War brought sorrow to all. How many wives and children, mothers and fathers, would Charon and Cerberus drive back from his realm when war brought their loved ones here? How many mortals and souls would cry out in anguish, reaching even his ears, when they were denied?
What would it be like to have someone so devoted? That they would travel into the Land of the Dead, to plead for your release or one last glimpse of your face?
It was a sorrow he would never know. He should be glad of it. His life had seen enough sorrow. He would not seek more out.
He set off, prowling the tunnels with a sharp eye. All he passed bowed. The shades trembled, falling to their knees while the Erinyes stooped low.
He wound through every passageway, following the corridors those within Tartarus had made with a small hammer and pick. They were endless, opening into tunnels, cells or vaults. On and on they went, winding back and forth, towards the main cavern.
It seemed that man had an affinity for evil and Tartarus would need to grow. He left the tunnels, watching the shades work.
They were gruesome to behold. More spirit than flesh, their eyeless faces and bent, twitching movements were the stuff of nightmares.
If he were mortal, would he be sent to Tartarus? He’d done terrible things in his time.
“Will Hades find him worthy, I wonder,” Persephone’s voice reached him.
She’d looked to him for reassurance that the young soldier would find peace, not knowing he would be the one to give it to the boy. Or take it from him.
The days since he’d returned had done little to dampen his memories of her, or the troubling effect she’d had upon him. He could feel the throb of her, the pull of her touch upon his arm. Indeed, the air seemed to come alive, searching for her… aching for her, if he thought on her too long.
He moved forward, grabbing up one of the large boulders meant for the wall and setting to work. It was not the first time he’d toiled alongside those in Tartarus, but it had been years since the need was as great as it was now.
He would chase away her presence, or go mad from it. She lingered in his mind’s eye and haunted his dreams. Why, he did not know. But he would banish her.
He worked on, until his back ached under the weight of the massive black rocks and he grew weary from the heat.
“My Lord,” Didymos spoke from behind him, “Judge Aeacus calls.”
Hades nodded, set the last stone and straightened, flexing and rolling his neck and shoulders.
Didymos backed away, his eyes downcast as he returned to his work. This man had been a monster in life. Even now, the man’s corded muscles and layers of scars displayed his earthly sins. He’d earned his eternity in Tartarus, the deeds of his life beyond forgiveness. But Hades had found his skills useful. Monster or no, Didymos served Tartarus well.
And Hades valued Didymos. All who served him, loyally, deserved as much.
Hades entered the chiseled tunnels rising gradually to the only opening into Asphodel. The gated hole, a sudden gash caged by leaden bars, was constantly watched over by a dozen guards. No one would leave Tartarus and no one would fall from Asphodel. The gate opened for him, though he had no key. It was the Fates’ doing. He was all powerful in his realm, and only slightly less so in the Land of the Living.
The murky sunlight that greeted him was blinding when compared to the red darkness of Tartarus. The air was clean and cool, a balm upon his dry throat.
The guards bowed their heads as he passed, expecting no acknowledgement from him. None was given, for Aeacus was waiting.
“My lord,” Aeacus greeted him with a slight bow.
Hades clasped the man’s arm. “Aeacus. What troubles you?” He set off towards the crossroads, Aeacus at his side. The Judges of the Dead held court at the crossroads, enabling those new to the Underworld to take the path to their given place.
“One who demands your audience.” Aeacus did little to disguise his disbelief.
“Demands?” Hades regarded Aeacus with surprise.
Aeacus shrugged. “With no disrespect, to be sure, but he is most insistent. As he is a hero from Athens, we sent him ahead to your home, to wait for you.”
“Why?”
“He would offer up a bargain of sorts.”
“A bargain?” Hades stopped, stared briefly at Aeacus then set off again. “Who is this man? A hero? Who finds fault with Elysium?”
