by Molly Ringle
Zoe, as usual, wore no makeup and had done nothing about her hair except cram a knit hat on top of it. She’d reckoned her all-black outfit—jeans, jumper, fleece, sneakers—was up to the fashion standards of Manhattan, but now she felt dull and colorless.
Freya smiled in greeting at Zoe, who only stared. Then Freya’s gaze moved to Tabitha. Tab leaped forward to meet Freya on the sidewalk, and threw her arms around her, kissing her full on the mouth, with those same lips that had just been on Zoe’s.
Zoe fell back two or three steps, feeling the blow like a kick in the chest. And Freya, rather than evading the kiss, embraced Tab and returned it for an endless stretch of seconds.
They broke apart and spoke their hellos. Zoe couldn’t hear the words. Her body kept trying to spin around, turn her away from this scene, send her walking, sprinting, flying out of North America. But that would be over-dramatic. They all had eternity now, or at least a bloody long time, to learn to live with each other. And didn’t she at least owe Freya a hello, having not met her in this lifetime yet, and having been usually, sort of, friends with her in other lives?
Fighting the pressure to flee, Zoe forced her legs forward, hauled up a smile and said hello, and agreed they should all go out for pizza, yes, and drinks, and bring all these random audience members who were crowding round to say hi; yes, absolutely, good idea.
The next evening, back in New Zealand, Zoe sat in a chilly sea wind with her hands folded around a paper cup of mocha. “She just kept staring at her,” she lamented. “Like I wasn’t even there. I shouldn’t care, we have forever to work it out, but…”
Nikolaos drank from the bottle of Lemon & Paeroa he’d bought at the cafe. He smacked his tongue, examined the label, then took another drink. “The trouble with lesbian love triangles is you can’t tell which ‘she’ and which ‘her’ we’re talking about.”
“Tab kept staring at Freya, of course. And vice-versa. No one was staring at me.” Zoe scowled at the lights of a ferry crossing the strait. “Well, except that one bloke from the audience who kept wanting me to say things in ‘New Zealandese.’”
Niko settled back on the rock. He stretched out his leg; its side touched hers. They had hopped across Cook Strait on their horses, and now sat atop one of Arapawa Island’s rocky bluffs, looking toward the vast North Island in the twilight. “I can tell you one thing, which you already know,” he said. “No one ties down Aphrodite. Nor Freya. Nor any other person she’s been.”
“And I can tell you Tab’s soul has always been obsessed with Freya’s, regardless of not being able to tie her down. That’s likely why she fascinates people.”
“Quite so.”
Zoe tilted the cup back and forth, disillusioned even with the mocha tonight, which tasted too sweet and fake. “I don’t know. I’m one of the people Tab kisses and flirts with, and I should settle for that. It’s more than her soul ever gave mine in some lives. Maybe someday, in the future, it’ll work out, or I’ll stop caring. But last night…it hurt, that’s all, and I wanted to talk to someone.” She glanced at him sheepishly. “Thanks for coming all this way.”
He watched her with a curious smile, close enough she could see a mole behind his ear and the fuzzy texture of the hair growing back on his shaved head. “Why talk to me, and not your best friend?” he asked.
She smirked and returned her gaze to the receding ferryboat. “My best friend’s also my dad now, in a way. Makes things a bit weird when discussing romance.”
“So you don’t want to hear about his and Sophie’s sex life either?”
She shuddered. “Ew! Stop.”
He laughed, full-throated and carefree. Then he hugged her around the waist, and planted a kiss on her temple. “For you, I’ll always come halfway round the world.”
“Thanks, mate.” She breathed in the salty air and released it.
And suddenly the vapors from the timeless ocean, mixing with Niko’s warm touch around her middle, delivered the knowledge as clear as a text message: Hermes had loved Hekate. And now Niko loved her. And so it had gone in many, many lives in between.
