Receiver of Many

by Rachel Alexander

  Persephone lay on her side and covered her belly with the sheet, her head swimming. Fates; she hadn’t even told him she loved him yet! She rolled over, frustrated, needing to know more before she said anything. She would wait before she made any kind of announcement. Until she got a chance to speak with another woman about the possibility of being pregnant she would let it rest. Perhaps Hecate, though she had no children of her own, could shed light on this. Perhaps Merope, who had mortal children in the world above, though it would be difficult to meet with her when Aidon wasn’t about. Nyx and Erebus had spawned thousands of children over the numberless aeons of their union. It would make for an awkward first meeting, but maybe the mysterious Lady Nyx would talk to her about having children here…

  Feeling some measure of relief, and a full day’s worth of exhaustion, her eyes drooped shut. Her mind turned from turmoil to the steady, rhythmic breathing of Aidoneus slumbering beside her. Soon… she thought, finally drifting into sleep.

  ***

  “You’ve been here a fortnight,” the broad winged shadow said. “You know that, right?”

  “Oh, it’s you.” He groggily stared back at the mouth of the cave. “The murderer of souls. What do you want from me and how soon can you leave?”

  “Murderer of souls… hmm. I would wager,” Thanatos said, “that your sword cut down more than mine ever did during the war. All of mine were at once— and to great effect, to be sure. But you, Hades… you killed with a purpose. And I should know. My sisters were there to drag every one of them away.”

  “Yes… all that triumph, and glory,” he slurred, “and look where it got me.” Hades took another swig from his last amphoriskos of wine— the end of the gross he took with him on his descent into the Underworld. He’d intended to make them last. The news he’d received destroyed that plan, as it had destroyed so many others.

  “You shouldn’t have spoken to them. Hecate and I agree on very little, but she was right on this— it was foolish of you to go to the Cave of the Moirai so soon. You’d barely stepped off Charon’s boat and your first destination was—”

  “What’s so bad about openly questioning the Fates, I thought? Especially when you’ve been as fucked by them as I have? But thankfully, they confirmed what I’ve always known to be true.” Hades lifted the small neck of the amphoriskos once more to his lips. “That I’ve been cursed by them since the moment of my conception.”

  “A curse for one is a winnowing for another. You should ask my elder brothers some time about what being abandoned by the Fates truly means. Ask my mother, who tried for numberless aeons to birth a goddess that could rule Chthonia, and whose female children were all born daimones. You at least have a realm to rule.”

  “Is that so?” Hades snorted. “I am the glorified jailer of my father and his minions. I am the host of human souls who will be forbidden to even speak my name in the world above and will ward their homes against my presence now that I’ve been exiled here. And so far, I’ve only found one way to drown out the constant voices of Asphodel and Tartarus that echo in my head night and day… or whatever it is you call it down here. So, stin ygeia mas, Death,” he said, raising the wine aloft in a grim parody of a toast. “Everything I did was for nothing.”

  “So what is your plan? To sit in this cave forever?”

  “Until my wife comes of age and is given to me for my part in the war, yes.” He brought his hand to his temples and shut his eyes against the dim light filtering in. “If she will even have me, once she knows what I know now.”

  “That’s a brilliant idea,” Thanatos said, looking around. “After all, what Queen wouldn’t want to live at the back of a damp cave next to a freezing waterfall, doting on a drunken husband who wallows in his own self pity?”

  Hades threw the half full amphoriskos at Death’s head. Thanatos ducked casually out of its way, and it hurtled by him base over spout. The ceramic shattered against the wall, echoing through the cave and amplifying Hades’s headache. Sickly sweet rivulets of wine ran into the cracks, diluting on the dank floor. He sat up and looked at Thanatos, seeing two of him for a moment. “Have you come here only to taunt me, Son of Nyx? What is it that you want from me?”

  “You must ask yourself that question, Lord Aidoneus,” Thanatos said, folding his arms. “What is it that you want?”

