In January 2015, I launched a successful Kickstarter to publish Receiver of Many and Destroyer of Light, and it is by the backing and contribution of many, many wonderful people that you are reading this today. A very special thanks to Kathryn B., Astrid Broady, Kenzie Capri, Shannon Cooper, Claire Starrs Daly, Stephanie Gilman, Lizbeth Hevia, Elaine Ho, Rostine J.M., Ivy K., Melanie Beth Keffer, Katherine A. Morgan, Bea Payumo, Sarah Rice, Ben Rico, Victoria Rybnick, Kate S., Alyss Scollard, Jessica Smith, Tran T., Kit Ilanya Turner, Tylar Voss, and Abby Woodworth for their generous support.
I also owe a huge thank you to my dear Kim F. (who you especially have to thank if you’re a fan of Thanatos as he appears in my book). A special thanks to the wonderful Asphodelon, who provided artwork for the Kickstarter and for collaborating with me on Bringer of Spring and just being an all around amazing artist and friend. And to my darling Elizabeth Crowley, who graciously went through the book, line by line, twice, hunting down type-os before both Recevier of Many and Destroyer of Light went to press. My eternal gratitude goes to the fantastic Morgan Bondelid who designed the beautiful covers for my books. And last but certainly not least, my dear husband Robert, who started content-editing the book while we were dating, and faithfully carried the editing through the busy times of our engagement and into our marriage. His dedication is written into every chapter, and he has been my greatest source of support and inspiration.
So thank you, everyone, for making Receiver of Many and Destroyer of Light possible. This book and its predecessor, Receiver of Many, would not exist without you.
About the Author
Rachel Alexander has been a resident of California all her life and finished her first novel at age 16. She co-wrote a play that won awards from Bill Moyers of PBS and the University of Southern California. She received her Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature and Literary Criticism from Principia College with an emphasis on creative writing.
When not writing, Rachel can often be found sewing corsets, overstocking her spice cabinet, and petting chickens. She is married and lives in San Carlos, CA with her wonderful husband/editor.
Prologue from The Good Counselor
The following is the prologue for the forthcoming novel The Good Counselor, sequel to Destroyer of Light.
“He won’t be long,” she said, pausing at the door.
Persephone grasped the handle and the aged hinges creaked when she opened it. Warmth and incense, the scent of mint and parsley, flooded out from the other side. She stood in the doorframe, and many pairs of tear-streaked eyes met hers.
“My lady,” a frail voice said from the bed that dominated the center of the room.
“Hello, old friend,” she smiled.
“Gods, it’s good to see you again.”
“And you as well.”
“To think… I am only a child compared to you… a mote of dust, Soteira, yet I grow old while you stay evergreen, no?” He chuckled around the rattle in his throat and managed a smile for her.
“You’re mean more to me than you give yourself credit.”
The venerable priest squinted at her, then his forehead wrinkled with worry. “My lady, it is two days past. Shouldn’t you be with your honored husband by now?”
“He understands, Eumolpus,” she said, shutting the door and walking over to the bed. His students and family cleared a path for her and Persephone sat down next to him, stroking thin wisps of white hair away from his liver spotted forehead. “This time you’re coming home with us.”
“I will only be another shade in Asphodel…”
“No,” she soothed. “You’re going to Elysion.”
“I do not deserve it, my lady.”
“Of course you do. With how good you are, with all you’ve done…”
“I served you for almost seventy three years. But my youth was not so piously spent.” He frowned, every breath harder to take in. “When I was seventeen I plied an unwilling girl with drink until she lay with me. I whipped my servants with little provocation, I forgot sacrifices to the gods and—”
“We are, all of us, the sum of our parts, good and bad,” a baritone voice said from the back corner of the room. He removed his helm, becoming visible to all within. Hades watched twenty pairs of eyes widen, then avert. The dark robed mortals knelt and bowed to him, some trembling in fear. Eumolpus’s eyes widened and he stretched a knobby hand out to his lord.
“Eubouleus,” he whispered, using one of Hades’s many epithets.
“It’s alright everyone,” Persephone called out to the frightened Eleusinians. “Plouton is here as a friend.”
