Persephone flushed slightly as she spoke. What she had almost said was that she believed he had lied about the food, that the food she had eaten was bespelled, because she had been so reluctant to leave him. That would have explained why she would have believed he was lying about the cave of blue light too, but she had no intention of confessing that she was not nearly as eager to return to her mother’s care as she kept insisting.
“But you will believe me now, will you not?” Hades asked anxiously. “The tunnels themselves are dangerous. There are sinkholes and sudden drop-offs that end in lakes so clear the image of the ceiling looks like a solid floor. The caves are worse. In many black ones, pillars grow from the floor and the ceiling and some are armed with sharp crystals that can cut flesh to the bone if you blunder into them. In the light ones—I swear to you the hudorhaix is the least of the dangers. There are worse beasts and worst of all, the truly dead—those whose hearts are stone and whose minds are black sinks of foulness. Persephone, I beg you not to run away from me. There is no path from here to the outer world, I swear it.”
“You could carve a path for me if you wished,” she said perversely.
His dark eyes slid away from hers, but then his mouth hardened. “I could, yes. But I will not. My people need you, and though you do not wish to believe me, it is for your good also that I keep you.”
Then suddenly he laid his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. His lips burned, but before she could jerk away or even remember that she still clutched a knife and turn it on him, he released her and stepped back. She stared, eyes wide. There had been no desire, not a flicker of passion, in that kiss, but Hades did not offer an explanation, only gestured for her to enter the small cave. When she did not respond, he did speak but in a quiet, indifferent voice, urging her again to go ahead and cautioning her to be careful of the rubble that lay on the floor.
Confusion made it simpler for Persephone to obey without protest, and she did need to watch where she put her feet because there was barely enough of the faint blue light from the great cavern behind them for her to see her way. As she stepped into the relative darkness, however, her forehead tingled, and the ceiling came to life. She looked back over her shoulder, but Hades had not yet entered the small room.
“What have you done to me?” she called out to him.
“You are too brave and too unwary,” Hades replied, stepping into the cave. “You will have light now wherever you are.”
Although she was actually grateful, recalling how frightened she had been when Hades fell asleep and the light died, his bland expression made Persephone very suspicious. “So that I will not be tempted by false gleams?” she asked.
“That, too.” Hades smiled.
Persephone was annoyed; Hades’s answer had confirmed some unspoken purpose in the spell he had set on her and apparently she had guessed only the least part. However, a second sharp question died in her throat as his head turned abruptly toward the tunnel. She, too, heard what had drawn his attention, a sound of thrashing and thin, high whistles. Hades’s lips thinned and he went at once to pick up the fleece he had been lying on. He dropped it atop the one on which Persephone had lain, rolled them swiftly together, and tied them with cords that had been sewn to one end of their undersides. To these he looped two padded straps, through which he slid his arras and lifted the bundle to his back. The cloak Persephone had dropped on the floor he pulled across the top of the rolled fleeces and tucked firmly under the sides.
“Take the basket and come,” he said softly but urgently.
“Where are you going?” Persephone asked in return.
“Come now and come quickly,” he said. “We do not have time to talk and it is dangerous.”
There was a bleakness colder than the stone that surrounded them in his voice. Her mother would blame her for following him farther from where he had snatched her up, Persephone thought, but something about his manner terrified her. Without another word she dropped the knife she had been carrying into the basket, caught it up, and hurried to where Hades stood.
“There.” He pointed to a black opening over his head. “I will lift you up. Crawl in and go ahead. In three or four body lengths the passage will broaden enough for you to turn. Wait there for me.”
Almost before the words were out of his mouth, he had gripped her around the waist and lifted her. Persephone thrust the basket into the passage, but she could not lift herself in. Hades set her down, moved his hands down to her hips and lifted again. She got enough of her upper body into the passage that time to squirm in, but he did not release her entirely. One hand slid lingeringly down her leg until his fingers could not reach her any more.
As she entered the passage, its utter blackness was relieved by a small glow here and there in the sides, floor, and ceiling. It was not really enough to see by, just barely enough light to give her an awareness of size and direction. Persephone found herself ridiculously disappointed. The spell Hades had set on her was a poor thing to fade so quickly. He was not, apparently, as strong a mage as she had believed.
She was a fool to be disappointed, she told herself fiercely. She should be glad. The stronger he was, the less chance she would have to escape him. Persephone picked up the basket, but found immediately that the passage was the most awkward size imaginable. It was just about high enough for her to sit up in but too low to walk in, even bent over, and as Hades had said, not wide enough to turn around. She would have to crawl, and it was very difficult to crawl in a long skirt with a basket in one hand. She gave the thing an ill-natured shove and followed it to clear the way as she heard Hades grunt with effort. A soft thud told her that he had arrived.
“You had better will more light in here if you wish to be able to see,” she said over a few lower grunts as he levered himself fully into the passage. “I am afraid your spell has already faded.”
“Not that,” he said, between hard breaths. After a moment he went on, “I can’t get any more light than you have unless I melt the rock behind the walls so it glows—and I’m not going to do that. The walls might collapse and, of course, narrow as this tunnel is, we would roast. Not enough crystal in here. Go ahead. Don’t stop. We want to gain some distance before the hudorhaix is devoured.”
