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Bride of Death
Celina Summers
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Musa Publishing
Copyright Information
Bride of Death, Copyright © Celina Summers, 2011
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
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Published by Musa Publishing, December 2011
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This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
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Cover Design: Kelly Shorten
Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna
Warning
This e-book contains adult language and scenes. This story is meant only for adults as defined by the laws of the country where you made your purchase. Store your e-books carefully where they cannot be accessed by younger readers.
Author’s Note
She was filled with a sense of wonder, and she reached out with both hands to take hold of the pretty plaything. And the earth, full of roads leading every which way, opened up under her.
It happened on the Plain of Nysa. There it was that the Lord who receives many guests made his lunge. He was riding on a chariot drawn by immortal horses.
— Hymn to Demeter, Homer (translation by Gregory Nagy) The kidnapping of Persephone has been related throughout the centuries from a number of classical sources. For this version, I have relied primarily upon Homer’s Hymn to Demeter and the Roman poet Ovid’s version in the Metamorphoses.
Chapter One
THE GOD HADES, LORD of the Underworld and king of the dead, had a secret.
Spending almost all of his time in the Underworld enabled him to keep his secret exactly that — secret. Hades rarely went to Olympus; his long-running feud with Zeus needed little provocation to flare into outright war. So when the burdens of his dark dominion grew too heavy, he would ascend to the mortal realm through the cave at Taenarum.
The first breath of air was always the sweetest. Although the entrance to the cave was concealed behind rocks that no mortal could move, there were chinks between it and the mouth of the cave. Fresh air and light broke the stygian darkness with long fingers that caressed the stalactites and stirred the thin layer of dust on the floor. Hades always paused there for a short time, allowing his eyes to adjust before he summoned his friend to move the stones aside. He cherished that initial privacy. Only then could he relax.
Hades was an anomaly among his immortal kin. He was quiet and brooding, with a talent for organization. He preferred to remain in his gloomy realm, sifting through the misdemeanors of mortality with an unbiased eye. He held himself aloof from the bickering and infidelities of the other gods — the Olympians, they called themselves. He bowed to his brother’s tenuous authority and maintained a residence on Olympus; it was the only dark manor among the soaring palaces of white marble. He used it only when summoned and returned to the Underworld as soon as he was able, apparently disdaining everything that had to do with Olympus or the mortal realm.
That was why he cherished his secret excursions among the men of Earth. Only then could he feel the sun on his pale skin or smell the heavy, overbearing aromas of his sister Demeter’s domain. Only to himself would he admit his sneaking admiration for the resiliency of the human race. He enjoyed watching humans work in their fields or their small houses or the fragile boats they took out onto Poseidon’s realm. Occasionally, he donned the helmet of darkness that rendered him invisible and walked through their cities, marveling at their creativity and spontaneity.
Sometimes he just sat alone, watching nature. He craved the solitude of the hills, the fragrance of flowers and the salty tang of the sea. Of all the gods, only one was his friend and it was that friend he awaited now.
There was a faint scraping sound on the other side of the rocks. Hades stepped back. It took a few minutes even for a god to pass from the Underworld to the bright world upon which the mortal races lived.
The giant boulder slid to one side. Immediately, the gloom of the cave brightened. Hades preferred to begin his visits to Earth a couple of hours before dawn.
“So! It has been a long time, my friend.” A silhouette stood squarely in the center of the cave opening, discernible only to one accustomed to seeing in the dark.
“It has, indeed,” Hades agreed.
The shadow drew nearer. The forest god Pan, a capricious satyr who thrived upon mischief-making, stepped forward with his hands outstretched. Hades took them, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He rarely bestowed his affections, but upon his merry cousin Hades had placed his complete trust. Pan was beautiful, as were all the Immortals, and his goat’s legs were more an affectation than a reality. Pan liked the reaction he got from mortals who caught glimpses of him — or the nymphs who squealed in mock horror as they pretended to flee.
“It is no wonder the mortals whisper about my demise,” Pan noted. “I’ve been caught one time too many at the entrance to Hell.”
“Have no fear, Pan; I would never let you enter my domain.”
Together, the two gods left Taenarum and climbed down the steep slope that protected the Underworld from mortal discovery. It took them only a few minutes to descend to the shore of the small bay at the foot of the mountain. Hades sat on the beach, enjoying the texture of sand and pebbles against his flesh. He removed his sandals and eased his feet into the cool water while Pan wandered among the reeds growing nearby.
The bay was almost perfectly smooth and reflected the shimmering stars in all their glory. Hades stared out to sea for some time, his face expressionless. To the east, dainty Aurora began to draw her veil across the sky. Hades turned toward the approaching dawn with a barely restrained smile. Although he had sat like this many times with Pan, the woodlands god rarely interfered in his private enjoyment of the moment. Dawn never came to the Underworld; it was perpetually clasped in the darkest hour of a moonlit night. As the morning light swelled around him, the rising sun would cast its warmth upon him.