They knew Persephone well, many since birth, but even members of her priesthood were wary of the Unseen One. They crowded to the other side of the bed when he advanced the room to join his wife. Aidoneus managed a thin smile. “My queen speaks the truth. Do you think anyone who goes to the Elysian Fields is pure as snow?”
He smiled and coughed again. “Of course not, my lord.”
“Then how do you suppose I would welcome a mortal who has done more for my wife, more for all of Chthonia, in his short life than anyone who has lived before or since?”
A smile spread across the old priest’s face and his breathing gentled.
“We had a question for you, Eumolpus,” Persephone said, blotting sweat from his forehead with the corner of her shawl.
“I might have an answer,” he smiled. Though his eyes were dulled by cataracts, Persephone saw the same sparkle in them from long ago.
She looked up at Aidon who carefully removed a gold foil scroll from his robes. Persephone took it from him, unrolled it and held it out for Eumolpus. “Charon has been finding these in the mouths of the dead. We wondered if you knew who would give these out. I’ve never seen their like in Eleusis.”
He nodded and squinted at the text. Eumolpus turned to his youngest son. “Keryx, will you read this for me?”
The gray haired man took the scroll and unrolled it. “It’s in Thracian.”
Eumolpus closed his eyes and shook his head, already guessing at its author.
“…But on the other side, from the lake of Mnemosyne, you will find water flowing fresh. Say: ‘I am the son of Earth and starry Heaven, but my parentage is heavenly: know this you too. I am dry with thirst and dying. Give me quickly then water from that which flows fresh from the lake of Mnemosyne’.” When Keryx finished, he looked at his father, confused.
The old priest merely nodded. “I know who writes these. He was my student several years back, practically a boy. The son of a Muse no less, and it’s rumored that Apollon is his father. Came to Eleusis intrigued by the idea of rebirth before he left for the island of Samothrace and the temple there. He had his own ideas about what greets those who journey across the Styx.”
“Should we be concerned?” Aidon asked. “Is he doing this for material gain?”
Eumolpus shook his head and coughed violently. “No… no. His heart is in the right place. But I believe you should seek him out, regardless.”
“Why?” Persephone asked.
Eumolpus breathed in again with the rattle in his throat growing louder. He waved toward the door. “All of you out,” he commanded, then raised his palm before anyone could protest. “Every soul in this room knows as well as I that death is not the end. I will see each of you again in Elysion. Keryx, you stay.”
They left, filing out quickly, his eldest granddaughter weeping as others ushered her from the chamber. The door shut behind them.
“My lady,” he said with a smile. “I know you have long desired a child.”
Persephone leaned in. “Yes…”
“The one who wrote that… he is gifted. Given his lineage, his intelligence, it doesn’t surprise me. There are rites that his order oversees—”
“Eumolpus,” Aidoneus stopped him quietly. “My wife and I have tried… many methods already. Spells, rituals, traveling throughout the known world…”
“Aidon…”
“Perseph
one, no. Sweet one, we go through this once a decade, to no avail. I’m not going to stand by and watch you be crushed by false hopes yet again.”
“This is different, my lord,” Eumolpus strained. “It is a fertility rite like many others, but in it the Samothracians invokes one who is not yet born. An heir to the earth and heavens— a god of life, death and rebirth.”
Hades and Persephone exchanged a long glance and leaned in to listen to Eumolpus.
“It requires sacrifice. There have been successes. A king and his barren queen have already—”
He was cut off by another round of coughing, so violent it bowed his back. His breathing became labored. Persephone looked up at her husband, her eyes pleading with him.
Aidoneus sighed. “What sort of sacrifice?”
“I know not. But it must encompass…” He took one gasping breath, feeling lighter, euphoric. “…what you are… your most heartfelt desire…”
“What is the man’s name?”
Eumolpus saw the lamps around him glow more brightly, the incense thicker, like fog, obscuring his last vision. He could feel warmth, like sunlight, and heard the laughter of childhood friends, long gone. He closed his eyes, exhaling a last word. “…Orpheus.”
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