by Lucas, Naomi
“Gerry!”
“Sisette,” another suggested.
“Phrecosse.”
Persephone placed the flower back into the soil where it took root again. “Gladiolus,” Persephone proclaimed, “for it reminds me of a sword. A beautiful weapon.”
Ciane dropped her head to the side and smiled as her friend colored the new bloom pink. Her naiad sisters giggled and awed over the new creation, which quickly sprouted up and bloomed in the grasses around them. Ciane didn’t observe the spectacle; she eyed her dear friend instead.
There was no one she loved more. They were inseparable. Demeter rarely trusted Persephone with anyone, except for the maiden nymphs and naiads who adored both goddesses in accordance with the mother goddess’s ideals. They shirked all masculine things, finding only joy in the beautiful, innocent creations of Gaia and her powerful descendants.
And Persephone gifted the world with flowers.
Oh, how Ciane adored her. Everyone adored her, how could they not?
An unusually chilly breeze fluttered the new flowers around them, and Persephone glanced up.
Ciane lifted onto her elbows. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“The warmth fled,” Persephone murmured, gazing off into the distance where grassy meadows rolled. “But it is back now.”
“We can’t control the wind,” Ciane teased.
Persephone smiled softly Ciane’s way for a brief moment before turning her attention back to the hills beyond. “No, we can’t control that, but it is strange, is it not?”
Ciane shrugged. Persephone stood, and grasped her delicate skirts up to step over her newly created Gladiolus. The goddess walked away, as if in a trance, towards the meadows. Ciane pivoted to watch her.
No one seemed to notice but Ciane. She pulled her feet from the water, even though leaving it felt wrong, like a loss of limb, and followed her friend. Once she stepped away from the flowers, the cool breeze returned to steal the warmth from her exposed flesh. She hesitated and glanced back at her sisters, debating rejoining them in the safe water.
She turned back to Persephone to see the goddess disappear over the crest of the hill.
My goddess? Ciane’s face fell. She cocked her head, hoping Persephone would reappear. When she didn’t, Ciane picked up the skirts of her dress and went after her.
The hill wasn’t high, but the grass was long and it rubbed her soles in a way she didn’t like. Dirt clung to her skin where the water from the brook hadn’t dried, and Ciane stopped twice to wipe her feet clean. When she made it to the top, she found Persephone on the hillside beyond, kneeling in front of a narcissus flower.
One of the few blooms of Gaia her dear Goddess of Spring had not created herself. A rare bloom that didn’t belong.
The breeze returned and whipped Ciane’s skirts around her legs. It blocked out the distant sounds of laughter and play from her sisters.
“Persephone,” Ciane called, worried now. Now they had wandered too far away from the others. Demeter would punish them all if the mother goddess found out. Ciane stumbled down the hillside when Persephone didn’t answer. Her footing even more awkward and uneven going down.
Persephone leaned over the narcissus, breathed in its scent, and shut her eyes as if in a trance. She squeezed the stem with her fingers and pulled the flower from the dirt.
It wouldn’t give.
“Goddess, wait!” Ciane yelled. The sunlight overhead disappeared behind broody dark clouds, and the air turned frigid. Her dear friend was completely oblivious.
Persephone opened her eyes, frowned, and tugged the flower harder. The ground split open where the roots should’ve been.
“No!” Ciane screamed, horror filling her.
Persephone’s screams joined hers as the goddess stumbled back from the widening opening, her legs slipping over the edge. Ciane watched as Persephone crawled, trying to pull herself from the gap, turning over to her front to grab at the tall grass.
Their eyes met as Ciane let herself fall, tumbling the rest of the way down the hill. A sharp snap in her leg made her shriek, but she ignored the pain as she reached for Persephone’s outstretched hand.
“Help me!” Persephone sobbed, stricken with terror.
The gap roared ever wider, eager to swallow the springtime goddess. Ciane had a deathgrip on her friend, her other hand snapping out to curl around the goddess’s upper arm. She pulled with all her might as Persephone tried to find footing on the crumbling ledge.
“Don’t let go! Don’t let go!” Persephone cried.
