by Eileen Glass
He gets his wish quickly. Hades puts his feet up and scoots back into the pillows, drinking from the wine goblet, then holding it on his chest.
“No one told you yet? I was fetching some souls who ran out during our wedding. They are new souls. The very ones I pointed out to you, in fact. The new ones have to be brought in periodically. And…” He drinks, but this time it is only a sip. “They have to be taught not to try and cross the River Styx. Not to try and cross me either.”
“What happens if they cross the River Styx?” Seph asks, propping his head on his hand. Hades finishes two more sips of wine. He seems to be thinking of what to say. Then he lays on his side and faces Seph in the same manner.
His hair is like liquid silver spilling on the sheets, and every highlight of muscle from the dimming torches calls to Seph’s hands. Even in this merest second before Hades speaks, Seph’s free hand idly travels a little closer than it was before.
And then his husband answers him.
“What have they told you already?”
Seph pets the sheets instead. He wishes they were closer.
“They said you didn’t want to leave me, but you had to. They said that the souls are hurt by your dog Cerberus, and that you bring them back in chains like slaves. And they said that if the souls manage to escape, you get angry and send them to Tartarus to be punished forever.”
His hand lays flat.
Yes, it is difficult to get over that last fact. That is the part that frightens him the most. What if Seph was ever to decide that he missed his mother so much he wanted to cross the River Styx? What would Hades do to him?
His husband is well into his third glass of wine already and still seems to be thinking about what to say. This is not a good sign. Seph might have been hoping he would say, ‘That’s not true at all!’
“Why do you get so mad at them when they try to leave?”
Finally Hades’s lips let go of that wine goblet and he mumbles when he speaks.
“It is not anger. It is fear. Fear sometimes looks like anger though. And kindness is sometimes punishment.”
“Tell me more,” Seph says, settling comfortably into the pillows. “I want to hear your side of it.” Feeling brave and a touch shivering scared, Seph reaches across the bed and catches his elbow. “Before you get drunk. Please. My king.”
This is to remind him of their little game that Seph hopes will repeat someday. Also, the nymphs might be onto something about mentioning titles to deflect offense.
Hades frowns, stares, and frowns a little deeper. But then he turns and the wine goblet goes back on the nightstand, where two pitchers are waiting on the flat surface and one more is parked on the floor.
When Hades returns he scoots closer than ever, to the middle of the bed, and he sets an arm across Seph’s waist. Their knees touch. Hades leans in with his eyes closing, and Seph gets two seconds to panic, realizing they’re about to kiss and he suddenly forgot how. Hades does it differently than Teysus, who would usually kiss his neck and very rarely his mouth. And even then, their tongues only met once.
Hades goes straight for his lips. His tongue licks against him at once. Seph’s cock twitches, and he opens his mouth to receive the slick, delving muscle. It is sort of like having the dark god enter him the other way. Seph is looking forward to that someday. He hopes it will feel as good as this.
Or better?
Maybe.
He tries to tilt his head right and be passive for him.
It is a lot more difficult with both their heads being sideways.
Hades tastes exactly like a cup of wine.
Then he is away and breathing on Seph’s lips, his eyes lowered.
“I had to get that out of the way before we go into the gruesome details.”
“We can get a lot more out of the way too,” Seph offers, hoping to be kissed again. He doesn’t let his hand lay idle anymore. He sneaks it under the covers and onto that tempting body, massaging heavy slender muscle—not bulky like Seph’s own form. Perfect.
Made for my hands.
“Mmm.” The god rolls onto his stomach and crosses his arms under his head, letting Seph rub up and down his back. And even to go lower. As low as he dares. He squeezes one cheek firmly, spreading the crevice and imagining what he can do inside…
But that fire dies when Hades says, “I’m not in the mood for it today, my king. We shall have to stick to simple petting.”
And Seph’s hand travels north to less heated places. He’s disappointed, but respectful of his husband’s wish.
“Of course, my king. Um. It must be hard. For you. To punish your people like that. I can see how happy they are. And how much they don’t fear you, usually. So it must be difficult to bring them in when they try to run away like that.”
But why punish them in Tartarus?
His mother is right. He is youthful and naïve. Easily distracted and easily fooled.
“Actually, it isn’t that hard. I have been through the grief of losing them permanently, so this is very little pain for me at all. Every soul is unique, Seph. No two children are alike. So to lose one permanently across the River Styx is a great loss this world can never recover.”
“That is why they go to Tartarus? So the others will be so afraid they never do it?”
“Almost,” Hades says with one of his slight smiles. Seph’s exploring hand reaches the back of his neck, and that soft hair is in his fingers at last. Hades tilts his head for him so Seph will go behind his ear.
“That is what bringing them back is for. The hunt is their deterrent. The dog cannot truly harm them, but they don’t know that, and their imagined pain is as true as real pain, fortunately.
“No, Tartarus is because once the souls cross the River Styx back into the upperworld, their life is drained out of them. They become wandering, empty shells. Physically, they can’t tell it’s happening, but emotionally they are filled with great terror, panic, and grief.