It was the closest he came to mortal joy.
Behind him, a thin little tune wound its way toward the fading stars. Pan had gathered enough reeds to form the syrinx pipes, named after a nymph he’d once loved and lost, he preferred to play upon.
Too many Olympians overlooked Pan. They condescended to him when they met, ignorant of his power on Earth. As his music wrapped around the delicate little flowers growing at the edge of the beach, the blossoms raised their faces to the sky. The reeds swayed in the burgeoning breeze, keeping time to the song their sisters made in the god’s hands.
Finally the sun peeked over the horizon. A golden ribbon stretched across the bay, extending to Hades’ feet. It brought warmth to his pale skin and the black hair curling upon his brow. The sky brightened until it was pink, scuttled with blue-purple clouds. The
rise of the mountain was silhouetted against the delicate sky while the swell of the waves sent silver creases along the water.
Hades was silent, his profile cut harshly against the burgeoning colors of the dawn. For a moment, he looked like one of the marble statues that adorned his dark halls, his face so perfect and immobile it seemed impossible that he breathed the air and ate ambrosia and felt…
Felt what? The god’s lips twitched into an expression of bitter amusement, obliterating the impression of immobility he’d possessed only a moment before.
“What are you thinking, cousin?” Pan asked. Hades glanced up. The forest god lounged a few feet away, the pipes dangling from his hand.
“I was thinking about my reputation.” Hades’ voice was distant. “Mortals believe I have no feelings. My brothers and sisters think me incapable of any emotion other than ambition.”
“They’re not all that bright. They think I’m stupid.” There was an undercurrent of repressed anger in his words.
“More the fools they. I would not make such a mistake.”
“I have always wondered why it is that Zeus ended up as our King when you are so much smarter,” Pan mused.
Hades’ laugh was uncomfortable, as if he were unused to his own laughter. “Never use lots to divide up power. Bah! Let Zeus play King in his palace with his suspicious wife glaring from his side. I am content with my realm. My work is satisfying — far more so than dealing with the petty rivalries on Olympus. I do not begrudge my brother his troubled throne.”
The corners of Pan’s mouth lifted slightly, his tufted ears mirroring the motion. “And yet — ?”
Hades didn’t reply. The dawn had progressed from its natal pinks and purples into an adolescent orange-gold. Already, the small insects and birds that remained quiescent in the humid nights along the bay were stirring to life. There was a splash nearby as a gull dove after her first meal of the day.
“And yet, you are lonely,” Pan finished. “It is understandable, Hades. You are alone in your realm. Administering justice is no substitute for society, my friend.”
“That’s why I have you,” Hades said. The god rose to his feet, ignoring the sand that clung to his robes and skin.
“What you need, Hades, is a lover.” Pan laughed and lifted the pipes to his lips. As the two gods walked away from the shore, the sound of his music echoed across the bay, accompanied by the rhythmic slapping of the waves against the beach.
“Well, my dear — what do you think?” Demeter asked as the young god Hermes shut the door behind him.
“Do I have to marry anyone? Why can’t I just stay here with you?” Persephone was different from other Olympians. Although both her mother and her father, Zeus, had the red-gold hair so common among immortals, Persephone’s hair was a glossy mass of long black curls. She was small and dainty, a delicate child dropped into the midst of the tall gods who warded the universe from their lofty perch upon Mount Olympus.
The goddess smiled down at her daughter. “You can remain unmarried for as long as you wish. Your father thinks it would be well for you to marry and establish your rightful place among us on Olympus. It was his idea to allow Hermes and the others to court you.”
“Does it have to be now?”
Demeter laughed. Persephone was her only child, the daughter of her one mating with Zeus, and she doted on her. The girl kept her voice low and sweet, as her mother had taught her. Demeter hated high-pitched noises. They reminded her too much of Aphrodite, the annoying goddess of love and beauty. “No, it doesn’t. I’ll keep your father out of your life as long as I can, Persephone. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to play for a little while longer before you settle down.”
“Good. It’s not that I don’t like them. They’re all nice, but — ”
“But you think nice is boring,” Demeter finished. “That’s your father talking.”
“Probably so,” Persephone admitted. “I really don’t see why I have to get married anyway. You didn’t.”
The older goddess’ face changed subtly. Demeter only wore that look when she was thinking of Iasion, a mortal whom she might have loved enough to consider marriage. “No, I didn’t get married. I have always been too busy. It is a time-consuming task to tend the earth and her bounty.”
She wandered over to the window that overlooked the high steppes of Olympus. Sometimes on clear days, Persephone would sit at that window and watch as the mortal shepherds of Thessaly brought their flocks to graze on the sweet mountain grass. “There is a difference between us, Persephone. I have my work to attend. Without it, the human race would die. My place in Olympus is secured. Yours isn’t. Your role is undefined. You are an immortal, the daughter of two Olympians. As such you have a responsibility to the humans that look to us for guidance and the world they live upon.”