Ciane cried at Persephone’s begging. It filled her with agony. Her goddess should never have to beg. Fueled with anguish, ready to give her life for Persephone’s, Ciane braced her feet on the dirt, and pulled her friend from over the edge.
Persephone rounded her arms around Ciane, covering her with sobs, as they scrambled back from the edge. Ciane fell back on the grass, holding her friend to her chest, burying her fingers into the back of her dress.
The goddess's tears drenched Ciane’s dress. “Thank you, thank you.” She said the words over and over through fearful gasps.
The ground’s trembling slowly abated.
Ciane tightened her hold on Persephone. “I’ve got you,” she whispered trying to comfort her, comfort both of them. “I love you,” she said, finding the strength to glance down at her hyperventilating friend.
But Ciane’s eyes fell upon an awful man. He was decked in dark regalia, standing in a broken chariot led by poised skeletal horses, floating over the abysmal hole they’d just escaped. He wore a helmet decorated with long horns sticking out of its sides. From the peaks of those horns, streaks of transparency trembled over him, over his black chariot, and on the deathly quiet, undead horses. Their eyes filled with blood-red flames.
Hades.
Ciane’s mouth fell open in horror.
He reached over the chariot’s side and grabbed Persephone’s ankle.
“No!” she shrieked.
Persephone was pulled from Ciane’s grasp, but Ciane’s fingers caught in her dress and were wrenched painfully into the fabric when she didn’t let go. The dark god pulled harder, trying to free Persephone from Ciane’s death-grip. Persephone fought and struggled between them.
“Release her. She is mine now.” Hades ordered, yanking Persephone hard against his chest, and pulling Ciane up with her.
“Never,” Ciane hissed, even as she was tugged part way into the chariot with them. She grabbed at Persephone’s belt.
“Ciane, don’t let go,” Persephone cried. “Don’t let him take me!”
Persephone’s dressed ripped, the sound of tearing fabric slicing the air.
Ciane was thrown back, and her body hit the hillside with a thud, knocking her head hard upon the ground. Shrieks filled her ears as she forced herself to her feet to stumble after her friend. But when her blurry, star-exploding gaze focused, she saw the hole in the earth was already closing up, Persephone’s voice growing more distant by the second.
She fell to the ground, making it several steps, but got back up. If she could only get to the gap before it closed, she still had a chance to save Persephone. Tears filled Ciane’s eyes as she hobbled towards it, falling again and again, watching the gap vanish more with each second.
Ciane reached the edge right as the earth healed itself. She fell to the ground and ripped at the dirt beneath her. All that was left was the single narcissus flower offering only innocence of the sinister role it had played in this tragedy.
I failed.
Agony stole her soul as her life died to dust. My goddess, I failed you. Everything she cherished, all the beauty and delight on Gaia paled to ash. It was nothing without Persephone. Love itself fled.
Ciane curled onto her side, bringing her knees to her chest, holding the one piece she had left of her friend—a torn belt, riddled with holes where her nails had ruined it. She brought it to her lips as her body melted away.
She gave herself over to her heartache
and turned to water.
Home
A hand grabbed Cyane’s arm and yanked her from the water. She gasped, crying out, remembering everyone. Remembering everything.
The pain of it nearly killed her.
Sobbing, Cyane found Hermes standing over her, with mild annoyance splashed across his face. He rolled his eyes and yanked her arm again. Wind rushed around them, and in a blink, she was out of the water and lying on hard stone. The sunlight was gone from above.
Beyond Hermes were familiar obsidian walls. Her throat burned, and she rolled over to choke out the water in her lungs.
“Who is this?” a slight voice asked.
Hermes released Cyane’s arm, and she curled them around her stomach, bowing over, unable to lift her head, still overcome with failure. She had failed her goddess, her dear friend, her purest love, and even though time had passed, despite her new clusters of memories, of a new life given to her, and more time than she could comprehend, it still felt like it was yesterday.
“What’s happening? Who is this, and where is the court?” the same voice asked again, this time with evident agitation. A voice Cyane knew so well, its sound fueled her pain.
