Captive in the Underworld

by Lianyu Tan

  “Send Zeus my regards,” Hades said.

  “I will.” Persephone leaned in and placed a chaste kiss upon Hades’ cheek.

  As she turned to go, Hades caught her wrist. “Do not forget me,” Hades said, her voice low.

  “Never.”

  Hermes cleared his throat.

  Hades released her and spoke to Hermes. “Remember what I asked of you.”

  “All will be well,” Hermes said.

  Persephone raised her skirts to climb into Charon’s boat. She felt the heat of Hades’ gaze upon her, but she didn’t turn back as Charon unmoored the boat and pushed them away from the riverbank. She sat perfectly still, clutching her possessions to her chest, until they were almost out of sight.

  She waited until she could bear it no longer, then she looked back. There was no one at the dock, not even a wandering shade.

  Was that tightness in her chest relief, or disappointment?

  “Demeter will be overjoyed to see you,” Hermes said.

  “I have missed her,” Persephone said carefully. “I hope Father will not be too displeased at having to intervene.”

  “She will set things to rights once you are safely above ground.”

  The bargain seemed unbalanced, her life in exchange for millions of humans. How could she be worth so much pain?

  They reached the other side of the river, and Charon brought the boat to a stop. Hermes hopped out and offered his hand.

  Persephone took it, climbing out with her belongings. “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder to Charon, but the ferryman was already drifting away.

  “How are you with heights?” Hermes asked. “It will be faster if I carry you the rest of the way.”

  “I’ll close my eyes.”

  Hermes nodded and lifted Persephone into a bridal carry. She wrapped one arm around his neck, the other holding onto her possessions.

  “Don’t look down,” he said, and then he was off, the wings on his sandals beating rapidly.

  The Styx was a pale ribbon below them, her grove a faint smattering of trees in the distance. Hades’ palace glittered, a little more coldly than usual, as if rebuking her for her betrayal.

  Persephone’s stomach roiled, and she leaned her head against Hermes’ chest, closing her eyes. She belonged beneath the sun and the rain. When was the last time she’d felt rain on her skin?

  “We’re nearing the transition point,” Hermes said, raising his voice to be heard over the wind rushing past them.

  Persephone took a deep breath. There was a fizzing pop in her ears, and her stomach dropped. Even with her eyes shut, she felt the sun touching her skin for the first time in over a year. She opened her eyes but had to immediately shut them again. The sky was too bright, blinding her.

  Hermes’ feet touched solid ground, and he gently let her go. Persephone clung to him, her eyes still screwed shut.

  “My baby!”

  Someone pulled Persephone away, forcing her to look up. Persephone gasped in shock, too stunned to plaster a smile on her face. Demeter held her at arm’s length. Her face looked cadaverous, her wrists brittle as a bird’s. But even as Persephone stared, Demeter began changing, a healthy flush returning to her skin.

  Persephone looked to Hermes in confusion. Hades had said—she’d made him promise, hadn’t she? How could Demeter be here but not Zeus?

  Hermes had landed at one of the highest points around. The sea shimmered in the distance, colored a deep cerulean blue. All around them were rocky cliffs and shrubs, dotted with trees. It would have been beautiful and welcoming, had Demeter not been there.

  Hermes glanced aside, not meeting her gaze. “You should be with your mother,” he mumbled.

  “Hermes!” Persephone said in a whisper.

  “What has she done to you?” Demeter cried, placing her hand on Persephone’s cheek. “Look at how pale you are, how cold!”

  Persephone resisted the urge to move and closed her eyes whilst her stomach roiled. She didn’t feel cold. If anything, it was much too hot beneath the sun, its rays burning her exposed skin.

  Demeter pinched her cheek, hard, before letting her go. “Thank you, Hermes, a thousandfold, for returning my daughter to her rightful place.”

  Hermes nodded. “Of course,” he said. He glanced at Persephone.

  Persephone stared at him, willing him to read her eyes, willing him to change his mind and to do as Hades had bidden.

