She was glad that Persephone knew where to go; within moments of leaving the courtyard, the two of them had been engulfed in mist. There did seem to be some sort of path there, though; a bit of moss winding through those ever-present white lilies.
Persephone shivered, as a dark shadow loomed ahead of them, and Bru wondered what was casting it. “I have enough despair of my own,” she replied. “I don’t need to seek any more out. Here we are.”
What Bru had thought was a shadow turned out to be a sheer cliff face; in the midst of the rock was a plain wooden door with a simple bronze handle.
“This leads to the Fields of Elysium,” Persephone explained. “It’s where the worthy dead go.”
Bru blinked as she took that in, then frowned. “Oh, no. You mean Heroes, don’t you?” She sighed. “Which means we’ll be wading through a sea of hearty boneheads who think they have the right to grab anything that takes their fancy.”
Persephone paused with one hand on the door. “Not…entirely. You have to be interesting to go to the Elysian Fields, not just heroic. There are a great many philosophers there. Rhadamanthus says that there are a few women, poets mostly, though I have never seen them. But…yes, some of the men are quite rude.”
Bru smirked as she remembered that she was not subject to the same rules here that governed what she could do in Vallahalia. “Oh,” she said with a certain relish. “I certainly do hope so.”
Persephone gave her an odd look, then shrugged, and opened the door.
The bright light of Elysium was always a little bit of a shock after the mist of the Fields of Asphodel. As Persephone let her eyes adjust to the light, the warrior-goddess stared about her with an air of relief. “If I had known this place was here, I’d have been less testy,” she told Persephone. “I’ve been going half mad for a bit of sun.”
“It’s not a real sun,” Persephone felt impelled to point out. “It doesn’t move. When night comes, it just winks out.”
“Yes, but there’s real light here, and none of that confounded mist.” The woman stretched her arms up toward the sky, as if she was reveling in the bright air. “If I’d known your tree was in a place like this, I’d have come offering to help instead of you having to ask. Speaking of which, where is your tree?”
“It’s a long walk,” Persephone began, apologetically.
“Not for me,” the woman replied with a grin. “We Valkyria are a sturdy lot. Lead on. And you might as well call me Bru. I might still want to thump that numbskull Thanatos, but you and your mate have been doing your best for me, and I appreciate it.”
Persephone winced a little as she led the way to her pathetic little trees. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be stuck here. I know I would be going half mad if I’d been taken from Hades. I don’t know how you stand it.”
“It hasn’t been good. Believe me, I have been well employed taking out my frustrations in Tartarus,” Bru said darkly. “I have to get fighting mad to keep from blubbering like a puling infant. Still…I am getting the chance to earn immortality for Leo, and that in the end is going to be worth all of this.”
Persephone decided not to say anything about her mother being the only person who knew how to bestow true immortality. After all, there was no telling how Demeter would regard these two when it was all over. She might well decide to go along with the decision to reward them.
Still…better make sure that no one but she and Hades knew Bru was helping him to keep Persephone here. The warrior had been badly treated, and she deserved to get the reward she wanted.
As they followed the path to the half-barren spot where the stunted trees were, they began to collect quite a crowd. Word spread quickly that a woman who was not Persephone had turned up in Persephone’s company, and predictably, every Hero in Elysium had to come and have a gawk.
It quickly became evident that not all of them were inclined to restrict themselves to a gawk.
At first they limited themselves to posing and posturing. When Bru ignored that, they seemed to take it as a challenge, and called out to her, lewd comments that quickly went far beyond mere “suggestions” of what she could expect from an hour or so in their company. Persephone was soon scarlet with embarrassment, but Bru continued to act as if she couldn’t even hear them.
But then one of them got bold enough to make a grab for her.
Persephone didn’t even see what happened. One moment, the overly muscled oaf was reaching for her arm. The next, he was on the grass, gasping in pain. Persephone stopped cold, staring. So did the others. Bru looked down at her victim dispassionately.
“In my land,” she said without any inflection at all, nor any sign of even minor annoyance, “the man who tries to force himself on a woman counts himself lucky to get off with only temporary pain. I suggest that you lot go back to what you were doing, and leave me and Hades’s wife to get on with our work.”
The stunned silence, punctuated only by the whimpers of the “hero” curled in a ball on the ground, was broken by the sound of solitary applause.
Persephone looked in the direction it was coming from, and spotted Rhadamanthus standing at the top of a bit of slope, looking down on the path.
“Well said, barbarian,” he called out. “You’ve saved me from having to chastise these fellows, and possibly even banish one or two for being ordinary. There’s certainly nothing worthy about behaving like he-goats in season. You are acting worse than centaurs who’ve gotten into the wine. Even satyrs have more sense than you lot are showing right now.”
The expressions on the faces of the men surrounding the two women were as varied as the men themselves. Chagrin, guilt, annoyance and alarm predominated. Alarm, because of Rhadamanthus’s threat—no one wanted to be banished to the Fields of Asphodel, or worse, Tartarus.
The annoyance, of course, was because, like rude boys, they had been caught.
