Ganymede and Other Romantic Short Stories from Greek Mythology

by T. S. Cleveland

  “I’ll only be a moment,” Core promised, already waving over her shoulder at the others and heading towards the narcissus. She stepped lightly through the field, mindful of snakes. She did not dislike them because they could harm her—she was a goddess, and so immune to their venom—but the creatures had made her uneasy ever since she’d woken one morning to find a serpent in bed with her, curled beneath the blankets and pressed to her bare stomach. She’d calmly removed the creature and watched it slither off without fuss, but all day she’d felt a creeping unease. When she told her mother of the incident, Demeter’s eyes had flashed with anger, but she’d refused to explain why. Never one to dwell, Core came to the conclusion that her mother did not like snakes either. It had not come up again, and Core’s attendants were now constantly on the lookout for snakes and other nasties while her mother tended to her business elsewhere. She disliked leaving Core alone, but when she had to, she kept her in careful hands.

  Core was kept from snakes as well as gods; her nymphs warded off both. They said it was to keep her virtuous, when she asked, but Core did not understand how simply speaking to someone might lead to her stolen virtue. Apollo had found her picking flowers one day, shortly after she’d come into her womanly figure. His good looks had stunned her, his mouth as soft as flower petals and his eyes as rich as soil. He’d spoken to her for several minutes before Demeter appeared and took Core away. “He wishes to make you his wife,” she’d warned.

  “Really?” Core had been intrigued, despite her mother’s disapproval. “But we were only talking. He was very nice.”

  “One is usually nice to the maiden one wishes to seduce,” Demeter cautioned. “Don’t worry, my darling. Apollo will not have you.”

  That had been that, and Apollo had never come to speak with her again. Core put the event out of her mind and focused instead on things that made her happy. Picking flowers with her friends, running in the sunshine, laughing and playing and finding narcissus in the fields.

  She reached the yellow flower and bent her knee before it. She could see now what she’d not seen before: there were two, one for her mother and one for herself. She smiled at the good fortune, imagining the new wreaths she would weave for their heads, and then gently, she picked them from the earth.

  The pair of roaming pigs had followed her across the field, and they squealed suddenly, making Core turn to assess them. There was no danger nearby that she could see, but they continued to squeal and run in tight circles around one another. She might have laughed at such a demonstration of silliness, if not for the genuine fear she sensed coming from the poor animals.

  “Hush, little pigs,” she said, reaching out for one as it passed her. Still on her knees, she was eye level with the pig as it squealed and bolted at her touch. The other followed suit, and the pair of them ran back towards the nymphs, whom Core could barely make out at her distance. She frowned, not having realized she’d wandered so far.

  She stood, the flowers held gingerly in her grasp, and was taking the first step of her return journey when the ground began to tremble.

  “Oh!” she cried as the rumble dropped her to her bottom. She waited a moment for the shaking to stop, thinking Poseidon was only having a bit of fun. But his quakes seldom lasted so long as this. She pulled herself back to her feet and brushed the grass from her gown. Her intentions of running for her attendants shattered when the ground began to split all around her. With a scream, she tried to flee, leaping over a growing crack in the earth. She made the jump and ran as fast as she could, though she was forced to travel in the direction further from the nymphs.

  The unexpected sound of horses made her clench her fists, and the narcissus flowers were crushed in her grasp. She glanced over her shoulder as she ran, moving faster when she saw the four black horses heading straight for her. They were hitched to a dark chariot. A man stood astride it.

  She ran so fast, the flower crown was knocked from her head, her hair flying wildly behind her, a stream of gold. She was quick, but no match for the horses, and in seconds, they were upon her. She thought she would be trampled, prepared herself for the impact, but instead of hooves beating at her body, hands grasped her waist and hauled her up. Her feet hovered above the grass, her legs kicking.

  “Rape!” she screamed, as her mother had taught her. “A rape! Help me!”

