Hades and Seph

by Eileen Glass

  “You did not know,” Hades says comfortingly. It is not a rabbit’s death that he mourns, for death is quite normal and the sadness is unavoidable. A soul as old as Sefkh knows that. But he hurts for the damage he inflicted on another physical being. Having a body is a short and cherished memory for a soul.

  Everyone cries over this rabbit, Hades thinks unkindly, but his mood is one of admiration for Sefkh, one of his sons.

  “I am not touching him,” Sefkh says, continuing to stroke with one finger only. “This is only his fur. This is only his ear. These things are just parts. But together they make all of him. His soul is inside.”

  “I have to go now, Sefkh.”

  His son nods and takes his hand away, returning to the broom.

  “Tell the others it’s okay to come here. Seph and I did not fight. No one is angry. The rabbit simply doesn’t belong, and Seph did not know that he couldn’t bring him. I have explained things.”

  Did the others think I would punish Seph the way I punish my children with the dog?

  He considers asking, but the question is inconsequential. The hunt must repeat as many times as it is necessary. And it works. Hades has not lost a soul in almost a millennia.

  He moves on toward the stables, and is nearly out of the house, when a bit of blue disappearing into another room alarms him.

  “Minthe!” Hades strides quickly to the staircase leading to the kitchens, and there is Minthe, glaring at him with an angry little pout. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “Many things are in the palace that are not supposed to be—”

  He grabs the nymph’s arm, and Minthe falls silent with a small scared gasp.

  It is true, Hades gets alarmed eyes and cautious avoidance for days after a hunt, though he does not think he has a violent temperament. Rather, the hunt is a reminder to the children (and a bluff) that the father who doesn’t hurt them can hurt them.

  But Minthe is not a child, nor a soul. Just an unruly subject, one who he suspects is not right in the mind.

  Minthe was an attractive friend at first. One who cared for him physically and emotionally when Hades himself could not. It became more than a physical arrangement very quickly. Hades looked forward to returning to his rooms every day.

  Minthe has a devilish way of smiling. He made Hades feel young and zestful again. For a time. And only in the bedroom.

  But then he began to notice the sickness. Minthe’s attachment goes beyond love. He has a fractured essence, Hades suspects, something that is constantly yearning. Something that feeds like a parasite. Hades was the new food source, and Minthe begin to play deceptive games to make the god vulnerable to him.

  It did not work. The little lies of so-and-so did this and so-and-so should not be trusted were exceptionally easy to see through.

  “What are you doing in my palace? And why are you running from me?”

  Minthe puts his chin up, a stubborn hateful glare creasing his pretty features. “I heard there was a thing here that did not belong. And so I thought the palace had become a place for all the cast out, wicked things. Including me.”

  A snare for pity is another one of Minthe’s games. Hades does not feel the emotion very often, but Minthe craves it.

  He is sad for his ex-lover. He would keep him in Elysium if he was able to. Jealousy is just another form of suffering, in this case from the consequence of feeling inadequate. Minthe’s soul would heal from this fracture in the afterlife, if it was able. But the price of a nymph being so connected to the Earth and the primal understanding of all things is that their souls are claimed very quickly. Instantly. Even down here, in the underworld.

  But unlike humans, nymphs do not fear or harbor remorse for their own deaths.

  For that reason, Hades is sorry for Minthe. But giving in to such an emotion would not to be healthy for his past lover. Minthe’s best option is to find peace before he dies, and for that, Hades banished him to light the street lamps in parts of Elysium that are far, far from the palace.

  “Do you think your presence will affect my new union? Are you hoping that my seeing you again will bring back what we had? Minthe… don’t you realize your wounds are self-inflicted? This pity you feel for yourself would not be so palpable if you had not returned here.”

  He steers Minthe back into the hall and they continue toward the stable. Once he reaches his horse, he will make sure Minthe is escorted far away. Verah and several other peace keepers around the palace will be notified again to keep an eye out for Minthe.

