Destroyer of Light

by Rachel Alexander

  “And I gave no thought to how we would keep in contact with each other once it was done.”

  “How could either of us have? We had no chance to prepare for this.”

  “I knew I couldn’t use the Key…”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Safe to say, the Olympians will know that you have the Key soon enough.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about my safety anymore,” she said before a grin quirked her mouth. “Something tells me I won’t ever have to worry about poor Ares.”

  “If he were mortal, he would have soiled himself.”

  Aidoneus held her as she laughed. Her smile widened and her eyes squeezed shut. When her mirth subsided and she wiped a tear away from her face, he moved in to kiss her, feel her, taste her. She was warm against him, even through the armor. When he pulled back, her eyes were unfocused and dark. He cleared his throat, pulling himself back from his own growing need for her.

  “Back to the matter at hand… the last three months weren’t your fault, Persephone. Or mine, in truth. One moment we thought we’d be inseparable, sweet one, and the next we were apart. As for the pomegranate, you did what you had to.” His eyes glimmered and he looked away, deep in thought. Turning back to her, a half smile played on his lips. “Do you remember the day we first judged that miserable charlatan? Before he escaped?”

  “Of course,” she said licking her lips. “And what part of that conversation would you be referring to, husband?”

  “Not the part you think,” he said, but grinned hungrily anyway. “I speak of learning together.”

  Her lips parted in realization and delight. “Learning to write from Minos, you mean?”

  “His people’s language is long forgotten. Perhaps even by the gods. If we could write to each other in that tongue, we wouldn’t have to worry about Hermes or anyone reading words meant only for us.”

  She looked away from him. “But I have so far to go… I can barely read as it is.”

  “We have eternity,” he said. “And I can take some time in the next three months to learn. I shouldn’t be nearly as busy as I have been.”

  “This coming week may be… interesting,” she said “I’m sure there are many who are belatedly beginning their trips to Chthonia.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “What have you been doing all this time? I wish I had been there to help.”

  “I spent much of my time on the far shore of the Styx… bending the rules.”

  She tittered and shook her head. “What?”

  “There were many we received during the winter without coin for passage. It wasn’t their kin’s fault they hadn’t been buried properly. Too often there was no one left to bury them. I couldn’t, in good conscience, strand so many souls and deny them peace.”

  Persephone leaned her head against his chest as he kneaded his fingers along her shoulders. She listened to the counterpoint of his heartbeat behind the armor and the hum of life in the air. The crickets sounded so much like the constant twittering of the shades in Asphodel. If she shut her eyes it was almost as if she were back home. “You gave them coin for passage?”

  “Yes. And since I was busy with that, I did as you wished with the judges.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I will no longer judge the wealthy and the powerful. The world is changing and there are too many of them. You were right. The best way to prove to the mortals that death makes equals of them all is to have the judges see to them equally. The ones from Europa now go to Aeacus, and the ones from Asia to Rhadamanthys. Minos has the final vote if there is a dispute. I intend to keep it that way unless you have a better suggestion,” he said, feeling her shake and sniffle once. “What’s wrong, sweet one?”

  “Nothing,” she said, wiping a tear away. “Only that you actually listened to what I had to say.”

  “Why would I not listen to my queen?” He grinned broadly at her, and Persephone traced the smile lines framing his eyes and shook her head.

  “You haven’t been sleeping, Aidoneus.”

  “Not often, no.”

  “Have their voices returned in my absence?” She paled at the idea of Kronos whispering rebellion to her husband after all that had happened.

  “No, sweet one,” he said. Relief washed over her. “The reasons are far more mundane.”

  “Mundane?” She twirled a loose curl.

  “There’s a great deal of work to be done. Chthonia is still crowded with souls, and I’ve let many be reborn to the world above. But more frequently I…”

  He sighed and dropped his head. When he met her gaze again, his eyes were lidded and dark and Persephone felt tension return to his arms. Aidon leaned forward, his breath ragged against her ear.

