Demeter’s face reddened and twisted in hopelessness. She burst into tears and turned to Zeus. “My lord, surely six paltry seeds isn’t enough to bind my poor daughter to the Underworld! How could so few—”
“If she ate one seed or ate a thousand, it would make no difference!” Hades yelled, bearing down on Demeter. “She ate the fruit of the Underworld and is thereby bound to it for all eternity. Persephone is mine!”
Demeter faced him placing her hands on her hips, lifting her chin. “You see? Now your true nature comes out, Aidon. Nothing has changed about you in all these aeons. Observe, daughter, your ravisher’s eternal selfishness!”
“Selfishness?!” Aidon fumed. “This from you, Deme, who kept my wife a powerless child for all the aeons of her existence, denying her everything and teaching her nothing! If you had mentioned anything about her destined role in the cosmos then it would have ignited her beautiful curiosity. You couldn’t have kept your stranglehold on her!”
“You have no place and no right to tell me how to raise a child! What would you know about having children anyway?”
“You held no more knowledge than him upon your daughter’s birth,” Hecate scoffed quietly.
Aidoneus looked at the hand that had been holding his wife’s a moment before and saw traces of blood on his palm. Persephone’s blood. His gaze flew to hers, alarmed. What is this? What have they done to you?
Nothing, she replied. Persephone flushed with embarrassment. It’s… moon blood.
He stared at her confused for a moment before it dawned on him. In the living world women’s fertility came and went each month, following the changes of the moon. Aidoneus lowered his gaze, upset at his ignorance, and stroked her back. Are you alright?
Persephone thought about the stopping of her cycle, and how gladdened she was at the prospect of carrying his child, only to find out that it wasn’t to be. She thought about Hecate’s words in the boat, how Persephone was carrying those seeds to the world above. She realized then what the Goddess of the Crossroads meant. Any union with Aidon in the world below couldn't produce children. Instead, it had become the genesis of spring. Yes, she lied, fighting back tears. I’m fine.
“…And given the evidence of Persephone’s rearing,” the Goddess of the Crossroads continued, “I would say you know less still.”
“You stay out of this!” Demeter hissed at Hecate. “You did everything you could to control my every action and desire, to run every single aspect of my life—”
“Well, at least you retained something that Hecate taught you,” Aidon interrupted. “Gods know how little else—”
“Enough!” Demeter scowled at the Messenger, who was leaning against the chariot, scratching idly at a golden wheel. “Hermes, how could you let her out of your sight?!”
“My lady, this is hardly my fault—”
“Like blazing Tartarus it isn’t! How hard was it, Messenger? Go get her and bring her back and yet you couldn’t manage even that!”
“You weren’t there Demeter! I— Have you seen Charon— Look, I didn’t want to—”
Hecate interrupted him. “I think this has gone far enough—”
“Don’t you tell me what I can and cannot say about—”
“Nothing you have to say at this point matters, Deme. What’s done is—”
“Selfish, lying—”
“—couldn’t possibly understand—”
“—meddling witch!”
“—my lady, if you would just—”
“You mind your own—”
Persephone listened to her husband and mother, Hermes and Hecate descend into yelling overtop of one another, their voices clashing against each other in an endless cacophony. This was going nowhere. She felt another cramp contract her womb and winced again. The mortals were still unfed and dying, and more would die unless she began healing the earth. Zeus remained silent, observing the fight. He glared coldly at Persephone as she made her way over to him.
“A fine mess you’ve made,” he said quietly, his arms folded across his chest, “Daughter.”
“The mess is not of my making.” Persephone took a deep breath. “And I have a solution, if you would hear it.”
“You do realize that even I am not powerful enough to undo what you did?”
Of that I have no doubt, she thought. “Yes.”
“That the Underworld itself will take you even if you try to stay here?”
“But not permanently,” she looked up at him, “Father.”
“No,” he said. “Not permanently. With the number of seeds you ate, it could only claim you for a part of the year. Which will enrage your dear husband, to be sure.”