  But Hermes either did not know how to read her or did not care. He leapt into the air once more, waving as he departed.

  Once he was gone, Demeter turned a saccharine smile on Persephone. “We must get you home at once.” She clapped her hands. “Ladies!”

  A trio of mounted nymphs approached, two of them leading additional horses. Demeter took one and nodded at Persephone to take the other.

  Persephone remained in place, swaying a little on her feet. She’d wished for this moment for so long, but not like this—never like this! If she didn’t move, it wouldn’t be real. Perhaps she was asleep, lost in her earth dreams and ready to wake by Hades’ side—

  “Persephone!”

  Persephone snapped her head back up. There was nowhere to run. The nymphs flanked her, and before them Demeter waited, impatiently tapping her nails on her horse blanket.

  Each second she kept her mother waiting would only cost her later. But she found herself frozen, unable to summon her old sense of self-preservation. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Home, of course, you foolish child.”

  “I want to see my father,” Persephone said.

  “Zeus has more important matters to attend to than the likes of you.”

  Persephone glanced around and looked more closely at the nymphs. She could not recall their names, though she could have sworn she’d seen their faces before.

  One was tall and lanky, as though she hadn’t quite grown into her limbs. She wore a blue chiton, trimmed with yellow. The second had red water fern in her hair and might have belonged to a river nearby. The third looked more like a child of the earth, short with powerfully muscled arms and legs.

  If Demeter had chosen them to accompany her here, they would be of no help to Persephone.

  “Come now, girl. We’ve tarried long enough,” Demeter said, her tone honey-sweet.

  Persephone gathered up her chiton in one hand and hopped astride her mount. Hermes had taken them through an unfamiliar exit of the underworld, and she did not immediately recognize her surroundings—grassy cliffs and weathered paths but no buildings or signs of habitation within view.

  “Finally,” Demeter said, turning her horse to head down the path. The color had returned to her hair, and she looked much like her usual exalted self. Had Persephone imagined her mother’s transformation? No. But then why would Demeter make herself look so sickly? To arouse pity?

  The nymphs moved into a diamond formation, with Persephone at the center, unable to break free. They rode for some time, passing through the deserted countryside. Persephone kept looking at all the life around her, from the various grasses forming the patchy scrub to the occasional fir tree. It took her a little while to adjust to the different life signatures, but once she slipped back in touch with her old habits, it felt like she’d never left.

  “Stop that,” Demeter said.

  Persephone jerked to attention. “What’s wrong, Mother?”

  Behind Persephone’s mare, a trail of wildflowers bloomed, their shy heads marking the path they’d taken.

  Demeter made a cutting gesture in the air, and as one the flowers bowed over, wilting on their stems.

  Persephone gasped, clutching her hand to her chest. A chill ran over her skin. She’d never felt her gifts being overpowered by another’s, much less by her own mother’s.

  “Don’t waste fruitful soil on flowers.”

  “Have you restored the humans’ crops, then?” Persephone asked.

  Demeter looked back at her over her shoulder. “The mortals will find me a merc
iful goddess, now that my prayers have been answered.”

  If they both prayed to Gaia, why was Demeter so favored over her daughter? Would it always be that way?

  They had traveled far enough that Persephone began to recognize the shape of the land around them. They were returning home indeed, to the estate where she’d been born and where she’d lived all her life, save for her brief time in the underworld.

  This was what she’d wanted, what she’d begged from Hades. But each league felt more like defeat than victory.

  Before long, she saw her mother’s house in the distance, surrounded by golden fields of grain. She’d kept her side of the bargain, at least. Hades would be pleased.

  Hades would not be pleased once she’d heard of Hermes’ treachery.

  “Our gracious home,” Demeter said. She dismounted, and the nymphs followed suit. “Persephone.”

  Persephone wiped her palms on her knees and slid off her mare. She walked to her mother.

  “Thank you, ladies, for your service,” Demeter said as the nymphs guided the horses away.