  “I’ve longed for you, Persephone. That, above all else, is what keeps me awake at night. The absence of you beside me… beneath me.”

  Her knees went soft and her heart raced. “I’d… hardly call that mundane, my lord.”

  “No,” he scoffed. “I suppose not.”

  “It certainly hasn’t been a mundane concern for me…” She tilted her face toward his and kissed him again, lightly, pulling back ever so slightly when he tried to deepen it. If she gave in now, she would lose herself in him. And there was still so much more she wanted to tell him, so much she wanted him to see. Persephone smiled broadly and grasped his hands in hers, walking backward. “Come. I have something to show you.”

  “That way leads to the Telesterion,” he said, digging his heels into the earth. Above all else, he wanted to avoid another encounter with Demeter.

  “Not just the Telesterion.” She reached into the ether with a small flash of flame and quickly fading sparks to produce her Helm— the one Aidon had given her the day before they journeyed to Tartarus. “Come with me.”

  She disappeared before his eyes as she lowered the silver helmet onto her head. The grass rustled beside him and he turned in the direction of the sound. He felt her hand stroke his jaw line and neck, and heard her giggling when his eyes grew wide. A warm and unseen hand tugged at his.

  “Come!”

  “Patience, wife! Let me find mine,” he said as he looked for his in the grass. He turned quickly, fearing that someone had stolen it, cursing his carelessness, before he heard her laughter again.

  “You mean this?” she said, drawing it out from under her mantle. It hung in midair, held by her invisible hands.

  “Thank you,” he said with a smirk, snatching it. Don’t think for a moment I’m letting you get away with that.

  Then come after me, she replied through thought. His eyes lit up at the challenge. She stood still, then took off with a giggle, stalks of grass shaking in her wake.

  Aidoneus donned his helm and disappeared. He didn’t need to see her to know where she was headed. He could hear her, he could feel her, and he could follow her scent of narcissus and pomegranates drifting on the still air. As they ran toward Eleusis, he could hear flutes and lyres, a drum and the shake of a koudounia as the villagers celebrated their first harvest. In front of the Telesterion and through the streets of Eleusis, men and women danced separately, but his sharp hearing could discern laughter and flirtation between villagers not as willing to maintain the bounds of social separation.

  A pair of giddy lovers dressed in saffron chitons dashed past him in the opposite direction, escaping the fires and torches for the privacy afforded by the open fields, the night sky, and the stars above. Aidon jogged after his wife, nearly losing her trail in the incense wafting from the temple. He looked about the crowd for signs of her, then felt a hand grasp at his.

  “Come on,” she whispered. “It’s not much farther.”

  The music faded into the background, a steady muffled drumbeat and a melody from the flute amidst the singing. Aidoneus and Persephone carefully scaled the rocky hillside north of the temple. She lifted the faceplate of her helm and perched it atop her head, becoming visible to him again. He followed her lead so he could be sure of his
footing, but his helm still covered his face, his cloak hiding all but a single arm and a glint of his cuirass. Persephone held his hand and gathered up her skirts with the other, one pale foot carefully following the other, trying to find the scattered steps in the darkness.

  “You climb these rocks barefoot?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said, smiling. “I always did so when I was Kore.”

  The incline gentled and they soon came to a short wall of stacked stones and blocks of marble. Mason’s tools lay propped against one of the walls. This was an unfinished temple. “I know this place…”

  “I’d hope so,” she said. “It’s where we emerged and struck the new Agreement.”

  He frowned. “It’s where I lost you for half the year, every year. Why bring me here of all places, Persephone?”

