Persephone: Chapter 9

Trauma brain isn’t a fun thing, and when you’re in survival mode, it’s hard to access the creative part of your brain. Fun fact: survival mode reduces blood flow to the creative center of your brain, instead prioritizing essential life functions. After of year off, I’m finally back behind my keyboard and writing again!

Read the first chapter of Persephone here. 

Chapter 9
Hades

It wasn’t hard to track them down. Wherever Persephone stepped, things tended to blossom beneath her feet. (Did she even notice?) I followed the trail she left behind—flowers ranging from exquisitely bright to sad and dull, as I’d noticed happened as her moods shifted.

But I would have been able to spot her anywhere. Beside the obvious aura of a goddess, her eyes were as wide as the moon as she took in the new sights. I kept having to remind myself to wipe the smile off my face. It was just hard not to smile. Her joy was contagious.

(Before you ask, no, I was not spying. I was waiting at a near distance until an opportunity to approach without Demeter, or, on occasion, Artemis, presented itself. It just took a while.)

Persephone seemed especially fascinated with the orchards on her journey. With each new fruit, I could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

Time and again, she suggested ways they might improve the crop or create a new one. But Demeter dismissed her like a toddler asking for a toy. And each time, I saw Persephone’s heart break. Again. And again.

It took all of my self-restraint to remain hidden. My teeth ground, and my fingers cramped from being constantly balled into fists.

How long had her life been like this? Was crushing her daughter’s soul some way to help Demeter feel young and relevant?

Day after day, Persephone’s countenance shrank. (As much as that is possible for a goddess. She was still radiant, but still, somehow, withering.)

A few times, I thought the jig was up as Artemis stalked around, clearly suspicious of an unwanted presence. But my helmet was infallible.

I almost saved her the trouble of looking. If I heard her call Persephone a “wool-headed girl” one more time…

“The girl needs discipline,” Artemis had bellowed right in front of her, moments before Demeter had whisked them away on this trek. “Demeter, you cannot allow her to make such important decisions on her own. Swearing perpetual maidenhood is her best protection.”

I had nearly choked.

That’s what all the arguments were about? It was a terrible idea, and not just because of the look on Persephone’s face.

Artemis was a fool. Any remotely powerful god could carry Persephone off, sworn maiden or no. The only protection maidenhood offered was the increased risk of retaliation if they did abduct her. That might be enough warding for a lesser beauty, but Persephone was beyond anything the world had seen or likely would ever after. Even a mere mortal would barely balk at the risk for such a prize. (For that was how they’d see her, just as Zeus did.)

Demeter’s hopes of keeping her daughter isolated were evaporating quickly, and she seemed desperate.

Her jaw set and lips started to move, but before she could command the oath be sworn, Persephone threw herself on her mother’s feet and pleaded.

If such tears did not melt Demeter’s heart, nothing could.

And it had been enough. Thus far, no oath had been demanded. But I could see the fear in Persephone’s eyes.

For days, it was all I could do not to charge in and demand Persephone be treated with respect. The outlandish suggestion of whisking her away to the underworld was starting to sound like a sane idea (which should have tipped me off about my own mental state at that point).

***Hades leaves pomegranates and things for her like notes***

Then, thankfully, it happened. It took an eternity, but Demeter was distracted enough that I dared approach.

With silent steps, I moved toward Persephone. The air around her was poppies, nectar, and clover.

But the peace of the moment was shattered by the stupid mortal king shouting, though he was near enough for Demeter to spit on.

I wish she would. That would be a sight.

What kind of name was Peirithous? They literally named a kid who would become their future king “runs around.” Was he born a jerk or did they just have an oracle handy at the time?

And I really didn’t like the way the other man was leering at Persephone, but I could see storm clouds raging in Demeter’s eyes, so I was able to hang back.

Sort of. I might have taken advantage of the distraction.

I took a quiet step closer to Persephone, and whispered, cheerful with the hope that Demeter would fillet the men, ”Those two are quite brazen.”

Persephone spun around so quickly, and kept turning this way and that—I  feared she’d topple over or draw her mother’s eye. Stifling a laugh, my invisible hand reached for her.

Her eyes were all the more wide at the touch, and I realized how off-putting being grabbed by an invisible hand must be.

I said her name, and it was sweet on my tongue. Persephone. There was no meaning for the name in any language—yet. It was a generous gift (from her father) for anyone to have a name bestowed upon them, the meaning of which would be defined by their life and their choices alone.

I’d had such a gift, yet, despite all I had tried, my name was synonymous with fear, death, and darkness. What would Persephone do with her name?

“Hades?” Her astonished whisper seemed to transform my name into something I’d never seen in myself: light, hope, and excitement.

I was beyond thankful for the invisibility that hid my reactions. First, at her response to me, then my chagrin having to own up to my stalker-like behavior, and of course, the glaring daggers I sent more and more of the longer Demeter waited to disintegrate the mortals—especially when Persephone’s eyes flicked back to them.

