Resentment flared in her again. Why not? If he thought her weak and silly, he would believe her incapable of using a knife. Could she? She fingered the hilt and glanced at him sidelong. But he had done her no harm, and he had named her—a beautiful, powerful name—Dazzling Brightness, Persephone. No, she would not hurt him, at least not unless he tried to stop her from escaping. Nonetheless, she took the knife from the basket very carefully, making sure it did not touch or catch on anything that would make a sound and betray her, and set it in her lap.
Her further exploration of the basket had led her to the full cup of wine. Anxiety had dried her mouth, and she lifted that and drank, then set what remained beside her while she unwrapped the meat roll inside the vine leaves. It was very good, delicious, in fact. She ate another, sipped the wine, thinking that Hades did not stint himself although he said his people were hungry.
Honesty made her revise that statement while she ate still another meat roll. He had said they needed grain, that the numbers of his people were growing and they would face hunger in the future if she did not teach his womenfolk the mystery of raising corn. And the loaf of bread in the basket was very small. Was she doing wrong in planning to escape?
Persephone’s lips thinned. No, she was not doing wrong. If Hades wanted a priestess, he should have approached her mother and asked, not seized her and carried her off without a by-your-leave. Even if Zeus had agreed… But Hades was Zeus’s brother; if her mother knew that, she probably would not have sent a priestess with him, and certainly she would not have allowed her daughter to go.
Suddenly Persephone smiled. This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her, and the way Hades looked at her— The smile froze on her lips. What was happening to her? The food! It was sapping her will, twisting her mind. Being abducted was not exciting! It was a violation of her rights as a free woman. Hades had lied to her! She must escape now, before the poison took a greater hold on her.
She seized the knife and got to her feet, kicking the cloak out of the way. The cup overturned with a small clink, but Persephone did not hear it. Nor did she see or hear Hades turn and sigh. Her eyes were fixed on the dim bluish glow, and she hurried toward it, uncaring of the scratch and scrape of pebbles under her feet.
The light did not look so inviting now. There was a sickly tone to the blue. And she remembered suddenly that Hades had pointed to the ceiling and said that was the path out. But if he had lied about the food, he had lied about everything. Fighting her reluctance, she squeezed her way into the crack and inched toward the light, struggling, as she forced her way forward, with an ever-increasing terror that the rock would close in on her.
As a rough piece of stone tore Persephone’s gown and scraped her shoulder, it occurred to her that Hades could never have come through this passage carrying her. Then this was not the path he had taken. She hesitated, then firmed her trembling mouth and pushed on. This was light. Light meant the sun in the open sky. Perhaps this was not the way Hades had come, but if she followed the light she would find a way into the outer world and from there she would somehow find her way home.
As if her determination had broken the resistance of the passage, it widened a few steps farther along, letting her walk easily. She hurried forward, shivering, suddenly aware that she was bitterly cold—yet it had been warm enough in the cave. Hades. It was Hades who made light and warmth. He was as great a mage as Zeus. To be priestess/wife to so great a mage, would that be so terrible? She hesitated, looking back, and then remembered that her desire to return was not her own but caused by the bespelled food. She had to reach the outer world. When she did, the spell drawing her back to Hades would be broken.
* * * *
The clink of the wine cup that Persephone overturned rang louder in Hades’s mind than in his ears. Exhaustion, however, lay upon him like a thick blanket, weighing down his limbs, and regret blurred and distorted his thoughts. He turned his back on the sound, sighing with reluctance to determine the cause. He did not want to know; he did not want to act, only to sleep. Beyond the oblivion of sleep lay misery.
The scrape of leather on stone disturbed him again. Still he clung to sleep. Quiet returned soon, but as he drifted down the memory of that sound troubled him, prodded at him. He tried to sink below the meaning of the grating of pebble against stone—that someone was walking about near him—tried to sink into the black depths of sleep, but a constant prick of responsibility kept drawing him up, demanding his attention.
In his own chamber, none would harm him. Why should he care who walked and where? And with the question his eyes flew open. He was not in his own chamber but with Persephone in— The blue light struck his eyes, and he sprang to his feet staring around wildly. She was gone! He opened his mouth to call, then clamped it shut. If she heard his voice, she would run, perhaps headlong into what dwelt in the blue light.
Hades snatched up his sword and leapt to the fissure. He thrust a shoulder in, but realized even before the fabric of his tunic caught against the stone that he could never pass in the normal way. For a moment he leaned into the rock, his shoulder and breast beginning to blur and slide into the stone, but then he drew back. He did not know how long the narrow passage was. It would take too long. He backed out, strapped on his sword, and laid one hand on each wall.
“Mother help me,” he whispered, and then began to press outward. “Open,” he demanded through gritted teeth. “Open!”
* * * *
Persephone soon realized that the light was growing stronger. Hugging her arms around herself for warmth, she began to run. Soon she did not feel the cold so bitterly. The air that wafted into the passage was warmer and felt damp, she thought, but it had a strange scent. Priestess of the Corn Goddess, Persephone knew growing things and what she smelled was not of the land she knew. Her step faltered. The light was wrong too. It was not like sunlight but like moonlight, only much brighter and with a strange blue tinge.