She hadn’t reached the memories yet that would tell her what, if anything, had happened between Hekate and Hermes. But she did know, from memory-instinct as well as magic, that he didn’t expect her to reciprocate. Happiness, in fact, emanated from his touch, as if he was content just to know her. For someone famed as a callous trickster, the secret sentiment was remarkably sweet.
“Wow.” She turned her face to the sky.
He looked at the stars too. “Hmm?”
“Hermes loved Hekate who loved Adonis who loved Aphrodite. We’re a bloody Shakespeare comedy.”
If it embarrassed him to be called out on his feelings, he didn’t show a shred of it. She doubted whether he’d ever been embarrassed in any of his lives. Instead he quipped, “As you like it, darling,” and offered her the bottle of L&P.
Chapter Thirty-Four
After Adonis left, Hekate took to exploring the living world more often. Her parents did too, attempting to quell the rumors and panic among the mortals. They explained, over and over, that the immortals had no intention at all of slaughtering people; nor of introducing a new plague, which they had no power to do anyway; nor of breeding a race of superhumans to conquer humanity. The tragic fight between Ares and Adonis had been nothing but a spat over a woman, the kind of thing that happened everywhere, and Zeus had punished Ares with banishment.
Of course, the truth was none of them could control what Ares did; Zeus and Hera sending him away was more of a strong suggestion that he was good enough to comply with. In reality he could come back whenever he pleased, and furthermore, a certain subset of mortals wanted him to. He loved war and was an asset in battles, and marauders and barbarians did periodically attack the cities and coastlines of Greece and the islands. For those involved in fighting, Ares was a favored god indeed, provided he fought on your side.
It was all quite complicated and tedious, Hekate gathered as she wandered the towns and listened to the arguments. Which side deserved the help of the immortals? Should they assist in wars at all? She and her parents and her grandmother Demeter would rather protect the people than attack anyone, but sometimes protection did require active defense. At least she could sense the times when the magical powers would flow willingly to assist her, versus the times when she would be forcing them into an unjust action and they would rebound upon her. But most people couldn’t sense that, and for them, making life’s decisions must have been like navigating in a fog. No wonder the living world roiled in such stress and chaos.
Still, something in the chaos called to her. She found laughter, beauty, kindness, and cleverness among the people, even in the midst of worries about invasion or illness. They wrote poems and songs, crafted musical instruments, fashioned masks and costumes, grew gardens and cooked delicious foods, adored their children and lovers and pets. They told stories about the immortals, some of which were true while others were total fabrications. But even the latter tended to be captivating, and Hekate suspected most people didn’t quite believe any of the stories anyway. They were all for entertainment. Yes, those mad wandering preachers seethed with anger against the real immortals, and they were gaining a small but loud following. But most Greeks loved life, and found ways to savor it.
For example, the festivals! All the regions held them regularly, usually one on every full moon, but details varied from one area to another: which gods or goddesses were honored (sometimes real immortals, other times only legends), what processions or rituals were required, who would preside and what everyone should wear, which foods and objects were to be brought, which animals or items sacrificed. Each participant took the rituals seriously and adhered to the rules.
And the rituals worked, in their way, despite the variations from place to place. When Hekate attended, usually staying modestly in the background, she sensed the magic flowing up from the Earth and down from the full moon and through the joined hands of t
he participants. Their devotion and cooperation brought it forth, and though they didn’t have the power to direct the magic into anything startling, they surely sensed the beneficial boost it brought them.
This had been Adonis’ world, she kept thinking in her explorations, though she tried not to dwell upon him so much. He had come from this tumultuous imperfection, and had somehow kept his beauty and grace and loving devotion, though the devotion hadn’t been returned the way he wanted. Hekate couldn’t comprehend why Aphrodite would throw out such a treasure. But that was another interesting thing about people, even immortals: they all wanted different things, when you got down to specifics.
