by Eileen Glass
“I’m not going to hurt you, little guy. Come on out.”
A little twitching nose appears in the darkened box. And then tiny rodent teeth grab onto the lettuce and tug to bring it inside, trying to steal the bribe without stepping out as payment first. Seph moves it just out of his reach.
And soon a rabbit’s face peeks out of the hole. Seph smiles to see it, holding in an excited noise. His worries about Hades’s possessive and overly protective nature are forgotten.
He got me a present! A white rabbit!
He suppresses his laugh, for the bunny looks rather nervous.
If Hades thinks I’m going to stop calling him bunny for this gift…
The rabbit steps out of the box.
And suddenly, Seph has a new life. The room is sunny and warm. His mother is behind him. Not just a voice, not just a ghost of something that might have happened. She is behind him, solid, wearing a blue dress and some red stone that comes from the sea. Her hair is messy but beautiful atop her head, and she has broad cheekbones and a largish nose. She is a gorgeous and strong featured woman. Almost the perfect female version of Seph.
And for the first time, Seph feels like he knows her. They have a vivid, visceral connection.
I am your son.
He wishes she was really here. He would run and hug her.
But in the memory she only says, Make sure he doesn’t get out of the box. The cats might eat him.
That is all, and then in a few seconds the sense of being in this other world disappears.
The rabbit has lost all shyness, fully out of the nesting box now, and standing as close as he can get Seph, his little paws up on the bars. His neck is stretched out high, his nose seeking another treat. He finds the opening to the cage very interesting. And he does not startle or runaway as Seph gently scoops his hand underneath him.
“I remember you,” Seph says. “Hibus.”
Fifty-Three
Seph sits at Hades’s desk, the rabbit cradled in his arms, and Hibus (this must be him) seems to cuddle against his chest. Seph would swear the rabbit recognizes him, even if Hibus is supposed to be a simple animal. There are very few mice and rats in the underworld, and only a couple bunnies. The simple animals just don’t make it.
So is this the real Hibus? If not the real one, he is very tame and friendly. His appetite sated, feeling perfectly safe, Hibus makes a great yawn as Seph smooths down one of his ears.
“Are you my bunny, little pal? How did Hades find you, hm?”
It must be. But where did Hades find the time? Seph tried gently to wake him up, to thank him for this amazing gift, but the dark god hasn’t moved except to breathe since Seph put him down. Cerberus, fully stretched out against Hades, remains unwilling to leave his master’s side, even while seeing the small creature in Seph’s arms. He’s devoted.
And so Seph sits at the desk instead, and while his entire life doesn’t come back to him, Seph feels like a piece of himself has clicked into place. Demeter’s son. A boy who grew up spoiled and happy but also uncertain of his future and unfulfilled. Not having a place to belong.
“You are my only friend,” Seph says with the feeling he has said it before, or at least thought it.
More memories come.
“You are an old bunny, aren’t you? I raised you from a little tiny rabbit. Little children used to swarm me for a peek at you, and I would cradle you securely in my hands, passing you around to pet. But carefully.”
Hibus does not feel warm anymore, not that Seph’s hands mind. He can still see that small helpless creature burying its face where Seph’s palms pressed together. His fur is not the same texture either. There are no actual strands to brush back, only the essence of what was. With horses, dogs, and any kind of animal, they always feel sleeker and smoother than they did when they were alive.
“And I had to scoop your poop and urine and out of a box every day. I remember my mother…” It is still hard to picture her completely. He gets glimpses, but nothing he can closely examine. “She scolded me at first, but I think… I think… that was just her way.”
She always seems to be saying negative things, speaking to Seph sternly. But with Hibus, the feelings are quite different. They are warm toward her, even if phrases like ‘filthy animal, barely better than a rat’ don’t sound very generous or kind spirited to him now.