  Persephone watched their backs retreating with a pang of loss. She hadn’t even learned their names. Not that it would have saved her.

  “Come,” Demeter said and opened the back door.

  Persephone followed her inside and closed the door softly behind her. The walls had been freshly painted, the smell nauseating. Otherwise, it looked much the same—warm and brightly lit with spacious, high ceilings. After the chill of Hades’ palace, it should have felt inviting.

  “Sit,” Demeter said. “Eat with me.”

  Persephone did as she was told. They dined together, a servant—Kallon—bringing them food and wine. When Persephone caught his eye, his smile for her was strained.

  “Tell me everything,” Demeter said.

  “There’s not much to tell,” Persephone said. “I’d rather hear about how you fared. You must have been so worried.”

  Demeter’s mouth twisted into an ugly moue. “There’ll be time for that later. Let’s start with you.”

  Persephone gave her a sanitized version of events, careful not to cast aspersion on either Demeter or Hades. At times Demeter interjected to comment on what she saw as Persephone’s stupidity, or to exclaim how dreadful the underworld must be. At those moments, Persephone repeated her gratitude toward Demeter for saving her, but it seemed like no matter how fervent her thanks, they were never enough.

  She had never talked this much about herself in her mother’s presence before, and the conversation seemed to drag on for hours until the sun was low in the sky. Demeter wanted to know everything about Hades, much of which Persephone was unwilling or unable to tell her.

  “Is she still using that helm?” Demeter asked.

  “Which helm?”

  Demeter waved a hand. “Before your time. Did she cry over her human souls? The children used to bother her, if I recall rightly.”

  Demeter’s tone made it seem like the prospect of Hades suffering excited her. Persephone was discomfited by the way Demeter watched her over the rim of her chalice, her eyes too bright and cunning.

  “I don’t think so,” Persephone said.

  “A pity. Perhaps all those years underground have muddled her brain. Why else would she think to steal my only daughter, my pride and love?”

  “It’s done now, Mother,” Persephone said. “She sent me back.”

  “Not without some prodding on my part.”

  “Is that what you call the murder of thousands of innocents?”

  Demeter laughed bitterly. “Innocents? Is that what you think? Don’t be so naive.”

  Persephone could feel herself shrinking, made small by her mother’s words. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Some of them were infants.”

  “The Asphodel Fields will be kinder to them than any city made by man.” Demeter stood and walked over to the table where Persephone had set down her meager belongings. “Now, let’s see what you brought.”

  Persephone’s face flushed and she leapt to her feet. “Those are my things.”

  Demeter untied the bundle and ran her hand through the folded clothes and trinkets. As she shook out a chiton, Persephone’s pomegranate fell out and rolled along the floor.

  “What is this?” Demeter snatched it up. “You dare bring this filth into my house?”

  “It’s... merely a souvenir. I planted that tree from seed,” Persephone said, wanting to reach for it but not daring to.

  Demeter narrowed her eyes. “Have you eaten the food of the underworld? Tasted its drink?”

  “No.”

  Demeter’s face softened a little before she turned on her heel, striding away. Persephone raced after her, following her into the kitchen.

  Kallon was cleaning fish, a skinny filleting knife in his hand. He dropped it onto his cutting board as soon as he saw them, trying simultaneously to wipe his hands on his apron and to bow at the same time.

  Demeter ignored him and flung the pomegranate onto the cooking fire.

  “Mother!” Persephone cried out, searching for a poker or a long-handled spoon.

  Demeter blocked her way to the fire. Behind her, Persephone watched as the pomegranate’s skin blackened and began to blister. Persephone grabbed a pail of water from near where Kallon was working, and in the pail a severed fish head bobbed up, turning to stare at Persephone with its dead, glassy eyes.

  “What do you think you are doing?” Demeter asked.

  “Stand aside, Mother.”

  Demeter folded her arms, tapping her foot impatiently. The fire crackled behind her, the orange flames contrasting with Demeter’s white peplos.

