by K.N. Lee
“My own contrivance, a set of guides for those who seek here in the Underworld,” I replied. “Each one leads to a different place—the cavern of torment for the wicked, the Elysian Fields for the blessed. But in truth, my lady, there are no such places.”
“They exist only in the perception of each soul?” Persephone said, and I was pleased to see my queen so quick and clever.
“Once the dead are judged, they pass to wherever they believe they are destined to spend eternity. All souls dwell together in the end, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Even mortal souls grow tired of time,” I said gently as I silently commanded a shade to throw open the gate to the road. “When they are surfeited of everlasting pleasure or have truly repented after everlasting suffering, every soul is free to return to the oneness of the cosmos. Many choose to return to the earth to live again, and when they do, they drink from Lethe, the river of forgetfulness and lose all memory of who they were.”
“And the rest?”
“They are content to become part of a greater mystery, my lady,” I replied gravely.
“And those who dwell within your palace—the ones who make so much noise?” queried Persephone, a delightful little frown forming between her dainty brows.
“They are cursed with the blessing of memory from gods more foolish than I,” I said bitterly. “Can you imagine being cursed to remember all the greatness that was yours in life and to be condemned to know that it can never be again, that you can achieve nothing more? That you have but one lifetime’s worth of stories to last an eternity?”
Earlier in this tale, I spoke of complacency as the true weakness of humanity, the frailty that drugs potential. I find I must amend my comments to add fame as the other mortal craving that does more harm than good. To chase fame for want of having your name called out by the multitudes is to chase an echo. Eventually, it fades. People forget. Given enough time, all is forgotten, all will be forgotten. Even the gods.
I watched her as I spoke, and I saw that her expression was clouded.
“For all their great deed and bravado, it is only when they have the true courage to relinquish such earthly memories and embrace the unknown that they are free to choose peace like the other souls,” I said.
“How terrible,” Persephone said softly, and I could hear the ring of pity in her voice. But it was not enough. To be the queen of these grim and sublime subjects, she would have to have more than pity for them.
“Where does this gate take us?” she added, hesitating on the threshold of the portal, peering nervously into the dark fog that blanketed the road beyond it.
“To the Elysian Fields,” I replied, pulling her reluctant steps with mine as we passed through.
We were enveloped in a mist that was impenetrable even to the sight of a god—I had created it with such a purpose in mind, for I did not wish other gods and heroes to run hither and yon in my kingdom without my being able to control it in some measure. The mist pressed in around us, and I closed my eyes.
In the greater consciousness of my mind, I became every drop of mist, and I surrounded Persephone, touching her everywhere, learning every pore of her sweet skin. Without hands, I molded to every curve of her body, from the velvet crook of her knees, to the warmth where her breasts rested upon her chest, to the softness of her lips where she inhaled deeply of my spirit.
Where are you, my lord?
The words came in my mind, as Persephone spoke with her thoughts, using her own divine powers to seek with her mind what she could not find with her eyes.
I am all around you, my lady.
Her arms reached out into the nothingness, her hands extended as if to take hold of something, anything that was solid. I encircled her limbs, filling her palms with pools of mist that she might hold my spirit. In that moment, I was everywhere, in the sweet darkness of her mouth, the sacredness of her sex, encompassing her entire being with my own.
I drank deeply of this moment, feeling for an instant that we were finally one. I was intoxicated by her power, so raw and untrained. I sensed a faint spark of desire deep within her, swallowed whole by a ravenous fear that seized her spirit. Reluctantly, I drew myself back into the confines of a body and opened my eyes, silently commanding Persephone to look upon me.
There was no more mist, but instead, we stood in fields gilded by sunlight. Aspens and poplars whispered softly in a perfumed breeze, and clusters of lilies dotted the landscape. There came the sound of eerie, beautiful singing—the unconscious hymns of the blessed souls. I myself had always thought it a bit of a siren-like song, myself, lulling souls and luring them into a kind of pleasant numbness. But it was not my place to dictate what the souls took as their reward.
For a long moment, Persephone gazed only at me, her eyes wide but secretive in the thoughts that lay behind them.
“The Elysian Fields, my lady,” I said abruptly, growing unaccountably uncomfortable with her silent scrutiny.
Persephone finally looked away and revolved slowly to take in the landscape. She raised her hand to press against her heart, and I could hear her breath catch in her throat.
“It is very much like the world above, is it not?” I said gruffly, knowing what was probably going through her mind.
“Yet it is all an illusion?” she asked softly, doubtfully.
“It is what mortals know, and it is what they believe to be paradise,” I said with a shrug. “Yes, it is all an illusion.”
“Then what is truly paradise?” Persephone queried, turning back to me.
“There is no paradise,” I replied. “No hell, either. Those are such limited conventions, used by mortals to codify the consequences of their choices. I oblige them with these settings, like stage-dressing for a play. Their imaginations supply the rest. The great oneness of the cosmos is a true mystery whose existence is greater than any such paltry definition of good and bad.”
“Have you…do you know…has your spirit been a part of…” Persephone stammered, struggling to find the words for her question.