  “No one’s raping you, child,” came the voice of the man as he pulled her into his chariot. He grimaced at her and wound a strong arm around her waist, keeping her secure against his side. His other hand was busy holding the chariot’s reins, and he flicked his wrist, leading the horses back towards the crevasse in the field. It was wide and menacing, and he instructed the horses to fly towards its darkness.

  Core beat futilely at her captor and continued to scream, but his grasp was mighty, and she could do nothing but watch as the chariot flew deep down into the earth. She turned to catch a last glimpse of sun before the hole closed up and they were plunged in shadow.

  She shivered, terrified, and couldn’t stop the tears. She knew exactly who was holding her tight, knew exactly the hands that kept her from falling from the chariot as it flew straight down, down, down into the black. They had never met, but there was only one god that dwelled in the kingdom under the earth.

  “Please,” she wept. “Let me go!”

  His face was grim. His features were grim too. Grim brows, black and thick on a grim forehead. A grim mouth, thin lips turned down. Grim locks of hair hanging around a sharp jaw, black like his robes. The only brightness about him was his skin, pale as the moon, as if sun had never touched it, not once. Core’s skin shined dark and golden compared to his, still warm from the sunshine. His skin was cool to the touch, like marble. She opened her clenched fist and the crushed yellow petals disappeared into the darkness.

  “We’re almost there,” he informed her, swinging the horses to correct the path of the chariot. They were no longer traveling vertically, but straight forward. It was still dark, but now Core could see specks of land beneath them, though they remained high in the air, dashing far above the land. “Below us here are the Asphodel Fields,” he said, nodding as they flew over a plain of artificially green grasses. It looked to Core like it might be very lovely, but the smell was all wrong. The air was stale and lifeless. “Our palace is just beyond. Do you see?”

  She did see. Fast approaching was a palace of black marble, like Olympus’ pantheon, but wrong somehow. Blacker. Colder. Not even the sight of a large white cypress tree beside the structure warmed the place, nor the clear pool beneath it. There was a grove of poplars in the distance that the man primly pointed out, but they were black and ugly. When he told her they were for her, she only cried harder.

  Though it felt like it, they did not fly in the chariot forever, and when they finally reached the palace, the horses whinnied and came to a stop, landing skillfully before the great entranceway. The god stepped from the chariot first, quickly holding his hand out for Core to take. “My lady,” he said, eyes on hers, also black, also grim.

  She returned his gaze. “Hades,” she said, pointedly ignoring his extended hand and jumping from the chariot without his aid. Her mother had warned Core about her father, told her Zeus was not one to be trusted, even for all his grandness and power. But Hades was his brother, and he was rumored to be far worse. She’d heard much about him and wagered she knew him better than he knew her. He was a cruel recluse who seldom left the Underworld. And he never let anyone else leave either. She strode past his still-extended hand, but only managed a few steps before fear and sadness overtook her and she nearly crumpled.

  Hades was at her side in an instant, keeping her up with a hand around her elbow. “Do not cry,” he said, walking her through the enormous, innately carved front doors of the palace, which flew open with the flick of his wrist. “I have something to show you that will make you happy.”

  She very much doubted this, but had no choice but to walk with him. The palace
was a spectacle of grand marble and showy sconces and elaborate rugs that Athena herself might have woven, but it was all lessened by the pervading grimness. The black marble did not sparkle, the sconces were unlit, the rugs were worn. It was an utterly joyless place, and Core was utterly loath to be there.

  Her cheeks remained tearstained as Hades led her through a large hall into the throne room. She gasped when he presented to her the thing he thought would make her happy.

  “Your own throne, next to mine,” he said, bringing her closer to the pair of seats. “We will rule from here, you and I. As husband and wife.”

  The thrones weren’t black, but silver and twisting, with a dull shine. He bid her to take a seat, but she refused, backing away from the horrid thing. “My mother will never allow this. She will not let you take me for a wife!”