  “Look.” She paused and he turned in the direction she faced. All was silent except for the distant music in Eleusis. Her husband’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open. Persephone spoke. “You said you weren’t worshipped in the world above. You told me how you would be blamed for all that happened, how the mortals would never know you…”

  Aidon shook his head and removed his helm, laying it on the ground beside him. Before them on a raised altar stood two life-size statues— his likeness and hers, carved from ash trees. They faced outward together, he standing slightly behind her, one hand gently holding her shoulder, the other cupped beneath her upturned hand. Cradled in her hand was a single, perfect pomegranate flower. Persephone’s free hand held a long stalk of asphodel. Her face was serene, his looked stern.

  Fresh wreaths of poplar leaves and asphodel flowers crowned their heads and boughs of cypress lay at their feet, perfuming the air with their spicy scent. It mingled with the sweet smell of narcissus and pomegranate flowers that were strewn about the altar. Footprints littered the ground. This place was well visited and, judging from the crispness of the wreaths adorning their heads, recently and carefully tended.

  Persephone’s hand intertwined with his, and the statues blurred. He quickly wiped away the tears that moistened his eyes and gazed down at her. “How… Persephone, have you…”

  “Yes,” she answered softly. “I wasn’t expecting them to create all this, though. It was built by students of one of my mother’s priests. My priest, in truth— Eumolpus. He said it would take too long to work with marble; so this is temporary.”

  “A shame. I quite like the ash wood.” Aidon took a step closer to look at the embracing statues and saw amphorae of olive oil stacked near the base of the altar, offerings to his realm. “So that’s where all the oil has been coming from.”

  “Mortals have made offerings to the Underworld before, though. Haven’t they?” She remembered how he’d used the oil to slick back his hair, and shave his thick stubble.

  “Only small libations,” he answered. “Nothing like this. Olive oil has been appearing in the great hall of the palace of late. What have you told them of our world?”

  “The truth.” Persephone leaned against his arm. “That they are reborn above. About how peaceful Asphodel is, how you are firm but kind, a shepherd of souls.”

  “Sto Theo, kai Thea,” he said, reading the inscription carved into the platform below.

  “Is that what that says?” she said, a smile broadening across her face.

  “To the God and the Goddess; yes. Unsurprising. We’re rulers of the dead. They will not call on us by name, or write our names, for that matter.”

  “What about that one?” she said pointing to a heavy marble cornerstone at the entrance. She only recognized the first letter, pi, the same letter that started her name.

  Aidon squinted to read it. The word Plutonion was scratched roughly into its surface to mark where the chisel would eventually do the rest. “The Rich One…” he said with a smirk. “Or rather, the sanctuary of the Rich One.”

  “They’re not talking about gold, Aidon. That had little value here during winter. They call you the Rich One in Eleusis because you helped bring fertility back to the earth. You’re more than just the God of the Dead.”

  “Hmm,” he grunted in acknowledgement and thinned his lips.

  Persephone pointed to a much smaller cave littered with copper coins. “That one they dedicated to Charon.”

  “Oh?” A wide smile broke on Hades face and he laughed. “Oh no, I can’t…”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “If I tell him they built this, I’ll never hear the end of it!”

  “Oh, poor Charon; he should know, Aidon,” she said and laughed with him. “Fine. Hold off until I come back. It will amuse me to no end to see his reaction.”

  He turned toward her and cupped her face in his hand. “You’ve done the impossible, my love.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve found a way to bridge the divide between our worlds. This is the first temple they’ve ever built where I am even mentioned. You’ve created a way for the mortals to know us as we are.”

  “I couldn’t just stand by and let everyone speak for me, or for you. My mother had more than enough to say about our relationship during the winter. But I wanted the Eleusinians and all of Hellas to know that—”

  He lifted her against him and silenced her with a kiss. Persephone gave in, holding him to her, grasping at his cloak, pulling him closer. He drew his shaking hands along her waist to her hips. “Persephone…”

  “That I love you,” she whispered.

  He gathered her close and kissed her again, and Persephone relaxed in his arms, her legs going limp and heat pooling in her belly.

  “I love you, sweet one,” he said when they separated to catch their breath. “I often thought about how it was barely two months you were with me… the blink of an eye compared to the long aeons I've lived. But it feels as though a piece of me has been missing without you there.”