  “I had to come here,” Minthe says with a sniff. “You weren’t supposed to find me. I just wanted to make sure you are happy without me. That’s all. I was just checking. And I’m already going now, so you don’t have to do anything.”

  Again, that self-piteous snare. Hades can sense it like diagnosing a man with a giant head wound, blood seeping everywhere. It is the same affliction that Hera suffers, but hers can actually heal. Hers has a source.

  She mistook Zeus’s jovial laugh for love aimed at her. Love that she craved.

  Closing the wound is the start to the healing process. Hades did the best that he could for Minthe. He went without his physical needs sated, even on the nights that it got very bad. Even when he craved closeness with someone so much that he wondered if he was dying inside.

  He did not act as Zeus does and just use Minthe’s body and affections when he personally desired.

  But he is rather cold with the nymph to sever their ties. There is no other way Hades can think of to help him. Pity and affection only make the parasite worse.

  “Whether I am happy without you or miserable, you cannot come back into my life. We are over, Minthe. And your presence is forbidden near the palace.”

  If only there were more souls here today. He would’ve passed Minthe off already. He feels like one of his own servants, carrying all these unwanted things out of the place. How did Minthe even get in?

  Ah. He must’ve taken advantage of fewer eyes after the hunt.

  “Why am I forbidden?” Minthe asks in that bratty way he does. “Is it because you don’t want your new lover to see me? You don’t want me to tell him about all the cruel things I know about your heart? Or you don’t want him to be jealous of me? Are you afraid he’ll lock you out of the bedroom if he finds me?”

  “It is bad manners to keep an ex-lover under the roof when you’ve only just been married. I don’t need to tell you that. But that is not why. I have moved on, Minthe. You need to do the same.”

  Minthe tries to slow him down by turning and stopping to talk, but Hades only grabs him harshly and pushes him forward. They continue an efficient pace outside, and Hades makes for the stables.

  His dog being locked up also gave Minthe an opportunity to sneak into his palace. Cerberus is extremely smart, and he would have sniffed out the unwanted guest immediately. Hades likes to think it is the smell of Minthe that makes his dog bark and scratch viciously at the stable door. But of course, at this distance from the barn, he can likely make out Hades’s footsteps from all the others.

  “You will make for the trees now. You will cut through the forest from here to the neighborhood of Corythia, where you should be. Do not let me catch you here again, Minthe, or I will have to banish you to the upperworld, where you will miss your ice flame and the shaded things.”

  Cerberus howls. Hades hears a frantic scraping inside the chest. He lifts the box a little higher and a little closer, though there’s nothing he can do to reassure the bunny.

  “Is your lover going to forgive you about the rabbit?”

  Hades stops. “How do you know?”

  Minthe crosses his arms. His eyes glance to the side, then he focuses on Hades and says, “Well, everyone’s talking about it—the upperworld bunny.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Can I see it?”

  “No. It’s time for you to go now. And Minthe, your banishment is permanent. I am wondering if I should send Cerberus after you now. I do not usually
let someone go unharmed when they have broken one of my rules.”

  “Unless it is your new lover, I see!”

  “You are making me doubt my decision.”

  Minthe evaluates him. It is a short moment. Hades has told him the truth, and as part of fatherhood, he has learned that idle threats cannot be made as punishment. The things he says have to be intended, or else he will find himself pleading for the subjects to behave, and a king cannot be so powerless.

  Minthe sniffs and rubs one elbow with his hand, his lips lifting with a hateful sneer. Then he pivots and heads for the trees at a different angle than the barn. Hades waits with the rabbit, wondering what he should do.

  He does not look forward to the hunt. Minthe is a physical being. He has never had to punish any of the underworld nymphs, and he’s not sure that he would do so with his dog.

  But getting angry at Minthe, or even imprisoning him, would only feed that wound of self sorrow in his heart. Minthe has an obsession. Hades. His parasite wants to both feed and destroy.

  His ex looks back once. Hades has not moved. His expression must hold something (maybe it is the steadiness of his eyes) because Minthe picks up pace toward the trees, running.