“I will explain this to Aidoneus in my own time. He will come to understand the value in what I’ll propose to you now.”
“Go on…” he said quietly, listening to the rise and fall of the others’ voices and watching their manic debate: Hecate imperiously lifting her chin as she hissed at Demeter, Demeter pointing her finger at Hades, Aidoneus snarling another threat, Hermes trying to mediate, then shrugging and defending himself against their combined wrath.
“I know the plants. I’ve known them for aeons. Six months is long enough for the mortals to grow and harvest the fruits, olives, wheat, and barley that can feed them and their livestock for a year. I ate six seeds, Lord Zeus, and there are twelve months in the year.”
“I’m listening…”
“What if I stayed in the Underworld for half the year… one month for each seed? The mortals can plant all their crops on my return, and I will remain above for the tilling and sowing, the planting and the harvest, to make sure my mother doesn’t thrust the world back into famine. Then once the last harvest is over I will take my place at my husband’s side. My time would be divided evenly.”
He observed her and a smile played with the corner of his mouth. “You love him, do you?”
“Yes,” she said. “I love Aidoneus with all my heart.”
“And yet you would sacrifice half your life, your endless years with him for the sake of the mortals?”
“I would.”
“Hmm,” he grunted, contemplating her words and stroking his fingers through his beard.
“Your grace?” She waited until he turned to her. “This must be your idea.”
“Oh?”
“Look at them. My mother will not listen to me. My husband will, but you are his king. I know he’s angry, but this will mean more coming from you. He would only try to plead with me to stay with him forever, and I don’t know if I could bear that right now. I know the mortals certainly cannot.”
“Well, my firstborn daughter…” He snorted and shook his head. “Would that you had been born a male. You would have made a just ruler.”
“I am the Queen of the Underworld.” She stood tall and unflinching, despite his earlier words to the contrary.
“So you are,” he conceded with a nod. “And now the Goddess of Spring, no doubt. But I meant as heir to Olympus. All I have is a cowardly, bravado-drunk boy to inherit the skies. And another girl child, and more bastards than I can count.”
“I love my lot— my husband’s lot, I mean. You will pardon my saying so, but I have no interest in ruling over the immortals,” she said cautiously, indicating the throng of arguing gods.
Zeus chuckled low. “Oftentimes, neither do I.”
Persephone gave him a thin smile. “Should I withdraw and let you gain their attention?”
He cocked his head at her. “We must have you at Olympus some time. There is much you could teach my other children about what it means to be one of the deathless ones.”
“Thank you, your grace,” Persephone said, with a reverent nod. She took a few steps back and stood off from the group, unnoticed amidst their quarrelling. The shadows were growing long. She was exhausted. Overhead, the sky quickly darkened with clouds, and branches of lightning lit them from underneath. Loud thunder rolled across the bay beyond Eleusis.
“Silence
, all of you!” Zeus yelled once he had their attention. A light, warm rain started to fall, further melting the remaining drifts of snow. Hermes threw his chlamys over his shoulders and Demeter raised her veil over her hair. The rain pasted Aidon’s loose curls to his forehead and drops beaded on the wilder ones. The rain didn’t touch Hecate.
Demeter and Aidoneus turned to Zeus, who clapped a hand on Persephone’s shoulder. “I have come to a decision.”
Hecate looked at Persephone with a knowing smile on her face.
“Since she ate only six seeds, Persephone is to spend six months in the Underworld with her lord husband and six months renewing the earth with her mother, Demeter.”
Aidon’s eyes widened in shock and hurt, then he seethed with anger. He opened his mouth to protest, but Demeter spoke before he could.
“Unacceptable!” she yelled. “You expect me to willingly send my daughter to be defiled in the grave half of every year?!”
“This is a compromise you must make, Demeter! By right, Aidoneus should be allowed to take Persephone back for all time,” he fibbed. “Count yourself fortunate that I give you even this.”
“Indeed,” Aidoneus said darkly. “And pray tell, why is it that she cannot return with me to our world when she is bound there by forces even more powerful than you, young one?”