Suddenly Persephone was afraid. What was ahead was not the world she knew! But it must be, she told herself. She was bespelled, bedazzled into thinking the outer world alien and repulsive. Likely the light seemed strange because she expected it should be high noon; instead, more time had passed than she realized and it was really twilight. Setting her jaw, she began to run again.
Despite her determination, her steps lagged slower and slower as the tunnel she was in became enormous, dwarfing her. The blue-white light was now so strong that she could see the rock that surrounded her clearly. Here and there were oddly smooth patches in the walls and floor. She paused to look at a protrusion of the smooth rock; it was clear. She could see through it. How curious. Hades had promised he would show her marvels.
A moment later she realized she was standing still, half turned to the passage behind her. She jerked her head around, forcing herself to look forward. This way was freedom she told herself. Hades’s promises were all lies—and then, as if to confirm the thought, she saw green ahead. Grass, it must be grass. Persephone forced herself forward, trying to ignore the regrets that dragged at her, holding her back. But where the passage ended, triumph and regret alike were forgotten as was the danger of waking the captor she had left behind. She stopped short, crying out in amazement.
At first she thought she had emerged from Plutos into an entirely unknown realm, cold, and barren of tree or bush, where as far as the eye could see the tumbled rocks were covered with a strange green moss. Then she saw that she had not emerged at all, only entered a cavern so huge that the farther walls were almost lost in the strange blue light. That, like the light Hades had summoned, came from the roof, but not in glittering points. The blue light poured steadily from wide swathes and rough patches in the ceiling and in the upper walls.
Persephone stood still, tasting the bitterness of defeat and wondering what she should do. Go back to Hades? He loved to laugh, and now he would have good cause to laugh at her. She stood irresolute; the faint sound of her footsteps now stilled, she heard the e
ven fainter burble of running water. The wine she had drunk was sour in her mouth. She would like a drink of water. The source could not be too far. If Hades wanted her, let him come after her. He could not be in any doubt as to where she had gone. She need not run back to him like a whipped bitch.
The floor sloped sharply from the lip of the passage toward the center of the cavern. Persephone had to watch carefully where she put her feet lest a moss-covered rock turn and unbalance her. And the moss itself was slippery and unlike any she knew. Near the passage it had been low. As she walked, it grew taller. The odor she had noticed in the passage, which was strange to her but not unpleasant, came from the moss rather strongly when she crushed it under her feet.
By the time she was at the bank of the stream, the moss was knee high, and beneath it nearest the water grew a tiny forest of round white crowns—surely mushrooms. Persephone bent to look closer, shadowing the water. As she did, a creature rose out of the stream and flung itself at her, hissing like a too-tight covered pot boiling over.
She reared upright, shrieking with alarm and thrusting out her hands toward the creature off. The knife, which she had been clutching all the while she walked, caught the thing in the middle. The hiss rose higher, almost to a scream, and blood stained the soft, pallid flesh of its underside. It fell back. Persephone scrambled backward too, but it twisted around lithely and found its feet to rush forward again, opening a broad mouth with too many teeth.
The creature was waist high and quick. Persephone did not dare turn her back and try to outrun it. Its forepart rose slightly, as if it were preparing to leap. It could easily bear her down. With the courage of desperation, Persephone stepped forward and struck downward with her knife, screaming, “Hades! Help! Hades!”
The dagger scored on the snout, tearing a nostril. Blood poured down into the thing’s mouth and it backed away, a long tongue coming out to lick at the blood. Persephone tried to run backward, knife ready. The creature’s skin was moist and shining. Perhaps it would not go far from the water and she could escape it. But that hope died as it started forward again.
“Hades!” she shrieked. “Help me!”
She tried to go back faster. A branch of moss caught in her skirt and tugged her sideways. Countering the pull, she leaned the other way, and a rock rolled under her heel. There was a sound like thunder, grating and crashing, and through it came a voice like a brazen bell calling her name. Hades was coming—but not soon enough.
Chapter 3
Persephone screamed for Hades again, windmilling her arms as she lost her balance and fell backward. The moss cushioned her so that the rock did not bruise her badly, but the long stalks, incredibly strong for moss, tangled her arms. She struggled wildly, trying to push herself upright and free the hand that held the knife. She saw the beast coming; from behind a long shadow loomed over her.
Legs were suddenly astride her hips, legs in boots so bright with jewels that she blinked. In that blink the creature was beheaded. Persephone saw the sword only at the end of its swing, red running down the silvery blade.
“Are you hurt?” Hades cried, twisting to look down at her.
Persephone swallowed. His face, always pale, now had the gray-white look of a corpse and was streaked with rivulets of sweat. The hand that held the sword trembled so violently that red droplets scattered from the blade.
“No,” she gasped, pushing back with her heels so that she could slide from between his legs. From his look she feared he would collapse atop her. “I am not hurt,” she assured him more steadily, hoping it was fear for her that had drained him and that knowing her safe would restore him.
“Thank the Mother,” he sighed, setting his sword point into the ground and leaning on the weapon. “Can you stand?”
