by Eileen Glass
I could just cut her open now.
He considers it. This is an easy ‘win’.
(As if they were even having a contest.)
But while he considers it, he also looks down at a distant form and faraway face.
I don’t want him to see that side of me again.
“You should have kept training. What made you think this was a wise course of action?”
She kicks her legs in the air, uselessly. She throws herself side to side. But this is a crippling hold, and she will not get out unless Hades says so.
He wants to hear her answers, so he waits with his sword instead of cutting off the snake’s head.
“My sisters stopped me from challenging you earlier. They’ve kept me under your boot for years. But I am not afraid of you.” She shows him her teeth, much like a snake exposing its fangs. “And I will win this fight. You have not bested me.”
“I have you helpless. And soon you will be gone. It did not even take all morning.”
“No, idiot. I have bested you. And you’re right, it did not take a long time. Seph is so moon-eyed over you, I thought I would wait a thousand years for the honeymoon to wear off. Fortunately, he is smarter than the rest of your kind. When you are gone, he will be the only underworld king there is. At least he will be better than you.”
A game of wits, she said before.
Hades plays with the weight of his sword, shifting it subtly in his hand, feeling the possibility of severing the whip right now and ending this game she hopes to win. He knows very well how a conversation can end a battle that should’ve gone the other way. He would not be here if his little brother Zeus did not have a smart tongue.
But he is curious…
“Very well. How have you bested me?”
“Not me.” She coughs. “Him. He’s bested you, you fucking idiot. Don’t you get that?”
“You cannot drive a wall between us,” Hades says simply, and he decides he is through with all this. She was foolish to take her oath the way she did. He told her to obey Seph and to only report to him. He did not want Seph to think she was his keeper or his spy.
But her purpose was to guard Seph. Not to wage challenges for him.
The snake is cut. He’s surprised that it bleeds, the head lopping off with evidence of a spine, and its jaws continuing to snap. Hecate must have cast some kind of morphing spell on a real animal.
Her ways are strange.
“I’ve killed you then,” she says and smiles. Her laugh is nervous. She doesn’t struggle anymore, and both hands futility grasp the invisible collar on her neck. “It will be a long, slow death. You’re welcome.”
I’ve missed something.
Her confidence is not a bluff.
“What is it then?” He brushes his cheek against his shoulder, the pain irritating. Was there something he missed in the poison? “Enlighten me, Hecate, how do you kill me?”
With her eyes and a nod of her head, she gestures downward.
Seph has left the place where Hades put him, and he’s picking up the end of the whip, wrapping it around his hands and holding tight.
She is right. I might be gone.
Hecate’s whip is long, and they are suspended in the air together. Seph shouts up at them, “Hecate, fight back! Do not let him do this!”
“Yes, master,” Hecate says with limited ability to breathe, and she kicks her legs feebly. Then she smiles at Hades. “I just wanted the chance to fight you. That is what I get out of this deal. And my sisters will benefit from my death. Do you expect your little husband to continue to love you when I’m gone?”
“I see. You think the depression from him not loving me will be what kills me.”
“I know it will. You were fading already. It was a waiting game. That is why I and my sisters never attacked you. And I was training. In case the wait was too long for us.”
“And you bound yourself to my husband, looking for an opportunity to wedge us apart.”
“That too. But I am better with my weapons, and I knew you would mess up eventually.”
“I only want to protect him.”
Seph pulls without effect on the whip. Hades can actually feel some of his magic come into play. Seph would be a considerable force. He might even best Hades, if he was able to feel it. Hades can ward off an immature, inexperienced blunt attack such as his.
“Demeter wants to protect him too, you idiot.”
He has made an error. He feels it in his gut.
His mind still can only think that Seph cannot leave. He won’t let him go.
So he says, “I told you, you have to best me, to prove that you are a match for Zeus and Hera.”
She smiles cruelly. “My blade is in your belly, Hades. You haven’t won.”
Sixty
Seph watches as Hades finally releases Hecate, her body falling several feet to the ground, where she painfully sits up on her side. She gets to her knees. And as Seph passes her, she says, “I have completed my task, master,” kneeling to the ground with her head low.
But Seph runs directly past her, to where Hades has landed on his feet, his back to them both.
He cares about Hecate as well, and he worried dearly for her life as she was suspended in the air. He regretted his decision, and he was nearly about to beg Hades for her life, taking back his challenge. His independence was worth fighting for, but not at the loss of her life.
And he worried that Hades wouldn’t be merciful. And that with this challenge he had killed the loving bond between them.
But now Hecate is safe! He spares a look backward for her, where she’s huddled. There are no visible injuries besides scuffs and red marks from the stone ground.
And it is Hades he worries for now. His back is bent. His sword touches the ground, barely grasped in one hand. And as Seph approaches, he hears…
Sobbing?
He is timid for just a moment, his feet halting his momentum, but then he remembers that this is his husband—the man he should fear the least.
Only for a little while, during this battle, has that not been true.
He touches Hades’s back.
“I am not leaving you. Not for long. I promise.”
