Hades and Seph

by Eileen Glass

  He chooses one of Hades’s traveling pants as well. It’s made of a dark hide, but thinner than usual leather, and soft.

  Hades’s legs are much too slender for these to fit him though. He holds them up for Hecate.

  “Make these bigger, so they can fit me.”

  Hecate makes a quick sigh. “I am not a tailor. My magic is imprecise for such things.”

  Hades’s hand lifts slightly away from his side, and the pant’s waist sags as it grows larger. Seph shakes out the newly resized garment, holding it up to his legs.

  This will be his first time wearing clothes such as these. He always wears the short chitons because he knows that is Hades’s favorite. But he is traveling as the king of the underworld, and he needs to look like it.

  “Ooo, you can badly stretch fabric and ruin good leather.” Hecate rolls her eyes. “That does not mean you’ll best me Hades, King of Nothing.”

  Somehow, Hecate’s personality allows her to hold opposing views. She hates kings and does not believe government should rule over anything. She does not let that conflict with her service. She has said that Chronos had too many powerful sons. And she implied that it would be better if he had succeeded in absorbing them.

  Seph does not let her views bother him much. Her oath is binding. And Hecate is a strange one.

  “I will not best you,” Hades says, “because we are not fighting. Hecate, if you think an attempt to take my husband away from me and let him leave this realm does not violate your oath, you are wrong.”

  “I am the extension of his will, not the judge and jury of his will. Who am I to decide when my master’s actions are a danger to himself? You made it very clear that I was not to be his nanny. I was not to be his ‘second mother’, as you put it. I was to enable Seph to be the powerful god that he would be if nature had not somehow stunted him.”

  “You are his guardian, it is in your oath!” For the first time, Hades let’s his anger through. He straightens his hair with his fingers quickly, and his crown flies to him next.

  He is just a frustrated, tired husband. Until the crown goes on.

  His face is the same, but the spires of dark stone make him taller. His impassive expression usually looks soft to Seph when they are alone in the bedroom. When the crown goes on, it becomes chilling. He calls his cloak to him, and it is like a shadow beast rushes across the room to envelop him.

  Cerberus has no idea what is going on, but he does not have the notion to attack Hecate, the master Seph assumes trained him and all the hounds. With Hades dressed, the hound stands at alert, watching from the den, understanding by their tense tones that they might be doing something important. Maybe going on a hunt.

  One of the heads yawns. He lifts one leg and scratches behind his ear while the other two look ready to receive orders.

  “You forget that I am a crossroads god as well,” Hecate says. “I crafted the little nuances of striking a deal, great Hades. The very spell we used to bind me was one of mine.”

  “There was no deception,” Hades says quickly, his eyes narrowed. He looks down and his lips move with unspoken words. He is going over the spell to himself, making sure there was no mistake.

  “No deception,” Hecate agrees. “But the nature of the oath is that the first spoken law is most binding, with every promise being less binding after that. That way, if a circumstance should break one phrase but honor another, the earliest phrases are truest, and the very first is always the great truth. The very first is the absolute binding oath. Otherwise, in circumstances where a debtor’s actions seem to contradict half his oath and uphold the other, the binding spell would fall apart. The debtor would break free.”

  Hades lifts his head. “That is how you created the greatest binding spell the gods have ever known.”

  Hecate looks smug, her anger and unhappiness changing to a look of confidence, especially as she raises her nose in the air.

  “That is why you should expect to lose this battle, old king. I knew to prepare for a moment like this. And your little brother Zeus should have taught you already that wits can always outsmart brute strength.”

  Something hits Seph and makes the world go dark. It is like the wardrobe collapses on top of him, but there is no clatter of wood on stone. There is no weight pressing down on him either. Instead, there is the sound of rushing wind in his ears. The sensation that he is falling very fast, very far, and into the dark. And something suffocates him.

  Then arms around him.

  He knows it is Hades even though he can’t see his face. He leans into him, clutching a pair of boots that he was about to put on, and he shuts his eyes. Even while very afraid and knowing that Hades will do anything to stop him from going anywhere, he has the ultimate trust in his husband.

  They land. The force of it sinks him to his knees, and Seph’s hands seek the ground. The solid, sturdy ground. And shakily, he pushes himself up.

  The darkness still present is Hades’s cloak. Perhaps they were falling and the wind was rushing in his ears, but now the sound is louder and different, and it is for the rushing water of Tartarus and the sails creating gusts and waves.

  The cloak falls free as he stands. Comparatively, the sky here is bright. The landscape expansive. A tower casts a long diagonal shadow in front of him. He hears the creak of wood, and there is the sound of screaming all around. It is so distant and dim amongst the ruckus that it sounds like cheering at the athletic games.

  He sees a ship a lot larger than he remembers from his accident. Back then he was standing on the outer rim, looking across at this place. Now he is on the flat roof of Tartarus, made of a smooth stone like clay of some kind.

  The screaming is loud and constant. It does not die off as he remembers.

  There is a continuous stream of swimmers falling down as the boat is pulled underneath the water to go back upstream and collect more doomed souls. There is never less of them. And the helm of the next boat appears at the ledge above, even as the empty boat is just vanishing under the water.