He’s not sure about her. Hades has always said she is kind, but clingy with Seph, and greatly missing him. Seph has silently held the opinion that no mother should let the innocents of the world wither and die for her selfish grief. He imagines her as being too possessive and controlling, the same symptoms of Hades but scaled up to a mountain.
And he remembers very clearly, two days after his marriage, the level of freedom and gratitude he felt.
But this bunny, the real Hibus or not, creates warmth over the colder memories.
“I’m going to say you are you, little Hibus,” Seph says touching his tiny nose with his finger. “You are a smart bunny to come back to me. And I bet Hades knew just where to find you.”
There is a small knock at the door. It is not Verah, who taps too lightly, and it’s not from Hecate’s room. It is someone in the solarium, so Seph shifts the rabbit to a one-arm hold and goes to great the visitor.
Hopefully it is not a little soul asking to leave. Hades worries that he set a precedent.
It is Hermes.
“Oh, hi. Hello,” says the young-faced god. He is taller than Seph, and their chitons are about the same size, exposing miles and miles of shapely legs. Seph is sure more of him would be exposed by a very slight breeze or a certain pose. And the god who is his cousin would not mind.
“I would like to set an appointment with you.” His eyes dart side-to-side, and he seems to be trying to look in, maybe to find out if Hades is with him. “Usually there is a house slave to speak to, or I put in a written request with the mistress of the house. But, uh, none of that applies to you, soo…”
“What do you want to talk about?” Seph asks letting the door fall open a little wider. He’d rather get this over with.
“I see you found Hades’s precious gift! He was not easy to catch. I spent an embarrassing amount of time stooping to reach under bushes, and I even crawled under a house! How do you get him to hold so still?” Before Seph can answer, the god is already speaking again.
“Well, the appointment is rather useless once I explain why I’m here. I want to know if there is anything we can do to ease Demeter’s grief enough that she’ll consider helping the Earth into the warm season. Humans are not well suited for the icy cold. It took them thousands of years to populate and learn and build their cities. Right now the cities are already in dire trouble. And if I don’t convince her soon, I’m afraid some of the greatest places of achievement and learning from mankind are about to be empty rock. You see, the humans themselves may come down here and live and prosper… but up above, the constructs of their imagination and wisdom, the very achievements that make humans so amazing—are about to be lost.”
Seph does not find him so annoying now as he did when they first met. He wears the most ridiculous helmet Seph has ever seen, and his wavy hair and good looks make Seph think his bright smile is because he’s full of himself. But perhaps that is a touch of jealousy. While Seph’s hair is brunette with a sheen of red now and then (nothing to brag about, especially on a man), Hermes is a golden blond. And it looks much better. His face is flawless as well.
And he’s known Hades a lot longer than me…
But these fears are unfounded.
“Come in, Cousin Hermes. We don’t make appointments or hold hearings in Hades’s palace. We are not like mortal kings.”
“Ah. Thank you. I love, uhh, this place.” He looks up at the mural on the ceiling of a stag fleeing through the forest, hunted by wolves. “I always have. Are you, uh, doing any decorating? To make this place your own? You know, usually the one married is the mistress—or the master, I guess—of the house.
I don’t see too many of your own things in here. Are you sure you’re happy?”
Well, there he goes being irritating again.
“I am perfectly happy. And if I’m not, I will change whatever is needed so that I will be.” Seph sits and puts his feet on the desk. He lets Hibus wander on his stomach and fences him in with his hands.
“Wow. You look just like him. The two of you must be taken with each other, I see.” Hermes takes a nearby seat, but instead of sitting he only leans over the chair toward Seph. “I have to put a stop to your mother. I need your help.”
“I’m not returning home, so I don’t see how I could help. Before you do anything dangerous, you should know that Hecate is already aware of your presence, and while she’s not spying on us or anything, you should act as if she’s already in the room.” Hermes looks surprised and even mildly affronted, but his unasked for concern is not altruistic. He would’ve come to the wedding or visited Seph right after if they were close as cousins.
