The Queen of Flowers and Roots

by Io

  The black cloak had fallen on my shoulders. I clutched it to me, like the last time Hades had offered it to me. Despite having protected us from the rain until a few moments before, it was dry and warm. It was the darkness that had always protected me, it was the darkness where anything can happen, because it is in the dark that the roots go deeply, so that the flower can emerge into the light.

  I never allowed the Olympus to ruin this miracle.

  “Mother,” I said, “I have to go.”

  I rummaged in the basket, looking for what I had glimpsed earlier. On the top of the torch a rag was already wrapped. It had not been soaked with oil, so as not to sully the contents of the basket, but it was enough for me to touch it to make it blaze. In the rain, the heat did not waver, did not die: the drops evaporated with a hiss, on contact with the heat that was not that of Hestia.

  “Persephone!”

  “Please, mother. You know I have to.” You know I want to.

  “The last time you left you gave your

  heart to the god of the dead. What will happen next?” How to explain that there was no need to explain. I looked for the ear of wheat in my hair, I took it and I looked at it as if

  I had never seen one before. It was not so obvious, but I looked with that kind of interest, because I knew it would be the last I would see, for who knows how long. Perhaps for eternity.

  I handed it to my mother.

  “It will happen,” I replied, “I will return as mistress of all the rest.”

  She looked at me, Mother Earth. She had overturned the sod up to the underworld, had come to save me in the Underworld, and there were no safer hands under the sky of Zeus to entrust my daughter.

  That the Allfather thought to be superior to all, up there at the top of Olympus with the thunderbolts he used to gain respect from the mortals, and she thought that no one will disillusion him, ever. But here, where they grow flowers without which there can be no fruit, Demeter was in charge. Demeter and Persephone and Kore, in the shadow of death that keeps them alive.

  Hecate. And Hecate took the ear from my hand. As soon as she touched it, the gold of ripe wheat became

  the pure gold of the subsoil, glittering like the engravings on a sword. The cry of the astonished nymphs was in contrast to my mother’s calm voice as she pinned it to her breast,

  “It’s time to take back what is ours, you’re right. Go, Persephone.”

  We exchanged a final glance of understanding, all three.

  Then I pulled the edge of the cloak, it closed over me like a blanket, isolating me in the darkness and scent of magnolia. The sound of the rain was as far away as the other side of the world.

  The flame lit up the tiny space, without setting light to Hades’ cloak, without even risking it: although I found myself enveloped, the black all around was relentless and endless.

  “Good.” I said, and I stood in the complete darkness that can lead anywhere, that no god can stop. It is called bewitchment, and that’s what mortals evoke, when they want to act without having the gods mess up their business, but they only offer them their power.

  In the light of Hecate’s torch, which lit my crocus-colored robe with orange reflections, I started walking.

  Nothing to do with Olympus

  At the crossroads, a rough Y of dirt in the grass, there was the statue that had been placed by mortals to protect wayfarers.

  The statue had three faces, watching the three arms that crossed. Time had eroded its features, and only the shadows of the orbits remained, the shape of the nose, and the crack of the lips, where moss flourished. The figure, clutching a snake with one hand, with an open bodice over the breast, had been there all along. The memory of the cult that had carved it had long been lost. She watched, but no one wondered for what.

  At the center of the crossroads, watched by all three faces of the statue, the man crackled with pale blue lightning.

  The ground around it was black and burned. Through a break in the dark clouds, the sun formed a golden column, over him where the rain did not enter. His stature combined with the physical perfection, the golden thread that edged the chiton, the heaviness of the opulent mantle resting on one shoulder, left no doubt about his identity.

  The branches of the poplar grove rustled, moved away like drapes. Without following the path, passing over the grass that does not yellow, Hades reached the crossroads.

  “Zeus,” he began, taking off his helmet, “you can spare me this storm, I imagine.”

  “Brother! Come closer.”

  Instead, Hades stopped at the edge of the burned area, close enough to touch the golden light column, but without doing so. It was raining on his hair and on his armor, it ran down his face and left his short black beard in dripping clumps, but the god seemed not to notice either.

  “Oh, for the Furies!”

  The clouds parted above Hades, and the sunlight made the god of the Underworld squint.

  “So intense,” he said, “more indiscreet than a servant who does not know his place. How can you tolerate it?”

  “Always so full of life, my older brother. Come, Hades. Get away from that filth.” He pointed to the ancient statue with his thumb. “Mortals are morbid, in their need to invent horrific gods.”

  “Mortals invent gods,” murmured Hades, “and the gods reign over mortals. You may as well try to understand if it was created before Order or Chaos, I suppose.”

  In the light of the torch, I walked into the darkness. Under my bare feet it felt warm as silk, dusty, and the air I breathed seemed like pure water: odorless, tasteless, completely neutral.

  Of all the crossroads I’ve passed, none were my destination. I could only hope to get there in time.

  “I’m not here to discuss the superstitions of mortals,” Zeus said, “but to re-establish the Olympic Order, as is my duty. This madness has subsided, then?”

  “Demeter has accepted the compromise.”

  Zeus raised a satisfied smile, he made golden highlights sparkle in his brown beard.