But the expressions directed toward Bru were all alike—respect. Wary respect. Maybe a touch of fear. Aside from Athena, Persephone had never heard of any female warriors in Olympia, and a woman who looked like Bru and fought like a she-cat crossed with a snake was a new thing to these shades.
Well. Rhadamanthus definitely had the situation well in hand, so Persephone decided to let him deal with it. After all, he was their “king,” and they were his subjects. She turned back up the path and struck out again, Bru following. As soon as they were out of earshot, she turned to her companion.
“Was that true?” she asked. It seemed incredible; even in relatively idyllic Olympia, even her mother could fall prey to the whim and will of a more powerful male god. And had. “Are women really treated with such respect where you come from? Are they all taught to fight like that?”
“No, actually,” came the cheerful reply. “I was lying through my teeth. But now they’ll think twice about giving me anything other than a polite greeting. I intend to come here on my own for some sun every day, and I don’t feel like having to run a gauntlet every time I do so. How far are we now?”
“Not far,” Persephone assured her, and pointed up to the cleft they were heading toward. “See that? It’s on the other side.”
Bru quickened her pace, until Persephone had to run to keep up with her. They came out into the sad little clear area with Bru well ahead; Persephone caught up to see her looking at the poor little trees thoughtfully.
With despair, Persephone saw that yet another of the fruits had withered and fallen from the branch.
“I just don’t know what I can be doing wrong!” she cried. “I water them, I tend them, there are no insects here to trouble them, and I even found scrapings of bird dung to feed them with!”
“Huh,” Bru said after a moment. “I’ll be damned. I know just what your problem is.”
Persephone stared at her.
“Or actually, two problems, but the ground is both of them.” Bru knelt down, pulled a little knife out of the sheath at her belt and prodded at the ground beneath the tree. “Look at it! Hard as fli
nt. You’re watering the poor things, yes, but the water just runs away. And the other problem is there’s no…sustenance in this ground.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “There’s one way to provide it, but that’s a bit nasty, and there is a danger of damaging the tree by giving it too much of a good thing, so I think I’ll go around to the kitchen—I know you have a kitchen—and claim some vegetable scraps. Meanwhile, you and I have some digging to do. This ground has to be cultivated and carefully, so as not to damage the roots.” She examined the last three fruits carefully. “It’s going to be touch-and-go, but I think we can count on getting you one all the way to ripe.”
Persephone almost danced with joy.
By the time Bru declared the ground “fit,” however, she was aching with exhaustion—not just physical exhaustion either. Both of them had concentrated all their will on the tree, coaxing it to flourish, as they had worked. Persephone was familiar enough with this sort of thing; this was how she had managed to save three of the six fruits in the first place. It was very hard work, and by the time they were done, they were both drained physically, mentally and magically.
When she realized that they were going to have to do this day after day, until one of the pomegranates ripened, she groaned.
“I know, I know, it’s harder than breaking skulls,” Bru said, helping her to her feet. “Just keep remembering that the harder it is, the more likely we’ll succeed. I wouldn’t even mind having to fight my way here every day, just to make sure the job is difficult enough.”
“That might not be a bad idea…” Persephone said slowly. “If you are really willing.”
The warrior-woman snorted. “Child, I would do more than that to drop more weight on our side. Who would we see about setting up some opposition? Your husband?”
“Rhadamanthus. The one who was applauding you.”
Bru smiled. “Good. Let’s not waste any time in finding him.”
The scene had all the air of a carnival. The cleft that led to the pomegranate tree was blocked by no less than twenty strong men. Rhadamanthus, who was supervising the gauntlet and set the rules of the contest, had decreed that the fight would be in full armor, which in the case of the Olympians was not much, and in Bru’s case, it was quite a bit. Then again, she was outnumbered twenty to one.
He had also decreed that while he would arrange for wounds to heal instantly, the combatants would still feel the pain of their injuries. That hadn’t stopped the Olympian shades from lining up to try themselves against the Valkyria.
But far more of the shades gathered as spectators—roaring, betting, cheering and jeering spectators. Hence the carnival atmosphere.
“Ready?” Bru asked. Persephone nodded. The warrior-woman took a deep breath and flung herself on the waiting throng.
A roar went up from the crowd as Bru vanished beneath a pile of bodies. A moment later, she emerged, with four men lying on the ground, groaning with the pain of healed-but-fatal wounds. The remaining combatants circled her warily, and Persephone averted her eyes. Even though no one was permanently hurt, she couldn’t bear to watch. Bru would eventually clear the way to the trees; all she had to do was wait. The disadvantage in numbers was more than made up for by the advantage of her armor and her skill. Even fully armored she was much faster than any of the shades.
“You can look now,” Rhadamanthus said quietly in her ear. When she turned to look at the field of battle, she saw that, once again, Bru was triumphant, grimacing with pain, her hair plastered to her head with sweat, but taking the congratulations of those losers still able to stand through their pain. Rhadamanthus had ensured that the contest was fair by ensuring that the pain of the wounds persisted until the competition was over and the losers had all surrendered.