  “I want my forests and stars back. How do you suggest I bring them down here?”

  “Build them,” Thanatos said, looking at his new king’s indignant face. “I don’t say that to mock you, Aidoneus. Bring your stars here; build a palace around them. You hold dominion over everything beneath the earth— not just over the dead— and could use every ounce of what Chthonia can provide to create as much of the world above as you care to.”

  “It won’t be the same. Even less so for her after a lifetime spent in the living world. Why would she ever willingly choose to be here with me in this gray waste?”

  “The price we creatures pay for our immortality is being bound to the will of the Fates. There is no choice in this. For either of you. You drew the lot, but she was born for this. Do you really think, Olympian, that I would have chosen my divine role willingly? I would have much rather been the God of Love— or better yet, the God of Fucking— instead of the God of Death. But here I am; and she will arrive. And you, you are now The Host. The Receiver of Many. Not just of the souls of the dead, but of one day our fated Queen.”

  Aidoneus looked at the ground, mulling over what Thanatos said. “I am not an Olympian any longer.”

  “Then stop acting like one,” Thanatos said quietly. “If you are no longer numbered among the selfish gods above, then prove it. Prepare yourself and prepare this realm to receive She Who Destroys The Light.”

  The Lord of the Underworld drew his knees to his chest and swayed, then nodded, aching as he moved to finally get up.

  “Oh, and one more thing…” Thanatos said with a smirking smile as he turned to leave, “Clean yourself up. You look like the Tyrant.”

  Aidoneus woke up gently, blinking his eyes, his breathing measured. Persephone lay next to him, her head turned away in sleep and her arm cast over the edge of the sheet resting at her waist. He slowly rolled away from her and sat up so as not to disturb her, then opened the curtain, only enough to leave their bed.

  He stood at the foot, gazing at her, her face peaceful in sleep. Her arm curved under one breast, the nipple smooth and full. The thought of gently waking his wife by rasping his tongue against its softness, until it beaded under his ministrations and woke her to his cravings, crossed his mind and stirred him for a moment, then passed. He smiled. There would be forever for that.

  The curtain shut slowly in his hands. He didn’t want the scrape of the rungs or the light from the fire to wake her. He needed to be alone. Though there were no windows in their room, he knew that it was still dark outside. Enough fitful, sleepless nights before his beloved’s arrival had taught him that no matter how well he’d sequestered this room from the motions of day and night in Chthonia, he couldn’t escape the innate knowledge of what time it was in his realm.

  In her realm.

  He contemplated that for a moment. Quietly, he unfolded his himation and pulled it around his waist, tucking one end in before lifting and draping the rest of it over his shoulder. He reached into the basin and pulled his rings out, placing them back on his fingers.

  Theos…

  The whispered voices started almost immediately. This one was from Asphodel.

  I can feel it. I’m ready.

  I know, Hades answered the shade.

  Does that mean it is time for me to leave?

  I am sorry, he said grimly. No one is being born right now. But that will change, I promise. Have patience.

  In silent wisps of enveloping black smoke, he left his room through the ether and appeared in the grove. The tree branches were dark, silhouetted against the torches lining the palace walls and the small braziers burning atop the pillars at the garden gates. H
e could see well enough. Aidon leaned up against one of the trees and opened himself to his subjects in Asphodel, omnisciently listening to them.

  Sotir… Anax… I am ready… Pater… She’s here! Can we speak to her as we speak to you?… Theos… I wish to stay. I am at peace… Theos… Am I here forever?

  Only as long as you need to be, he answered the last voice.

  He turned his thoughts to Tartarus.

  It wasn’t my fault… Anax… I don’t belong here!… Punish me?! You should punish her… It was too tempting. I couldn’t stop myself… Do you know who I am?! Who I was… Sotir, spare me! Have I not suffered enough?!

  You poisoned your father, your uncle and his wife for want of riches, Hades admonished the condemned shade. No, you have not.

  The voices muted when one rose from the din.