“Persephone,” Cyane rasped. Her wet hair covered her face and obscured her vision, but she swiped it aside.
Hades’s sinisterly gleeful laughter rang through the ballroom, so loud it vibrated through her. Hades began to clap as a dark figure strode forward.
Cerberus. Her heart seized. Don’t.
He bypassed her as she braced one of her hands on the ground to push herself up.
“You dare bring her back here?” Cerberus roared.
Hermes countered with a yell of his own. “She belongs here!”
The clash of metal against metal and the growls of rage from Cerberus's hounds filled Cyane's ears. She tried to turn to see what was happening, to plead for Cerberus to stop, that she wanted no more pain or death. But before she could move, cold fingers clasped her chin and forced her head upward and forward.
“Please don’t hurt him,” Cyane begged.
“You’ve come back.” Hades smiled. “I’m glad.”
“Not for you,” she choked. “Never for you.”
Persephone’s voice rang out with a cry. “What is going on? Stop this fighting at once!” Persephone rushed forward and yelled at Cerberus and Hermes. “Is this how you honor me?”
Cyane inhaled; the smell of blood filled Cyane’s nostrils.
The sound of fighting continued despite her queen’s orders. From the corner of her eye, Cyane could see Cerberus, blurred in a miasma of darkness she’d only seen once before. Fangs, serpents, snapping snouts, and all beat Hermes to the floor. The winged god had a staff in his hands, and was blocking what he could of Cerberus’s unrepentant violence. He was losing.
“Not for me, never for me,” Hades taunted with a whisper only Cyane could hear. He wrapped his cold fingers in her hair, drawing her attention back to him. “But always for me.”
Cyane slapped Hades’s hand off her, and the dark god’s laughter returned, making her insides shrivel up. She twisted to look at Persephone who stepped forward. Cyane drew the courage she needed from her long-lost friend.
The goddess, eyes alight with anger for being ignored, turned to Cyane.
Their eyes met.
“Persephone,” Cyane whispered.
Love filled her. Despite everything, it filled her soul and drowned her thoughts, drowned out the fighting. It pooled from her eyes and coursed through her body. Cyane’s flesh prickled with long forgotten delight, of perfection and cool waters under the bright light of day. Of fields of flowers and laughter that was anything but wicked. Persephone had the power to make every nightmare a dream, every dark place spill with light. She was perfect. Beloved. She stole Cyane’s torment away with a single look.
“Ciane?” Persephone said, confusion marring her face. “Is that you?”
Hades yanked her arm, forcing Cyane to her feet.
“Yes. It’s me.” Ciane wasn’t her name anymore, but it didn’t matter. Persephone could call her whatever she liked.
Persephone stepped forward; her eyes flickered from Cyane to Hades.
“A gift, my love. For you,” he said. “I’ve returned her from her woes of losing you so that you may be together again.”
Persephone’s face bloomed into the most beautiful smile Cyane had ever seen. She heard Hades’s breath hitch beside her.
The fighting ceased, but Cyane couldn’t take her eyes off of her friend, so afraid that if she did, Persephone would once again disappear into the darkness.
Cyane nodded, agreeing with Hades, understanding now what his claims of mercy had meant. Her hatred for the God of the Underworld could never compete with the adoration she held for his wife.
Persephone rushed forward, enveloping Cyane into her arms. Cyane burrowed her nose into her friend’s hair and smelled the flowers of the world.
They cried together.
“You’re so...so wet,” Persephone breathed.
Cyane’s arms tightened around her, shaking with joy. “Haven’t I always been?”
Persephone laughed. “Yes.”
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too, my dearest friend.”
A Deep Sigh
Cerberus stared after Cyane and his queen as they walked hand-in-hand out of the ballroom. Hades followed them to the foyer but stopped, letting the women go.
Cyane hadn’t glanced Cerberus’s way, not even once, not even when he was about to kill a god for her. He had been ready to start a war.
But he didn’t mind. Seeing Cyane’s face when she’d embraced Persephone was gift enough for Cerberus. He finally sensed that she was safe. If his queen loved her as Cerberus loved her, Cyane was the safest being in all the realm. No one would dare touch something their beloved queen held so dear. Not even Hades.