“His name is Ariston,” Aeacus said, keeping stride with Hades once more. “An Ekdromoi of Athena, soldier of Athens and son to Rhodes’ high counselor.”
“Is he as arrogant as you make him out to be?”
Aeacus shook his head, laughing. “No, my lord, he is not. That is why we sent him to you. He is noble, truly, but not arrogant.”
Hades regarded Aeacus, weighing his words. This promised to be an interesting exchange.
“Tavli this eve, my lord? You may try to beat me.” Aeacus smiled at him. “Though I will bring my own astragals, for your dice are weighted, I think.”
Hades snorted, dismissing him. “If your pride is less injured then bring them, Aeacus.”
“More arrivals come, my lord.” Aeacus walked at his side. “Boat after boat of soldiers. Some lost to the storm, others to the Persians, off Athens’ coast.”
“Too many will be lost in this endeavor.” Hades shook his head. This was a young war yet, with many battles to come. His ghosts had learned the truth; the Persians were determined to win Greece for themselves. Their numbers were great. He feared they might win in their conquest, if Olympus did not intervene soon.
Aeacus nodded. “I know there were wars in my time, but none so wasteful as this.”
“War is always wasteful, Aeacus.”
Aeacus conceded as they reached the crossroads, “Perhaps you are right. It is easier to see such folly now.”
“Bring your dice.” Hades clasped arms with Aeacus in farewell and headed home, alone.
His home rose, stark and black. Carved into the side of a huge mountain, its parapets and arched windows were set into the rock face. He had no courtyard as was common in Greece and Olympus. But his chambers were grand, connected with sloping passageways and intricately carved doors. All had been constructed with long balconies, extending the length of every room so that he was able to look out over the Underworld if he pleased. It was the first thing he’d built in his new realm, to honor his new station and his new life.
He paused by the river’s edge and bathed his face and hands before crossing the bridge and entering his home.
He studied the man who awaited him. A young man, Hades saw, powerfully built. He’d fallen in battle. He bore an angry puncture, from stomach to back, and a jagged cut across his chest. Painful wounds that ebbed life slowly and caused suffering.
This man was for Elysium.
Hades walked past the man to sit in his black stone throne. “You have a bargain to offer me?”
The man straightened, drawing in a deep breath.
What would drive a mortal man to seek Hades out? When all others cowered at his name, he would demand an audience.
Hades found a peculiar sense of anticipation settling over him. “You asked for an audience; you have it. Where do you belong?”
The man swallowed, staring into the white-blue flames with a furrowed brow. He spoke a single broken word. “Athens.” Ariston of Rhodes lifted pale gray eyes, revealing his pain… so much pain.
Hades spoke carefully, keeping his tone aloof and distant. “You died with honor and glory. Is that not what every soldier wants?”
“My wife…”
His wife? Hades was surprised. “Lives. You do not.”
“She is in danger.”
Hades heard the pleading in Ariston’s voice, and the torment. But he would remain firm in his resolve. “Earthly danger,” Hades said. “She is no longer your concern.”
“The danger she faces is not earthly, far from it…” Ariston’s voice was hoarse, edged with a desperation Hades could feel. Aris
ton took a wavering breath before he began again. “She is everything to me. I am proud of my death, and the honor it brings my family, but it means nothing if she is in peril. I must know.” Ariston kneeled. “I beg you. I beg you to return me to Athens.”
Hades stared into the fire, unable to deny the impact of this man’s actions. He was here, humbling himself without shame, for the honor, the love, of his woman. Hades was in awe. Would that he was able to feel such devotion, without fear of recrimination.
“Who is this wife?” Hades asked, angered by the hoarseness of his voice.
“Medusa of Athens.” Ariston paused. “Now of Rhodes.”
Hades was silent, his thoughts racing. Could he help this man? He could help Ariston. This was his realm. But should he? Should he give this man a reprieve?
“When I die,” Ariston began.
“You are dead,” Hades assured him.