Some evenings, Hekate followed her sense of Adonis—faint and distant, but usually traceable—and climbed to the top of the mountain ridge that ran the length of their peninsula. There she faced east and looked out across the land. His essence beamed to her from far away, like an evening star, and she longed for the day when he’d return with his heart healed, his purpose in life refreshed.
Did he ever think of her, reach out for her essence? She had no magic to find out that answer, not from this distance. And knowing his mind might only hurt. She could guess which immortal woman he spent most of his time thinking of.
Though she kept silent about having brought Adonis back to life, Persephone and Aphrodite one day conferred and decided to confess what they had done.
They did so at the next meeting of the immortals, several months after Adonis had left. Hekate came along, as she sometimes did, though she usually said nothing, reckoning the others wouldn’t listen to the input of a fourteen-year-old, even one who looked older.
Tonight the glares from the rest of the immortals would have cowed her into silence anyway, at least at first.
“This is true?” Zeus demanded of Hades and Persephone. “You made someone immortal without asking the rest of us?”
“It is true,” Persephone said, her hands folded meekly before her. She, Aphrodite, and Hades stayed standing while the others sat around the beach fire. Their position gave the impression they were on trial.
“Bleeding Goddess,” Zeus said. “We all overlooked it when you did it for her.” He waved toward Hekate. “A child dying, and one we would have approved anyway—no one minded. Much. But this? What are we to do with you?”
Hermes stood too. “I was there. I gave my consent and encouraged them.”
“But it was my doing,” Aphrodite insisted. “You all know I’ve tried to bring Adonis into the circle before. I didn’t like to do it without consent, but he was dying, and—”
“I did it.” Hekate had leaped to her feet and spoken almost before thinking. Everyone stared in surprise at her. Her legs weakened at the sudden attention, but she added, “It was my idea. I ran and fetched the fruit, even when my mother told me not to.”
“Hekate,” Hades began.
“It’s true!” She turned to him. “You weren’t there. But that’s exactly what happened.”
“We don’t care exactly how it happened,” Hera retorted. “The trouble is it did happen. The damage is done, a new immortal walks the Earth. What are we to do about it?”
Fear chilled Hekate from head to feet. Did they propose to kill Adonis all over again?
“Oh, you’ll like him well enough when you meet him next,” Hermes said, in his casual, confident way. “He’s becoming leagues smarter, you know, thanks to that pomegranate. Oh, right—most of you haven’t eaten it. Well, that’s a shame, as it does vastly increase intelligence.”
Hekate almost laughed, though part of her now feared they’d kill Hermes, too.
The others only continued to glare, however.
“A man unconscious,” Rhea said, “who didn’t steal the fruit and didn’t even know it was being given him, can hardly be punished for having it pushed into his mouth. And we all agree Ares shouldn’t have killed him—or tried to—in the first place. Adonis needs no punishment. But you four? Or rather, five?” She included Hekate with a nod.
“We have ideas,” Aphrodite said. “We thought, for instance, if we allowed everyone else one additional candidate at the next round of proposed immortals…”
“That hardly helps,” Hera said. “Most of us don’t propose anyone, and if we do, it’s rarely more than one at a time. We don’t even need the four we’re allowed.”
“How about if the five of you,” Zeus said, “are not allowed to propose any candidates for the next year?”
“Five years,” Hera said.
“Two and a half,” Athena murmured, seeking the diplomatic middle ground.
The five glanced at each other. Hekate had only just started being given a vote on immortal candidates at all, and had never proposed anyone. She wouldn’t feel any loss at giving up the privilege. But the others looked relieved too, and nodded.
“Fine with us,” Hades said.
“Yes,” Aphrodite said.
“Should we revoke their votes on the new candidates as well?” Hera asked Zeus.
Hades and Persephone glanced around the circle, where everyone still sent them decidedly annoyed looks. They exchanged another nod with their co-conspirators.
“We willingly relinquish them,” Hades said. “For two and a half years.”
“And it should go without saying,” Zeus said, “that you will not administer that damned fruit of yours to anyone, ever again, without asking the whole council.”