  “So, it remains only to determine Persephone’s punishment, for having rebelled against the Heavenly Father.”

  Hades did not move a muscle of his face. Had it not been for the movement of his lips, you would have believed he was a statue, when he said:

  “I’m here for this. I held my hand and gave up just vengeance toward the wickedness that your offspring continues to show me, but I am extremely disappointed by the arrogance of your sons, Zeus.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Snapped the Heavenly Father, and thunder roared in his voice, they modeled themselves on it, making a roar that filled the sky.

  “I’m talking about Heracles. Your favorite son broke into my kingdom, freed the cursed, raided my cattle, and didn’t pay,

  he has committed the most unpardonable of all ungodliness. I’m talking about hubris.”

  He had unfastened the buckles of his armor as he spoke, and below it, the tunic was still open; the laceration, unmistakable.

  Zeus winced visibly. Lightning snaked through the clouds to crash on the statue of the triple goddess. The world became blinding white, crackled and flared up, water vapor rose to heaven to the sky before it touched the ground. When the rain returned, the statue was smoking, the shape of the lightening had clearly outlined the uncovered breasts, like a tunic, the three faces were cleaned of lichens, they shone with water. The stone snakes lay in the mud, reduced to crumbs.

  Zeus cursed himself and his consort.

  “Why didn’t you go to the Olympus to let Panacea heal you, or Peano?”

  Hades went back to closing the armor on his body.

  “I had a daughter to recognize. If because of your bastard had rendered Kore as such, the damnation of Heracles would have at least doubled.”

  “Damnation, I hope you are joking!”

  “As I told you, I don’t understand jokes. You don’t expect to allow such a person to have access to the Elysian fields, brother. Just because he’
s your child, it does not mean that he can act like a god when he is not.”

  “Heracles accomplished his labors just to cleanse a crime of which, moreover, he was innocent!”

  “Aside from those killed because he could not control his enormous strength, and if mortals are not permitted, you should ask yourself why, instead of making him milk Hera’s betrayal to hand it back to her, know that the Tartarus is full of wife killers. And I must add that, since Persephone governs my side, infanticide is punished with particular severity. Women have particular ideas about these issues.”

  “Would you let Persephone judge her brother?”

  Hades just smiled that smile that ended life with eternal damnation.

  Zeus’ forehead became a storm: “If Heracles will end up in Tartarus, Hera will pay, who cursed him with madness...”

  “Of course, the blame is only on Hera.”

  “... And Persephone, when she must spend her months under my sky. Do not challenge me, Hades.”

  “But Zeus,” said the Lord of the Underworld, with a frighteningly friendly voice, “if after all these ages, if after all these myths, you have not yet understood that it’s you that must not challenge me, there is really no hope for your favorite child.”

  The lightning struck Hades. It converted the golden column into a dazzling white blade on which the tall figure of the lord of the dead stood out very black. For a moment, the world was only lightning that drew the silhouette of death. Then the rain began to hiss and evaporate on him, draping in scrolls that seemed like mist.

  Hades wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. He preferred a very different flavor on his lips, to that of burned sky that crashed to the ground.

  “Whoever sees us would be able to say on the spot who is the older brother and who the younger, Zeus. You are a god, unlike your son learn to control yourself.”

  “Don’t you dare give me orders!”

  “It was just a suggestion,” said Hades, “but the world reflects who commands it, and I understand many things about it, looking at you. Heracles has raised the hand of a deity, and is the second of your children to be disrespectful towards me. They are outrages that not even you can ask me to forget.”

  For a while I had the feeling of seeing something besides the torch light, and I realized that the darkness had fallen to a misty twilight, not unlike a bad winter day. I knew where we were, and I knew where I would arrive.

  I just hoped that I was not too late. Eternity changes the perception of time, it can dilate generations, but when the gods have taken a decision, it has an immediate effect.

  The rumble of thunder was the voice of Zeus, when he replied:

  “The folly of mortals is very different, and infinitely less serious than that of the gods. You should know, brother, all Olympians know that!”

  “That of Persephone and Demeter is not madness. It is this I am trying to tell you.”

  “Stories!” Hades’ eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “Do not play with words with me. Aphrodite has extended her

  dominion over the Underworld, and you, brother, don’t you care at all about the consequences of the madness of Mother Earth. But I, as a Heavenly Father, I am required to do so.”

  Hades voice was deathly quiet:

  “You forget, Zeus, I am as much sovereign in the world as you and Poseidon. The Earth Mother’s anger was provoked, therefore, deservedly, but now Demeter has been reunited with her daughter. The fields are again fertile.”

  “Persephone cannot remain unpunished.”

  “She’s my wife. You don’t think she has been punished enough?” Zeus laughed, and above him the lightning seemed to dance.

  “Am I wrong or have you just made a joke? Don’t ignore the

  the seriousness of the hubris committed by Heracles. To spill divine ichor is the most unforgivable crime, for a mortal.”

  He gritted his teeth.

  “Which, of course, you know very well.” Hades confirmed with a nod, as if the assertion was by Zeus

  not mere rhetoric: “If I tell you that Olympus should not fear, I speak advisedly.”

