by Molly Ringle
All her companions, warriors and non-warriors alike, kept their terrible masked faces turned upon the slaughter. They might have been closing their eyes behind the masks, but she guessed they were not, though surely most wanted to.
Before long, every one of the Thanatos band was dead, and the animals were settling in to eat. When each beast had consumed its fill, an immortal approached and caught it, and whisked it back to the spirit realm and released it. That was the worst, Hekate found: having to wrap your arms around a wild animal who was now dripping with the warm blood of the people you had thrown to them. All the immortals were bloodstained by the time they released the last beast, pulled off their masks, and dispersed in shocked silence.
Dionysos and Hermes followed her to the Underworld, as they had been doing ever since rescuing her.
They all washed in the cave’s rivers and changed their clothing. Hekate trudged to the glowing fields, and lay down shivering upon the pale grass at her parents’ feet. Kerberos trotted up, lay beside her, and licked her ear. She hadn’t let him come along. She didn’t want him taking part in the massacre.
“Forgive me,” she murmured.
“Of course we do,” Hades said.
“Forever,” Persephone said. “But forgiveness isn’t only up to us.”
She knew who, or what, would have to forgive her. She spread her hands on the grassy ground, but felt the same bland emptiness she had felt in the water, the air, the rocks, all the way back from the slaughter. The magic was gone, withdrawn from her reach. The Fates did not forgive her.
She would have wept, but some part of her had already guessed this would happen. This or a worse rebound of power, back upon herself and her allies. She told herself to be grateful it hadn’t resulted in that instead.
Hermes threw himself down under a tree, his back against the trunk. He scowled into the distance while breaking up a stick and flinging bits of it away.
Dionysos approached and sat behind Hekate, his fur-edged cloak settling warm against her. “Whatever your crime, I share it. I will not let you be alone. I serve you.”
To think, not long ago she would have floated into the air in happiness to hear him say such a thing. Life was so much more complicated now. Friends and lovers could help you a great deal, but the world held so many dangers, so many greater problems, such insurmountable tragedies.
She rolled onto her back to let her body lean against his legs.
She was still immortal, still as powerful as her friends, even without her magic. And their enemies were far from defeated.
“We have much to do yet,” she murmured, and gazed upward into the fathomless black ceiling of the fields.
TO BE CONTINUED
Afterword
Mythology fans may note that while Persephone’s Orchard could perhaps be called a retelling of a myth, this volume diverges far enough from the myths that it ventures more into “Greek god fan fiction” territory.
For example, it’s basically suggested nowhere in mythology that Hekate (often spelled Hecate) is the child of Persephone and Hades. In fact, she’s usually spoken of as a much older deity, one of the earliest and most mysterious and powerful. In the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, she’s around at the time Hades kidnaps Persephone, and assists Demeter in the search, and later becomes a friend and/or handmaiden of Persephone’s. But I wanted Hades and Persephone to have a child, and I wanted the child to be one of the other Underworld deities, and Hekate was the one who interested me the most. Her position in mythology as the goddess of witchcraft and sorcery made for a lot of tantalizing plot ideas. So I twisted the relations to serve my story.
It’s also suggested basically nowhere in mythology that Adonis and Dionysos are the same person. However, some scholars have noticed the two figures do share a lot of interesting similarities. Both are dying-and-rising gods, both are mostly non-warlike compared to the majority of male gods, and both are especially beloved of and worshipped by women. So in wishing to continue Adonis’ storyline, and in also wishing to find a place for the intriguing Dionysos, I fused their identities into one. I apologize for any headaches and confusion this gives people who are trying to straighten out the myths.
Hekate loving Dionysos or Adonis is also unattributed in mythology. But Hekate does have association with Hermes here and there in myths. Both of them are fond of rambling about at night on mysterious errands, both cross the living world/Underworld boundary at will, and both are associated with crossroads. There are even one or two tantalizing lines in various ancient stories that suggest they had sex or even had a child together—but then, Hermes was almost as busy a philanderer as Zeus, so for his part that isn’t unusual.
