by Eileen Glass
Well, except for him.
“It’s you,” Seph says, narrowing his eyes.
The pale faced one does not look angry or cruel (only concerned, possibly frightened, and tired) but he is capable of great cruelty and does not have any love. Seph immediately begins to remember more, about a prison in the middle of a giant pit, and bodies—no, living people!—thrown to their deaths over the side.
That’s why I hate him.
Rather, Seph—the identity in his head—hates him.
Seph himself only feels fear and uncertainty. But the real Seph, the person he’s remembering, hates this man, and Seph purposefully changes his expression to match this emotion, pretending to be the individual he remembers.
He doesn’t want to admit how vulnerable he is. He has no idea what he’s doing here, or why this man attacked him.
“How are you feeling?”
Seph becomes confused as the hated man puts his hands on Seph’s legs. He doesn’t seem to be bothered at all by the events that took place before. Was it a long time ago?
No, it was yesterday.
“I am… disoriented,” Seph admits, and then looks at the other two women. One waits with her head down and her hands clasped in front of her. Her clothes are simple.
The other has black straight hair and green eyes. She’s pale, but her skin has a more pinkish tone than the other, and there’s a certain… healthiness to it that Seph can’t explain. Her eyes are solid, the irises detailed, while the other woman’s seem vague. Her breath smells faintly of smoke. Her hands fall on his shoulders, and then one cups his face. Bony and thin, but warm.
The woman he remembers speaking to about the slaves was heavier and very warm.
The voices also do not match as she says, “Young sir, do you remember your name?”
“Seph,” he answers, narrowing his eyes to look brave. He does not think she’s friendly. The woman he remembers is his family, and this one is not.
“And do you remember who that is?”
“Seph,” he answers simply, and pulls his head back. The man he hates strokes his hair, and this is entirely too much touching from people he doesn’t know. He moves away toward the center of the bed, pulling his knees in front of him. But he is not timid or afraid. He tries not to show it if he is. With aching limbs, he will fight if it’s necessary.
“He’ll make a full recovery then,” says the dark-haired woman, looking at the hated man.
“What about his memories?”
“He might recover most of them.” She snaps a finger and points at the door. The girl who was waiting leaves with soundless steps and returns quickly with a leather bag. “Or half of them, or very few of them, or none at all.”
“That’s not helpful,” the man says.
“I remember everything,” Seph says defensively. “You are a murderer who should be put to death. And you…” He shouldn’t have carried the bluff this far. He cannot remember this woman anywhere. “You are his… slave. Or… or mine? I have a slave. Where is he?”
He is quite confident of this answer once he thinks of it, but the woman only gives Hades an uncertain look and shrugs her shoulders.
“You are Hades,” Seph says, glad that the name came back to him. It is a good name, sadly, for such an evil individual. Seph likes how it sounds to say it, and his face is quite pleasant as well. His features are so perfect they’re almost boring. But his eyes…
His eyes are haunting. Seph feels drawn to him.
But vivid images are coming back—boats going over the cliffs, hanging from chains, while people drop into the water.
It makes him so angry he starts to tremble.
“I must kill you,” he whispers aloud, and his thoughts urge him to do it now, but he does not move.
“Well, he remembers you for sure,” the woman says, and from her bag she takes several small objects and puts them by the bed. “An immediate recovery is not possible, I’m afraid. You can think of him as a very light wooden cup, and pouring too much too fast will cause him to tip over. He needs time to grow between every dose. We will give him these for today—spread them out. And I will look at him again tomorrow.”
The man nods. “Can you stay? I need someone to look after him. I don’t think he wants to see me anymore.”
“No. You are the best one for him.” The man starts to protest, and she says, “Seph, what do you remember about this god?”
She doesn’t know!
“He kills people. Hundreds of them—probably thousands! It’s happening right now. If we don’t stop it…” He shirks, realizing he is about to be struck. Possibly speared or beat with the staff. And he’s too weak to successfully defend himself right now. But enough people have to hear this until someone believes him. “You can look for yourself if you go to the place called Tartarus. Thousands of them—every day—die going over a cliff.”
“Such emotion!” she answers. “That is good. It means he’s connecting with his mind. Hades, you’re the best thing for him, whether he likes you or not.”
Her response make Seph wish he had enough strength to attack her. Doesn’t she care about what he just said? His legs flex thinking about running, but his toes don’t move very much when he asks them to. Everything aches.
“Seph, what other things can you remember yourself? What can you tell me about your childhood? Or about your mother?”
“Mother?” Seph asks, confused by the word. “Oh, the woman.” He looks around. “Where is she?”
He’s not sure that she’s a good person. He can’t remember liking her. But she is important, somehow.
“You see?” the woman says. “His most recent memories will be the most real to him. The things going way back, the things that make up his core—those are the most precious memories we lost. The essence takes people from the foundation up. You may find that he’s a bit different now than he was, even if he does come to remember everything.”
Hades looks down at the blankets, his expression solemn.
“I see. Thank you, Styx.”