  Taushev comes out of the barn with one of his horses on a lead. He looks in Hades’s direction, probably wondering why he’s stopped, and then continues around the side of the barn where they will have the chariot waiting.

  Hades still doubts. Minthe is tenacious. He cannot have come all this way for a little talk and a pout.

  The fact that he showed up here once should be proof enough that punishment is needed. He clearly does not fear Hades as well as he should.

  But I do not want to hurt him.

  Yes, that is true.

  Surely the hunt and taking away Seph’s favorite pet is enough damage and sadness caused by his hand for now.

  “Tell Verah and everyone else to keep an eye out for Minthe,” he tells Taushev when he arrives, tucking the chest into a bag strapped on his shoulder, then walking around his horses with a trailing hand. He checks the harnesses every time out of habit, tugging on a strap here and there. “Do this immediately. Minthe is not allowed anywhere near the palace.”

  “Yes, my king.”

  I may have to punish him anyway, when I get back, he thinks as he steps into the chariot, taking up the reins. He can’t be allowed near Seph.

  I should hurry then.

  Twenty-Five

  Seph sits on the bed feeling miserable. Feeling like he’s abandon a promise. Or a friend.

  And also feeling confused about himself, because it is true that Hibus is just a rabbit. Hibus probably can’t become attached to him the way a dog becomes attached to its owner, or even a horse. Hibus is a little prey animal, mostly afraid of everything, not really knowing of anything.

  But when he scooped up Hibus out of his shadow that first day they met, he felt like he had found something special. Something he would always take care of.

  And when he insisted on keeping Hibus in the house, despite what his mother had said, that was the first time he stood up to her and won. That was when he started noticing boys more lustfully. That was when things started changing for him, and he felt more like a man, choosing his own name—Seph.

  But it is just a rabbit.

  Seph sniffs and rubs his eyes. He takes a big breath and stands up from the bed, walking a pointless circle around the room.

  He purposely didn’t follow Hades to his chariot for that one last goodbye to the rabbit in the box because he knew the tears would well up like this. He doesn’t want to openly cry in front of his new husband yet.

  And that is another source of confusion. As much as Seph wishes the rabbit could stay here, losing Hibus is an acceptable cost to deepening the relationship in his marriage. He likes Hades. A lot.

  Maybe his looks have something to do with it. Maybe it’s the power that he’s drawn to. When he had Hades in his hands yesterday in the bathhouse, he felt like a god. A real god. Not a puny baby boy.

  So there is a great deal of guilt in knowing that he has willingly given Hibus up. And the little rabbit, loyal or not, will not have any idea why he was abandoned.

  Seph has no foolish hope that Hades will find a family that cherishes rabbits. He can find one that’s well-off and not cruel, but Hibus will likely go into a small cage outside and stay there until he dies.

  And then he will truly be gone forever.

  It is not a thing a god should be upset about, he tells himself, because his mother is not here to do it for him. I will last a lot longer than a rabbit. In a millennia, what will I even care about a rabbit I had when I was a kid?

  Still upset, he paces some more. He wanders into the study and picks up one of the heavy enormous gems Hades keeps as ornaments. Just to have something to look at, to distract himself.

  It’s time to grow up, Seph. You’re not a baby boy anymore. Rabbits don’t love, obviously. And you’re being stupid.

  Still, it was a promise. When he held Hibus close and told him not to worry, intending to keep him, that promise should have been forever. He made Hibus his.

  A door slams in the bedroom, making Seph frown and put down the stone. He returns to the bedroom, perplexed, and sees a figure standing before the bed with clenched fists and ice blue hair.

  “Minthe?”

  The nymph whirls, his mouth open. Then he looks delighted.

  “It’s you! Good. Come on, we have to go!” He takes Seph’s hand with two of his and pulls, but Seph does not allow himself to be led yet.

  “Where are we going? And what’s the rush?” He takes two slow steps as Minthe pulls with all his strength. “Did something happen?”