“Is there no passage through which we could walk?” Persephone protested as she moved painfully ahead.
“You will be able to walk soon. I did not choose this way to annoy you. The passage I intended to take was walkable, but it is at floor level and would make it too easy to follow us.”
The threat implicit in those words drove Persephone forward without any further complaint, but she was soon gasping with effort. A moment later she whimpered softly as the lights above her began to recede and she thought she was becoming faint. At the same moment Hades told her she could stand, and she realized that the light had grown fainter because the ceiling was farther away.
They moved faster then, Hades’s hand on her shoulder propelling her ahead more quickly than was really safe in the dim light. The effort not to stumble took all Persephone’s attention until Hades’s hand closed on her so hard she cried out.
“Quiet!” he whispered. “Hold your breath.”
She was so frightened, she did not consciously obey him, but instinctively she listened as intently as he did; one does not breathe when one is so intent upon listening. Then she heard his breath sigh out, and his hand fell away from her shoulder.
“I could not hear anything,” she whispered.
“You do not yet know for what to listen,” he said quietly, but no longer as if he was afraid that their voices, echoing back through the passage, would betray them. “I could barely make out the noise myself—it is like a soft rumbling, very soft, with a very thin high overnote. It means they are still feeding at the hudorhaix and that means the pack must be small. In a larger pack, the weaker would have been driven off and they would have smelled our trail and followed it. I would have heard them much more clearly, because they w
ould have been in the cave just below the opening, leaping at it and squalling with rage.”
Persephone shuddered. “Take me home,” she breathed. “In Olympus people are not followed by ravening beasts.”
“Nor would we be followed by them if you had not sought to escape me,” he snarled, but then he said more gently, “It was my fault. I should have explained the dangers to you more clearly.”
Since Persephone knew she would have acted in exactly the same way no matter what Hades had said, she acknowledged neither his accusation nor his apology. Instead she asked, “Are we safe now?”
“Only the home caves and the valleys upon which they open are safe—and they are as safe as Olympus with all those lecherous mages about and that merry, light-fingered devil Hermes ready to thieve any loose bauble for amusement. You were too protected, hidden in the temple, to know what Olympus truly is. But we can go more slowly now. I do not think there is any immediate danger. If the pack is small enough, the hudorhaix may sate their appetites and our scent may be obscured by the odor of the moss before they hunger again.”
Persephone found Hades’s last remark somewhat less than completely reassuring, and she shivered again. Hades must have noticed because she saw him move and then the cloak he had used to envelop her was placed over her shoulders.
“You are cold,” he said. “I am sorry. I forget that you are not accustomed to the caves.”
She said, “Thank you,” before she remembered that she should be angry over the reminder of her abduction and only after she spoke realized that she had been cold.
The wool was very soft and the cloak surprisingly light, considering that it fell to her ankles. At that, she was fortunate she was so tall or it would have trailed on the ground and been a hindrance. She found the warmth soothing. Insensibly her fear diminished and she became more aware of her surroundings.
First she noticed that the light changed, sometimes brighter, sometimes dimmer according to the changing patches of crystal. Then she saw that the passage was sometimes broader and sometimes narrower. Once, when it grew steadily narrower until Hades had to stop and remove the bundle from his back so he could sidle through, she feared it would close too tight for them to pass or that the passage might end altogether. Recalling that Hades could open the way or even carry her through the rock, if what he had told her about how he had brought her into the little cave was true, she was momentarily soothed.
That memory, however, woke another less comforting. Had not Hades said this wasn’t the way he had intended to go? She looked back over her shoulder, but it was not light enough to make out an expression on his face. All she could see was a white blur with its dark markings of eyes and beard.
“Do you know where we are going?” she asked.
“No. Does it matter?”
“It matters to me,” she replied indignantly, “This is your realm and you say you love it, but I do not. And I certainly do not desire to be lost in the dark.”
“We are not lost. I cannot be lost. I thought you were asking whether there was a particular place I was trying to find. All I want right now is water, and I know there is water somewhere ahead. I can smell it.”
“If you are thirsty, there is wine in the basket,” Persephone reminded him.
“I am not thirsty. If we cross water or can wade through it for some way, they may lose the scent even if they do follow us.”
Although Hades’s voice was calm, almost casual, Persephone found herself frightened again. “Who…what…are they?”
“A pack of ponpikoi—they are like rats, only larger and they run in packs like wolves. If I had seen any sign of them, I would not have wasted time talking back in the cave.”
“Why do you not close the passage behind us?” Persephone asked, shuddering with horror. “Surely that would stop them.”
He laughed softly and said, “I am a mage, not a god. My strength has a limit, and I am near that limit now.”
He paused as if waiting for her to say something, but Persephone had no idea what he expected from her. She looked questioningly at him and asked, “What can I do?”
He came closer, peering down as if her face was the most important thing in the world. After a moment, he shook his head and said, “Go forward. I can feel the passage widens ahead.”
