Destroyer of Light

by Rachel Alexander

  She sat still, her heart racing. It was done. He’d sworn. She’d done the impossible and made the King bend. Her daughter would be freed. She would see her again, and deliver her out of the hands of her cruel abductor. Demeter was no fool. She knew that Aidoneus had deflowered and defiled Kore. Her daughter had been raped; she was Persephone now, no longer a maiden. But Demeter had succeeded. All the suffering, all the sadness and waste and ruin had meaning. Her daughter was coming back from the Land of the Dead.

  “But…” he said, swallowing. “No matter how you decide, you will let go of your terrible wrath against the mortals! And against the gods who rely upon them. Are we agreed?”

  Her breath caught in her throat, disbelieving that she had just heard such joyous news. “We are agreed.”

  He opened his mouth to continue, and Demeter interrupted him.

  “But…” she said, trying to keep a gleeful smile from twisting her features, “my end will only be upheld once you fulfill your promises, Zeus. Not a moment sooner. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Then I will listen.”

  “Demeter…” he started quietly. “Do you want to retain your title as Queen of the Earth?”

  “If you mean to take it away from me—”

  “I do,” he said. “In a manner of speaking…”

  “What manner would that be?” she rasped.

  “By giving you one greater.”

  Demeter felt ice pour down her spine. “You surely don’t mean…”

  “You are the earth, Demeter, and I am the sky. When and where I am the sky, then and there you are the e—”

  “Do not repeat those vows to me! You used them to lie to me and seduce me, and you fouled those words just weeks after we said them! Those words were meant to be sacred— to bind us to each other forever as male and female, but—”

  “What if they still do?”

  “You actions alone prove—”

  “Demeter, hear me. You said you would,” he rumbled, raising his voice ever so slightly. When she stilled, he continued. “What if those words still hold true? What if I made them hold true?”

  “And by doing so you would undo everything between then and now? Divorce your wife? Have her children declared bastards as my child was deemed a bastard by her?” Her lip curled up. “I have a feeling the Goddess of Marriage might take grave offense at this.”

  “I will deal with Hera myself. She is the goddess of nothing without me.”

  Demeter widened her eyes and turned away from him.

  “But you,” he murmured, his voice warm and soothing. Zeus carefully moved next to her on the bench. “You are so very much a goddess in your own right.”

  She flinched and stiffened at his closeness but didn’t back away or face him just yet. He caressed one of the tresses falling from her diadem and brought it up to his nose, inhaling. She could feel his thigh pressing against the outside of hers and her heart tapped a rapid staccato.

  “You are the bringer of life. You’ve shown me how much power that holds. How much power you hold…”

  “That you would then take from me?” she said, her voice far smaller than she’d hoped it would be.

  “No. That is power that I would exalt and venerate and glorify. You and I were meant to be, Demeter. Like Gaia and Ouranos before us.”

  “On Olympus…” she breathed.

  “Yes. In the palace they built to bridge the heavens and the earth. Fitting for us, isn’t it, my heart?” He whispered next to her ear. “My wife?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. Her pulse drummed so fast it made her lightheaded.

  “Our daughter,” he said with the lightest of kisses on her shoulder, “will be my acknowledged firstborn. She will be made legitimate…”

  Demeter closed her eyes as his lips touched her skin and shivered. How many aeons had she waited for this? His touch was electric, his scent like approaching rain. How easily he seduced…

  …How likely he was to do it again. She thought about Triptolemus, his pure love for her, his devotion, his soul bound to hers since he met her aeons ago as Iasion. Zeus had killed Iasion.

  Her anger boiled under her skin, undetected by Zeus. She thought about stone-faced Hera, witness to thousands of indiscretions and bastard children. The shame and the embarrassment of knowing that three of those same children, conceived in other women’s beds, and that crude seductress from the East who claimed she was descended from Ouranos, had been elevated to sit side-by-side with the Children of Kronos. She remembered Aidoneus warning her about Zeus, long ago. Demeter had felt like a fool when he’d been proven right. Never again.

  She clenched her jaw and coiled, ready to strike. “What if Hera objects or rebels?”

  “Metis met an… unfortunate end. Hera would be wise to avoid that fate.”

  Zeus stroked her arm and her stomach turned, remembering the nebbish gray-eyed Titaness. She felt sick. To whom else would he make this promise in the endless years to come? If he were willing to go to such lengths with Hera, would she too meet the same fate when Zeus needed to bargain with another goddess?

  “What say you, my heart?”

  “You would have me trade places with Hera?” Her voice was low and sultry like warm, dark earth.

  “Yes.”

  “I would be your queen.”

  “You would, my heart.”

  “My throne would sit with yours on Olympus…”

  “Yes, Deme.”

  “…from where I can watch you fornicate with every goddess, nymph and mortal from here until aeon’s end?”

  His eyes grew steely and he backed away from her. His jaw set tight when he saw her turn toward him and lift her chin triumphantly. He grimaced. “If this is a bid to keep that— your lover, I’ll let you. Though you have no idea how much I compromise to do so… But fair is fair. Poseidon has his own arrangement with Amphitrite, after all.”