“Everything, even the gods, are part of that oneness, Persephone,” I said softly. “Have I touched that mystery with my spirit? Yes. You could, too, my beloved, if you were brave enough to open your divine mind to it.”
Persephone drew in her breath sharply.
“Where are the souls?” she said quickly, changing the subject. “I can hear them, but I do not see them.”
“There is a city of gold and marble on the other bank of Lethe,” I said, gesturing for her to walk forward. “They dwell there.”
“Do the souls remember who they are?”
“No. Like the damned, they only know that they continue to exist. But unlike the damned, they know that they exist only in pleasure.”
Persephone halted, her soft hands encircling my forearm and holding me back.
“I do not want to see them,” she said fretfully.
“But, these are happy souls, Persephone,” I replied, puzzled by her reticence.
“I do not want to see their empty eyes, even if their lips do smile,” she said forcefully, setting her jaw. “I do not want to feel their vagueness, their mindlessness, whether they be blessed or damned!”
I nodded glumly. I had thought she would have been pleased with the Elysian Fields, glad of the false sunshine and happy souls there. It is the reason I had chosen to show her that first, for the rest would not be so easy on her tender heart.
“As you wish, my lady,” I said disappointedly. “I would show you next the realm of lamentation, where the damned suffer.”
Persephone stood quite still, continuing to clutch at my arm. Her eyes searched mine for a long time. Finally, she nodded.
“Do not let them approach me,” she whispered.
“None shall dare,” I promised. I reached over with my free hand and touched her between her brows. “Close your eyes.”
She obeyed, and I opened my mind to hear and find the souls of the suffering. Darkness sw
ept us up, and when it released us, we were in the realm of torment and lamentation.
Even to me, the noise was always deafening and shocking at first. The shrieks from voiceless souls, the clanging of chains and the sounds of blows raining down on the wicked jarred me, and I was forced to grit my teeth in order to retain my composure.
The heat of the great cavern was searing, with rivers of lava and islands of fire ringing the desolate, charred rocks where the condemned mortal souls wailed and writhed.
Anxiously, I looked at Persephone, ready to snatch her away back to the relative peace and safety of my palace. To my utter astonishment, my beloved stood bravely by my side. Her eyes were full of pity, but if she felt fear, she did not show it. Only her hands, still clinging tightly to my arm, betrayed any sign of unease. Torn between pride and trepidation that her calm might break at any moment, I spoke.
“I do not come here often, myself,” I said quietly.
She paused, then said without looking at me, “It is odd that Prometheus’ gift should figure in such a sinister way in this nightmare.”
I couldn’t help but smile, feeling a surge of hope that she was beginning to see, beginning to learn. But no sooner had she spoken than the dead were aware of this new presence, with all the sweetness and salvation it promised. En masse, they rose and began to approach in a grey, inexorable phalanx. I felt my stomach turn at the sight of them and the grotesqueries they imposed upon themselves for punishment, with shackles and bits of mottled flesh hanging off of bleached bones.
Persephone stiffened and instinctively pressed herself closer, slipping behind me. Sternly, I held out my arm, with my palm facing out, silently bidding the shades to stay where they were. It was draining to hold such an endless, hungry army at bay, even with the consolation of my beloved’s arms now about my waist and the gentle feathering of her breath against the skin of my back.
Yet still, Persephone did not cry out in terror. She did not shrink back further or beg me to take her away. I felt the tendrils of her thoughts tentatively searching out my own. Warily, I allowed her the briefest brush with my mind, for I needed all of my concentration to keep these pitiful shadows and mockeries of life well back from us.
You sense them all the time? came her quiet, wondering thought.
All things that dwell in this realm are part of me, I replied tiredly. I am their reality, they are my reason. We are forever linked.
I pity your torment.
Shocked, I turned to face her, forgetting the grim regiment before me. Persephone looked up at me, her expression as grave and thoughtful as mine must have been astounded and stupid-looking. Suddenly, her reserve of fortitude seemed to give way, and she cringed, pointing behind me, her mouth open in a silent scream.
The dead were advancing, the souls reaching for her with ragged hands. I was too tired to force them all back. Instead, I grabbed Persephone, holding her close in my arms, and I closed my eyes.
There was darkness, a chilling, bone-crushing darkness, and when I opened my eyes, were stood in the hall of the great judges, Minos, Aeacus and Rhadmanthus. My nephews, if you looked at it from a certain point of view, as they were the sons of my brother Zeus and various mortal women that he had dallied with.
But in that moment, all I could do was breathe deeply of the scent of Persephone’s golden hair and cling to her as surely as she held onto me. I was weak, for standing against the collected suffering souls of several ages of man had taken much of my strength. I would recover, of course, but I was not invincible. No god really is, even Zeus, for does he not have Hera to dog his steps?
“My lord!” Minos called out from the towering bench where he and the others passed judgment on all the souls that came to Tartarus, sending them either to the Elysian Fields or speeding them on their way to torment.
“All is well,” I replied wearily. “I wish for you to greet Persephone, my queen.”