  Hades shook his head, his mouth twitching impatiently. “I don’t need Demeter’s permission, child,” he said. “Only Zeus’.”

  “But he . . .”

  “Gave it. To me,” Hades finished smugly.

  If Core had it in her, she might have liked to slap that smugness away. But she barely had it in her to keep standing after the shock of Hades’ announcement. Her father had allowed this to happen. Zeus had allowed her to be taken to the Underworld, to wed Hades. To be banished from the sunlight forever.

  Sensing her lack of willpower to remain upright much longer, Hades successfully coaxed her onto her throne and she sat upon it with a miserable plop. Her gown had ripped during her attempted escape, and she frowned. Following her gaze, Hades hurried to her side, placing his hand on her shoulder. She pulled away from him, and he looked, for an instant, pained, before his features returned again to smug indifference.

  “You will want for nothing here,” he promised. “You will have fine clothes and precious stones. Gold. I have this for you.” He presented a necklace of heavy, sparkling sapphires. She tried to shrug him away, but he managed to clasp the gaudy thing around her neck. “Everything under the earth belongs to us,” he said proudly. “Every gem, every chunk of gold and silver. Look.” He flicked his wrist and Core straightened in her throne, looking down at herself in alarm. Her white gown had suddenly become the color of the darkest wine. It was beautiful, made with fine cloth, stitched with vining black flowers all along the hem.

  She hated it. And she hated Hades.

  “I cannot survive here,” she told him, drying her eyes with the back of her finger. She looked up at him pleadingly and prayed for mercy. “I need the sun. I need to be outside. I need to be with my mother.” If Apollo had taken her, at least she would still be in the sun. At least she would be able to visit her mother on Mount Olympus, and see her, and be seen. Not be trapped in this dark, dank world, full of the dead. “Please. I cannot stay.”

  “You will like it better, I think, once you get used to it,” said Hades. “Come along and I will show you something to put a smile on your face.”

  She did not believe him, but followed anyway, eager to leave the throne he’d forced upon her. The necklace was heavy around her neck and the gown trailed behind her on the marble floor like spilt wine.

  Their destination was the cypress tree she’d seen when they’d first reached the palace. It was large and ghostly white, and a large pool sparkled beneath its trunk.

  “You see?” asked Hades, touching the trunk with his hand. His skin was nearly as white as the bark. “There is plant life here to please you. In Elysium there are flowers and sunlight. You can grow whatever you like there. I want you to be happy.”

  She stared up at the cypress with a critical eye. The sweetness of her disposition was shrouded in the Underworld and she felt nothing but bitterness. He would inspire no happiness in her, she was certain. Her bones felt chilled and she glanced at the pool. The sight she found there startled her several steps back.

  “Do not be afraid,” Hades gentled. “They are only here to see their queen.”

  Creeping up to the pool, cupping their hands into the water and sipping, were a dozen souls, quickly becoming two dozen, then three. They formed around the pool and gazed at her. Dead. They just stared and stared and continued to drink.

  “What are they doing?” she asked, backing into Hades. She detested him, but at least he was alive.

  “Drinking from the spring of Lethe,” answered Hades. “They drink to forget their mortal lives.”

  Core looked at the souls in horror. “Why would they want to forget?”

  “It’s easier for some to adjust to this place if memories of their former lives are gone.”

  “You don’t expect me to drink from this spring, do you?” she asked, shaking her head. “I won’t do it.”

  “I would never ask that of you,” Hades hastily replied. “I’ve chosen you as my queen because of who you are and who you’ve been. If you drank from the spring, you’d be different. Who are we without our memories?”

  “You don’t know who I am,” Core insisted. “We’ve never even met until today.”

  “I’ve heard your laughter every day,” Hades admitted, his head dipping in a manner akin to shyness. “It’s been the only brightness here.”