The rivalry between Ares and Adonis over Aphrodite is also well established in mythology. Adonis is usually said to be killed by a boar, but some versions say the boar is actually Ares in disguise, jealously murdering his rival.
You’ll also note that in some places the immortals adopted existing myths and turned them into a piece of reality, such as adopting the names Dionysos and the River Styx. Given how much people have always loved to invent stories, I reckoned it was just as likely that legends would become truth as that truth would become legends. Whichever way it happens, what matters in the end is whether it’s a good story. Which is all I’m trying to write, too.
- M.J.R.
Acknowledgments
I’ve received so many encouraging remarks from so many people who have helped me keep this series going that I couldn’t possibly cover all their names—I’d still be forgetting someone. But the following definitely get special thanks.
First of all, my beta readers:
Dean Mayes, novelist, and one of the nicest you’ll ever meet when it comes to supporting his fellow authors—thank you for all the encouragement and the glowing reviews and retweets that help me and so many other writers find more readers.
Jennifer Pennington, for years and years of friendly, helpful, fun writing discussions: your instincts were so very right on this draft and you excelled at asking the important questions and making the insights click for me. Thank you!
Ray Warner, with whom I’ve enjoyed, again, so many years of smart and geektastic fandom conversations—thank you for turning your wisdom to the task of fixing up this book. I’ve said it before, but really, you’re brilliant.
Beth Willis, musical artist and one of the longest card-carrying fans of this crazy story of mine, for all the exuberant comments that made me laugh out loud (in coffeeshops, even). And thank you also for seeing all the character relationships for what they were and should be, and helping me straighten them out!
I must also thank various friends who helped along the way:
Øystein Bech Gadmar—very belatedly; forgive me!—for the best spelling and etymology of “chrysomelia.” Kevin M. Lewis for good-naturedly answering my questions on weapons, and of course for Scotch whisky recommendations. (The latter weren’t for the story, but still.) The Mulvey family (Rich and Katy and kids) for daily affirmation in the form of good humor and the occasional tech support. Melanie Carey and family for being lovely friends and keeping me company at book-related events. The incredibly supportive online folks, including but not limited to Fred LeBaron, Tracy Erickson, Cara Chapel, Erin Eileen Davis, Kim and Kevon Wilt, Kirsten Fleur Boxall, Michelle Murphy, Stephanie Staples Babbitt, and a whole slew of awesome book bloggers…honestly I want to list all of you who have ever left a comment or sent an email or a tweet, and I’d probably still forget someone. Know that you are appreciated!
Though I’ve never corresponded with Aaron Atsma, I now officially send him my thanks for his compiling of the magnificent Theoi.com, which regularly supplies me with so many valuable Greek mythology details. And similarly, to Walter Burkert (and translator John Raffan) for his incomparably thorough tome Greek Religion, which I often thumbed through for inspiration, even though I’m not learned enough to properly understand most of it.
Without Michelle Halket, indefatigable editor extraordinaire
, this series wouldn’t be what it is or where it is. Thank you for your enthusiasm about it right from its first mention, and for understanding my introvert writer ways and helping me get these books out to the world in spite of them!
Last but never least, uncountable thanks to my family: my children, husband, parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, in-laws, everybody!—you are all about the smartest and most loving family a person could hope for. Thank you for making me laugh when I need to take myself less seriously, and for being steady when I need it. The world would be a better place if everyone had a family like mine.
About The Author
Molly Ringle has been writing fiction for over 20 years, and her stories always include love and humor, as well as the occasional touch of tragedy and/or the paranormal. Her book The Ghost Downstairs, was a 2010 EPIC Award finalist for paranormal romance. Molly lives in Seattle with her husband and kids and worships fragrances and chocolate.
She is also the author of Persephone’s Orchard; Relatively Honest; What Scotland Taught Me and Summer Term.
Catch up with her at mollyringle.com