“It is the realization that they are dying—truly dying, not just crossing into another world. They are being eaten alive, by life that needs to be fed. One interesting thing about mortals—in all their many myths about us gods and this place, and all their many theories and great imaginings, they never realize that the simplest equation is right in front of them. Life consumes life. It always has. It always must.”
Seph does not know when he stopped petting. He resumes strokes with his fingers now, but they are small compared to before.
“But not so in this place.”
“That’s right. Not here. Here they are unique and beautiful and perfectly formed by their own mind. This is the end of the equation, Seph. That’s what we’re trying to make it. The gods can create life. We can get it going. We can watch our many beautiful things and unique children prosper, but we cannot keep them alive forever. The physical world doesn’t allow it, and the lovely, innocent mortals cannot be gods. Not in that realm. Here, however… we can get close.”
‘Being a god is a very lonely existence,’ his mother told him over and over. Sometimes it was while Seph was pining for some boy or wishing Fimus loved him for real. Sometimes it was about herself and the lack of trust she has for her siblings. And sometimes it was observing the town that grew from poverty to a thriving community, thanks to his mother’s presence.
“I see. So returning to the upperworld is death. True death.”
“That’s right.”
“So you punish them instead. You make them afraid to cross. And then it is not so bad.”
He nods. “Tomorrow I will show you around this place. I wanted to do it today, but I had to return those two. There is usually a hunt twice a year or so—though once we went three years without one. The blood of it will scare off any rebellious young souls. But there are always newcomers. There are always those who need to experience before they believe.”
He stretches. And then he faces away from Seph, rolling to his side. Seph lays his hand on his hip, wondering if what he wants is oka
y, but finally he decides that Hades wants Seph to touch him. He must, or he would ask Seph not to.
So Seph inches forward and closes the space between them, sliding an arm over Hades’s waist. His husband’s form against his entire naked body makes him exhale into Hades’s hair. Which still reminds him of cold mornings for some reason. How a smell can be cold, he can’t quite describe. But it is frost and sweet, and Seph has his lips in the god’s hair, breathing in its flavor, pressing a kiss behind his husband’s ear.
Hades takes his hand and intertwines their fingers.
“Tomorrow we will spend the day together. I will show you more about this place. And then you will begin to understand.”
“Yes,” Seph agrees, and nuzzles him.
I think I might be falling in love.
But he also worries that it’s too easy. He hardly thinks of Teysus anymore, and it’s only been a matter of days. He’s so distracted by the god’s physical form when he shows up, how can he know if what he feels is real or not?
I wish I could ask my mom.
He wants to talk to her very badly at the moment. With her age and knowledge, she could advise him about everything that Hades has said. She loves him. He trusts her.
Here, falling asleep with his husband, he’s still alone.
“Why not tell them what happens across the River Styx?” Seph asks in a murmur, not sure if he will get an answer or if his husband is already asleep.
“They know. They're told of it when they drink from the River Lethe, and they agree to make this their permanent home. The young souls are foolish enough to try to reach their families at the cost of their own annihilation.”
Fifteen
Seph grips the edge of the golden chariot, his knuckles white.
“There, below us, you see?” Hades says, shifting the reins to one hand and pointing down—far, far down—to where a bluish tinged river meanders calmly toward the city of Elysium.
“That is the River Lethe, which the souls drink from and swear the oaths to become a citizen of Elysium. Once the ceremony is complete, their residence is permanent. They cannot be taken from Elysium, and they cannot leave. If they do commit a crime of some kind, which almost never happens, they can only be punished for their transgression, not executed or exiled, obviously.
“And trying to leave is a crime that only I punish. My rules are laid out plainly in every single language spoken in the world. See those houses on the pier? That is where my oath criers are kept, one for every language, and the souls are sworn in individually. It is explained that they can refuse and go back to the Field of Asphodel for a different path, but once they drink from the river, they are mine to keep and look after.”
“Uh-huh.” Seph gulps, bracing himself against the front of the carriage rigidly with all the strength in his arms. In order to stay in the air, the horses have to keep moving. They cannot be still. So whenever Hades wants to explain something to him over some monument, or a river in this case, they will keep trotting and minding themselves, usually opting to take a downward angle that brings them closer to the trees and grass and things they enjoy.
So every time Hades stops to speak and show him something, all the piss in his bladder rushes to be released, making his fear even more difficult by putting him at risk of wetting himself.
Going up is not as bad. As long as he holds to the chariot like a ship in a storm about to throw him over. And being level is a brief respite to the terror that grips him constantly. But level movement does not seem to be something the horses are good at. They only accomplish it when Hades is mastering the reins, constantly tugging on one horse or another. As soon as he gives them lead, even the tiniest bit, the horses will sneak their way downward, where they seem to want to be.
Seph agrees with them. But they could not have covered all this distance on the ground. The palace is quite small in the distance, and the city Elysium is bigger than he ever imagined. Grander too. The awe of it helps abate his fear a bit. Or, it did at first, until they climbed so high Seph thought he would die of fear.