All five of them nodded. “Absolutely,” Persephone said.
The meeting moved on to other topics, and the pressure upon them lessened. As the group broke up for the night, Hermes clapped Hekate and Hades on the backs, one with each hand. “We didn’t even get banished!” he said in quiet glee. “Fantastic luck, friends.”
Another two years slipped by. Hekate practiced her magic. Hades and Persephone kept at their tasks of delivering messages from the dead to the living and back again, especially where murders were concerned. And the immortals learned that Ares, having become happily established as a new war god on the Italian peninsula, had participated in a sea attack upon the Greek coast. Rumors and anti-immortal panic leaped up again and spread like brushfire through the land.
“Yes, that town is run by a usurping bastard and deserved to be attacked, but still,” Hermes complained.
Several of the immortals were gathered at Zeus and Hera’s palace to discuss the situation. Hekate attended with her parents, though kept quiet as usual, and spent most of the time petting Kerberos, whom she had brought.
“That’s how we should phrase it, of course,” Hera said. “He wasn’t attacking the Greek people. He was liberating them from a tyrant.”
“Killing plenty of Greek people along the way,” Hestia said.
Zeus shrugged. “It’s war. It happens.”
“Would you care to come down to the Underworld and say that to the souls who died?” Hades spoke in the quiet, incisive voice he only used when especially angry.
“Hades.” Zeus, in turn, used the smiling, ingratiating voice he employed to win people over. “Naturally you sympathize with the dead, but do remember we’re here to serve the living, primarily.”
“What have you done to serve them lately?” Hades inquired. “How does coddling their murderer do them any good?”
Hera spoke up again. “You know very well we protect this city and give its inhabitants a much better life than the average Greek gets.”
Hades sat back, lips tightly shut. He did know it; everyone did. Still, it wasn’t the full picture.
“You mean you reward them for worshipping you,” Hekate said quietly.
Hera gave her a mocking smile. “Would you rather I had them worship the moon?”
Hekate remained silent and stiff-backed like her father, but sent a pointed glance around at the riches surrounding them in this court alone. Gold, silver, bronze, jewels, animal skins, oil lamps and vases, potted trees and flowers, and brilliantly dyed fabrics vied with each other for space in an ostentatious display of wealth. Yes, He
kate would most certainly advocate worshipping the moon over worshipping such vanity.
“We’ll try to rein Ares in,” Zeus said. “And we’ll tell the people he, like us, means only to deliver good to humankind.”
“Another festival should placate them,” Hera added, frowning at the gold-threaded edge of her cloak, as if it might have a minuscule flaw. “They do love their festivals.”
The group dispersed without having come to any more useful conclusion. Hades stormed ahead on the way out while Persephone lingered to exchange quiet words with Hestia.
Hekate and Kerberos followed Hades, but she paused outside the palace gates and looked down the slope into the city. Lute music rose from somewhere near, and the smell of sweet incense and drying autumn leaves curled into the darkening sky. Her feet moved that direction, the domestic magic of a mortal city pulling her in.
“Coming home, dear?” Persephone called to her.
“In a little while,” she answered.
“Don’t be late.” Her mother sounded anxious. “If anyone starts shouting at you, or threatening, just…”
“Switch realms. I know.” Hekate waved goodbye and started down the slope, touching walls and sniffing the air. Kerberos trotted beside her.
“Sometimes Hera and Zeus are enough to make you wish you could get drunk,” said a pleasant voice near her shoulder.
She turned. Hermes strolled up alongside her. His gold-laced sandals glittered in the twilight. “Agreed,” she said. They walked down the road together. “So full of themselves. Oblivious to real life.”
“Always have been, since I’ve known them.” He nudged her with his elbow. “You’re wiser than they are, since you’ve eaten the pomegranate. Which they never have and say they have no need of.”
“Yet they’re viewed as the king and queen of our kind.” Hekate wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What is wrong with people?”
