Hades and Seph

by Eileen Glass

  “You in a good mood today,” Verah says, lifting it over his head.

  “Shh,” he tells her, tilting his head toward the bed, though he does smile extra just for her.

  She acknowledges this and comes back with some rings. She shows him the first one silently to see if he has any objections, then pushes them onto his fingers.

  Hades spends a moment admiring crystal encased in silver. For a long time now, he has not noticed any of the stones she decks onto him.

  The crown is the final piece, made of obsidian. Gleaming, yes, but otherwise humble compared to the rest of him. While Hades did not relish the underworld at first, he has grown to love every aspect of it, and he thought the god of the underworld should start to look like one. The crown seems to imbue somber power into whoever wears it.

  “You ready, sir,” says Alfric, and he stands on tiptoe to fetch Hades’s wine off the nightstand. He clutches the pitcher to his chest, sets the goblet on the floor, and prepares with two hands to carefully pour it in.

  “Not today, Alfric,” Hades says, flexing his hands inside his gloves. So soft. And he moves his toes too, which are already warm inside his boots.

  “In fact, you may take that back to the kitchen.”

  “Is something wrong with the wine, my king?” asks Sefkh, who called him pharaoh for many years.

  The dark god thinks of Seph’s hands and gives an unhelpful answer.

  “It isn’t strong enough.”

  The chamber servants look at each other, uncertain.

  “Shall I bring you some more?”

  “Some fresh,” Verah says with a nod to send him off, but the dark god interjects.

  “No, I’m heading to the stables now. Verah, bring me breakfast there. Alfric, run ahead so the stable hands can get one of my horses ready.”

  With bows, they disperse.

  Twelve

  Seph wouldn’t even be awake if he didn’t have to piss so bad. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, yawns, stands, and shuffles across the room. He doesn’t realize he’s not where he supposed to be until he stops, blinking sleepily, looking at a table of his mother’s jewels and wondering why.

  Then he remembers and looks back at the bed.

  It’s empty.

  He’s disappointed by that somehow, and rubs the back of his neck, eventually yawning again.

  Then he hears a soft little clink and notices Hibus against a different wall at the large window, standing on his hind legs to paw and sniff at the curtain. If he had his straw box, that is where it would be.

  Seph goes to the bed and crawls underneath it, bringing out the basket and slightly soiled picnic blanket. He wipes up the rest of the urine puddle under there and wads the blanket into the basket, careful to keep his hands clean. He presents this new straw box to the confused bunny.

  “This is all you get for now. Okay?” He lifts Hibus inside and pets over his ears. Seph has several vegetable pieces in hand, the leftovers from last night, and feeds a little piece of broccoli to the white bunny. Who only nibbles once and stops, scrunching his nose, then turns in a circle to scratch at the blanket.

  Hibus knows these aren’t fresh treats.

  The rabbit also bundles the blanket up underneath him, turns around and keeps turning, ending on the edge closest to Seph, stretching over the side on his front two legs as though to leave. The state of his straw box upsets him.

  “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

  Though, Seph’s elimination experience is nothing to complain about. He almost feels bad for the fine marble and artistic skill that went into his ‘straw box’. So much beauty for a simple shitter. Then when he’s done he wonders where the bucket of water is to toss in. The hole is angled, instead of going straight down, so there must be a pipe in the wall going outside. And he needs to clean up after himself somehow.

  He notices a lever in the wall, near the trickling fountain for his hands.

  He pulls it down and water gushes into the pot, making it clean again.

  He then spends some time flushing the pot over and over, discovering that the water takes a few minutes to be ready, but it never seems to stop flowing, somewhere.

  His mother’s latrine in the villa is considered state-of-the-art. The nymphs were very excited when the construction of it was finished. Water continuously pouring from a fountain is divided into two channels. One at the front of their feet to wash dirtied rocks or sponges in. And one that runs under the seats to carry waste away without human intervention.

  This is far more modern.