As Hades looks at him, his eyes are tear-filled and sad. It is shocking to see. He looks so young, displaying emotion like this. For the first time, Seph gets the sense that they are not so different in age, and Hades does not wield so much wisdom and power over him.
He embraces his husband fully, making sure that they are faced away from Hecate, for he knows Hades doesn’t want the sharp-tongued goddess to see him like this.
“You’re being quite dramatic over the whole thing,” he whispers quietly against Hades’s hair. But his touches are soft and comforting. He knows his husband is struggling with very real fear.
“You were born helpless into a family of rapists, thieves, and murderers.”
“Has Hecate passed your test? Are you confident she can protect me?”
“She has passed, yes. Against me. I don’t know how she would fare against Zeus or Hera. Or your mother.”
“But you are the most powerful god in existence at the moment, yes?”
“Yes. For now at least. In our realms.”
Seph can only imagine what that means, but he stays focused on the problem at hand.
“Then she has passed the greatest test you can give her. If you’re not confident she can protect me, then please, test another. But I have to go, Hades. I can put a stop to all this senseless death and make the upperworld balanced again. Well, if there’s a chance I should try! And you should be able to trust me on my own somewhere. Otherwise, we are not truly equal kings.” He makes sure Hades looks at him and their eyes meet. “And I want to be. Please, if you let me…”
Hades makes a vague and angry gesture toward Hecate.
“She may have cheated. She’s known me many years. But I suppose that means she’s known all the other gods just as long. She’s older than Zeus. Older than Pos
eidon, and a little bit older than myself as well. She’s almost a Titan. And if her weapons aren’t good enough… I suppose she’s honed a clever tongue. I suppose she’s the best option we’ve got, though I don’t like it.”
“Hades, thank you!” Seph squeezes him tightly, jubilantly. He kisses Hades’s cheek, and then his lips as well.
It is more than just them being equals. When he sees his mother, he may recover a piece of his old self as well. And he is hoping that with these memories he will devise a solution to the suffering of humans dying on the Earth that does not warm enough for crops and livestock.
His joy is one-sided, however. Hades stops crying, but what’s left are empty, dulled eyes.
“I can’t live without you. Not for long. That was her blade.”
Seph is only mildly confused. He heard enough of their conversation to know that it was about him, and he heard Hecate imply Seph would not forgive him.
Perhaps.
Perhaps the resentment of being kept would grow slowly over time.
But, at least initially, Seph would forgive Hades of anything.
“I will love you for eternity, Hades. And I will only be gone for as long as it’s necessary. My home is here. And nothing will keep me from you.”
Sixty-One
Seph steps out of Hades’s chariot, accepting his husband’s guiding hand. Mount Olympus is huge, monstrous. Beautiful too, in a way, but it is the loud sort of beauty. Bright and boastful. The palace itself sits at the mountaintop, towering over everybody, and they must climb a steep set of stairs. The gardens before the palace are admiringly lovely as well, lots of flowering trees and fruitful hedges.
But Seph forgot how utterly garish and gleaming the color green could be. Or any of the plants and scenery for that matter. In the underworld, another presence is always what shows best. You can spot a person or living thing at a great distance for their vibrancy.
Here, the animals (some red deer and a few wild ponies) are the same as the scenery. And while they are attractive, Seph notices how imperfect they are as well. When they move, it is not effortless. When they graze, he can hear the stems of grass tear. He can hear the chewing.
It seems rather violent to him, for the grass is a living thing being destroyed and processed.
The way of physical things is new to him, and he spends some time petting the noses of tamed beasts, wild but without fear.
Hades is with him all the time, of course. And so is Hecate.
“Do not fiddle with your dagger too much, Hecate. And pretend that your whip was only for the horses. If we strike, the poison will leave Zeus in shock, but only for a short time. Hera I believe—I hope—will be incapacitated. She is not a warrior. But she is a devil about certain things where Zeus is concerned. Let me handle my little brother. I don’t want him killed. And you do whatever is necessary to subdue her.”
“If it is within my master’s orders, I will do as you say.”
“It is,” Seph says, leaving the stag who has come up to them. He is a gorgeous animal, but weak. Weighed down. In his essence form, he would be powerful, limitless. But he is trapped in this mold, this shape.
He finds the physical world beautiful all the same. But it is not the quiet, everlasting beauty he prefers.
“Where is Zeus? I thought he would be here to greet us?”
“No, that is not my little brother’s way. And his nature is also why we have to land down here and we are not allowed to ride the chariot directly up to the front door. Everybody but himself must walk.”
“You should be more respected by him,” Seph says, unhappy about mounting the steps with his feet. This power play seems petty and rude.
“Gods are not as obedient as Elysium subjects. And this is the upperworld, his domain. I cannot choose every battle to fight, or I will have no time in my own realm to rule over things.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Seph concedes, and they climb the long, steep steps. He left his cane at home, unwilling to appear physically weak, so he relies on Hecate’s magic and Hades’s guiding arm.
