Asphodel (The Underworld Trilogy)

by Lauren Hammond

  Sliding to the left, I glide my hand forward feeling ahead. The wall dips off and I brush my fingertips against something cold and metal. The coldness shocks me, electrocutes me, and kicks my heartbeat into overdrive. A doorknob! I’ve found a doorknob! Hopping forward, I twist the door knob and walk into a dimly lit corridor.

  The floor is made of black marble. I’m afraid to step onto it. Too many things about this place don’t seem right. I feel like I’m exploring the interior of an optical illusion. What will happen when I step on the floor? What if it’s quicksand? I’ll be suctioned, yanked under by an unknown force. Or what if it turns into a sea of hot tar? Then as the black sticky substance splashes against my peachy pallor it will melt away my flesh.

  I heal a lot faster than mortals do. I know I’ll heal completely from the injuries I’ve sustained in about eight hours, but it still sucks that I have to suffer through the pain until then. Crouching down, I press the tip of my finger into the marble. Then I press harder. The floor is firm, so I warily take a step forward. Then I hop. No illusion. The black marble floor is just a black marble floor.

  Limping down the long corridor, I marvel at the elaborate cast iron candelabra’s lining the deep crimson walls. Tiny crystals dangle from the molten iron and create an afterglow along the walls. I glance to my left, then to my right. There are no doors lining the hall and straight ahead it seems like the hall stretches on miles. I limp faster. I don’t know if I’ll make it. No. I shake my head as a reassuring feeling washes over me, cleansing me of any doubts I might have had. This is a hallway and no matter how long it is it has to lead me somewhere, right?

  After limping for what feels like decades, I come to a dead end. Every shred of hope I have seeps out of me like perspiration oozing from my pores after spending hours in the sun. I’m a human sweat box. Dehydrated and drenched and sadness sits in the pit of my stomach eating all of my other emotions. All hope is lost.

  I lift my head and a gold cord of a rope with fringe adoring the edges blurs in my eyes. Inching my fingers closer, I contemplate pulling it. Should I, or shouldn’t I? I clench my fist right below it as the fringe brushes against my knuckles. Determination pumps through me like oil being injected into the engine of a car. Suddenly, I don’t what will happen. I tell myself I need to stop being afraid. I tell myself that yes, something is going to happen when I yank on this rope, but if it’s going to get me out of this maze of a hallway then so be it.

  Yanking on the rope, I pull with so much force I feel like I’m going to rip it down from the ceiling. After I release it, I wait. One second. Ten seconds. Before I realize it a minute has passed and nothing has happened. Hobbling around, I place my back against the wall and let out a frustrated sigh. Hanging my head low, puddles of tears swell up and drop on to the black abyss of a floor. Then I perk up when I hear a clicking sound. It starts slow, separated by a ten second time span and suddenly the clicking picks up. Whirling. Grinding. Like someone is sharpening a pencil. And just as I perk up and back away from the wall, the floor beneath me gives way, crumbling to bits and miraculously repairing itself. And I’m falling again.

  I land on my back and choke on a strangled breath as the abrupt force from the fall knocks the wind out of me. There’s a hand inside my body squeezing the air from my lungs. Tighter and tighter, the hand clenches. Someone is squeezing the life out of me. Rolling over on to my side, I wheeze and cough out. Breathe, just breathe. At this point tiny white and red dots flash before my eyes and I feel like I’m going to pass out. After blinking several times, my eyes are filled with black and I place my forehead against the cool marble floor. The icy tile feels slick and smooth and its freezing temperature brings goose bumps to my flesh. Thoughts gnaw at the nerve endings of my brain like I’ve just ingested anthrax. I want to know where I am, but I can’t muster up the strength to pick myself up from the floor.

  A minute passes. Then five. Next ten. There’s only a sliver of me that wants to move. I want to lie here forever against the cold tile. I want it to thrill me and chill to the bone over and over again. There’s something refreshing about its coldness. I’m twisted. I’m a contortionist. My limbs are like wiry tree branches. Frozen forever in a particular way and sticking out at odd angles, but I don’t care. As uncomfortable as my position is, I hope I stay this way forever.

  I wait for another twenty minutes then slowly pick myself up off the floor, mouth gaping open as I take in my surroundings. High vaulted ceilings loom above me made out of a smooth molted kind of black rock. Lowering my gaze, I center on the thick cherry-stained table, complete with twelve chairs. Five on each side. Two on the ends. A six tiered crystal chandelier hung down in the center and each crystal has to be at least six inches long. I’m in a palace and I haven’t seen a palace this decadent in thousands of years. Olympus was like this, except we didn’t have some of the modern luxuries that people have today. I’m so absorbed in the creepy, yet beautiful setting, that I jump when I hear a whoosh from behind me. I spin around to a blazing fire, encased by a black, red, and grey marble fireplace. Who lit the fire? It wasn’t lit when I fell into this room.

