by Lianyu Tan
Perhaps the servants were right. What good could bare feet do for her here, in this cold and sunless land, save to bring grief with each step?
Once the ordeal was over, the servants threw a tunic over her head and guided her to a darkened room and a soft bed. Despite her best intentions, Persephone was asleep before she heard the sound of a key turning in the door, locking her in her bedchamber.
5
The Gown
When Persephone next awoke, her head was light and her mouth dry, but her limbs seemed all intact, and she was no longer in danger of falling over her own two feet. She found herself resting upon a large bed, its frame bedecked with all kinds of jewels and precious inlays, covered by a layer of blankets and furs.
“Good morning, Mistress Persephone. How are you feeling?” asked a cheerful voice, not more than ten cubits away from her.
Persephone blinked, staring at the ceiling where painted scenes of swans chased each other through a midnight-blue sky. A light breeze brushed her face, though she could not imagine what might stir the air in the underworld. “Is there even morning here?”
The voice of her companion sounded closer this time. “Oh, yes. Our days and nights are the same. I hope very much that you will grow to like your new home.”
Persephone tore her attention away from the swans and glanced at her visitor, not recognizing her from the previous night. She was a mortal woman appearing to be of middling age, dark hair pinned in curls against her head. She did not look like a fool, and so Persephone did not bother dignifying her inane comment with a response.
“Would you care for my assistance in dressing? I’m sorry for hurrying you, but our queen has a strict schedule for you today.” On the bed, the servant had laid out a himation, a chiton, a belt, and a pair of jeweled sandals.
Persephone’s fingers tightened around the bedclothes. “Is she letting me go?”
“I’m afraid I don’t keep our queen’s counsel.”
Persephone breathed out a long sigh and drew the sheets back. “I’ll dress myself.”
In the end, she needed the servant’s assistance—the mechanism of the fibulae and belt were unknown to her, and so the servant fussed around her like a mother hen until she was fully clothed.
“What is your name?” Persephone asked.
“Xenia, mistress.” She braided Persephone’s hair, weaving in golden chains adorned with sapphires.
Persephone smoothed down the skirts of her new chiton and said nothing. The azure fabric was woven of such fine thread that even skilled Athena would have wept to lay her hands upon it. It was a garment ill-suited for running barefoot over open fields, where it would be shredded by gorse, or for kneeling over a dusty hearth to bake bread.
“If you ever need anything, the cord over here will ring in the kitchens, and someone will come.” Xenia gestured, pointing out a long cord hanging from the ceiling near the bed.
It sounded like a better arrangement than shouting, which was Demeter’s method of summoning help. Persephone doubted she would be here long enough to need it. “What does Hades want of me?” she asked.
Xenia’s hands stilled. “I couldn’t say. But there’s no need to be fearful.”
Persephone sniffed. Only a fool would be unafraid of the Queen of the Underworld.
With Persephone’s hair finished, Xenia turned her attention to her feet. She loosened the straps of the sandals and knelt.
“Oh, no. I prefer to walk barefoot,” Persephone said.
Xenia’s lower lip quivered, and she clutched the sandals to her chest.
“What is it?”
“Begging your pardon, mistress, but our queen might be angry if you’re not fully dressed.”
Persephone flexed her newly scrubbed feet. Her skin still stung from the excessive treatments lavished upon them, and she had to admit that the palace tiles were too cold to walk upon barefoot.
“If I must, then.”
Xenia nodded and placed the sandals upon her feet. Persephone winced as the straps dug into her ankles.
Once she was fully attired, Xenia handed her a plate of polished brass in which to observe her appearance. Curled locks of hair framed her face to either side, the rest of her braid pinned at the crown of her head. The metal distorted her image slightly, leaving her with the face of a ghost.
Persephone lowered the plate, placing it on the table. Without Hades to focus her anger upon, she was forced at last to reflect upon the enormity of her situation. She should have run. She had disobeyed her mother, and now this was her punishment—to be damned, like Prometheus and Ixion before her.
“Our queen will be most charmed,” Xenia said, as if that were a thing to be desired.
Persephone shuddered. “When may I speak with her?”
Xenia looked nervous. “Forgive me, but it won’t be today. Instead, I’ve been asked to—”
Persephone couldn’t have cared less about what Hades wanted her to do. “She won’t even see me?”
“Soon,” Xenia said in the tone all servants used when they wanted to smooth ruffled feathers but had no authority to keep their promises.
Persephone threw her hands up in disgust. If the jewels had not been so intricately wound into her hair, she would’ve ripped them out.
Xenia held up a sheet of papyrus. “Today, Queen Hades simply asks that you rest and take a leisurely visit to the main areas of the underworld. In addition, she asks that you become aware of the areas where you would be ill-advised to visit without assistance—namely, Tartarus, the Plain of Judgment, the Vale of Mourning, and the lands east of the Elysian Fields.”
Such an itinerary did not suit a plaything who had been stolen for one or two nights and would soon be released. Persephone felt a lightness rushing to her head, causing the room to sway.