  “It has nothing to do with Triptolemus.”

  He ground his teeth impatiently. “Then what?”

  “Not long ago, you said to me that I wouldn’t want you for a husband as you are now.”

  “Deme, my heart, I can amend my—”

  “Don’t insult me! You might be able to crawl back to the bed of that cow over and over with your empty capitulations, but don’t think for a moment they would work on me!”

  “You know what I am, Demeter! I am offering you everything. You would be Queen of Heaven for Fate’s sake! You would have my protection, my fealty, my willingness to put you above all others, you would have my love…”

  “You don’t have the capacity to love,” she spat out.

  “And you know that’s a lie! We loved each other once.”

  Demeter stilled for a moment, her eyes shining like cool jade. She nodded. “We did. You’re right, Zeus. There is one thing, however, that would make it impossible for me to accept your offer…”

  “What is that?”

  “I love my daughter more than I ever loved you.”

  Zeus felt everything sink. She was going to say no before he even started speaking. He’d walked into her trap and made an oath. The oath.

  “Annul the marriage.”

  “Demeter—”

  “You swore.”

  He was caught between one Stygian oath and another. The end of all things sat in one hand, the breaking of the oldest sacred agreement among the gods in the other. And worse— if Aidoneus had grown as attached to his bride as everyone said he had become, if he would do anything to keep her, it could mean the end of all things by ways he dared not consider. If Demeter had withdrawn all fertility from the earth and killed scores of thousands to reclaim Persephone, what unspeakable things could the Lord of the Dead do to humanity?

  The winds outside rattled the Telesterion, an icy draft permeating the room and wrapping itself around the back of his ankles. Zeus cast his eyes down and slumped his shoulders in utter defeat. “I’ll send Hermes.”

  ***

  Aid
oneus curled against her, his breathing steady against her neck. Persephone had never felt him sleep so heavily— as though he’d never slept before. She wondered if he truly had. Though the noises from Tartarus had faded into the background of his perception over time, they must have always been there, bleeding through the edges of his consciousness. And before that, the war. And before that, Kronos. His arm was heavy, cast over her in the same place it had fallen after the last of several couplings, his hand splayed against her stomach. She smiled. Her hip was still tender. Aidon had taken her in the same position they lay in now, hoisting her knee with his forearm, his hands free to roam across the front of her.

  Most of her was tender, truthfully. That wasn’t the only way they’d had each other. Each position they’d settled themselves into was familiar yet completely new, changed forever by their heightened connection, their bodies and spirits bound together. The rings sat heavy on her hand, the same sigil of responsibility her husband had borne all the aeons of his rule. She drew her palm down her abdomen until it settled over his hand, and listened to the voices of Asphodel.

  Metra… Soteira… Annessa…

  Her titles. Could they tell that she was awake and he was not? The words were infrequent, and if she just listened to the syllables, they almost sounded like crickets chirping at night. They relaxed her in an odd way, and she started to pick out a few individual sentences within the din.

  Thea, we’re so happy you’re here, so glad you hear us now…

  Annessa, I’m ready to drink from the Lethe. I’m prepared to return…

  Metra, please. Please watch over my husband, Ioannis…

  She held her breath at the last one. That voice came from the Trivium— a shade who had not yet been judged… who hadn’t drank from the Lethe. Once it knew its voice had been heard it started again in earnest.

  Metra! Metra, please! Our infant was too young for me to leave! Ioannis cannot feed him! Send me back, I beg of you…

  It grew panicked and then other voices joined it.

  Annessa, my children. I’m already gone but spare my children. Please!…

  Soteira, my brothers— they starve; they have the fever. End their suffering as you ended mine…

  Persephone felt her throat close and gasped for air. The voices grew frantic when they discovered she could hear them.

  Save me! Save me, Soteira! I don’t want to be dead! I was to be married next month!…

  Thea, I loved them truly, but they were all that was left to eat. They were already dead, I swear! Do not send me to Tartarus! Please…

  Annessa, why? Why? Why am I gone while my neighbor who stole my pigs was spared?! Punish him! Punish him!

  She choked, her breathing rapid without really drawing in any air, her body cold and shaking. A hand gripped hers firmly and she yelped in surprise before realizing it was Aidoneus, awake and angered.

  Silence! His voice resounded above the fray. They did as he bid and stilled. Hades spoke to the newly arrived shades calmly, countless millennia of experience lending weight to his words. Peace— all of you. Let go of the lives you led. They are ended. You will drink from the Lethe and be freed of your burdens soon enough. Until then, have respect for your queen and be silent!

  She trembled and he wrapped an arm around her. A few voices started again— the peaceful crickets of Asphodel.

  Thea… Annessa… Soteira…

  “Persephone.” His strong arm rolled her over to face him, his face etched with worry. “My love, are you alright?”