I internally sighed. Hasn’t she seen a slimy little demigod before?

I tried to distract her with smalltalk and, to my relief, she answered with just enough sarcasm and annoyance it seemed she was holding up alright for the moment. 

My relived smile fell as she mentioned Demeter being increasingly restrictive and paranoid.

In some ways, I thought I understood.

“Your mother is fiercely protective of those she loves,” I said.

Persephone was worth protecting, but what Demeter did to her was often the opposite.

“I wish she’d be little less fierce and a little more open minded,” she said.

An overly loud, annoying voice broke in, “But who is the lovely attendant who accompanies The Good Goddess?” Peirithous asked.

I barely registered Persephone almost prying my fingers off her arm in her haste to rescue the extremely foolish and soon-to-be-shish-kebobed  demigods.

They would be lucky if their eyes were not gouged and their entrails burned and scattered the world over—not to mention what Demeter would do to them when I was done. I imagined that was the same scowl she’d used that sent Ares packing.

If I hadn’t respected Demeter’s power before, I definitely did now. But sadly, no fried demigods. The display reminded me of the whole reason I was in this mess with Zeus. Demeter was no one to be trifled with.

And, of course, Persephone threw herself into the middle of it, trying to appease as usual.

I followed behind, shaking my head and muttering about “lightning for brains,” “his own dirty work,” and possibly something about being a sucker.

“Mother,” she cried. “Please forgive the mortals. Surely, they do not mean to be impertinent.”

I leaned in and said, “I’m sure they do mean it. The guy with King Peirithous? That’s Theseus, and he is a well-known rogue. Even among the gods, his name is synonymous with trouble.”

Persephone stood stalk-still, and I whispered so closely, my lips brushed some wispy fly-aways of her hair. They tickled like something bubbly Dionysus conjured.

I was finally talking to Persephone and attending a mortal barbecue. It was turning out to be a pretty good day.

The skin on Persephone’s neck pebbled at the touch of my breath, and I saw the line of her mouth draw tight as she briefly closed her eyes.

Huh. I was pretty good at this flirting stuff after all. Who knew? The closest thing to flirting I’d experienced was how Nyx used to kill the lights when she felt like making out. (And by that, I mean all the lights in the underworld. Leaving everyone crying and whining about the dark, which, creepy enough, she considered to be a major turn-on.)

But I may have read the situation wrong because I ended up with an elbow in the gut.

This seemed to amuse her. My pain amused her. Wow. Thanks for the reality check.

Back to my senses, I decided to swear off this whole Zeus’ daughter business for good.

What was I thinking anyhow flirting? I never flirted! I wouldn’t be dragged into an unwanted marriage…

Then, she laughed. She laughed, and everything around her grew brighter, move vivid. And I mean that in the literal sense. The grasses deepened, the birds sang, the colors in the wildflowers around us sharpened. And my stupid, traitorous, black excuse for a heart beat rapidly.

I stood there in what we are going to assume was dignified silence. (I was invisible, after all, who’s to say it wasn’t? )

“Mother,” she said in that wide-eyed tone of wonder that she’d perfected. “Might I go look closer at those cows on the hill? I’ve never seen a cow so close.”

And with her mother’s reluctant permission, she took off running. And you’ve never seen such a sight. She practically danced through the long grasses as she climbed the hill, her sunlit hair swirling behind her.

Looking to the sky for mercy (though I knew would never come), I chased after her as well as I could without trampling like a boar and earning Demeter’s notice.

The herd moved like a lazy stream flowing around us as they grazed and provided blessed concealment.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Persephone said breathlessly.

I was so thankful to get that helm off my head. Metal gets kind of sweaty, and even the god of the dead doesn’t want helmet hair.

“What if Mother sees you?”

I looked at her askance, and she rolled her eyes.

“Magic helmet aside, I mean, what if she finds out you’ve followed us?” she corrected.

“Highly unlikely,” I said, not at all conceitedly.

“But if she does…” she started.

“I’ll take my chances,” I said, oozing confidence like the past few days of hide and seek hadn’t give me ulcers.

“I can’t stay away long,” she said.

“The pomegranates,” she started. Her dark green eyes sparkled. “Thank you.”

I nodded.

“What did you think of Athens?” I asked.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she exclaimed. “So many people and buildings all together. How do they all fit? It looks like they’ve squeezed all into one place together until all the plants and animals were squished out into the countryside. How do they live like that?”

“I hear you get used to it,” I shrugged.

“I couldn’t. People and walls everywhere. I wouldn’t be able to breathe,” she said.

“Me either,” I said.

“Really?” she asked. “Isn’t the underworld rather crowded?”

“Yes,” I said and shrugged. “Parts of it are, but it is so vast that you could walk through some parts for days without seeing a living soul.”

I looked at her, grinning expectantly, and she started back blankly.