“Next I will show you Acheron!”
Hades snaps the reins and the horses level out, running at a gallop. He seems to be following the river upstream and in a straight line, covering a massive amount of distance that passes underneath them slowly due to how high they are.
“Why do their hooves make noise?” Seph shouts over the clatter of the horses running. “We’re in the air! Their hooves aren’t striking anything!”
“Oh!” Hades smiles. He’s been doing that a bit more today. Showing Seph the world he’s created seems to bring the dark god happiness. “It is fake! The sound must be there for the horses to be calm and mannered. When I brought them off the ground for the first time, they panicked and threw the chariot. I broke my neck and a lot of other bones.”
“They can do that?!” Seph yells, wishing he hadn’t asked.
“If they’re frightened enough, of course. But these have had many millennia of training and flying, so don’t worry!”
“Okay…”
Yeah right.
Seph is trying to look brave for his husband. And all he wants to do is cower to the chariot floor by Hades’s knees and wait for this to be over. He has remained standing upright to seem fearless and manly and like the sort of mate the King of the Underworld should have. All this time, gritting his teeth, he has thought about their game of my king, realizing that he can’t be a timid young man if Hades is going to fall in love with him.
But that can go to hell.
Which is down here somewhere. Hades will show it to me.
Seph goes to his knees, only his eyes looking out over the chariot’s edge, and both hands holding on so tight that it hurts. They are not going up or down anymore, but they are going very, very fast. And every snort from one of the horses, which is frequent, makes him wonder if they are getting riled enough to have a small spat against their master’s orders, which happens often enough with horses. Even well-trained ones.
“Are you afraid? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Hades takes his eyes off the horses as he bends down to lift Seph to his feet. Seph almost whines, but contains himself. Cowering will not be allowed then. He can tell.
He allows Hades to help him up while his stomach wishes otherwise.
“Get in front of me here. It is not so bad. I promise.”
Hades positions Seph in front of him, and his arms wrap around him to take the reins.
Seph firmly disagrees. Being upright and at the center, behind the horses’ bobbing necks and streaming tails, is not any better. In fact, there’s only two steps of difference between this and where he was before. How is this any better?
But then his husband speaks in his ear, and Seph does not quite have to wet himself as much anymore.
“This is how I wanted to bring you when we first climbed in. Here, hold these.” He passes the reins to Seph’s hand, which Seph wants to refuse, but he forces his fingers to comply. The tension on the reins is slack, the horses guiding themselves.
“I don’t know where we’re going!” Seph says, still wishing he could curl up on the floor. The small pleasure of having Hades all around him is not worth it.
But Hades continues to speak directly against him, his lips touching Seph’s earlobe. His hands run up and down Seph’s arms.
“The horses know the way. They heard me say Acheron, and they know I want to follow the river by the direction we’re going. They are just horses, but they are the smartest and best of their kind.”
It is more difficult to hold the chariot’s edge and the horses’ reins at the same time.
“Lean back into me, Seph. It’s all right. Let go of the chariot when you’re ready. You will see that I am stable. You’re not going to fall.”
“We’re going down! We’re falling already!” It is a small angle, but Seph thinks the horses might be eager to swoop to the river. And such a thing will frighten him so badly, he will probably fall out and drop
all the way to the ground. Where he will not die, since he is a god. But he will feel everything that happens to his body.
Mother, find me. Save me!
Seph has never been in pain like that. He’s never even broken a bone! His mother has always protected him.
“How is this?” Hades wraps both arms around his waist and holds tight. Very tight. One arm goes a little higher and holds him around his abdomen. The grip is as though Hades is restraining him. “Now lean into me.”
Seph allows himself to go back a little farther, though it is like he’s pushing himself rather than leaning because his arms are so taut.
“When you’re ready… let go.”
Never going to happen, Seph thinks, but what if his husband never respects him? What if he thinks Seph is too cowardly to go anywhere in the chariot again, so Seph is not taken to the upperworld, not even for a visit?
He means to ask Hades about what he said about never returning to the upperworld. Surely he can’t mean never. For Seph did not drink from the River Lethe. And he can’t remember his wedding vows exactly as they were worded, but he doesn’t think he promised to never see the upperworld again.
That discussion, for another day, will first rely on Hades believing he is at least brave enough to stand in his chariot. To hopefully have some respect and affection for him too.
I am a god also. Not as powerful as him, but I do not want to be treated like a meek little bride.
And so, while Seph hates himself for making himself do this, he masters all of his screaming instincts and eases back into Hades.
The god told the truth. He’s as steady as a wall.
And Seph takes one grip off the chariot’s edge, bringing the reins closer to his chest.
The final hand is a lot harder. It takes a lot more mastery and determination. Seph even for a moment returns his second hand fearfully, his instincts overriding him.
But in the end he manages it. Both hands let go. And then there is only his feet on the slightly forward-sloping floor of the chariot, and his husband’s strong arms keeping him from plummeting forward to horrible disfigurement far below.