  Air finally entered her lungs again, and exited as a cracked sob. She looked away from him, not wanting to show weakness. He’d heard these voices for so very long, and she’d folded after mere moments. “There were so many…”

  “Sweet one, I’m so sorry.” He drew her close, holding her, and tucked the blankets tightly around them to secure and comfort her, letting their warmth surround each other, until her tears stopped and her breathing returned to normal.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Aidoneus,” she said quietly.

  “Because I must. They’re the responsibility the Fates gave me.”

  “Our responsibility.”

  He stroked her hair. “I shouldn’t have burdened you with this…”

  “It’s not a matter of burdening me. These are our subjects.”

  “We’ve never received so many guests at once. It was too much—”

  “This is why I must go tomorrow.” She felt him wilt, their debate settled, knowing once and for all that she was right. “Aidon—”

  “I know.” He held her tighter. “I know.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. It could only be a matter of hours—”

  “Or days,” he muttered.

  “I don’t know that. I can’t tell you for certain.”

  “I know, sweet one,” he said, and cradled her until she was resting her head against his arm. “Let’s not keep you up, then. You have a long journey tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it, Aidoneus.” She nestled into him and sighed. “I love you.”

  “And I you. Just rest, my love. I’m right here. I’ll always be here.”

  He rubbed her back with his free hand until he heard her breathing lightly, steadily, then closed his eyes and joined her in sleep and dreams.

  The fruit hung heavy on the branches, the seeds now grown. Ripe. The offspring of the ones that had taken root in gray earth and grown life in the land of the dead. They sat poised, crammed together, ready to fulfill whatever destiny the Fates decreed. The arils pointed every which way, row upon row, each path different, each outcome the same. Why they were there, they knew not; they needed to know. Eagerly and desperately, they called out, saying: ‘Come to us! Come and see what you brought forth. Come and see…

  …before it is too late.’

  6.

  We forgot to shut the door last night. It was the first thought to enter Persephone’s mind when she awoke. She could see the wan light of the Styx from behind her closed eyelids. The gentle and distant rush of the falls, mingling with the steady breathing of her husband, almost lulled her back to sleep.

  The bed felt so much harder this morning. Her body was stiff, the sheets damp and cool beneath her, and her head was pillowed against his arm. She sighed, savoring the pleasantly aching after effects and still-vivid memories of the sensual delights they’d shared the night before. The bedclothes tickled her skin as she leaned into her beloved’s side, luxuriating in the warmth of his body and his earthy scent.

  Cool air nipped at her, causing gooseflesh to rise from her ankles to her neck. Strange. We must have kicked the covers off, too, she realized. The fire usually made up for that, but it was easily remedied. Her hand reached for the sheets…

  …and closed around a clump of grass. Persephone’s eyes popped open and she jerked upright. Aidoneus let out an annoyed groan and yanked her down, pulling her back against his chest. “Too early…”

  Persephone began to push herself up again and he muttered what might have been a ‘no’. Aidon enclosed her within his arms, this time nestling behind her. She cleared her throat nervously. “But, my love…”

  “Mmm…” He sighed and gave her a slight nudge against her bottom. At least one part of him was awake.

  “Ah, Aidon? We—”

  “Wife, it’s early. Just stay in bed with me until I can wake you up properly,” he mumbled and heatedly pressed against her once more.

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you; we’re not in bed!”

  Aidoneus cracked his eyes open. Gently releasing her, he sat up and looked around. The surrounding trees came into focus, their drooping boughs dangling overhead and heavy with ripe pomegranates. “Persephone… Did you…”

  “…bring us here?” She hugged her knees to her chest to cover herself. “No, I-I don’t think so. We did dream about them again.”

  “I know,” he answered, “but that’s… never taken us here before.”

  “Maybe last
night was special,” she said with a shy smile. He returned it and ran his thumb under her chin.

  “Very,” Aidon said brushing his lips against hers. He nipped at her lower lip to coax them open, then darted his tongue across her teeth. His hand wrapped around her ankles to unbend her legs, trying to get her to lie back down beside him.

  “We’re in the garden, my love,” she warned, whispering against his lips.

  “Indeed.” He pulled away. “And?”

  The corners of Persephone’s mouth ticked up despite her concern about their exposed situation. She turned a charming red, almost matching the fruits above them. Aidon pounced and caught her at her waist. He drew her down next to him so quickly that it left her breathless, then planted his hand in the grass beside her shoulder before looming over her.

  It’s plain on your face but I’ll ask anyway, he said to her with a thought, a fire deep in his eyes. Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking? He kissed her slowly on the lips. Do you desire what I also desire?

  Aidoneus, she began, tracing a single fingernail down his chest, are you trying to make this my idea instead of yours? Answer that for me, husband, she teased.

  He drew in a breath and covered her body with his, pressing her into the earth. She realized belatedly that he meant to show her, not tell her.

  “Wait!” she said out loud. “Aidon, we can’t—”

  “Before you protest, let’s consider this,” he said quickly and held up his thumb. “First, this is our garden. Second, I am almost certain Askalaphos already saw us sleeping here, and likely took off in the opposite direction as fast as his fat little legs could carry him!”