  “You’re blackmailing me, with good reason,” said Zeus, “you have shed

  your ichor yourself to create a hubris, to put me in a trap. And all for love!”

  He pronounced the last word as if spitting it, in the rumble of thunder that swallowed it, making it intelligible only to those who knew it already. Zeus pierced the lord of the dead with eyes like lightning.

  “Mortals are in need of Heracles. They need to believe that anyone could challenge the gods and win, if they are strong enough: they pull ahead with this hope, it is the impulse that makes them move forward. You cannot destroy him, brother. I shall not allow that to happen.

  It was the final challenge, from Olympus to the Underworld. It could have been the beginning of the end. However, Hades’ voice was so quiet as to seem monotonous, in the fury of the storm that tore the mountains:

  “Zeus, for me the soul of Heracles is not worth a penny, for you it is the same air we breathe. You’re my brother, and the last thing we need is a war between the realm of the living and the dead. I can’t imagine a single valid reason why we should come to blows, on my side or on yours.”

  “You speak wisely,” Zeus acknowledged cautiously, “it is, therefore, if you are willing to overlook the wickedness committed by Heracles, I will do the same in respect of Persephone’s rebellion. It is the agreement you want, right?”

  This time the colorless god did not smile, but he tasted the neutral taste of the rain on his lips. Victory tastes like water, he thought. He said,

  “You can keep Heracles’ soul: on his death, instead of plunging into Tartarus, he will rise to Olympus and become the brightest of constellations, as you wish. Mortals will have their fetish. As for Persephone, no one needs to know of her rebellion against Olympus. I will disappear with her into the Avernus, forever.”

  Instead of rejoicing, Zeus seemed to become deeply sad.

  “The rebellion of Persephone, right ... a true Mystery, huh? It has changed the face of the world. And after all, it will not be revealed, apparently. What bad luck.”

  Lightning shrank in the distance, became an irregular pattern that illuminated the background. The sun pierced the dark clouds in a myriad shafts of light.

  The torch fluttered and went out. In my hands was only a burned stick. I had arrived. I felt the rough surface of the statue at the crossroads under my fingers, and smiled to myself.

  Walking in puddles, on which the rain descending drew beautiful concentric circles, like light embroidery, I circled the statue and it was immersed in light.

  The lightning had erased what was left of her features, had polished the finish of the body and breast, had broken the snakes in her fist. Lichens and moss had been burned. She had been smoothed, cleaned, the peplum she wore had been redrawn, from the shoulder to the hem of the skirt, she had also been reborn.

  With Her behind me, gems of water in my hair and the full flowering of anger ready to harvest, I called:

  “Father!”

  They both turned. Behind Zeus, Hades opened his eyes wide. “You, here?”

  I fixed him with bold eyes. I, am here.

  I advanced on the slippery path, with mud that dared not stick. Zeus looked at me as though I was some interesting peculiarity, a curiosity that had popped out just before the dismissal.

  “Persephone,” his voice revealed absolutely nothing of the agreement just concluded, “you came to bring a message from Demeter?”

  “No.”

  Walking on the grass without the mud dirtying me, I reached my father.

  I bowed trembling, like the other times that I had been before him. To submit myself had never done me any good, to be docile had never done me any good: I stood with my back straight and shoulders back, before the king of Olympus. I threw back my damp hair, defiantly.

  “My Father, forgive me if I reveal the lack, but are
n’t you forgetting something?”

  Zeus planted on me his eyes full of lightning. “I don’t think so, daughter. But you are here no doubt to remind me.”

  “The spring has been renewed. She was born tonight, and this is her first day.”

  It was not an announcement, but a communication, so my voice was impersonal. By now the rain had stopped, and the clouds thinned, dispersed by high-altitude winds.

  “Of this I have already talked to your husband,” said Zeus, “you have nothing to tell me that I don’t already know. Take her away Hades, before I change my mind about our agreement.”

  In a tone of feigned innocence, that Athena my sister would most wittily called fury, I asked:

  “What kind of deal are you talking about, Father? Spring is not born on Olympus, and was not even conceived there. She has nothing to do with you.”

  I looked at him harshly,

  “You have no right to make decisions regarding my Mysteries.”

  Thunder rumbled, far away. Zeus said, quietly,

  “In your situation, I would throw myself at the feet of those who have avoided the anger of the Heavenly Father for you, Persephone. You have dared too much. “My patience is limited...”

  Hades did not intervene. I knew he was looking at me, and his grip was the grip of death, the insurmountable limit to all the rebellions of life, but Hades was behind me and did not intervene.

  The world around us dripped while the sun was refracted through the rainbow in the air, and nothing happened, because Hades had understood. He understood why I was there. Perhaps he approved, even. Not that it made any difference. Nothing would have happened, for his part.

  So I made it happen:

  “And my patience has reached its limit, father. You have neither rejected nor allowed my wedding, you did not care about the pain of Mother Earth as long as mortals did not force you to do so; and even now, after you made spring flee from the world, you’re not talking to me.”

  I clenched my fists. I saw that Zeus had seen. Under his beard, his lips tightened. I realized that I did not care.