“He’ll be all right otherwise. He’s mostly there.” She seems more cheerful than the dark god. More factual anyhow. “In a way, it’s like he’s been born again. Regenerating essence is like when the rains fill up a river. Some of the soil is lost, the shape slightly changed, but the direction and purpose should be similar.”
She picks up a vial and stares at it.
“I’ll miss my beauties. This one is common, though they’re all quite special to me.”
“I am grateful.”
The man doesn’t seem to say much. Can he really be as evil as Seph remembers?
Yes, I am certain.
But he doesn’t seem hateful towards Seph. Maybe because Seph is a god and not just a human.
So I can’t be murdered…
Yes, that’s right. The gods don’t treat humans well. That aligns with what he remembers.
“No need,” the woman says with sad smile. “His life is worth all of my beauties, of course. And I had better get to bottling the next one. It takes far more life to recover a person this way, but it has to be done.”
She kisses Hades on the cheek. Seph can’t believe it. After what he told her! And also… should she be doing that?
Why do I feel—
Like she’s touching what is mine—
“We’re married!” he says, realizing.
The woman looks back and leaves with a laugh. “Come Adonis!” she calls as she exits, and the small hand takes hers. Seph can’t see the child before they’re gone, to find out if he remembers who it is, but his mind is already reeling.
“Why would I marry you?”
Thirty-Nine
“Where you going?” Seph asks, and Hades shoots him a lost and hurried look. He is not very expressive, but Seph thinks he’s almost about to cry. Maybe. But Hades never cries.
How do I know that?
He looks for the memory, but he can’t find it. There is very little he can recall about his h
usband. He certainly doesn’t remember them exchanging I love you’s… But… There is a moment with him in bed that Seph remembers very well. And he remembers being happy and pleased to have his hands on his husband.
How much time has passed since then? How can I remember him so differently from what he really is?
“You lied to me.”
“Verah, please make sure Cerberus has enough toys and bones to keep him from scratching at my door and howling.”
“Yes, king. Perhaps a meal for the young king? He has not had meal for days.”
“Food this early will only make him puke. Perhaps a small bowl of broth though. Heat it up as much as you can.”
“Yes, king.” She bows again and leaves. Of the four woman Seph can recall, she is his favorite. She has a strength about her, even though she is quite small in height.
Seph looks for memories, expecting happy stories. He would like it if he and her were friends. But he can’t find anything, and that’s disappointing. He also can’t find anything about this room… Except that he may have had a conversation with a blue haired person here once.
And this is the same bed he remembers with Hades in it.
Mostly he recalls Hades’s face and the same pair of earrings the dark god is wearing now. Otherwise he is dressed differently from what Seph remembers. They were riding in a chariot, Seph huddled on the floor. Afraid, maybe. Hades wore an all-black ensemble darker than any dye he’s ever seen. It was like his form disappeared when he stepped into a shadow.
Now he wears a light blue shirt and simple gray pants. He wears his cloak even inside though, and that is odd. Seph does not feel so cold anymore.
Hades sits on the bed, and for a while he doesn’t look at Seph or talk to him, staring only at his own knees. Seph almost feels sad. It is difficult to keep reminding himself that this man is a murderer.
“You tried to kill me. Why?”
“What?” Hades gives him an alarmed look. “What makes you say that?”
“You put me in that pit. And it… it ripped my mind apart. Why did you do that?”
And where is the woman I remember? My mother?
Most of the stories in his head are about her. But only her voice, and the moments are incomplete.
“I didn’t put you in there, Seph. I pulled you out of that place. Minthe—the evil bastard—pushed you in. Don’t you remember that?”
“Minthe… Minthe…” Seph looks very hard in his thoughts, his mind feeling empty. He can’t find anything. He is about to say so, but he makes a guess with intuition. “You are working with him.”
“Working with…?” Hades shades his head. “I went to drop off your rabbit, remember? And I was only in the upperworld for a little while. Less than half the day. And when I came back you were gone. I nearly didn’t rescue you in time. Minthe took you from me.”
None of that feels familiar.
“No. You lied to me. I remember. Almost…” Seph doubts himself. Are the stories real? Is Seph real? Why can’t he remember more than just Hades’s face and how he feels?
It is one thing to remember some events of his life, but he can’t remember why he did anything. Why did he care about someone named Fimus? Who is the other boy who chased him around the baths? Why does he have the feeling that Hades likes soaps?
Remembering facts does not make him feel like he knows who he is.
But he says, “I may not know who I am or… anything else. But I remember that you and him were together. And you—or he—pushed me? Or something.” He lowers his head, looking around the room for help, but he isn’t certain about anything.
“What am I doing here?” he whispers.
“Minthe is a jealous ex-lover of mine, and before you ask, we have not been together for more than 50 years. He is quite an old nymph despite all appearances, and you wouldn’t have robbed him of very much time if you just let me toss him in the pit. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about tracking him down while you were sleeping. Someday you’re going to appreciate the effort it takes for me to keep my promise. Especially since you can’t remember me making it.”
“You’re a murderer. Explain that.” And Seph picks up his head again. Hades does not look like a murderer, no matter what he knows to be true.