“I have to be married to do that?”
“Of course not.” For the first time, her mother sounded slightly annoyed. “But you haven’t made an effort to find your place in the world; you haven’t assumed any of the responsibilities required of a goddess. Look at the other young goddesses on Olympus. Neither Athena nor Artemis has a husband. They are content to remain virgin and control their own realms without interference. You can do the same if you wish, although I find it difficult to imagine you will follow their example. Amuse yourself for a while longer, my child. Enjoy your freedom while you can. It will not last much longer. Give some thought to what you love about the world and what you want to take care of once you’ve come into your own. Can you do that?”
“Of course I can, Mother.” Persephone threw her arms around her mother’s neck. As always, Demeter smelled of wildflowers and freshly plowed earth. It was a scent her daughter instinctively loved.
“Very well. Run along now, Persephone. I have things I need to see to.”
Persephone kissed her mother on the cheek and ran to the door. Just outside, she paused for a moment and drank in the beauty of the day.
Although mortals thought the gods lived upon the Mount Olympus they could see and walk upon, the real Olympus hovered between the earth and the sky. A human could never reach the home of the gods but the immortals could observe their mortal charges with ease. Olympus was ever-changing. Today, the soaring mansions of the gods were scattered across a broad sandy plain while waves of the clearest blue lapped along a curved shore. The furthest mansion, the one with golden columns and a gold-tiled roof, belonged to Persephone’s father. Zeus lived there in uneasy truce with his wife, Hera.
Persephone was a little frightened of Hera. The Queen of the gods was tall and terrible — beautiful, yes, but terrible all the same. Persephone couldn’t help but feel that Hera knew she was Zeus’ daughter. She’d asked her mother about it and Demeter had replied, “Of course my sister knows you are Zeus’ child. She is the goddess of marriage after all. Whenever your father strays from her bed, she knows it immediately. It is a violation of what she protects. Hera also knows there are few children born to the immortals and it is essential that her husband father as many new gods as he can. As the mortals gain knowledge, more of us are required. Do not fear the Queen, Persephone. Find it in your heart to love her and spare her a little compassion.”
“Persephone!”
She turned from her contemplation of Olympus. Thetis and Amphitrite were approaching. The twin nymphs, daughters of Nereus, were Persephone’s cherished friends. The three girls laughed and embraced as they met, then, as was their wont, they walked down the golden avenue that led to the mortal realm.
“We saw Hermes leaving,” Amphitrite said, her eyes widened innocently. “He didn’t look very happy.”
“He wasn’t. He behaved like a silly little boy.”
“If he’d come to my door, he would have left with a smile on his face,” Thetis said with a thoughtful look over her shoulder.
“Persephone is more particular than you are,” her sister retorted.
“And I am more particular than you,” Thetis countered sweetly.
They continued down the avenue that dissected Olympus, laughing and talking. As they passed Hephaestus’ forge, the three girls paused and waved at him. Hephaestus smiled back. It was difficult for the crippled god to associate with other immortals. Despite his marriage to Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, he was still hesitant around most of the other goddesses. Thetis had discovered the crippled smith when he’d been thrown out of Olympus by his mother. Hephaestus had fallen to the earth, his legs broken by the fall. Thetis had found him lying dazed and injured upon the rocks. Together with her mother and her sisters, they’d hidden Hephaestus and tended him until he’d healed. The god had never forgotten their care of him. The three girls had played around his forge when they were very small, exclaiming in delight at the little trinkets he made for them. They adored Hephaestus, even shy Persephone, and the smith loved them all in his gruff way.
The soaring mansion Hephaestus had built for his wife was beside his forge, an airy palace with porches and fountains made of gold. Just beyond that was the simple black granite house of Hades, King of the Underworld.
“I wonder why we never see anyone there,” Thetis mused, staring at the immense ebony doors.
“Who’d want to be?” Amphitrite retorted. “He spends all his time in the Underworld Once someone enters his gates they never leave.”
“That’s not true,” her sister argued. “Heracles did.”
“Only because he didn’t eat anything. If you eat something in the Underworld, you’re trapped there for all eternity,” Amphitrite said.
As they stepped to the threshold of Olympus, Persephone asked, “Where shall we go today?”
“Let’s go to Nysa,” Amphitrite begged. “We can play in the meadow and if we get too hot, we can swim in the bay.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” her sister agreed. “I want to spend some time in the water. My skin feels so dry as of late.”
Persephone nodded her agreement. No matter how much fun the nymphs had in Olympus, the sea always called them home. For a long time while they were all children together, running unheeded through the halls of the gods’ palaces, Persephone had been envious of her friends. Both were tall and slender, with long white-blonde hair and huge eyes that changed color much as the ocean did. No matter how many of the younger gods came to court the daughter of Demeter, Persephone was well aware those selfsame immortals stared after Thetis and Amphitrite as they passed. And why shouldn’t they? The sisters were as spectacular as goddesses and probably destined for great things.
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