  “I know…” She shook her head, her eyes watering. “Aidon, I’m so sorry, half the year was the best I could do…”

  “No, my love. Don’t ever apologize for what you did,” he said, then looked away. “Do you regret it? Forever tethering yourself to the Land of the Dead? To me— after knowing me for such a short time?”

  “Of course not,” she smiled at him. “You forget, it’s my world too. Your palace is my home… your bed is my bed.”

  He kissed her again, harder this time, and she felt his fingers bunch in the fabric of her peplos. His lips played with hers, her tongue stroking his, boldly deepening the kiss. He pulled away from her and breathed shallowly, his pulse drumming in his ears. When he finally spoke again, his voice was low and vulnerable. “Can we…?”

  “Here?”

  “Anywhere.” His hands retraced their path up her waist. “I need you.”

  “I can think of no better place,” she said with a smile. “This is your sanctuary— your home in this world, after all.”

  “Our home,” he replied huskily, brushing his thumb over the outline of a taut nipple peaking against her dress.

  She gasped and pressed herself to him, her body flush against the cold, muscular outlines of his cuirass. “How do I remove this?”

  “If you want, I could change the armor back to my robes,” he said, his mouth twisting into a lusty half-grin. “Or I could just will it off my body.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “I don’t recall you doing that before, Aidon. And I can think of several times where we would have benefitted from that expediency.”

  “I like the ritual of removing clothes,” Aidon said against her neck, planting a soft kiss behind her ear. “Of revealing each inch of your skin… of discovering and knowing you one part at a time. And I love the expression on your face when you reveal mine.”

  “As do I,” she whispered, impatiently running her fingertips over the edges of his armor. “Show me how to take this off…”

  Aidon unlaced one of his gauntlets, and Persephone copied him with the other, albeit more slowly. She bent down and examined his gre
aves. He helped her by effortlessly pulling one forward, the metal springing back into the shape of his leg. Persephone removed the other. She quickly untied one of his sandal straps, then the other, the leather thongs loosening and falling around his ankles. She tossed the greaves aside next to the other pieces as he stepped out of his sandals and kicked them away.

  Aidoneus unpinned his cloak, letting it drop to the ground behind him. She traced her fingers over the tensed muscles of his exposed arms and the veins winding their way to his wrists. He covered her hands with his, moving them to his sides, her fingers brushing over the straps that held his cuirass securely to his body. She kissed him and started working the leather through the bronze fasteners, three on each side.

  The first strap took the longest; the others followed quickly once she figured out how to unlace them. Aidon lifted the strapped shoulders over his head as she pulled it up from the bottom. The golden carapace crashed loudly to the rocky ground.

  Persephone jumped back and glanced about. Aidon chuckled at her reaction. “Afraid of being discovered, my love?”

  “Only a little. I know that no one is coming here or looking for us. They’re all celebrating in the village. But, still…” she said, gazing off toward the glowing lamps and torchlight surrounding the Telesterion. She could vaguely make out what they were playing. It was the same song from her childhood— the one Charon hummed the first time she traveled the Styx in his boat, nestled into her husband’s side.

  “Come, wife.”

  She turned abruptly as he spread his cloak over the ground, the embroidered edges snapping against the thick wool before it billowed out and settled. He rose, and Persephone looked longingly at him, his tunic clinging to his form thanks to the warm summer night and his closely fit cuirass. His desire for her was evident. Persephone sauntered over to him, then slowly brushed her hands down the wrinkled fabric covering his chest. “I was thinking that we could do away with any barriers between us and the ground.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her, his voice rough. “This is hardly a clover field. Your back will be raw before I’m done with you.” His last words came out strangled, and she reached for the edge of his tunic and lifted it. He took over once she raised it past his waist, and flung it away, pins and all, then untied his loincloth and let it drop to the ground in front of him.