“When I return… die again, I would serve as guardian to Tartarus. I am a skilled warrior, a skill I might offer you.” He spoke with confidence.
Hades could do little but stare at the man. Was he mad? Did he know what he was offering? For a woman?
“You vex me,” Hades murmured, his brow furrowing at this strange proposal. Surely there was more to this offer. “You offer this to me for a woman?”
Ariston nodded. “She is worthy.”
Hades was silent, for his chest seized with anguish. It encompassed him, raw and sudden. It was a pain he’d long denied, buried deep for his own protection.
Ariston continued desperately, “As Olympus has my arm and sword, she has my heart… a mortal, and perhaps weak, heart. My words may not … adequately express the love I have for this woman. But I cannot leave her when she is at risk.”
Ariston would return to his wife, to protect her.
As Hades had once done.
Would Ariston’s wife welcome him home? Would she be pleased to have him at her side and in her bed?
Or would she cry in terror and beg him leave her forever?
His hands clenched at the memory, faded but no less excruciating.
Hades nodded. “It is a weakness that is not reserved for mortals alone, Ariston of Rhodes. I understand.” Perhaps this mortal would have what he could not.
Ariston was silent, his body rigid as he waited. Hope, hope and excitement, flared in his startled grey eyes. It was more than Hades could bear.
“I will return you to your ship so that you may lead your men to victory. Too many have fallen in this war and I would see it end. When that is done, you may go to your wife.” The words came quickly, but he did not censure them. He could justify this, for every soldier was needed. He paused then added, “And when you return to this realm, I will expect your fealty when I demand it.”
“You have it,” Ariston vowed earnestly, and Hades believed him.
###
Six days of disappointment passed. She’d spent the better part of each of those days needling and prompting Myrinne or Crysanthe. She was far too eager for any insight or knowledge she might learn about him, she knew, but she could not stop herself.
Hades.
His burning blue eyes haunted her.
But her efforts were in vain. The nymphs were afraid of him, Persephone surmised. The few things they had shared with her were uttered in hushed tones. All the while, their eyes had flitted this way and that as if he might appear and drag them screaming into the bowels of the Underworld.
What she’d managed to extract had done little to aid her in searching him out.
He had four monstrous horses, a gift from his brother Poseidon.
He was evil, the bringer of death.
He was cruel and unfeeling…
Such news was useless to her, for she knew most of it to be falsehoods. She’d seen the pain in his eyes. If he was unfeeling, or evil, such pain could not exist. Yet it did, she’d felt it, she knew it. And when she’d asked for his help, he’d not hesitated to give it.
She’d seen his power and understood it. He did not wield it lightly.
No, he was not cruel or unfeeling, he was good and generous and beautiful…
“Persephone?” her mother called to her, distracting her from her thoughts.
“I’m in the courtyard,” she answered.
Her mother arrived, wearing the white robes of Olympus. “You missed dear Hermes, Persephone. He had no time for a visit as he was sent by Zeus to summon all to Olympus,” she said. “I fear there’s been little progress in this siege…”
But Persephone heard no more of it. If Zeus had summoned all the Olympians, Hades would be traveling too. And if he was traveling to the mountain, she might find a way to meet him.
“… so stay close to the house as your attendants will not be back for some hours yet,” Demeter finished.
Myrinne and Crysanthe had set out this morning under the pretext of collecting wool. She knew better, there was wool enough for half a dozen new garments. Her companions were hunting an altogether different kind of companionship. And when they went to their lovers’ beds, she had the day to herself.
Excitement bubbled up within her. She would see him. This very night.
“Take your spinning inside,” her mother continued. “And lock the doors.”
Persephone said as little as possible, knowing her voice would betray her anticipation. She collected the spindle and whorl, as well as the basket of raw wool she’d been spinning. She’d planned to weave this afternoon but it would wait until tomorrow.
Her heart was in her throat and her hands began to tremble, so she paused to steady herself. She must be careful.