Now he waved his hand, and they straightened or pulled themselves to their feet as their pain vanished.
Bru turned to the cleft, without waiting to see if Persephone was following. Persephone hurried to join her as she stumbled to the tree in exhaustion.
She went to her knees beside the tree still bearing fruit, and she and Persephone carefully cultivated a tiny amount of fertilizer made of finely ground vegetable peelings, a bit of eggshell and herb stems into the soil at the base of the tree.
Bru took a dulled dagger and stirred the mix into the earth as Persephone poured it out of a small jar. Then she sat back on her heels as Persephone carefully poured water from a second jar into the earth.
The tree looked ever so much better than it had when Bru pointed out what was wrong. There were more leaves on it, and they were greener. By now there was just a single fruit, barely a third the size of Persephone’s fist, and almost ripe. She thought about plucking it—then thought better of it. There was no telling what the effect would be if she took it when it was still a little green. Better to wait.
She put the water jar down as a breeze came up and dried Bru’s yellow hair, sending little tendrils floating. She put both her hands, palm down, on the earth at the base of the tree; wearily, Bru did the same.
Persephone closed her eyes and concentrated with all her might on bringing more life to the little tree—not just for now, but for as long as it stood. She didn’t want to just take the one fruit and abandon it; that felt wrong. The tree was giving her what she desperately needed; she wanted to sustain it and reward it.
She felt Bru doing something that was not quite the same—Bru seemed to concentrate on the earth itself, where Persephone concentrated on the tree. Strange, but perhaps this had something to do with how their two mothers’ powers worked. When Demeter had blessed the fields, it had actually been the seeds that she placed her magic in—farmers brought their seeds to her temples, and representatives of their flocks and herds for her blessing. By contrast, from what Bru had said, her mother actually was the earth itself, she was made up of it, more like Gaia than Demeter. So, perhaps their magics reflected that.
The last of Bru’s strength quickly ran out, however, and as they got to their feet, it was Persephone’s narrow shoulder that Bru leaned on as they made their way down to Rhadamanthus’s palace.
The king of Elysium was waiting there for them, with the usual nectar and ambrosia that was the common drink and food among the Olympian gods. Bru had made a face and complained after the first few days of this, saying she would have preferred mead and meat. Persephone couldn’t blame her actually, for she was used to more “common” fare with her mother.
This time Bru didn’t complain, and neither did Persephone. They were both in desperate need of restoration, Bru in particular. Yet beneath the exhaustion, Bru was clearly happy and triumphant, as always, because The Tradition was obviously working in their favor now. Persephone would get her pomegranate, and presumably a solution was being found for Bru and Leo’s problem.
When they had rested a little, Rhadamanthus had Thanatos take them up in his chariot—nothing like as impressive as Hades’s, of course—to bring them back to Hades’s palace, where Bru, at least, would fall down onto a couch and sleep as if she would never wake again, until Persephone came to get her to do it all over again.
They were nearly done.
And if so, it would not be a moment too soon. Yesterday, Hecate had reported that the gods had gathered to confront Demeter in her own temple. Demeter would again demand the return of Persephone, and there could be only one answer to that, if they all wanted Olympia to be restored.
But as the two of them arrived from their daily battle, the sound of a gong shattered the silence of Hades’s palace, a strangely penetrating sound that made the very walls ring.
Persephone paled. Bru put a steadying hand on her arm. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked. The girl nodded.
“All right then. Courage. We’ve done all we can do. No matter what happens, no one can have done more.” Bru patted her shoulder. “You go take your place. I’ll get myself cleaned up and wait in the courtyard, and we’ll see what the Norns have in store for us.”
Persephone was rattled enough t
hat she didn’t even ask what the Norns were.
Persephone felt cold all over. This was the day she had been dreading. And it was the one day of all days that she knew, deep in her heart, she had to be the strongest. The Tradition would not reward a weeper or despair.
And when she appeared to her mother, she would have to look, not like little Kore, but like a woman, and one capable of knowing her own mind and choosing her own destiny.
Steeling herself, with head high and wearing her best woman’s gown—the long gown, not the little tunic that her mother preferred her to wear—she went to Hades’s throne room and took her place on the new throne that had been placed at his side. There they waited for Zeus’s messenger.
He was not long in coming; it was Hermes, and her heart sank because she knew that Zeus would only send Hermes, and not Hecate, if this was a command that had the force of all of the gods behind it.
Hermes would not look at her. Instead, he concentrated on Hades, and there was nothing of his usual playful nature as he addressed the lord of the dead. “Hear, Lord Hades, the command of Zeus, the king of the gods of Olympia, and master even of you, as you yourself have acknowledged.”
Hades bowed his head, but his grip upon Persephone’s hand tightened, even as her throat tightened. “Speak,” Hades said, his voice dark with grief. “I hear the command of he who is overlord to us all.”
“It is commanded that Persephone, daughter of Demeter, come up out of the Underworld and be restored to her mother, so that the good goddess will once more bring life to Olympia,” Hermes said in flat tones that brooked absolutely no argument.
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