  He does not quite get tired of pulling the lever over and over again, since the sound of water flowing in the walls is interesting and the lever makes a rattling, ticking sound as it gradually climbs up on its own to its top resting place.

  Then he hears the bedroom door opening and rushes back to Hibus.

  A nymph—no, just an unusual soul—carries a bronze bowl suspended on chains. Blue fire burns within, and this unusual person is scooping it out with a ladle, pouring it gingerly over a torch mounted on the wall. As though the flame is a liquid. The glowing blue ember still alive on the torch brightens considerably as the ladle feeds it. Initially the new flame seems to sag like the boughs of an old bent tree. Then life springs into it, and the blue flame flickers and glows like a real flame would.

  As before, the flame does not seem to put out heat in this cold place. It doesn’t seem to burn the bronze container it’s in or heat the chains.

  Out of curiosity, Seph puts his hand over the embers of a dying torch next to him. He feels nothing. He taps a finger there first, and then covers the charred stick with his palm.

  “Ow!”

  This new person, with strangely ice blue hair and soft perfect features, looks at him in surprise and puzzlement and comes over, setting the ladle in the bowl.

  “Why would you do that?”

  He?—for he looks very female, but he has no breasts, so he must be a he—hikes the chains onto his shoulder, having no concern for the dangerous bowl contained by them, which could spill and burn the palace down. He opens Seph’s palm with two hands.

  Seph’s hot, burning hands. But burning differently. The initial sensation is cold.

  “Oh. You are healing quickly,” says this new person, gingerly poking around the large red burn. “It should fade back to normal in a few hours.”

  “What is that? How could it burn me if it doesn’t put off any heat?”

  This person blinks. By the blankness of his face, Seph can guess that what he’s about to say is common knowledge.

  “The flame is not fire. It is ice. You can be burned by ice, young master—uh, I’m sorry—my king! I am used to there being only one king here.” He sounds slightly annoyed by that fact.

  “It’s all right. I’ve only been a king for a day. Yesterday I was cutting wheat in my mother’s fields.”

  This person frowns. “You were a slave? A slave god?”

  “No. My mother is the Goddess Demeter, the God of the Fields. I was helping her nymphs. They are not slaves, but they might as well be. They tend her fields and she claims the bounty. She claims everything from them.”

  Even their forest, their homes, and their land.

  Seph’s brow furrows as he examines this person closely. This is not an ordinary mortal soul. It is his face. The doll like eyes. The smallish mouth with full pink lips. Not to mention the petite size of this person. He is a man, dressed simply in a chiton of loose, thin fabric, but not tied around his waist by a belt or string. The manner of his clothing is exactly like a slave in the mortal world.

  And then there is his blue hair. Blue is a trendy color in one fair-haired village he knows about. But the dye is expensive to make and requires a cosmetic slave or two to apply.

  “What are you?”

  “Ah. Good eye, my king.” The person lets go of his hand and grabs the chains instead, as casually as if the bowl of ice flame was a shoulder bag. He demonstrates a small bow that doesn’t topple the bow
l. “I am Minthe, a nymph of the underworld. I handle the blue flame, which only burns down here. Only an underworld nymph can make it. There are many nymphs down here, but only a few in the palace. We mostly walk the roads of Elysium and keep the street lamps lit.”

  “There are no male nymphs,” Seph says with confusion. But then he feels stupid because one is obviously standing right in front of him. “At least, that’s what my mother told me.” He looks the male nymph up and down. “And a goddess as old as her is never wrong about anything.”

  She is not even wrong about him. His love for Teysus was not as deep as he thought. This new love though… Maybe.

  The male nymph gives him a friendly smile and holds the chains off his shoulder again, picking up the ladle to resume work.

  “She is not wrong. I am technically not a boy. I’m a hermaphrodite. That means I have both, though I am mostly impotent as far as male attributes are concerned. The underworld nymphs can appear as male or female, but we are all hermaphrodites.”