While preparing her mother’s hair, she took pains to keep her touch light and steady. If her mother suspected she was ill or out of sorts, suspected her of anything, Demeter would defy Zeus and stay with her.
“Why call upon all of us?” Demeter shook her head. “Ares and Athena, certainly, and Poseidon as well, for much of this war is on the seas. Hades will come, poor fellow, as his realm will grow greatly if things do not cease. But why me?”
Persephone found her voice. “Poor fellow? Hades?”
Demeter met her daughter’s eyes in the looking glass Zeus had given her. “Imagine how he must feel. To be called up, tempted by the sights and sounds of this realm, only to be cast into the gloom that is his domain once more?”
“Is it so bleak?”
“Bleak? Persephone, the man lives in eternal darkness. His only companionship found with the dead. It explains his grim disposition. He is a churlish fellow.”
Persephone made a non-committal noise, hoping her mother would go on. Her mother’s description did not sit well with her. Did none see him as she did?
Demeter shook her head, her finely arched eyebrows rising as she spoke. “Poseidon declares him senseless, that his time away from humanity has driven him mad... I say, if Hades is so, then Poseidon must bear his part of the blame for it. It was Poseidon who rent the first wound upon his gloomy brother. Who can blame him if he is mad? His life has afforded him little comfort. And, he is the ruler of death.”
Persephone shivered at her mother’s words. Death… Had she not jolted awake these last few nights, remembering the shade being torn from its mortal shell?
But what of this other?
How had Hades suffered at his brother’s hand?
Demeter stood, kissing her daughter’s cheeks. “Remember my words, Persephone. Stay in the house and lock the doors. I would not risk losing you.”
Persephone hugged her mother and waved her off, closing the door with shaking hands and leaning upon its carved wooden surface to calm herself.
She waited as long as she could bear it, all the while her heart racing in her chest. Winding her heavy chlamys about her shoulders for warmth, she borrowed the scarf she’d embroidered for her mother and covered her tresses with the delicate eplibema. She might venture off alone, but she was reasonable enough to cover herself.
Pulling the heavy doors shut, she teased th
e climbing vines high, to cover them. Only then did she turn, half running towards the roadway.
Her hands trailed along the tall grass as she went, listening closely.
He would come this way. The grass had seen him many times, this was his path.
She walked on, her fingers stroking the grass as she went. She smiled, encouraging the shoots an inch taller with her simple touch.
It was sunset when she made her way to the crossroads.
She touched the base of a towering fig tree, seeking answers. He would pass beneath the trees branches, it assured her. She rubbed her hand over the smooth bark, watching the leaves green and plump at her touch.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
The tree entreated her up into its branches for safety. Hades was not the only man who traveled this road. She climbed high, settling amongst the sturdy branches until he arrived.
Mayhap she’d missed him. Mayhap he was already there? But the tree told her he had not traveled this way in many weeks…
Her heart thundered wildly. Then I shall wait a bit. If he does not come, I will retire before the sun.
Chapter Four
The chargers flew, their heavy hooves tossing up earth in their wake. Hades held the reins loosely, giving the horses their head. They had been too long confined and found their newfound freedom exhilarating.
He smiled, savoring the simple joy of racing with them. Faster they went, galloping across the plains without pause. They hugged the base of the mountain, and tore across a wheat field. As they drew close to the main road, he gripped the reins more firmly.
He sighed, straightening his shoulders and tightening the length on the reins. The horses resisted, as did he. But they eventually responded to his hand upon them, slowing to a slight trot.
Orphnaeus shied suddenly, the massive black horse turning into his three running partners in his move to get away. Hades drew the team up, searching for the cause of his stallion’s distress.
Then he saw her. She was sitting in the tree, her foot dangling from the limb.
And he felt Orphnaeus’ urge to flee, too.
For the Love of Hades (The Loves of Olympus) Page 4