“Better than you, I think,” Persephone replied, getting to her feet.
“I do not doubt it.” He smiled at her. “You are a marvel. Most outworld women would be in screaming hysterics—and many of the underworld folk also, to speak the truth, those who never leave the home caves.”
Even as he spoke the praise, however, his head was turning to look over his shoulder. Persephone was torn between pleasure and pique. His acknowledgement of her courage and common sense—what good would hysterics have done her; had she not fought the beast it would probably have torn her to bits—made her feel strong and proud. On the other hand, his distraction irritated her; it was entirely too possible he was mouthing a polite formula while he was thinking of something else.
Before she could speak, however, he had turned back to her. He drew a deep breath as if it could restore him, but to Persephone he looked even grayer and more drawn when he said, “Go back the way you came as quickly as you can. There are worse things in the caves of blue light than this hudorhaix.”
Persephone drew a sharp breath and started away, but a fearful glance over her shoulder showed that Hades was not following. He was facing the stream again, the lines of his body tense with watching and listening. Worse things? Panic drove her a few steps farther before common sense stopped her dead in her tracks. If Hades were hurt or killed, would she not die of cold and starvation, even if the beast that he fought did not soon follow her?
“Be strong,” she whispered, turning and coming back the few steps she had fled.
He whipped around to face her, black eyes wide, but there was color in his cheeks and lips. “What did you do?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She drew herself up. “I wished for you to be strong to defend me, and I came to stand with you. Perhaps I could distract the thing so you could strike at it more easily.”
“You must be my queen,” he breathed.
She shrugged, although the intensity in his eyes and the near-awe in his hushed voice made her know she was worth more to him than gold or diamonds—or even bread in this strange world—and that brought blood to her cheeks.
“I am only trying to save myself,” she said tartly. “What safety could I find in these caves with no guide and no light if harm came to you?”
“You wished me to be strong,” he repeated, as if he had heard nothing else she said, then turned away abruptly.
“What comes?” Persephone whispered.
Hades shook his head and knelt to wipe his sword clean with handfuls of moss. “Nothing at the moment. I was only wondering whether I could take the time to cut some meat from the hudorhaix. It is very good eating. But it would not do to carry the bleeding flesh with us, leaving a trail. Better to leave the body for the sauraima to feast upon.” But he kept his eyes on his weapon as he spoke.
“Eat it?” Persephone looked at the pallid thing and shuddered.
When Hades glanced up, he was grinning. “Most likely you have eaten some already. I am not certain what was in the meatrolls, but it is as likely to be hudorhaix as wild goat. If you do not like it, you should be eager to teach the women of Plutos to grow grain. When we have fodder for them, we can have herds and will no longer need to hunt in the caves.”
“Perhaps I might have been willing—though I cannot think I would be eager—if you had asked me. But to snatch me and force me… I would rather eat hudorhaix myself.”
Hades shook his head, then with lifted brows asked, “Would your mother have let you come with me if I had begged her for you?”
The answer was obvious, and for some reason Persephone did not wish to suggest that her mother might have been more sympathetic if he had asked for Dorkas or another priestess. She turned her back and started up the slope toward the mouth of the tunnel without reply. Fortunately, she did not need to wonder whether Hades was following; she could hear him. Twice he came even with her and she increased her pace, hunching a shoulder to show he was unwelcome, but she was furious when he did not try again, even though she told herself she would have given him no different response.
Just as they arrived at what had been the crack through which she entered the tunnel, it occurred to her that Hades’s restraint might be a mark of courtesy and good will rathe
r than the irritated patience with which her mother ignored or denigrated her attempts to strike out for herself. Hades, after all, had praised her courage, and again had said he wished to make her his queen, but before she could really consider the idea, shock pushed it out of her mind.
The wonder of seeing the opening that she had escaped through with some difficulty now wide enough for her to pass easily without sidling was considerable, but that became insignificant when she noticed, sunk into the rock on either side but smooth and still glowing hot, the mark of a man’s hands. No wonder Hades was gray with exhaustion when he came to kill the hudorhaix. He was a great mage, indeed, to widen that tunnel against the weight of rock holding it. It was a wonder such an expenditure of power had not crippled him or stopped his heart, and he had recovered so quickly…
Persephone blinked. Hades had the power to crush her as an ordinary man crushed a louse if she offended him, yet he had not scolded her for her foolish attempt to escape, he had come the moment she cried for help, and he had not offered one word of reproach over the dreadful expenditure of power it had cost. She stopped before entering the small cave where she had first wakened and turned to face him.
“I am ungracious not to thank you for coming so quickly to save me,” she murmured.
“You are kind not to blame me for not warning you, but I did not know there was a blue-light cave so close.”
She could not resist glancing up at him under her lashes and chuckling. “I cannot blame you for that. Warning me would not have done the slightest good. I would only have believed that you were trying to frighten me away from a path to the outer world, as I believed—”
She stopped abruptly and Hades cocked his head. “Believed?”
“The foolish tales you set about to deceive those who would seek to steal the riches of Plutos.”
Dazzling Brightness Page 3