  Limping, I stand in front of the fireplace and hold my hands out, warming them. The bright orange fire crackles and hisses and one of the flames nearly licks my hand. I take a step back, but can still feel the heat caressing my palms. Then I hear soft footsteps and my entire body stiffens. A shadow is cast over the fire dancing along with the flames. Hades is behind me. I am sure of it. Despite all of my injuries, I’m filled with so much anger that I feel like a torpedo, jetting through the cold ocean in search of a vessel to crash into. A vessel to blow to smithereens.

  Whipping around I lunge at him, tackling him and we both hit the hard marble floor—hard. I slide away from him and use the corner of the fireplace to hoist myself up. “You!” I shout as hatred and rage jumble together rippling through me. He’s wearing a stunned look as he picks himself up. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  “Of course I know what I’ve done,” he states. He’s all thrills and chills, not an ounce of warmth to his tone.

  “Well, you’d better undo it!” I limp toward him, as pain surges through my ankle, up my shin, and throbs at my knee cap. I wince and look away, swallowing hard. Then I put on a fierce brave face and narrow my eyes. “My mom is probably worried sick!”

  Hades tilts his head to the side and centers his gaze on my ankle. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “What business is that of yours?” I harrumph.

  He starts for me and I back away. “Stop moving,” he commands. He takes another step forward and I take another step back. Hades exhales, frustrated. “We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. Now stay put!”

  I won’t listen to him. He just tricked me. He stole me from my home. He’s a thief. And mom always taught me to never trust a thief, so when he moves again so do I. Then I smile triumphantly, but that smile fades when he vanishes from in front of me and appears behind me. I try to step away, but he latches onto my elbow and grips it hard. I swat at him. “Let me go!”

  But he doesn’t. He tightens his grip and crouches down wrapping his long slender fingers around my ankle. I struggle then stop as an overwhelming warmth floods through my limbs and makes my skin tingle. “What are you doing?”

  Hades straightens up and backs away. “Try walking on it.”

  I move away. My limp is gone. The ache in my ribs is gone. I feel rejuvenated. Brand new. Like an unwrapped toy underneath a Christmas tree. Rolling my ankle I stare at the appendage, baffled. “How did you do that?”

  “I am the God of the Dead. I have the power to do a lot of things.”

  For a second I forget that I’m angry with him. He’s observing me yet at the same time looking at me in an entitled way. Like he owns me. I’m not a pet. I’m a person and I have free will. He does not and never will own me. Circling him, I narrow my eyes. “You might think I don’t know anything, but I know all about you, Hades.”

&nbs
p; An amused expression crosses over his features and he places his forefinger and thumb on his chin. “Is that so? Why don’t you enlighten me then? Tell me what you think you know, Persephone.”

  I decide that being vague is my best option. “All I need to know.” I stop walking around him and face him. “Now you take me back to earth, right now.”

  “I don’t like that idea,” he replies. “Besides, it’s not that simple.”

  “Sure it is. You took me, now take me back. See, it’s simple.”

  He glares at me like I’m an escapee from an insane asylum. He lowers his gaze searching the floor for my discarded straight jacket. “You can stand there making demands and protest all you want,” he says, looking at me again. “I’m not taking you back.”

  Balling my fists, I slam them at my sides. “Take me back!”

  He appears to be thinking it over. Then he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You are taking me back!”

  “No. I am not.”

  “You can’t just steal me! I’m someone’s child!” I’ve never been away from my mother for more than six hours. She’s probably a mess. I picture her sitting at the kitchen table sobbing. Knowing she’s in pain tears me up inside.

  Hades slinks closer to me. “Why not? I take people all the time.”

  “After they die! This is different!”

  “How, so?”

  Frustration bubbles in the pit of my stomach. I’m not in the mood to play his games. “Stop this! You know the answer to that!”

  He smirks. “Do I?”

  I scream so loud and so boisterous I swear it shakes the entire room. “You know I’m an immortal! You know I will not die!”

  The thought of death makes me shudder. I don’t want to think about dead things. Cold corpses. No heartbeat. Dead plants. The underworld will be full of all the things dead. I don’t belong here. I belong on earth with mom, walking amongst plants, animals, and mortals that are alive.

  “None of that matters,” Hades says, changing the subject. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  At the moment, I don’t feel like standing here bantering with the God of Dread. Yes, as Marisol once put it, the God of Dread. When I saw him in the field in my dream in the field he looked alive. With color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his blue-green eyes. Examining him now, his skin looks ashy and pale, like the sun hasn’t kissed his it in centuries. His hair is a dull shade of black licorice. But his eyes, they were the only thing that set him apart from looking dead all together. They were exquisite. Like sapphires and emeralds melted together.

  As I peer into them, I feel like I’m looking through them. Like he’s translucent. An apparition. A spirit. I can see all of him. And there is a spark in his eyes. I can’t decide what kind of spark it is exactly, but there is a spark and that small spark gives me hope. Hope that maybe he isn’t the cold, despicable, and mysterious God he seems to be. Maybe he is capable of feeling. Capable of expressing emotion.

  I inch closer, standing before him. Even though he towers over me in height, and his shadow covers my entire body, I’m determined to show no fear. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take me back right now. You don’t want to piss off Zeus, do you?”