“Who are they?” Persephone whispered to me, eyeing the immortal men suspiciously.
I explained quickly, and she nodded.
“Greetings, Persephone, daughter of rich-haired Demeter,” Aeacus proclaimed.
“The Maiden of Springtime is come to bless this somber floor,” Rhadmanthus intoned.
Minos remained silent, and I noticed that he and Persephone had locked gazes and that her jaw was set in what was becoming familiar to me as her determined expression.
“Thus is my judgment of Persephone, fairest and most favored,” Minos said finally. “There can be no judgment of a heart unmoved.”
“What mean you?” I cried out indignantly, keenly alive to the insult in his words. I would rip that man limb from limb, then have Hecate magic him back together so I could do it again.
“The judgment is not for you, my lord,” Minos said calmly. “The lady knows of what I speak. If she does not, she soon will.”
I growled, readying myself to spring up and throttle the man. A small hand on my shoulder stayed me.
“Peace, my lord,” Persephone said quietly, though I could see her eyes were dark and a violent emotion flashed in their depths. “We are in the hall of judges, are we not? It is only right that I be judged.”
I stared at her, my head spinning from the bewildering changes in my beloved’s character. Her personality was like the facets of a diamond, each side blinding me with its brilliance, yet disappearing just as suddenly the moment a new event called forth another side of herself. I found myself wondering what it all meant, what other discoveries would I make about Persephone, what other hints, marvels and kinks in her character could she show me.
“I am tired,” she said after a pause, her expression growing inscrutable. “I would return to the palace. I have seen too much this day.”
I assented, though in my heart, I felt as though I had not seen enough.
Chapter 6
Persephone was in a foul temper for a long period of time after our visits to the dead. I had expected some moroseness, even distress, but this persistent peevishness was beginning to wear on me, and I found myself growing snappish with my glowing, glowering girl.
At times, I thought I caught a sly look in her eyes that seemed to hint that she was trying to exasperate me on purpose so that I would repudiate her and send her packing, back to the surface.
This, of course, only infuriated me more and made me more determined to win her over. I met her petulance with opulence, showering her with gifts at every turn, as if to shame her for her childish behavior. Everything about her still enthralled me, even the way she took the gems, furs, silks, linens, and jars of spices and oil, with her nose upturned, sharp words and seemingly careless gestures that knocked over alabaster pots and broke painted bowls.
Still, like a lantern swathed in linen, she could not hide her loveliness and the raw, untamed, untrained power that flowed through her silvery veins. I wondered at her mother never taking the time to channel such quantities of power, letting her grow wild like a weed with tendrils of energy licking out to sting and burn those that came near.
Can you wonder that one morning, before any sunlight announced the dawn, when she came to me full of sweetness, I doubted her intentions?
I was striding through the groves of black poplars that surrounded my palace, heading to the pomegranate orchard, having developed a sudden taste for the only fruit that grew in my kingdom. The red wool of my cloak sat heavy on my shoulders, and I morosely noted the buckle was rubbing against my clavicle. My sandals crunched heavily against the marble and granite gravel of the path. I reached the orchard, the endless twilight of Tartarus making for ghostly illumination of the trees, their slender branches bowed under the weight of the ruby fruit.
Her step behind me was so light that only the faint swirling of the air around me announced her arrival. I glanced over my shoulder at her, narrowing my eyes to counteract the urge I had to sweep her into my arms and crush her lips to mine. The half-light painted her pale hair silver and her pink lips blue, and every curve under her chiton sh
owed with maddening clarity.
“My queen,” I murmured gruffly in greeting, nodding slightly then turning back to the pomegranate tree.
“My lord,” she replied in a whisper.
I chose to let the silence lengthen between us, and it was only when I felt the backs of her knuckles gently graze my arm that I spoke again.
“Is there...something I can do for you, my queen?”
“Hades...”
She had said my name. The syllables falling off her lips were the sweetest sound I had ever heard. I froze as she pressed her cool lips against the muscles of my arms. Danger and lust ran riot through my veins.
“I am sorry I have been so terrible to you. You have been nothing but kind to me, my lord. I wish to make amends.”
“What game do you play at, Persephone?”
“No game, my lord.”
“Forgive me if I do not believe you.”
“Believe what you will, but I come in peace.”
“We are not at war.”
“No?”
“No, my lady, for a battle requires two combatants. I have never had any desire to fight you.”
“And I no longer wish to fight.”
I spun around to look at her. I hardly dared trust the clear pools of her eyes.
“Trusting you is not easy,” I murmured, unable to resist placing my hands upon her smooth shoulders.
“And yet, my lord, I have never played you false. My dislike for my situation has been plain from the beginning.”
“Which is why I question your docility now, Persephone.”
“I am not being docile.”
I chuckled at her spirited reply. I caught the scent of her hair--she must have used one of the precious, spicy oils I had given her. Without another thought, I slipped my hands down to encircle her waist and pulled her tight against me. She molded to my form as if she wanted to be close to me like I wanted to be close to her. My lips brushed hers tentatively, then fastened on with a barely-controlled ferocity and longing when they met no resistance.