  Seph finds his expression transforming to cry.

  He has thought about Tartarus almost daily as he went about learning to be a king. For this is what it is to rule the world of death. The god of death kills many. It is endless.

  This is the blood to Gaia’s beating heart.

  And through it runs the life of all the Earth.

  But seeing it is another matter.

  He whirls on his husband, who only stands nearby and watches his expression.

  “Why did you bring me here?!”

  Hecate! he nearly calls in a panic, worried his commanding spell will be broken. But there’s a commotion off to one side, and Hecate is climbing up from a crawling position, coughing, thumping her chest, and brushing off her knees.

  Seph begins to feel small and afraid. If Hades can bring him here so suddenly…

  He can do anything!

  He doesn’t even need me!

  But then he sees his husband again, and the details make it through his panic.

  His husband is bent forward, clutching his own stomach like he’s deeply wounded. He’s panting, and there’s moisture beading on his forehead. His neck glistens, and his chest as well where it’s visible through his shirt laces.

  He is not infallible. He is not all-powerful. Nor is he as impassive as he likes to pretend.

  Seph approaches, reaching out to embrace him. He touches gently, for Hades clutches his gut as if he’s been stabbed.

  “Why did you bring me here? Why like that?”

  “So he can kill me,” Hecate answers for him. She gets to her feet, and she is in a better state than Hades, though there is a red scrape up one side of her, from how she landed.

  “No, Hades.” Seph makes sure his husband is looking at him. “I like Hecate. I need her. I don’t feel like I can be a god and your true mate if I don’t have her power acting as mine. She is the greatest gift you’ve given me, and I feel like I’m only of use to you if I have her help.”
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  He still so unshowing. So untouched.

  How many years must he have stood here in Tartarus and watch these boats go down until he was able to seal up his heart?

  Hades looks at him. Amazingly, he makes a small smile. Barely there. He touches Seph’s cheek, and his hand is clammy.

  “That is why we will do it this way. If I don’t let you go, you will never love me the same. And I will lose everything. And if she doesn’t best me on this rooftop, then I cannot trust her to keep you safe under the eyes of Zeus or in the clutches of Hera. This is the only way I’ll let you go, Seph. And I have put her life at stake so that she doesn’t hold back.”

  Their foreheads touch, and his hand travels to stroke the side of his neck.

  “Thank you. I will still love you,” Seph says, because he knows Hades is terrified to do this. There is nothing in the world that scares his husband more than letting someone he loves out of his kingdom.

  He risks losing Seph forever.

  “I will not disappear. The upperworld will not take me.”

  “But she must defeat me. Or she is no match for Zeus and Hera.”

  Fifty-Nine

  You are not as good as he deserves.

  Hades uses his magic to move Seph to the edge of the rooftop, in an invisible bubble to hold him there safe, so he won’t be struck by the gods’ magic. Hecate cannot harm him. By the binding spell she swore, an action that harms Seph (even at the cost of her own life) will not be permitted.

  Hades did not require the same spell for himself. And he knows she chose her oath well.

  “You are clever, Hecate. I want you to know that no matter how the battle resolves, I admire this move by you. You are perhaps the only loyal servant who has devised a way to overthrow her master by obeying the orders of the same king.”

  She is scared, but hiding it.

  No god has ever done what he’s done.

  To a simple human, a god seems all powerful, yes. But there are rules of any physical realm that they must obey. Otherwise, things like flying wouldn’t makes sense. A creature who vanishes and appears somewhere else suddenly has no need to be floating around the sky, sharing the space with insects and wind.

  The concept of gates and borders and guards would also be unnecessary. Physical movement is something all beings must master for themselves, for space and time are the canvas upon which existence is the paint.

  Hades is not an all-powerful god. There is no such thing.

  And without doubt, moving them through the realm just underneath the underworld—the absolute void in which space does not exist and life is impossible—well, that has been an impressive secret that Hades has never had to use until now.

  They went under and up like a needle through fabric. Or a fish skimming the surface of the lake.

  She is right to be afraid.

  And perhaps Hades has earned some forgiveness. Hecate never had any hope of standing up to him before. He could’ve killed her the moment she appeared before Seph, before he even finished speaking his phrase.

  Getting them here cost him. It feels like the internal organs of his physical body are burning and pulsing, pushing to keep him from disintegrating—a side effect of that void.

  But she still has no hope of defeating him. The fight to take place is a show to placate his lover and keep Seph from hating him forever.

  Quietly, his conscious whispers, So what will you do? Continue slaying Seph’s protectors? For you must find him someone else after this murder. How will that help him?

  Shut up, he tells that part of him, narrowing his eyes and focusing on Hecate. I can’t give him back. He’s everything to me.

  “Do you understand the significant risk of this battle?” he asks. And he still has not called his scepter to him. He will wait and rip it through the void at the last second, giving Hecate no warning for the weapon he might choose.

  “I understand,” she says, and her voice is shaken. She resumes her fighting stance anyway, and she forces her features into the same fierce expression as before. But the confidence is gone.

  “Let’s do this then. Hera would not have mercy on you, and neither will I.”