“Because—”
“I refuse to accept this!” Demeter hissed, interrupting Zeus. “How can you continue to do this to us?”
“Persephone has no choice now. She willingly ate the fruit of the Underworld and must return there,” Zeus said, growing annoyed at both of them. “But because you have devastated the earth Demeter, she will spend her first half year in the sunlit world protecting it and helping it flourish.”
“This is not what you swore to me, Zeus,” Demeter said. “As I said before, I will only relent if you keep your end of our bargain.”
The gentle rain falling on them turned cold and slowed becoming sticky clumps of snowflakes.
“And kill us all, you silly sow?” Aidon bellowed at her.
“If that will end your ravishment and trickery of my daughter—”
“Then so be it, Mother.”
All assembled looked at Persephone, shocked into silence. It was then that Aidoneus knew that Zeus hadn’t arranged this deal— Persephone had. But why would she insist on spending half a year apart from him?
“If you cannot agree to this and are intent on ending the world, then you leave me with no choice but to spend the short time we all have left with my husband.” She pointedly walked over to Aidoneus and stood next to him, resting her hand in the crook of his elbow.
He drew his cloak over her shoulder, covering her with his himation to hold her close and shield her from the cold. You are playing a dangerous game, sweet one, he said to her.
Trust me, she answered silently. “If this is your decision, Mother, then know that this will be the last you ever see of me.”
Demeter’s eyes grew glassy and her shoulders sunk. She lowered her face into her hands. As she started to cry, the snow melted back into a warm shower. The setting sun poked its way out from under the cloud cover and through the rain, and Iris’s rainbow flooded the valley, shining in the golden fading sunlight. It was the first time Aidon had ever seen such a thing.
“Hold me a moment?” she said to her stunned husband.
“Of-of course.” Aidon gathered her deeper within his himation, and she settled against him, letting herself be supported by his arms. His scent was comforting, his warmth a refuge from the chilly air, his heartbeat a soothing calm in the wake of the storm of angry voices. She nuzzled against his chest and squeezed him, smiling contentedly when he responded in kind.
Her mother’s increasingly vocal sobs broke her reverie. Persephone unwrapped herself from her husband’s warm embrace and kissed him on the cheek. Demeter had sunk to her knees and was sobbing uncontrollably. She has lost her war, and she believes she has lost me, Persephone thought.
She looked around the valley. And we have almost lost the mortals. The land was a patchwork of new life and lingering snow. It would take too long to grow the first crop, and if the mortals died in the meantime her sacrifice would be for naught. The seeds of this world will bloom in the world above, Hecate had told her.
Persephone stretched her hand out toward Eleusis and all of Peloponnesus across the bay. She closed her eyes.
Grow.
The Goddess of Spring gripped her husband’s hand. He shut his eyes and felt the energy of the earth spread through him and surge into her. He thought of Nysa, when he had taught her how to travel through the ether. His knees began to buckle, and he braced himself against the ground, felt Persephone pulling at him, not with her hand but with her spirit, sapping his essence as she called up more energy from the depths. The power coursing through him made him dizzy, euphoric. When the rush subsided to a trickle, he slowly opened his eyes.
Aidon’s jaw fell open. Before them on the hills and plain, bushels of asphodel sprouted up through the muddy ground, white and gray flowers opening in such numbers that they covered the land like a blanket of snow. Persephone collapsed into his side, breathing hard. Aidoneus caught her and steadied her on her feet.
“Sweet one?”
Demeter stared at her daughter and out at the endless ghostly flowers dotting the plain. “Asphodel. Of all the things in this world you could have grown, Kore…” She glared at Aidoneus. “Do you taunt me?”
“It is a simple meal for the mortals, Mother. The roots will fill their bellies. Along with Poseidon’s bounty, they can survive until you and I can regrow the grain.”
“We…”
“Yes,” she said, standing upright again with Aidon’s help. She walked to Demeter. Persephone smiled kindly, then embraced her again in a tight hug. “Mother, I love you. Even after all that has transpired. Can we please make the best of the next six months?”