“And besides, I don’t see what the goddess’s grief has to do with me. I am married now. I am happy.” Seph shrugs. “I have no wish to leave.”
Hermes’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding right? You don’t see what Demeter’s grief has to do with you? Persephone—are you even aware that the entire world was covered in ice before Demeter carried you? The entire world filled with humans and cities and great green fields, all of those things, exist because of you! Before you were even born, Demeter set out to create a paradise for her son to prosper and live in. Before that, humans were huddled up in caves, fighting off enormous predators and hunting with pointed sticks.
“They did alright. They even made music and poetry, some of them. But it wasn’t very good and their language wasn’t sophisticated. Humans didn’t start to put themselves together into a civilization until their basic needs were met. That meant seasonal warmth and food. Prometheus gave them fire to cook with, but farming and sunny seasons were the real catalyst to forming the humans we have now. Demeter is responsible for that. She made the winter short and taught humans to plant the first seeds. And that was all for you.”
“I didn’t know that,” Seph says, letting Hibus hop onto the desk as he gets restless. “It must have been a long pregnancy. I am only twenty-six years old.”
“Yes, well, gods come into being in all kinds of ways. Demeter never once looked heavy with you, and it wasn’t something that she talked about. But she knew you were there, and she may have held you inside her until she determined that the world was ready. Who knows.”
“That does not sound like a mother I want to go back to,” Seph says, drumming his fingers on his stomach, wondering how uncomfortable it must be for a baby to be trapped in the womb. Could he ever remember such a thing? He hopes not.
“Hades says that if I go back, she won’t let me return. He says Demeter will hide me and keep me in a prison or something. He says my father Zeus is dangerous as well.”
Hermes avoids looking at him and doesn’t deny it.
Seph says, “I think the safest place for me is here, at my husband’d side. I am happy, and I won’t leave him.”
“And that’s fine, Persephone. But isn’t there something we can do?” Hermes offers a hand to the rabbit to sniff, and Hibus hops away from him. So he isn’t friendly with everybody. And that settles it. He’s the one. The real Hibus.
I got someone from my family back.
Seph gathers Hibus again, and the bunny is as tame as a house cat.
“I have everything I need here. I’m not happy that people are dying, but that is neither my fault nor my responsibility. That lies with Demeter and Zeus. My father especially. I understand that he is supposed to be the king up there, is he not? Why isn’t your appointment with him?”
Hermes’s fingers tap the chair, fidgeting. “I did do that. And that’s why I came down here to assess… uh, the situation. From what I can see, you are doing well and Hades is doing well. But the upperworld is still freezing and dying off slowly. Humans can still make it in their caves, but Seph… have you forgotten the beauty of human cities? Don’t you remember your home with fondness? Perhaps if I could show you what it’s like there now—we could leave very quickly you know, and just come straight back—then you would—”
“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?”
Hecate.
Seph merely has to say her name. He would have already if Hermes moved toward him. But surely an abduction would not come with such an obvious request first?
Maybe. He thinks Hermes must be considering it, even now.
“Hades is in the next room. He’s asleep, but that can change.” I’m certain the dog would protect me too. If I called for him.
Seph is maybe a little hurt that the hound isn’t interested in him and their company one bit.
“What about a letter or something?” Hermes asks. “Or you could give your mother some kind of gift? What if you asked her, even begged her, to stop these freezing winds and let the crops come back before they’re gone forever? Could you do that for me? You’re very selfish, you know, saying that this is Zeus’s problem only. That this is all your mother’s fault.
“You and Hades are not just the kings of the underworld. You are the kings of everything! That’s why I serve Hades first and foremost in our family. Someday, if Zeus doesn’t overthrow you, you two will be the only kings there are. And I think—I know—we are going to need the humans to survive if we are to live together as one kingdom. They’re going to teach us how to govern, the way they’ve already taught us some of the most magnificent songs and stories in history. Humans should not be left to freeze like this. All the gods in existence—you, myself, even our crazy old uncle Dionysus—all of us need to be concerned that we’re about to lose the greatest creation we’ve ever had.”