  Hades…

  “No,” he said out loud to his father. Kronos only chuckled at this.

  She’s strong; I’ll give her that.

  “More than you can imagine,” he said, his voice a dead calm. He learned how to deal with Kronos a long time ago. There was no sense in regressing because of what he had been shown in Tartarus.

  It will not save her from me.

  “Then I will.”

  You can’t.

  “Know that I will end existence before I allow you to harm her.”

  The voice of Kronos was silent for a moment. His son’s threat wasn’t an empty one. You wouldn’t, Hades. I know you.

  “I am the Receiver of Many,” Aidoneus said calmly. “I am very familiar with death, and I don’t fear the end quite as much as you do, father.”

  She’d never forgive you. The last thought you’ll have before you are extinguished would be the knowledge that she hates you.

  “Considering the choice you gave her,” he said, standing up, “Persephone would understand.”

  Selfish, foolish boy, he said. You know that giving her back to Demeter would end this, yet you won’t even consider it. Not even after you were shown what I will do to both of you when I am free. What manner of husband are you?

  “The destruction in the world above is Deme’s doing. This realm belongs to my wife. It isn’t a matter of me sending her back. And I wouldn’t give her up if it were.”

  You throw the cosmos into peril while you blame each other. No doubt Demeter would say the same of you. Kronos barked a short laugh. What contemptible fools my offspring have proved themselves to be. Petty, hypocritical tyrants. And you, Hades, are their king…

  Then he was silent. No doubt he’d attracted Briareos’s attention by now.

  Aidoneus paced the grove, then leaned back against one of the trees he and his wife had unwittingly created here. Perhaps Hecate would be able to dissuade Demeter.

  It hadn’t always been like this between them. When they were first freed, he had gotten along with Demeter. In the first few years they’d spent developing in Hecate’s shadow, he’d even considered making her his queen once the war was over. The thought of coupling with Demeter had intrigued him back then but only in the most detached of ways— what it might feel like, if he could make it enjoyable for her, how it would change them. Now the memory of musings about congress with her put the taste of rotten fruit in his mouth. He had been protective of Demeter, but had never loved her. Then again, he didn’t love anything back then. Her irrational heart and his methodical shrewdness had slowly driven a wedge between them. And it had made little difference anyway— her heart always belonged to another.

  Zeus. A great ally for him— wily yet charismatic, driven and idealistic, and the target of Demeter’s infatuation from the moment she saw him. Hades eventually grew to resent the fact that although he spent half his time protecting Deme from one thing or another, she would do nothing but sing Zeus’s praises. When they had returned from destroying Kampe the first question she’d asked Aidoneus, though he’d staggered back covered in burns and gashes, was if Zeus was safe and sound. He’d lost his temper at her then and reduced her to a crying mess, castigating her until Hecate intervened and made him apologize. Zeus had waited for Demeter, albeit impatiently. But it was just weeks after he was given a taste of all the sensual delights a woman’s body had to offer that he was pursuing Metis and Themis. Then Hera. Deme wouldn’t hear any of it. She’d tearfully called Aidon a heartless liar. She’d refused to believe him, until it was too late, that her bedmate’s desire for her wasn’t based on love or devotion. On its basest level, it was conquest: once Zeus had her, the thrill of the chase was over. The callousness of his treatment of her had sickened Aidoneus at the time.

  He walked back inside the palace and through the halls, passing the tapestries that showed the three of them— the four of them— by the river so long ago. Maybe he should go above and talk to Deme himself, and try to reason with her. He scoffed at the idea, remembering the countless times she hadn’t listened to him even when they had gotten along. It would be that much worse, now. In taking her daughter, he’d made an enemy of the Harvest Goddess for all time. If she was willing to destroy the world to regain her Kore, nothing he could say to her would matter.

  Perhaps he was selfish to keep Persephone here. But in all his years below, what had he ever asked of the world above? Just her. Only her. He wandered back to the throne room and out to the terrace. The falls did nothing to soothe him. Though it was dark, he could sense the shades arriving in waves on the banks of the Styx. Aidon could hear their cacophony of confused, distraught voices.