“A living soul…” I said again.

A startled laugh escaped her, and the nearest cow looked at us with mild interest, grass hanging from the side of its mouth.

“Oh, c’mon. The joke wasn’t that bad,” I said.

“It wasn’t. I just didn’t expect it. ‘A living soul’,” she repeated. “Clever. But is it really like that? Could I walk there for days without seeing anyone—living or dead?”

“Yep,” I said. “It’s nearly as large as the surface world. I does encompass the whole of the earth—just beneath the ground.”

“I guess that makes sense,” she said pensively. “I just can’t imagine.”

And I guessed it would have been difficult to imagine an entirely different world when she’d seen so little of the one she lived in. At least Demeter was finally taking her places.

“Where are you headed to next,” I asked.

She frowned. “Mother never says until we’ve nearly arrived. But I hope to visit the sea before she decides to send me back home.”

“Have you never seen the sea before,” I asked.

“Never,” she said. “Though I remember when I was small, we came close. We visited a place where sea grasses grew, and the wind whispered  the songs of sea nymphs and sirens.”

Her face took on a reverent dreamlike quality that I was afraid to interrupt.

Being near Persephone again was a strange sensation. Like a moth to a flame, I suppose. I was beginning to almost resign myself to life as another cliche.

But, no. I could just be a friend. Maybe watch out for her if she needed. And she clearly needed. Her excitement to see me proved just how attention starved she was.

“Have you ever been to the sea?” she asked, her voice a siren melody itself that I was determined to overcome.

“Yes, many times. Though I try to avoid anywhere I might run into my brother, Old Seaweed Beard.”

She giggled, and I smirked triumphantly.

“Besides,” I said. “Poseidon’s domain always smells like rotten fish guts. I’m not a fan. And the sand? It gets everywhere. Spent weeks shaking it out of my hair last time.”

   She looked at me wryly and said, “I’m starting to think you may not have the best relationship with your family.”

“Do any of us?” I shrugged.

She tilted her head. “Good point.”

“Speaking of relationships,” I started. “Your mother… Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and began pacing but stopped as small weeds popped up beneath her.

“Curses,” she exclaimed under her breath.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “You know that I do love my mother, don’t you?”

I nodded in reply. Obviously. Only an angel would put up with Demeter.

“I love her, but I…” she hesitated. “It’s getting worse. I almost feel like I’m living in two different realities. In one, I am a loving, dutiful daughter, trying so hard to do what’s right.”

She looked at me, pleading for my understanding. “When she leaves me, I miss her, of course. But there is also excitement. It’s like a huge weight is lifted, and, for a little while, I can do what I want. Say what I want. Create what I want. Find my own way.”

Her eyes shot to mine with fear. “I shouldn’t talk like that. I am so sorry! I have a wonderful mother, and I should be grateful for all she does for me. I am such a horrible person.”

She collapsed into a heap, almost lost in the tall grasses.

I hesitated, but eventually forced myself to crouch beside her and pat her shoulder.

“You are the last person I would ever call ‘horrible’,” I said.

She shook her head, and, despite the golden hair that cascaded around her, I could see the path of a tear that had run down her cheek.

“Oh c’mon,” I said, trying for a lighter tone. “I live in the underworld. I’ve seen what horrible people are like. You’re not exactly a dead ringer.”

I nudged her playfully.

“Dead ringer?” She rolled her eyes.

“Okay,” I acknowledged. “That one was pretty bad.”

She breathed a quiet laugh, and I realized how I was willing to do just about anything to see her smile.

This is not the plan. I chided myself.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting some independence,” I said. “Heck, I was full grown before I ever left my father’s side.”

She squinted up at me coyly and said, “You mean left your father’s in-side.”

“Ouch,” I laughed. “Good one. Yeah, growing up in his stomach was not exactly what most would call a happy childhood.”

“Is the underworld any better?” she asked, and patted the ground beside her.

I sat, keeping a safe and respectable distance. But it didn’t stop her scent from wisping over to me.

Curses, indeed.

“It wasn’t my first choice, but somebody in this family has to work,” I shrugged. “If I hadn’t claimed the underworld, there would be complete chaos. The souls of the dead would never leave the surface world. The wicked would never be punished. Really, I do provide an invaluable service.”

She laughed at me indulgently, “You don’t have to sell yourself to me, you know. Everyone knows how seriously you take your job.”

“Just a bit defensive, I guess. My brothers don’t take me very seriously.”

“Just like my mother doesn’t take me seriously,” she replied with a sigh.

“Kore,” Demeter’s annoying voice bellowed. “Daughter, where are you?”

“Speak of the devil,” I winked.

Persephone stood and waved.

“I’m just here, Mother,” she shouted back.

“I must go,” she said. And turned to me. “Will I see you again? Soon?”

I nodded cooly. “You’ll know when I’m around.”

Read the next chapter of Persephone here!