  Persephone took a step forward, then another. The pail seemed to grow impossibly heavy in her hands, and her fingers slipped, dropping the pail and spilling water and fish guts all over the kitchen floor.

  Persephone braced her hand against a nearby door frame, the world spinning around her. One side of her chiton clung wetly to her leg, cold and reeking of fish.

  “What have you done to me?” Persephone asked, unable to move as Demeter approached her.

  “I’ve only ever done what was necessary,” Demeter said.

  Persephone’s heartbeat was a war drum pounding in her head, her eyelids too heavy to hold open. Her fingers lost their grip on the door frame, and she fell gracelessly to the floor, her shoulder smacking into the wooden slats and scattering droplets all around her.

  23

  Like Old Times

  Persephone woke to find herself on a hard wooden bed, her head aching, her clothes damp and stinking of fish. She instantly felt she was not alone and sat upright, not managing to stem a gasp of dismay as she took in her surroundings.

  She’d been taken to a room adjacent to the root cellar, set below ground, though with a tiny grate at the top of one wall which let in air and light. Standing at the door was her mother, her face partially illuminated by a small torch. Demeter set the torch into a sconce on the wall and moved forward, blocking the light, so that her shadow ran long before her.

  “Don’t you remember what I said the last time?” Demeter asked.

  “I haven’t been bad,” Persephone whispered.

  Demeter laughed. “Oh, but you have. And what’s more, I said that if you ever humiliated me before the gods, that would be enough to see you back here.”

  “You sent me away!”

  Demeter sniffed. “I did nothing of the sort. I merely said you were to leave me in peace for a while. You know how your hysterics give me pains in my head. How was I to know that you would run off and get yourself captured?”

  “I tried to escape,” Persephone said as her gaze roamed the borders of her cell. It felt even smaller than it had as a child.

  “You must not have tried very hard, dear. Even mortals manage to leave the underworld somehow, and you have the pedigree of Olympus behind you.”

  “I tried—” Persephone bit off her words in frustration. It would not matter what she said. It never di
d. “You poisoned me.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. A sleeping draught, nothing more.” Demeter approached her. “Look at yourself,” she said. She grabbed the front of Persephone’s chiton, pulling so hard that Persephone staggered up off the bed. Demeter ripped the fabric and then tore at her necklace, the gold one that Hades had given to her on their wedding day, but it would not come undone.

  “What witchcraft is this?” she demanded, still trying to wrench it apart. The chain dug into Persephone’s neck every time her mother tugged on it, leaving its imprint on her skin.

  “I don’t know,” Persephone said, trying to hold herself apart from Demeter but unable to shy away.

  “Spells. Sorcery.” Demeter’s lip curled as she tightened her grip, removing any slack from the chain, her knuckles digging into the soft hollow of Persephone’s throat. “The rumors must be false. You went to her willingly, bound yourself to her like a slave branded by her master.”

  Persephone’s hands went to her throat as she fought to breathe.

  Demeter watched Persephone struggling, her pupils large in the dark. She was radiant in her malice, golden-haired and glowing, her lips upturned.

  She twisted her grip on the chain and then threw Persephone across the room. Persephone slammed into the nearest wall before falling to the floor.

  She did not have the strength to get up.

  “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Demeter asked, walking to her, standing over her with hands on her hips.

  Persephone wheezed. She planted her palm on the floor, leaning on it to help herself sit up. “...It’s complicated,” she croaked, reaching up to feel the divots on her throat where the chain had left its mark.

  Demeter scoffed. She leaned down and seized her jeweled diadem, ripping out strands of Persephone’s hair in the process. She grabbed at Persephone’s wrist and broke the clasp of her bracelet, sending a score of beads bouncing across the stone floor, and tore off her belt inlaid with sapphires.

  “You reek of filth and excess,” Demeter said. “Hades may have made you her whore, but here you are my daughter, and you will comport yourself as such.”