  “Yes, something happened! The dark god—Hades—he’s got your bunny. Don’t you know that?!”

  Does the nymph think Hades stole Hibus?

  “Wait, Minthe, it’s okay. I know, I—why are you out of breath?”

  Minthe is frantically struggling to take him to the bathhouse door, Seph’s footsteps slow and reluctant, and now he’s noticing that the nymph breathes like he’s been running. Like he’s panicked.

  “Minthe, I know Hades has Hibus. It’s okay. I mean—it’s not okay because he’s taking Hibus to the upperworld, like you said. He got out from under the bed somehow. The weighted vase we made him worked very well, but I think Verah—”

  “No, Seph,” Minthe says with wide eyes, pausing the tugging for a moment. He glances toward the den nervously and continues, “He’s not taking the bunny to the upperworld. That’s not what I said.”

  Seph’s brow furrows. Did Hades lie?

  Why would he?

  “He’s taking him to Tartarus,” Minthe says in a horrified voice. “He’s going to kill the bunny because—because it’s just easier that way! Don’t you see? We have to go save your rabbit!”

  Now Seph’s feet move willingly, but his emotions grow heavy with betrayal.

  To Tartarus? No, he wouldn’t.

  “Why would he?” Seph asks sternly, unsure. But if Hibus is going straight to Tartarus, assumedly to die, he has to do something right away! He no longer tries to stay in place and lets Minthe lead him into the narrow hall with a spiral staircase.

  Minthe moves around him quickly to shut the door after them, and then takes his hand to guide the way down.

  “Because it’s just easier that way!” he says, his voice loud among the stone walls. “Things that don’t belong go to Tartarus! Where the truly wicked are punished, or the unwanted souls are put to death! Permanently. Come, I’ll show you. You’ll see what I mean.”

  “Why would he lie?” Seph asks. He’s not sure what Minthe is saying is true. Why go through so much trouble to assure him that—

  Well, actually, no. It makes more sense that Hades wouldn’t give a crap about a rabbit, doesn’t it? This is a king who runs down his children with a dog. Also, long-lived gods barely care about the short-lived animals in the world. They care a bit more about humans, sin
ce they’re so personable and smarter than an animal, but a rabbit might as well be a bug as far as a god is concerned.

  And while all of this runs through his mind, his cheeks heating as he realizes he has not only been foolish, he’s been acting like an absolute baby in the god’s eyes… Minthe explains it all for him, allowing his ears to hear as well.

  “Because he doesn’t care about a bunny, young king. Not anymore then he cares about a slipper or dirt under his nail. He only wanted you to feel better about losing your pet. So he told you he would take Hibus to the upperworld and give him a good home and all that—but really he’s just going on the chopping block. And you would never know if I hadn’t come told you. I want to help you save Hibus.”

  They jog alongside the pool, to the opposite end of the bathhouse, where Minthe grabs one of the gold torch holders on the wall and reveals a sliding door. A little narrow set of stairs goes upward and turns.

  “Wait,” Seph says, his instincts still unsure. “Aren’t you a nymph? I thought nymphs didn’t keep pets. I-I thought you didn’t understand them.”

  According to everything that Seph knows about nymphs, which he learned from his mother, it actually makes more sense for Hades to care about Hibus than it does for Minthe to do the same.

  Minthe stops and turns around on the narrow stairs, Seph’s hand falling out of his grasp since the god does not follow. He looks a bit astounded, and he’s quiet a moment as he puts his thoughts together.

  “Every second we stand here, your rabbit is getting closer and closer to death,” he says in a scolding-yet-subdued tone. “And I only care about the rabbit because you do. I like you. We nymphs are not all the same.”

  “Oh. Of course not,” Seph says, and starts up the narrow steps after him. He’s right. Why is Seph even arguing anyway?

  But…

  “Didn’t you tell me that you were going to tell Hades about the rabbit?” He has to call upwards, since Minthe still moves so much faster than him. Like he’s in a panic. “Weren’t you thinking about it?”