She grabbed the bed frame for support and sat on the bed. Who were her allies here? Hermes was bound to visit at some point, though Gaia only knew if Persephone could catch him alone. She knew of no one else who would be sympathetic to her plight and had business in the underworld.
“Mistress? Would you care for some water?”
“No,” she said. Drinking or eating the food in the underworld could bind her here forever. She remembered that much from her lessons, at least.
Xenia shifted uneasily, the movement partially obscured by her long chiton. “Shall we begin with the Asphodel Fields, in that case? It’s a pleasant ride down and most becoming at this time of the morning.”
Where had Hades found this servant? The woman was relentless. “Very well,” Persephone said. She tried to calm herself by thinking about how the tour would do her good. The previous day, she’d been in no position to memorize landmarks or to understand the geography. If she were to escape the underworld, she needed knowledge, and it would be senseless not to take the opportunity this tour afforded her.
Xenia smiled and seemed genuinely relieved. “Of course. They will have the chariot ready for us, I’m sure. Please follow me.”
Xenia led Persephone down a maze of twisting corridors to reach the stables, using a different route to the one she remembered from last night. Once outside, Persephone glanced up. The ‘sky’ here appeared to be nothing more than a layer of bedrock, floating impossibly above them and glowing as though lit from within. Daylight in the underworld, this morning, at any rate, was as bright as a stormy day in the overworld. The whole effect was just as gloomy—the rock above them was brown and gray, striated in places with traces of quartz and other minerals.
An existential dread settled in her stomach. How could anyone gaze at such a sight and not feel terror? If it was a layer of Gaia’s earth hanging above them, there was nothing keeping it upright, nothing to prevent it from crashing down and crushing all their bones for eternity.
Furthermore, there would never be a day of blue skies here, nor the heat of a summer sun. The mural in her bedroom of the swans in flight now seemed impossibly sad, the last vestige of a lost world. Persephone shivered and wrapped he
r himation more tightly around her shoulders.
Near the stables, a groom held the reins of two black geldings, already harnessed to a chariot.
“Is black the only color she permits here?” Persephone asked.
Xenia waited patiently as Persephone mounted the chariot and then followed after her, taking the reins. “Her Grace has affection for all colors, but she finds that the other gods take her more seriously when she wears black.”
“The gods didn’t used to treat her seriously?”
Xenia smiled at her. “Forgive me for saying so, but sometimes I forget how young you are! We have been waiting for you for so long.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh, well... think of nothing of it, Lady Persephone.” Xenia flexed the reins, and the horses set off at a trot, which quickly turned into a gallop. Soon the spires of Hades’ palace were a distant memory as they passed through flat, open fields.
Small clusters of houses dotted the horizon, and as they drew closer, people walked out to wave at them or bow their heads in homage. They did not seem unhappy, despite being deceased.
“Who are all these people?” Persephone asked.
“Those who are neither particularly wicked nor particularly virtuous in life pass on to the Asphodel Fields,” Xenia said.
“Which one were you?”
Xenia simply smiled at her. “I must have done something good, to have the privilege to serve our queen.”
The Asphodel Fields were not entirely filled with asphodel, but the scent surrounded them nevertheless. Persephone asked Xenia to halt the chariot and stepped out to pick a handful of flowers. They grew larger here than they had above ground, each petal the length of her forefinger. Like the cut asphodel she’d found at Demeter’s house, these plants would not respond to her touch, nor her silent commands. Persephone looked around at the grasses and shrubs, the mosses and trees. When she closed her eyes, she felt nothing. That void frightened her more than the hound, more than the distant shrieking of the dead.
When she’d finished her examination of the local plant life, she looked up to see a small group of mortals had gathered around. Several families clustered a respectful distance away from the chariot, the children clinging to their mothers and staring at her with wide, unblinking eyes.
“We must press on,” Xenia said. “Our schedule—”
“No,” Persephone said. She approached the humans, who shuffled themselves in a semicircle around her. “Good morning. Is there something you need?”
One of the women dropped to her knees, and the others soon followed suit. “Begging your pardon, but it ain’t often we get visitors such as yourself. It’d be the greatest honor if you could bless our little ones.”
She was more used to blessing food crops, but she assumed that children would be little different. “Very well.”
The woman beamed and ushered her children forward, two boys and a girl. Persephone passed her hand over each of their heads in turn. She murmured a brief request to Gaia, the all-nurturing earth that supported them even now, deep within her core, to ensure that their afterlife was full of peaceful days and free from strife. She repeated the gesture with the other children, then the adults, as she could hear their unvoiced request even though they were too nervous to ask more from her.
When that was finished, the people fell to their knees once more and praised her, their children trying to follow along as best they could. The sight unsettled her, and it took her a moment to realize why.
Above ground, she had always received the respect due to her as a goddess, but it had been in her role as Demeter’s daughter. It was Demeter who led the harvest, who taught the people how to feed themselves. Persephone was beloved, yes, but only as part of Demeter’s retinue.
Was this any different? Here, she was afforded the highest courtesy not for herself but as Hades’ guest. Did she have anything within her that was worthy of reverence, in and of itself?