  “Oh. Umm. Hm. I see.” What is the correct way to say thank you for that information and also sorry I am so rude? And also I can’t control my eyes? Because while he acknowledges that asking someone to explain their gender might not be the most appropriate small talk between two respectable strangers, he also eyes the groin area of Minthe’s chiton and wonders… how… that… works.

  “You want to see,” says the nymph, and he sets the ladle back into the bronze bowl. The torch near Seph’s head burns brightly again, though not as bright as an orange flame would.

  “No.” Seph holds up his hands. “No, I’m sorry. This is, uh, just new to me. I’ve never heard of a hermaphrodite before. Well, I sort of have. But… it’s very rare, isn’t it?”

  He wants to steer this conversation onto anything else, but Minthe grabs the bottom of his chiton like it’s a dress and seems posed to lift it up.

  “It’s okay to look. It is only your curiosity, and I can understand. There is nothing to be ashamed of, my king.”

  It is not servitude or enslavement that causes Minthe to say this. Along with a deep understanding of nature and the violence and death of things, nymphs are also quite comfortable with their natural state, and it is not uncommon to see naked nymphs doing ordinary things around his mother’s villa.

  Seph catches Minthe’s wrists before the chiton goes any higher. He winces for the painful burn on his hand.

  “No. It’s alright, Minthe. You don’t have to show your body to me. Thank you for explaining. I was confused, and now I am satisfied.”

  Minthe looks a bit stunned to be grabbed in such a way, but then he shrugs, not caring.

  “Gods and mortals can be strange. Even the dead ones. Next, I suppose you will ask me which I liked to be called by. A man or a woman?”

  “Erm. Yes, actually.” He’s clearly had this conversation a few times.

  “We have no preference, my king. We find it quite funny that you other types want to label us by your terms. We are merely as we are. And you can call us what you like.”

  “Okay. Minthe it is then,” Seph answers, letting go. He’s glad to have this conversation out of the way. And he’s found yet another reason to like the underworld. Sort-of-male nymphs! If his mother had told him that, he would have been excited to see this place.

  Gods and men fall in love with nymphs for a reason. Their faces are lovely and their understanding of the world is alluring for how wise and peaceful it is. When you talk to a nymph, you feel like you could tell them anything. Your deepest, darkest desire would seem normal to them. It is impossible for a nymph to be embarrassed or shy of themselves, and this personality can make a man bold.

  But I have something better now.

  What a late discovery, unfortunately.

  “You are beautiful,” Seph says with a stiff nod, wishing to apologize but knowing that this would only confuse the nymph. They find flattery to be funny though. Beauty is not understood by a nymph, but they love that it gives them power over the silly mortals who happen upon them.

  Saying you are beautiful is like telling a joke.

  It works. Minthe gives him a small chuckle and scoops another wriggling, dancing glob of flame into his ladle.

  Then Hibus scratches madly against the floor, trying to dig a hole in the rug, and he stops to taste the tassels.

  Everything here is a thousand times nicer than the goods made by mortal hands in his mother’s homes. Seph rushes around Minthe to the bunny and scoops him up as he falls to his knees.

  “What is that doing here?” Minthe asks, and his ladle clangs in the bowl.

  Seph cradles and pets the bunny, who kicks his back legs twice because he wants to keep exploring.

  “This is Hibus, my rabbit. He is a pet rabbit, which means we can’t eat him. That’s important, okay? Erm, my word as King is that this rabbit—” Seph holds him up. “—is not to be killed or harmed for any reason.”

  Nymphs don’t understand pets, but they do understand the authority of kings, and especially gods.

  “That can’t stay here,” Minthe says in a stern tone. “How did you get it here?”

  “Well… I am a god,” Seph reminds him. “And I brought him here in a basket.”

  “Ah. A basket. So our other king doesn’t know that it’s here. Am I correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  Minthe moves to the next torch and resumes lamp lighting as normal.

  That is that then. Though Seph decides not to set down the bunny until the lamplighter is finished. He doesn’t trust his new authority as a king. Who’s to say how a nymph interprets the presence of two kings? Seph is willing to bet the youngest, newest king might not have to be obeyed as strictly as the older one. And he called the rabbit an it.