  Hades scoffs, “I’m not afraid of Zeus.” He backs away from me and leans against the fireplace, staring into the whirling flames. “And if you thought that I would be, well, then you’re an idiot.”

  My jaw drops. “How dare you?” I sneer at him and huff, “You might not be afraid of him now, but if you don’t return me you will regret saying what you just said.”

  He shrugs and lets out an icy laugh. “I will never fear Zeus. And in case your parents didn’t mention this; he’s the one who promised you to me in the first place.”

  “He changed his mind,” I growl.

  Hades stares at me. “I have no respect for God’s who go back on their word.”

  None of my reverse psychology is working. I was hoping that maybe I could borrow a play from his book and use Zeus’s wrath in attempt to get him to return me, but it backfired. So I try a different approach. “Do you have children?”

  He shifts his gaze to the floor and it softens. “No.” Then his gaze hardens as he looks back up at me. “What does that have to do with any of this?”

  “If you don’t have children of your own then I’m sure you have no idea what it’s like for a parent when their child goes missing.”

  “But you’re not missing. Your parents know exactly where you are.”

  “That’s not the point!”

  He circles me, staring, like he’s the madman and I’m his experiment gone awry. “Then what is the point, Persephone?” I try to come up with an answer, but as soon as I open my mouth to speak he cuts me off. “There’s no point in discussing this any further. You were meant to be mine. End of story.”

  This is enrages me. I am not a prize a person covets. “I don’t belong to anybody! I belong to myself!”

  Hades gives me an icy glare, and then walks out the door. I stand in my spot for a moment when it occurs to me that maybe I should be following him. Dashing out of the room, he’s so far in front of me he looks like a spec of black dust.

  “Where are you going?” I shout after him.

  “I’m showing you to your room!”

  Sprinting, I close the distance between us. When I finally catch up to him, the rubber soles on my shoes slide against the black marble and I smack right into his back. Hades stumbles forward, catches his balance, then faces me with ferocity in his eyes and a sneer on his face. “Watch where you’re going,” he growls.

  His hostile attitude hits a nerve and tears brim in my eyes. My chin quivers and I place my hand over my mouth to keep the hysterical cry stuck in my throat from spilling out. Finality hits me. I may never see my mom again. I might never feel the warm sun against my skin overheating every part of my body. I’m doomed—cursed to an eternity of the musty scent of fermented things and rotting mildew. I’ll live out my eternal life in a world filled with death and despair. I can’t. I can’t do it. So I hit my knees and exhaust my last option. “Hades, please,” I beg. “Please take me back.” An agonizing swirl of pain pumps through my heart and as I close my eyes tears spill down my cheeks. “Please,” I sob. “I’ll do anything you ask. Just take me back!”

  Honestly, I don’t expect him to be sympathetic to my pleading, but I do expect him to show some sort of compassion at the sight of my tears and how much pain I’m in. He shows none. I wrap my arms around his leg, and shake uncontrollably, crying harder than I ever have before.

  Hades steps forward, walking through an open doorway with me still clinging to his leg. “This is your room,” he says flatly. The he lifts his leg giving it a forceful shimmy and I release it, curling up onto the floor. I’m hysterical. I scream. Wail. Howl out and pound my fist into the cold, black marble floor.

  Then it occurs to me that I’m acting like a child. Only toddlers threw temper tantrums like this and as I lift my head, I notice that Hades is gone and the door to my room is closed. Where did he go? Why did he leave me in here?

  I jump up quickly, sucking back my tears, and run to the door. I twist the knob several times. “Son of a—!” He locked me in. I’m a prisoner. His prisoner. Slamming my fists into the thick wood, I shriek, “Hades! Let me out!” I resort to kicking the door. “You hear me! Let me out!”

  After pounding on the door for ten minutes straight and wasting half of my energy in the process, I slide down against the back of the door and wipe away the remaining wetness that lingers on my cheeks. I’m no longer angry. I am hurt. I’ve never met someone like Hades. I’ve never met someone so…cold. This bothers me. If I saw a person begging and pleading and hysterical, seeing them like that would snap the strings to my heart. I don’t think Hades has a heart. I think his organ is surrounded by a layer of ice. An extremely thick layer of ice.

  Lifting my head, I take inventory in the contents of my prison. Standin
g up, my eyes drift around the extravagant room. The flooring is black marble of course as is most of the flooring in the underground palace, but the walls are a deep shade of violet. A chandelier, similar to the one from the dining hall hangs in the center of the ceiling and the crystals shimmer in the dim lighting. And the bed is more elaborate and expansive than any bed I’ve ever seen. With a black marble frame, a king sized mattress and sheer lavender and violet linens hanging off the canopy as curtains.

  My eyes shift to the left side of the room and I stroll over to a vanity. Touching the velvet cushioned bench, I gaze at the assortments of bath oils, lotions, perfumes, and make-up organized neatly on top of the vanity table.

  Mom believes in living modestly, another part of the blending process. “Think about it, Persephone,” she’d said. “If we drive into a new town with flashy, expensive cars, move into the biggest house, and dress up in the latest fashion trends the first thing the mortals will do is start asking questions. Who are they? What do they do? Where did they come from? How did they get all that money?”