Persephone waved them to their feet. “Please, stand.” She hesitated, having always been told not to show ignorance in front of mortals, but curiosity got the better of her. “What can you tell me about your ruler, Hades?”
At her use of Hades’ name, some of the mortals flinched. One man spoke up. “She is strict but fair, Lady Persephone.”
Another chimed in. “She does not take favors. Men who died with riches cannot cheat her, whilst beggars might still hope to see the Elysian Fields.”
“I see,” Persephone said, though she did not. They almost sounded... fond of Hades. “And what of the last realm, for the wicked?”
One of the women cleared her throat. “My cousin was sent to Tartarus, but we always knew he’d meet a bad end. He had this violent temper, you see—”
“Now, I’m sure Lady Persephone doesn’t need to hear all the particulars,” Xenia said.
Persephone held up her hand. “I do, actually. Go on. What happens to mortals in Tartarus?”
The humans exchanged glances.
The woman with the cousin started. “It’s a place of punishment, mistress.”
“Forever?” She knew the Titans were safely locked away in Tartarus, but it hadn’t occurred to her how they would spend their time there. And humans lives were so brief. How much wickedness could one person truly cause to justify them being tormented for all eternity?
“We should move on, mistress,” Xenia said.
Persephone glanced at her and back at the villagers. They shuffled uneasily under her scrutiny, and she could see that with Xenia present they would be unlikely to offer her any more useful information. Persephone reluctantly turned away and returned to the chariot.
She glanced over her shoulder as they pulled away, watching as the villagers shrank down to specks. Around them, a mild, dry breeze sent ripples through the fields, and the light overhead warmed her skin such that she might have imagined herself back on the surface, enjoying a mild spring day.
As the chariot rolled on, the gates of Hades loomed in the distance, where Cerberus dwelt, but Xenia guided them to the right and away from the wall bordering the place of the dead.
If Persephone were to escape, she would have to pass Cerberus and then either find the boat to take herself across the marsh or somehow convince Charon to help her. The latter seemed unlikely. Could she overpower him and commandeer his craft herself?
Both thoughts unsettled her. She tried to distract herself by paying more attention to their surroundings.
The fields and small villages were long gone. They emerged from the plains, and the chariot began winding around a rocky mountainside. As they ascended, she saw the lands of Hades’ domain spread out before her. To the south was a marshland where the rivers met and the great gates which Cerberus guarded. To the east were the Asphodel Fields, with its tiny villages dotted upon the landscape like seeds sprinkled upon wheat cake. To the north, Hades’ palace loomed, with its glittering walls of obsidian.
The higher they traveled, the colder it grew. The wind whipping her face chilled her to the bone. Her head felt as though it could drift away, but she was certain it was simply a result of her nervous state and dehydration.
“Take me back to the palace,” Persephone said.
Xenia took one glance at her. At first she seemed poised to argue, but then she simply nodded. “Of course.” She slowed the chariot and turned it around in a wide arc, backtracking part of the way to return to the road leading to the palace. Persephone massaged her temples and tried to focus on not vomiting as the landscape flew by, the greens and golds in the fields blurring into a long streak of muddy ochre.
The chariot pulled up near a side entrance and Persephone leapt down, eager for her feet to touch solid ground once more. Xenia followed soon after.
“Perhaps you might like to visit the scribes this afternoon, or see the Hall of Judgment—”
“No. I don’t want to see anything else. I’m not a tourist. I’m not a guest. I’m Hades’ prisoner, and you might as well stop pretending o
therwise,” Persephone said as she strode down the cool and dark corridors, her sandals loud against the polished tiles.
“My lady—”
Persephone rounded on Xenia. “What? What is it?”
Xenia wrung her hands together. “Your room might not be ready. We have cleaning scheduled for this time and—”
“I don’t care.” Persephone turned right at the next corner, relieved that her sense of direction had proven correct as she recognized the door to her chambers. It would have been utterly embarrassing to learn that she’d been walking the wrong way.
She flung open the doors, expecting to see one or two girls scrubbing floors, but was met with an astonishing tableau. There was a whole troupe of servants in her room, who all turned as one and stared at her, eyes wide and mouths agape.
Spread out on the bed was the loveliest chiton Persephone had ever seen. It was the color of fig skins, a deep purple traced over with gold embroidery. Its hem dripped with tiny jewels and sparkling beads sewn in patterns of trailing vines and flowers. Three servants fussed over it, one with a needle and thread in her hand, affixing a loose gem to the shoulder.
Near the wash table, another two servants were busy polishing jewelry, including an elaborate stephane. A young girl sat on the floor, tying the laces on a pair of sandals, the straps inlaid with more glittering jewels.
“What is all of this?” Persephone asked.
The girl with the sandals stood up. “Begging your pardon, mistress, but it’s for your nuptials—”
The other women all gasped in unison. The girl clasped her hands over her mouth, the sound of the sandals hitting the floor like a slap in the face.
“I beg your pardon?” Persephone grabbed the edge of the door frame, fighting a sudden burst of vertigo.
Xenia slid into the room beside her. “Out, you lot.”
One by one, the servants trudged out, the young girl giving Xenia a terrified look before she too shuffled away.