Hermes lay, bloodied and broken, on the floor under his boot. Cerberus wiped the blood off his mouth and kicked Hermes away toward Melinoe. She bent down next to Hermes with a strange look coming over her face. Hades turned back around and eyed the fallen god with boredom.
Cerberus flicked his xiphos clean and sheathed it. He wanted to shirk his duties and go after Cyane, even if it was just to fill his eyes with her once more, to convince himself that she was really back, and to remind himself she was safe despite the crisp salt of her tears in the air. But he didn’t. He chose to scan the ballroom and consider the destroyed ceiling that had crushed the once slick black floor.
The ruin was a testament to his and Hades’s unfinished business. Business that needed to be settled before Cerberus could steal Cyane away to his rooms and reacquaint himself with her warm flesh.
Hades tilted his head for Cerberus to follow, and they silently made their way to Hades’s study, Cerberus several steps behind. He deftly withdrew his hounds to return to the gates and begin another year of servitude because—if he knew Hades as well as he did—the God of the Underworld would never give Cerberus his duties back without a return of their age-old trust between them.
Trust that couldn’t be broken by something as small as a fight, even if that fight had been on the brink of a violent match for power, all over a situation Cerberus could now see that they had both made disastrous miscalculations over.
A short time later, they sat in their respective chairs and Hades brought the hearth fire back to life. It burst upward, excited, unlike the two Underworld-weary companions before it.
Hades sighed. “Is Hermes dead?”
“He’ll survive.” Cerberus’s gaze roamed over Hades, reading his lord’s countenance. He struggled to place it, especially when he realized he thought Hades might be...satisfied. “It will be some time before he heals.”
Hades laughed low. “Melinoe will enjoy his company. It’ll keep her busy and out of our lives...for a time.”
Cerberus shrugged, leaning back. “She’s out of my life forever. It was part of our deal—for t
he truth.”
“You didn’t bother to consult me before making such a bargain?” Hades’s eyes darkened. “I won’t tolerate not having anything between her and me going forward. I do not like her bothering me.”
Cerberus smiled, amused. “I suppose we’ll have to discuss that at a later time, my lord. For now, let’s enjoy the satisfaction of not only breaking Hermes but that, as he recovers, he becomes a shield for both of us when it comes to Melinoe. If he ever recovers.”
Hades glowered. “You’re enjoying yourself.”
“Aren’t you? Your plan has come to fruition, has it not? Cyane is here, and Persephone clearly loves her. And everything she loves, you protectively cherish.” Even Cyane. Cerberus ran his finger over his lips.
“Ah, my friend, but she still must serve. She still must accomplish the task I’ve set out for her. If she doesn’t…”
“You’ll do nothing because Persephone will destroy everything you seek so dearly.”
“You think I fear my wife’s hate?” Hades laughed. “She has hated me, she has loved me, she has felt everything under the sun and more for me. She would get over it.”
“But the difference is the gift,” Cerberus stated, leaning his elbows on his knees. “How many more could you give her, how many gifts are better? How else can you receive the gift you’ve been seeking from her? After all these long years? She will not accept a queendom, power, nor obsessive devotion. She will not take the birth of life in a realm of death, the breaking of nature’s ways to grow all her favorite flowers and foliage here. She does not need love, nor family, nor purpose. She has all of that already. And most of all, she does not want jewels, clothes, or material possessions.
“Giving Persephone back someone she loves… Now that is different. That is what you did, did you not?”
“My damned, you have become so amusing!” Hades threw his hands up in the air.
Cerberus’s eyes darkened. “It is true, is it not?”
Hades settled his palms on his knees. “Perhaps it is true, perhaps it’s not. You would know the value of Cyane, wouldn’t you? Better than anyone. But you forget one thing, if I do not receive the gift I seek, I can still hurt you, take out my wrath upon you. You may be right about Cyane, and I cannot fault you on that matter, because the love between her and my queen is what I hoped for, but you...your flesh is punishable.”