He begins to notice hints of death that previously his wonderment missed. Flowering trees have lost all their blooms, their naked branches pointed at the sky, and a pink or white carpet lying all around them. Certain plants are bent over, wilting. And the sky above is a deep, stormy gray.
The wind that blows through is like ice. Seph would be fine either way, but he’s presented in northerner’s garb now, to match Hades, and he holds the cloak closed out of habit and for keeping the warmth. They’re dressed in matching black outfits, and Seph wears his obsidian laurel wreath. He appears somber, having left the pastel colors at home, like Hades. They are a set. They are partnered gods and equal kings.
The palace atop Mount Olympus seems to grow bigger as they approach it. And while it is technically open, the front of it mimicking a Greek forum, there is nobody else here. There are no children on the steps or in the garden. He sees a human or two, but they are well-dressed slaves tending the plants and things. They are silent and do not acknowledge the gods when they pass. They don’t even look at them.
And while Mount Olympus may give the appearance of being a bright oasis, underneath the roof it is all shadow. Standing at the foot of the columns, Seph looks onward with apprehension.
There are no lit torches here. No fireplaces, no couches, no tables. Not for guests, anyway. This looks like a court, not a home.
The only furniture of any kind is for the king god himself to sit on, and whoever he’s dining with. The forum is expansive, the columns perfectly spread out so that he can’t see the upperworld king plainly at first. Walking through the vast space of columns is like walking through a forest, and gradually, the dining king becomes visible.
Seph doesn’t know who any of the others are. But Hera and Zeus are plainly visible.
Zeus sits on a blue couch, the largest, and immaculately carved, patterned, and stitched. Hera sits on a much smaller couch next to him, leaning over hers and onto his, but she is diminished. Everyone is.
She’s smiling, and Zeus, who is not noticing her, meets Seph’s eyes instead. He is surprised. The wine goblet he was tasting leaves his lips early. And as Hera turns to see who he’s noticing, the joy fades from her expression. Outwardly, she does not show hate. But the very slight narrowing of her eyes and the dip of her brow reminds Seph of a cat hissing.
The other gods hardly seem to be worth attention. They sit lower than Zeus, their couches all small and brown. They are lively, smiling people, curious and amused. And around them, sharing a couch or resting on the floor, picking scraps and morsels off the table much like pets, are many naked nymphs. All women and all lovely.
Zeus does not have eyes for any of them as he stands up and opens his arms. He says nothing, but he beams as he steps around others and around the table laden with their feast.
“Do not worry for me,” Seph says, stepping away from Hades’s side. Hades has closed himself off and looks impassive as a stone statue, but Seph knows enough of his husband now to recognize that he’s seething.
His fingers twitch on his right hand, which should be still.
Seph does not want to embrace the approaching god, his father. He swallows down his reluctance. But he lets the sky god get close—knowing he can call on Hecate anytime. And then he reaches around his waist and mimes the hug his father wants.
Zeus hugs for a long time. Seph hangs in place and wonders when it will ever end.
He’s enfolded in bulky, impressive physical power. Zeus must be as heavy as a horse, all of it in his massive muscles. He has chest hair, which Seph doesn’t like. And the smell of him brings back memories of mortal man. Men Seph can’t remember the names of, so they might have been nice, but this is a physical smell. An animal smell.
It is not the calm scent of Hades.
In fact, Seph can only compare Zeus further to Hades and rank him is worse in every way.
But then he sees a little bit of Hades in his eyes
. They have the same eye color almost, his father’s a bit more blue than gray, and they both (while physically young and smooth-featured) look very, very old.
“Brother,” Zeus says, barely looking that way. And holding Seph’s shoulders, beaming down on him like a proud parent, he says warmly, “Son.”
Seph senses himself leaning into that warmth. The desire on his father’s features might be plain to see if he didn’t wear that thick beard. And a desire of his own surprises Seph. He never knew his father. He’s not sure if he was close with either of his parents.
And now it seems they might have something special…
If not for Hera’s gaze just visible over one of Zeus’s shoulders. There is nothing inside her that is warm. He gets the sense that she may be threatening him with her eyes alone.
She bites harshly into a fig as Seph separates himself.
“I can hardly tell it’s winter in the upperworld,” Seph says, gesturing behind him.
He wishes his father would let them stay apart, but instead the god puts an arm around Seph’s waist as he guides them forward, away from the dining table and toward the garden. Seph thinks he is awfully brave to stand between him and Hades. But seemingly, he does not seem to care about Hades’s presence at all.
“Well, I can do some things like chase the clouds away and keep the snow from falling. But the damn cold is persistent, no matter how long we bask in the sun’s rays.” Seph realizes where he might have gained a natural ability to keep warm. Zeus is right about it being cold, and Zeus only wears a barely fitting chiton wrapped around his muscled frame. “I believe your mother brightens the sun or something. Look at it!”
He points upward and they walk forward until the sun is visible beyond the forum’s roof.
“It’s as small as a star. And it barely offers any heat. It is good you’re coming home. The deer have started to pick the gardens clean. And so I’ve had to butcher several of them for my table. There is not enough warm land to keep the herd fed.”