Fifty-Four
Seph pets Hibus for a long while, just staring at nothing. Sometimes he looks at the wolf mural above him, for it’s the only picture of the upperworld available to him. At one point, he cocks his head and wonders, Why does Hades have this here? He doesn’t even like the upperworld. But he can’t deny that it suits the room, with its elegance, beauty, and grim presence.
Seph loves how Hades comes undone in his hands. It is like the god becomes younger and untroubled. More like himself, and he loses the presence of a dark underworld king. But only for a little bit, when they’re all over each other, which is Seph’s favorite time.
He smiles thinking of the new memories he’s made, and then the innocent, unsuspecting rabbit hops onto his chest and bumps his head against Seph. Hibus becomes insistent on brushing up against him, and even gives Seph’s chin a lick.
Leaning back in Hades’s chair, his feet up on the desk (exactly the way his lover likes to recline also), Seph cuddles the rabbit and muses on what he almost remembers. Almost.
There was another lover before. Fimus? The slave?
No. Maybe…
“Come on, little guy. Back you go. I love you too, but another calls me.”
He carries Hibus to the cage, thinking, I am happy here. That is not an illusion. I don’t want to go back, do I?
He closes the door to Hibus’s cage, a frown creeping onto his features.
But the letter I write will certainly not dissuade an upset goddess from a tirade of murder.
He was going to rejoin Hades in the bed, but now he redirects himself to the desk again. He sits properly and grabs a scroll and ink for writing. Slowly, he draws sentences onto the paper, each word mechanical and unfelt.
Dear Mother. I am well.
It lingers there a long time, then picks up speed with the following lines:
You have created a lot of work for us, starving mankind until they eat their dogs and cats. We have even taken in a few who have eaten the already dead corpses of their children. Though it caused them great sorrow. Hades thinks they can heal from this trauma, especially those who have reunited with their children here, but I am not so sure.
All
the new souls brought to Elysium have deep sadness for the things they suffered before coming here.
And then there is so much he wants to say but he doesn’t. How could you do this? What sort of monster are you? Are you punishing me by killing the whole world?
There is a whisper of wrongness in his thoughts. He disagreed a lot with the mother he remembers, but when he held Hibus, there was a new warmth to his previous life he can’t describe. He doesn’t think this is solely due to the love he imagines from a pet bunny.
So he ends the letter instead with:
I am learning to be a king, and I find my life fulfilling here. Please help the crops come back this summer, or I’m afraid the great cities we’ve come to admire from mankind will just be stone and wood again. Think of what we will lose, Mother. The teachings of philosophers have been profound even to our oldest gods. These accomplishments, which may be with or without material form, are the consciousness of the humans, and the end of their advancement is a great loss.
He thinks, and decides to let it be. So he signs it, Persephone, King of the Underworld, Ruler of the Dead, God of the Harvest’s End. And lastly, though he pauses a long moment, Your Loving Son.
He rolls it up, secures it with wax and twine, and there it sits on the desk as he wonders if he should redraft it. The words are not compelling enough. He sort of remembers her warmth and the connection they shared, but he can’t create that same emotion with unspoken words on a page.
It’s that warmth that she misses. That love she had.
This letter might actually make the winters on Earth even worse. She will know I’ve lost whatever was there.
And so Seph returns to Hades thinking a great many things, all of it so large and interconnected he isn’t sure where to begin solving the issues that nag him.
“Move, dog. Cerberus, please. Off you go.”
Cerberus does not move at all, acting like an enormous sack of potatoes on the bed. Nor do any of his heads snap or growl, which is an improvement. Seph tries to forcefully wedge himself between the dog and Hades, but doing so begins to disturb his husband’s sleep too much. So, kneeling on the bed, shoving a rump that won’t budge, Seph says sternly, “Don’t make me get Hecate to hold a whip over your head.”