He looks pale. And delicate. And the exact opposite of everything that Seph is.
Have I ever seen him laugh?
Seph feels like he has, but he can’t remember it and that bothers him. He wants to remember that even more than he wants to remember the things about this person called Minthe.
“What you saw is a… processing place. Seph, I cannot be the murderer of anything because the people you saw on the boats were already dead.”
Seph pauses, his mouth slightly open with befuddlement and no response forthcoming. This is true. He could tell by looking at Verah that she was unlike the other woman who was here. She had features like she should be dark skinned, but she was just tinged almond, and almost glowing. Her eyes barely blinked and always seemed to be unfocused. Sometimes it was like pieces of her would move without being attached to other pieces. For a human to walk forward, they have to push off the back foot. The girl’s heels seemed to mimic walking while the rest of her body would float.
“But… this is the land of the dead. Right? So here they are people. They are not dead dead. I heard them scream.” He swallows around a new lump in his throat. This part he remembers most vividly —the boats tipping over, and then a woman in the water transformed into a vanishing corpse.
“I saw woman’s body! So they are not all spirits. I saw her eyes rot away. And her skeleton exposed.”
“Just an image, I’m afraid. The new souls retain a lot of their internal anatomy. Sometimes, you can even see them breathing. It is not something they consciously thought of when they lived in the physical world, but whenever they realize they aren’t doing it down here in the underworld, they’ll make themselves mimic the actions again. With organs they technically don’t have. It’s kind of cute, in a way.”
Seph wrinkles his nose with disgust. He is talking about a woman Seph saw melt, and Hades’s explanation of it includes the words ‘kind of cute’.
“There’s something wrong with you. If you don’t feel remorse—or horror, or guilt—over anything you’ve done, then you’re lunatic.”
Hades starts, but he doesn’t look particularly ashamed. He presses his lips together, letting out a frustrated breath through his nose, but always with the subtlest expression on his mostly passive face.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t finished explaining. Let me finish explaining, and then you can…” He raises a hand and drops it. “Think whatever of me.”
“I’m listening.”
“The essence that makes up the souls, the Earth, and all living physical life will continue to grow. But in order to grow, it always has to maintain a base sum. There always has to be a certain amount of essence left in order for it to divide. If it divides too thinly, it is gone. All the Earth and everything in it could be gone, just like that, because I decided that Tartarus was too cruel for the little souls coming in.
“So, because I feed the ones who want rebirth back into Tartarus—for rebirth, by the way, I haven’t lied about that—because I do that, the Earth continues to live. The number of souls that I have continues to grow. And life on Earth continues to divide and make new life. The Earth is growing ever more complex, and with it, I am building the eternal world as well.
“Eventually, I will have all of them. Trillions! And they will be of all personalities, but overall, they will be intelligent and selfless and sweet. For they will grow more and more wiser, the more lives they’ve lived in their essence, even if they don’t have the specific memories.”
“Your world is cruel,” Seph says. He wonders if Hades could be lying. He doesn’t know the man in front of him—not really, not anymore. And he doesn’t know enough about anything to determine what is the truth or not.
He feels this
hate and anger building up in him, but he doesn’t know what exactly it’s based on. Who is angry? Him? Or a memory of him?
Who is Seph?
‘I am Seph’ does not seem to be a real answer.
Hades smooths his hands over his thighs, then stands slowly.
“You will stay here while you are recovering. I am finding protection for you, but I haven’t made the necessary adjustments yet. I haven’t left this room for four days while you’ve been sleeping. But now that you’re awake, I’ll leave Cerberus in front of your door. Uh, he’s tied up and I’ll muzzle him, but don’t try to pet him. For now, just leave him there, and he will incidentally protect you if anyone, like say, Minthe, comes back into the room.”
“Where you going?”
“To get your protection, like I said. I have someone in mind.”
“Don’t leave me, please.” Seph reaches across the bed. He must get his knees under him to cross the bed the long ways to the where Hades is standing, and every muscle is wooden. He keeps thinking, This body does not belong to me. This body is not mine. Who is this?
“If you go, I don’t know what will happen to me. I feel thin. I feel… I feel like Seph sometimes, but I am not him. I am confused. And this body—” He takes Hades wrist, then examines his fingers circled around the smooth flesh. He drops the hand to stare at his own palm. “Does that feel like me?” He looks up at Hades’s face. “Do I look like me?”
There seems to be sorrow in his eyes, though overall his expression has not changed.
Seph speaks. “I don’t know who I am. But I know who you are. So even if I’m mad at you, or something, please don’t go. If you go, I’m not sure if… I’m not sure that I…” Seph finds it hard to talk, his eyes suddenly burning, his voice suddenly rough. “I feel so lost!” he gasps out.
Hades returns to him, arms around him, petting his hair. He pulls Seph close and tucks chin over his head. Then, at first, there is only, “Shh, shh.”
Rocking them gently, he explains, “Essence is supposed to grow with a body. When it is put back in, it takes a while to find all the pathways. But nothing is wrong, Seph, I promise you.”