  She felt her cheeks burn, and she thought it must be anger. She’d so seldom had the opportunity to feel it. “Well, you won’t hear my laughter ever again, I hope you know. I have never seen a place so uninspiring of happiness.”

  He was silent a moment, looking back at the souls as they drank from the spring. “No one is forced to forget,” he said softly. “But I would never leave them without the option.” His shoulders were stiff and his eyes were dark. “Come,” he said, offering his elbow, which she refused to take. “I’ve taken the liberty of creating you a place all your own. I think you’ll like it.”

  He kept thinking she would like things. He didn’t understand. When he presented her with the grove of black poplars, she almost broke into a renewal of tears. The trees were lovely in their own way, but they bore no fruit or flowers, no birds nested in the branches and filled the air with music. It was a lifeless grove. She told him so and the frown reappeared on his face.

  “You thought I would like this? Any of it?” she asked. “That only proves how little you know me. You cannot judge a person on the sound of their laughter.”

  “You don’t like it,” he surmised.

  “I hate it,” Core answered. As she’d seldom been angry, she’d seldom hated anything. Her life had been happy and bright and simple, and now everything had changed. And she could feel herself changing, too.

  They walked together back to the palace, but Hades was not finished trying to impress her. He led her into a chamber off the main hall, which looked to be a trophy room of sorts, with an assortment of weaponry hanging from the walls, statues and tapestries. It was a life’s collection of trinkets and splendor. It made her sad to see it, to realize Hades had only these things and nothing else. No one.

  “My most prized possession,” he announced, stopping in front of a pedestal. A helmet sat upon it, a gleaming dome of dark metal. It looked like any ordinary helmet to her, but to Hades, she could tell it was extraordinary. His eyes gleamed as he carefully picked it up and held it out to show her. “My Helmet of Invisibility,” he explained proudly.

  Another ghastly admission from her capturer. Core could not abide it. She strove to wipe the pride from his face and shame him. “What a dreadful invention,” she said. “It’s poor manners to spy on people.”

  He set the helmet back down a bit harder than he probably meant to, for he winced at the ensuing clang of metal on marble. “I like to walk amongst my subjects from time to time,” he said, “and see how they are faring. Gauge the level of morale. My presence makes some uncomfortable, so it’s easier to see the truth without being seen myself. I do not spy.”

  “It sounds like spying to me.”

  Hades huffed. “It was a gift from the Cyclopes,” he added, a bit petulantly, as if its origins excused its existence.
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  She didn’t respond with words, only an icy glare that had never before found a home on her face. As it turned out, though she did not know it, her features were well suited for such a look. Her golden eyebrows made a striking arch, both fearsome and handsome. Her pink lips thinned in strict disapproval, giving her the air of someone older. The angry blush on her cheeks was brought out even more by her wine-hued gown. She stood before the King of the Underworld and he felt the urge to fall to his knees.

  He did not, but only because he had nothing much left but his pride. “As I said, all the treasures beneath the earth belong to me, and now to us, but I have no great properties in the mortal world. Save a handful of gloomy temples in my name.”

  “It must be a gloomy place to earn that title from you,” she said.

  “Yes, well, one must do the best with the life they’ve been dealt. I have been dealt gloom.”

  “I was dealt sunshine and you took it away,” Core lamented.

  “I didn’t take it away. I took it with me.”

  They stared at one another, strained and accusing and awkward, until she could take it no more. She may have been bound to the Underworld, but she wasn’t bound to his side and she could not bear to remain there any longer.

  “I would explore my new home on my own,” she told him.

  He nodded. “I encourage you to do what you like. No place is forbidden to you.”

  “No place but where I’d like to be,” she snapped, and with a flip of her hair she stormed from the room.

  She found her way back outside, though a true outside it could never be, and tried to find solace in the lifeless landscape. Hades had been true when he told her of the flowers in Elysium, but they were a daydream only, put there to mislead. Flowers needed real sunlight to flourish, just as she did, and nothing flourished here.