  “I take it you don’t have rabbits here.”

  “Not alive ones, anyway,” he says, his voice drifting. He seems to be thinking about something. Probably the rabbit.

  “Are you going to tell Hades?”

  “Hm? I’m not sure,” he answers. “I might.” A nymph is also terribly honest.

  “Well you don’t have to. I’m going to tell him myself today. Hibus needs a straw box and a cage to sleep in.” Seph pauses for a moment, then asks, “Do you think Hades will be okay with that? Or will he make me keep Hibus outside? Maybe I could keep him in another room. A room just for Hibus. Do you think he’d approve that?”

  “No.” Minthe laughs. “No, not at all.”

  The last wall torch is lit, and Minthe puts the ladle away, turning to face him. “If our other king sees that rabbit, he will take it away from you. It will go right back to the upperworld where it belongs.”

  “He let me bring him…” Seph says uncertainly, stroking the rabbit’s ears. Hibus kicks twice again, but Seph won’t let him down.

  “Perhaps he did,” Minthe says with amusement. “But I already knew Hades didn’t know about the rabbit before you said anything! Do you know why that is?”

  Seph shakes his head. He has the feeling he won’t like this answer. And he can’t imagine abandoning Hibus after taking care of him and raising him for so long.

  “It is because the things that belong in the upperworld stay in the upperworld. And the things that belong in the underworld stay in the underworld. Our king is obsessive about this.”

  “Maybe if I ask him nicely? Maybe if I plead? Hibus is the only thing I want to bring with me from the upperworld.”

  Seph feels like he will do it for him. Hades likes him. He thinks.

  In the morning, the emotions he felt last night are only a memory, and they feel so far away. Who knows how today will go when the king comes back. And who knows when they will do that next. But Seph thinks the dark god will be kind. That he will smile a little more when Seph is around, and he might even make another soft, pleasing laugh.

  It’s different than the laugh Minthe makes now, which seems to mock him.

  “Oh, that won’t matter! Let me tell you something now, young god, and don’t you
forget it! Hades does not answer to pleading.”

  Minthe climbs on top of a couch and hangs his bronze bowl from a curtain rod. The blue substance sloshes to one side exactly like water. A bit falls out and drops to the floor. It seeps into the stone like rain on dry sand and doesn’t ruin anything.

  Minthe steps past him and hops onto the bed, sitting on the edge with his legs hanging down. He pats the space next to him.

  Seph decides Hibus might be a bit safer on the floor. He sets him free and sits were instructed.

  Minthe speaks to him like an old friend.

  “Now, young king, let me explain so you can understand. The god of this place…” Minthe makes a sweeping gesture. “…has heard every plea. Every cry, every wail, and every sob. He has heard the immense grief of mothers and grandmothers. He has listened to every deserving excuse of every murderer and warrior and sinner and all manner of things you cannot comprehend.”

  He leans over his knees and props his chin on his hand.

  “So whenever you want to appeal to the dark god’s sensibilities, you had better try something besides pleading. He does not have emotions like that. Not like you are I.”

  “That sounds a lot like how my mother described Zeus,” Seph says sadly, wondering if he’s misinterpreting everything. His mother said Seph wouldn’t see the truth until it was too late. Could the same thing be happening here?

  “Well, they are brothers,” Minthe says simply. “Though, I have never met Zeus. He sends a spy here sometimes to try and steal our king’s wine or get the recipe. But he knows better than to come down here himself. Hades would gut him.”

  “No he—” wouldn’t, they’re brothers.

  But of course, in Seph’s family, that doesn’t mean anything.

  “So what should I do about my rabbit?” Seph asks, realizing that Minthe would know best. If he works in the palace, he must know Hades well.

  “I don’t know,” Minthe says with a little shrug, straightening up again. “But things stay where they are. Where they belong. It’s the only rule here that Hades enforces himself. Otherwise, he lets the village leaders run things. Do you know what he’s doing right now?”