  He pulls the scepter to him. To Hecate, it will appear to have materialized instantly. To him, it is sitting in its special protected case, in a vault where he keeps magically imbued items. His family might be the powerful rulers of the universe, but they’re also greedy thieves.

  He pulls the scepter down to him, down into the void as a fish might snap a baited hook and pull it to the bottom of the lake. And then the nature of physical things is to ‘float’, using the same analogy. There cannot be existence in the void, after all. Left longer than a few seconds, both matter and energy disintegrate in the void.

  So he moves it, a paradoxical and extremely quick task in a realm with no space. And he lets it go.

  It shoots to the surface. And he catches it out of the air.

  “I am not going to die today!” Hecate shouts, and charges him.

  Her physical dagger is only a channel for her true weapon. She closes in on him, slashing, and a magical, thin, cutting blade slices through him like a wire.

  But it causes no damage. Her strike is successful. Her strength is not.

  Hades calls on his scepter to become a long and deadly sword. Its blade is made out of his favorite stone—diamond. Its hilt is leather-wrapped obsidian. And the magic around it is like burning ice. It wouldn’t just cut Hecate in half. Even a touch or a passing blow would absorb the power from Hecate like a trapper lost in a blizzard, every minute feeling his body grow colder and colder.

  It is not her body or her life he will destroy first. He will tear gushing wounds in her magic.

  Another strike. Another and another. The ground at his feet has become swarming with a mirage of vipers, their physical forms a shell, but their teeth deadly and venomous. To a mortal. Their attacks are insignificant. Only their bodies are a nuisance, preventing his own charging counterattack.

  Hades lifts himself up, the fake snakes snapping at his heels.

  You must fight better! he wants to snarl at her.

  But he does not bother to speak as he levels his sword and runs at her. Down and forward, he sees her eyes widen, and she rolls aside.

  But Hades intended her to. The sword catches on her ankle. The physical blade does not cut her skin, but he has made a gash in her powers. She will not run as quickly now.

  “You should have made protecting Seph your first oath” he says, repositioning with no hurry. “Then you would not be about to lose your life.”

  Why do you speak? It is not necessary to chide her. Finish the action and be done with it.

  Somewhere, a part of him must hate himself. For it whispers sarcastically, ‘Great’ King.

  I am not losing Seph today, he reaffirms, and prepares to charge again.

  His feet running against the stone, even passing over a biting snake on the way, he expects his sword to plunge right into Hecate’s chest—destroying her magic, her body, and her soul all at once.

  But a while her torso and waist should be straight, an easy target, it seems that they twist and bend out of the way. She moves like a dancer twirling. And then there is a great crack in the air, and something claws across his face.

  Her whip has struck him. And it caused no magical damage, but creates a deep and annoying physical agony. It is poisoned too, he discovers as he tries to use his magic to close the wound. It won’t close, not immediately. It will take several minutes, maybe an hour, the magical poison burning like acid.

  It is not a residue he can wipe off or banish. And he can feel his flesh disintegrating and rebuilding at the same time. The same feeling he suffered every day inside his father’s stomach.

  “You underestimate me,” she says, a lot closer than he thought she would be. And he realizes that he has been touching the wound in shock for perhaps too long a time.

  “I am accustomed to physical agony,” he says, and he rushes at he
r with the sword again.

  There is no more pausing, no more evaluation. They attack.

  He likes Hecate. Sort of. There is no true desire to end her, but then, Hades doesn’t know if he’s ever felt the true desire to end anybody. There is only cause for action, and while sometimes that cause is vengeance, the emotion of vengeance alone is not reason enough to act. His one personally satisfying motivation for this death?

  Preventative measure. His mercy for Minthe turned out to be disastrous. He cannot allow one so prone to traitorism to cause a catastrophe that puts Seph’s very life in danger.

  What if she found a way to circumvent the second oath, doing much like Minthe did and causing Hades to attack her?

  No, what if she framed Seph for something, and waged a war that way.

  You are reaching.

  He pauses, panting, wiping the hurt side of his face and spreading blood everywhere.

  He senses something is off. He might be wrong.

  “Have I miscalculated?”

  He turns in time to deflect her attack, the whip’s end flying overhead. He raises a hand and sends out a force that throws her. Tossing her over the side of the island and into Tartarus’s pit should be easy, now that he has her grasped. He rises into the air, intending to take her with him, and perhaps to question himself before the act is really done. To make sure he hasn’t missed anything.

  But Hecate still has her strength, even if she’s caught in the net. And her whip is more than leather. The end of it becomes of viper’s head, and the snake bites into the stone, anchoring her to the building.

  “Come now, Hecate. You knew when you started this fight that you would not be a match.”

  He tugs to get her free. But of course it won’t be that easy. So he approaches the whip with his blade.

  “Why did you not attack me through all these centuries, if you wanted a chance like this the entire time?”

  “I have been training,” she says, grabbing at her neck where his power is like an invisible collar. The whip is wrapped several times around her other hand, and even Hades’s magic would have a hard time separating her. Magic clings to its owner. Magical items are strongest when they’re held by the person who created them.