  He needed to give Hecate time. She was the only one who could reason with Demeter and make her understand that her daughter had a greater role in this cosmos than making flowers spring out of the earth. Aidoneus turned around and stared up at his chair sitting alone on the olivine dais.

  You would share this realm with me?

  Only if you share it with me.

  Aidoneus smiled and walked back inside. Their roles in each other’s lives swirled and twined around one another, reaching upward, like the serpents in a caduceus. He thought on that for a moment, then stood in front of the dais and raised his right hand. With a light flick of his fingers, his ebony throne moved, lurching out of the grooves its feet had worn into the stone in all his aeons sitting upon it, judging the dead. Once it sat where he wanted it, Aidon lowered his arm back to his side.

  Sweet one, I do not want your place here to be ceremonial or merely as my consort. I want you to rule with me.

  How little he’d known when he’d said that. Aidon closed his eyes and thought about her. The flowers she grew where she slept when he made himself known to her. The crown she wore when he first saw her in daylight. The moment that crown burned away in his hand as they plunged through the earth. Her nervous fingers braiding a garland almost unconsciously as they walked through the Fields of Asphodel for the first time. The fire she called forth from a single bloom in Nysa to open a pathway back to her kingdom.

  Asphodel.

  He knelt down to the ground and pressed his hands firmly to the floor of the throne room. It was cold, but as he focused a warmth seeped into his fingers and palms. The same energy rose through the soles of his feet, prickling his skin, filling his arms and shoulders, his calves and thighs, his loins, his heart. He could hear it beating now, just as he could whenever he communed with his domain.

  A peaceful smile widened on his face as he reached through the essence of everything over which he held dominion. His awareness spread throughout the foundations of the earth from his contact with the stone, touching every part of it. The deep molten fires, circling and winding around each other, solidifying, cracking, churning solid minerals into being. The veins of gold, iron, copper and tin intricately woven throughout the rocks. The calm, cold familiarity of granite and basalt, gneiss and marble. The portraits and treasures of the ancient seas etched and embedded in limestone. The occasional and pleasant surprise of a precious stone or crystalline geode.

  The Iron Queen.

  The ore was pulled out of the earth, its wendi
ng veins draining at his will. Above him on the dais, they appeared molten, then solidified, piece by piece, wrought and woven into a pattern as delicate and strong as she was, its frame and shape of equal height and breadth to his own seat. When he finished, he stood up and studied her throne. It had been millennia since he had added anything to his home this way. This was the piece that completed it— the last thing he would need to create to make this place whole and ready for her: Persephone’s throne.

  Aidoneus pulled at his beard. Hephaestus might have done a better job. But the Blacksmith didn’t know his queen the way he did, he thought with a knowing smile. He rubbed his exposed arm. Gooseflesh prickled his skin. It was cold business reaching through the depths of the earth. He turned and left their throne room, ascending the stairs, eager to curl up against his wife in the warmth of their bed.

  This tale continues in Destroyer of Light.

  Acknowledgements

  This novel, and the one to follow, Destroyer of Light, is the culmination of one of my lifelong goals: to publish a book that people liked. I started posting the first draft of Receiver of Many online for free, every Wednesday at midnight in serial format and the reaction I got from my readers blew me away. They, dare I say, loved it… And supported me through the entire process from its initial debut in Fall of 2012 to the last posted chapter in Fall of 2014. For those who read this for free and bought it anyway, this book is for you.

  I want to thank the folks who patiently took the time to review and provide feedback on each chapter of the first draft, namely, C. Thome and L. Wilder. Next, I want to thank Sophia Kolyva, who was my greatest resource for most of the Greek translations, and helped fix my atrocious Greek grammar. Efharistó polí! And much thanks to fellow authors M. M. Kin, Eris Adderly, Titania Oliver, and several others who provided encouragement and insight.