Now Persephone was not so sure she wanted the passage to widen. In the confined space she felt the creatures could not surround them and Hades might have been able to kill them one by one. On the other hand, the faster she went, the farther away they would be. She hurried forward, but in a few minutes the receding walls made the way so dark that she stumbled. Hades caught her before she could fall and put an arm around her shoulders.
“I am more accustomed to the dark. Let me steady you,” he murmured. Pride bade her twist away, but the warmth and security of his embrace was too desirable. “I am afraid,” she whispered.
“You need not fear. I will not let harm come to you. To comfort you, I would go back and close the way, no matter the cost, but there are other reasons not to seal that passage. If a hunting party should be attacked by the ponpikoi, it might be their only escape. There is danger enough for my hunters without closing their lines of retreat.”
“But if there were grain to feed herds you would not need to send hunters into danger,” Persephone said, her voice light. With his arm around her, she was not afraid and could not resist teasing.
He chuckled. “You are accusing me of having a mind that runs along a passage without side entries. Sometimes I fear you are right, but I swear this time I am innocent.”
Persephone laughed, too. “I must confess I am surprised that you credit me with sense enough to understand anything, after the way I ran off.”
His arm tightened around her. “That was ignorance, not lack of ability to understand—and it showed a high courage, which I admit I did not guess you had. Zeus said you bowed always to your mother’s will without protest—
“That is out of love, not fear,” Persephone snapped.
“I believe you,” Hades said. “But I could not know that before I met you. And Zeus could not tell me much about you, beyond your great beauty and that you were able to perform the full rites of the Corn Goddess, because he does not know you either. I do not wish to hurt you by speaking ill of one you love, indeed, I do not think ill of your mother, because I am certain what she did was done out of love. But too much love is not healthy.”
She stiffened under his arm. “How can there be too much love?”
“Perhaps I said that wrong.” His grip relaxed just a trifle, as if to show she was free to break loose if she wished. “I mean a love that cages and cripples its object, forbids it to be fully everything it can be—
He stopped abruptly, pulling Persephone back against him and gripping her so hard that she was lifted to her toes for a moment and the basket dropped to the floor, fortunately landing on its flat bottom so that nothing spilled. A sharp gesture of Hades’s free hand instantly killed the little glittering points that had provided light. From the blackness that now surrounded them, Persephone could see in the distance a faint shimmer that might be golden light.
“The sun,” she breathed, but she did not struggle to free herself to run toward the light, and in the next instant terror turned her cold because Hades, who had faced the hudorhaix with near contempt and the ponpikoi with no more than caution and distaste, shuddered.
“No. It is not the sun,” Hades whispered, and looked over his shoulder as if he were considering going back, as if facing the giant rats that ran in a pack like wolves might be a lesser evil than what lay ahead.
Chapter 4
When Dorkas and her maidens reached the pool of the Mother, Kore was still not in sight. Dorkas allowed herself to smile, as if at the antics of the little girls who now began to pick flowers, chase one another, and search the banks of the pool for newts and tadpoles, but she was riding a crest of hope that the flowers Kore had called out she wished to pick were of Hades’
s devising. Dorkas remembered no flowers of special beauty or profusion along the road.
If Hades did take Kore, Dorkas intended to be the next high priestess, and it was not likely that she would have to wait for Demeter’s death before she held the wand. She was Zeus’s favorite; it was she who had told him when Kore was allowed to leave the temple. She knew that Zeus’s purpose in relinquishing Kore to his brother was to obtain a priestess who would be more malleable than Demeter and willing to support him. Her smile broadened a trifle. When she had the wand, Zeus would indeed find her malleable and supportive—but for a price.
She became aware of the young priestesses in golden gowns placing their baskets in a semicircle around the pool. The rock above it was already bathed in rosy light. When the sun touched the water, the garments must be washed. She did not dare trifle with that rite. Turning from the pool, she frowned and walked back along the road a little way, as if she were looking for Kore, then came back to the waiting priestesses.
“I cannot think what is keeping the girl,” she said. “How long can it take to pick a few flowers? Aglaia, see that the little ones are gathered and ready to sing. I will go back and fetch Kore.”
She ran as long as she believed the young women could see her and then slowed to a crawl. She was torn between her desire to be sure that Kore had been taken and her fear of Hades. She had only one glimpse of him, as she was leaving Zeus and he was arriving to learn what she had told his brother, but he looked as black and cold as the caves in which he lived. Hades, she thought, stopping altogether, was not like Zeus, who could be beguiled with a few sweet words. To her it seemed all too possible that if he saw her spying on him, he would open the earth and bid it swallow her.
Despite her fear she started forward again. The temptation to be certain that Kore was gone was too great to resist. At the edge of the outcropping of rock, she stopped again. She could not see Kore on the rising slope, and there was no sound beyond the soft sigh of the morning breeze. Slowly she rounded the strewn boulders, peering cautiously ahead. Her heart leapt when she saw the crushed sprigs at the edge of the road. Kore had climbed up toward the largest of the rocks. Her eyes scanned the ground eagerly, picking up a few more signs of the girl’s passage, but the trail did not go farther up the hillside.
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