Demeter brought her arms around her daughter, stunned and conflicted. She was angry, so very angry that Kore would have to return to the land of the dead, and would do so for all time. But, Kore’s selflessness and resourcefulness in providing for the mortals filled Demeter with pride. She ended their embrace with a squeeze, and sighed. "We will.”
She set her jaw firmly and released her daughter. Demeter trampled through the mud to stand between Zeus and Aidoneus.
“I accept the agreement. But I warn you both,” she said, swinging her finger from Zeus to Hades. “She spends half the year above and half… below. Not one day longer. And to remind you of our bargain, Zeus, the crops will wither in her absence.” She stared at Hades and slitted her eyes. “And may the Fates have mercy upon you if she is late by even a day, Aidon.”
Demeter strode back toward Persephone, intent on escorting her to the Telesterion.
“I have not yet agreed to this… compromise,” Aidoneus ground out. Demeter stopped in her tracks.
Hecate blanched and took a step toward him. “Aidon, please…”
“No? I expected more reason from you,” the King of the Gods replied.
“More reason?” He loomed toward Zeus. “You expect me to accept living half a life? To condemn my wife and myself to a perpetual cycle of yearning and dread every time she comes and goes?”
Persephone stood stock-still and reached out to him. Aidon, my love, please…
Why didn’t you tell me?
“It is no less than I’m giving Demeter,” Zeus offered.
“Persephone is my wife!”
“She is my daughter, yet I have made peace with it,” Demeter chimed in with a smirk.
“Like Tartarus you have, Deme.”
“Aidoneus—”
“No!” He shot at Zeus. “You broke your oath to me! Now you try to amend that with this foul arrangement that robs me of my bride for half my life? I will not act on it— yet— but this is still a breach of our original, peaceful terms.”
Zeus leaned in and spoke low, out of earshot of Demeter. “I h
ave been forced to cede enough power thanks to her. I will never regain those she brought into the Eleusinian Mysteries. And I am well and truly tired of this matter and wish for things to return to what they once were, Aidoneus. So do not tempt me to reveal exactly how long those seeds truly bind your wife to your side. Think carefully before you cause further upset.”
Aidoneus gritted his teeth and spun away from Zeus, knowing full well that his claim over Persephone would be reduced to a few months if he pressed. Persephone knew it too. She left her mother’s side and strode over to him, taking his hand in hers. He gazed down at her, his face a mask. Even so, Persephone could feel his pain. He pointed at Zeus. “With all I’ve done for you and yours since the war, you know full well that you owe me more than this.”
“So be it,” Zeus folded his arms and glared at Aidoneus. “If this agreement is so distasteful to you, then I shall swear a new oath.”
Hecate’s face fell.
“Swear it, oathbreaker,” Hades snarled.
“You are firstborn of your generation and Persephone is firstborn of hers.” He paused and his lip twisted into a sneer. “I, Zeus Cronides Olympios, swear on the river Styx that if your union produces a son, he will inherit the Heavens and the throne of Olympus as my heir.”
Persephone broke into a broad smile and her eyes went wide with delight. She took no notice of the pain and anger twisting her husband’s features. Aidon quickly disciplined his expression, not wanting to give Zeus the satisfaction. The oath was pushed from his mind utterly when Persephone ran to him for a last embrace.
He closed his lips over hers and lifted her up on the tips of her toes to bring her closer to him. She slipped in the mud and as he tried to steady them, they crashed to their knees. Persephone giggled, and Aidon smiled against her lips, ignoring the wet earth seeping through his clothes. Propriety be damned— it would be six months before he could hold her again. In this moment, the rest of the assembled gods didn’t exist, as far as he was concerned.
Demeter watched them with a mix of disgust and anger. She opened her mouth to speak, but Zeus put his hand on her shoulder. She began to wrest herself away from him, but he tightened his grip.
Destroyer of Light Page 22
