytos raised his eyebrows and Minthe heard snickering behind her. It grew until the whole court peeled into open laughter. Her cheeks burned red and tears stung her eyes.

  The musicians took up a fast tune and the court returned to their feast. Her stomach twisted; it wasn’t safe here. Minthe was ready to bolt from the room when Kokytos descended the dais. “You ask me to challenge the Receiver of Many, do you? Because your mistress cannot abide her daughter being rightfully delivered to her promised husband?”

  “But the Notorious One didn’t— H-he stole her, my lord. She was screaming when he took her. Helios saw it happen in Nysa.”

  “I expect she did scream.” Kokytos laughed. “I think I might scream too, if the Lord of the Dead was hauling me off to his bed in the lands below. Did you think he’d woo Demeter’s sheltered girl with a poem and a bouquet of roses?” His voice turned grim. “You mistress takes me for a fool. And you too, sending you on this errand. She asks me to draw up arms against the hosts of Hades? Look around you.” Minthe turned, seeing faces frozen in contempt. “They have nothing now. They bartered what they had for my shelter and my protection. How many do you wager would be willing to march through Demeter’s desolation and storm the Underworld to take away its new queen?”

  She gulped and her eyes welled with hot tears. “Father Kokytos, please, I beg you as your daughter—”

  “Daughter?!” His advisors mimicked his laugh as Kokytos sat back on his throne. “I’ve sown my seed a hundredfold across this land, girl. There’s a long line of begging bastards ahead of you, and most of them would be content with bread and a roof.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek. “But… I… you and my mother, she—”

  “Your mother cried out another’s name when I lay with her, the very night you were made!” He guffawed. “She spent her days in the world below tending the poplars and doing who knows what. I don’t even know that you’re mine, but let’s suppose you are. If you were to come to me on behalf of Zeus himself begging favors, I still wouldn’t be so stupid as to cross the Lord of the Dead!”

  “I cannot return to Demeter empty handed,” she sobbed.

  “Then don’t,” he said. Minthe wiped her eyes and stared up at Kokytos. “Stay here, if you must. But…” He motioned to a group of men in the corner eyeing her hungrily. “If you do there will be… expectations. Are you still a maiden?”

  “Y-yes,” she lied. They would regard her more carefully if they thought she was a maid. Her kind was prey to immortal men, otherwise. They would believe her. Men arrogantly thought they could tell. Most could not.

  “A maiden nymphae? What luck for you! That wi
ll serve you well here. At least tonight.”

  Minthe burst into tears and backed away from him. “How can you suggest— you’re my father! How could you even say—”

  “You won’t survive in the cold, girl. You know it. You were right— you cannot go back. The Olympians do not abide failure. Demeter will cast you out… at best.”

  “I’ll leave, then! I’ll go—”

  “Where? There is nothing left. Dryads and naiads are frozen everywhere in Hellas. They're not deathless, little one. I give the lost ones a home, where they can huddle and hope that Demeter comes to her senses.”

  “And mortals too, I see,” she said, raising her chin.

  He shrugged. “If they bring enough wealth with them.”

  “But mortals are gluttons, especially the wealthy ones! They eat more than our kind ever could. Why are your wasting your stores on them?”

  Kokytos gave a furtive glance around the room, then focused his hard eyes on his daughter, speaking low. “If your mistress doesn’t relent… if this famine stretches on, then it behooves me and mine to make sure we have other sources of sustenance. I provide for those mortals who can afford our company. And I put meat on their bones… as a surety.”

  Minthe looked around the room in horror, watching mortals feast alongside nymphs and daimones, satyrs and woodland creatures, fattening themselves, marinating their brains and blood in strong wine.

  It was the price to be paid. She straddled the yawning abyss between survival and damnation. Minthe sobbed in disbelief, her eyes red and raw. The lost ones… she was one of them now that she’d failed the Mother. Failed her mother.

  “Without my protection you’ll be lost. Now, stop this crying. You’re valuable. Tears don’t become you.”

  She wiped her eyes. Lost… lost… Minthe’s shoulders sank. She gave him a nod, and nothing more.

  “It’s settled, then!” He raised his hand and the music ceased. Kokytos smiled and descended the last step, gripping Minthe’s shoulder, presenting her to the court. He bellowed. “Who will offer for this maiden daughter of mine?”