Underworld's Daughter

by Molly Ringle

  “Adonis, this is our daughter, Hekate,” Persephone told him.

  He bowed toward her. “A pleasure, Hekate. You favor both your parents.” Though he chose gallant words, his smile remained tight, and dark shadows lay under his eyes. He glanced around skittishly—the usual behavior of someone visiting the Underworld for the first time, but in his case his surroundings seemed only a small part of what bothered him.

  “What brings you here?” Persephone asked.

  “It’s probably foolish.” He sighed, and looked at Aphrodite.

  “His mother and father,” Aphrodite said. “They’ve both contracted the plague.”

  Persephone sucked in her breath, and instinctively drew Hekate back a step.

  “My father can die for all I care,” Adonis said, sounding tired rather than hateful. “And he probably will, with the poor shape he’s in after his years of drinking. But my mother…” His gray eyes beseeched Persephone. “If there’s anything you have down here, any ideas…”

  “We’ve already been to Demeter,” Aphrodite added. “She suggested some herbs, which we’ll try. But she said her best guess for a miracle was something from the Underworld.”

  “Adonis, I’m so sorry,” Persephone said, “but the disease is so new, and spreading so fast, honestly I don’t have many answers. Of miracles, well, we only have one plant like that, and it…requires a vote of all the immortals.” Her face heated in awkwardness as she recalled how many times he had been voted down for the immortality fruit. She turned toward the garden. “But I do have a variety of willow that works better than the usual at reducing pain and swelling, even when people use it in the living world. Here, come.”

  She hurried down the path. The other three followed.

  “And, Hekate, can you pull up some of the biggest carrots, the ones with the red stone marking the row?” She looked back at Adonis. “Grate those and wrap them in the leaves I’ll give you, and it makes a good poultice if the sores become infected. What else…”

  Moving around the garden, she loaded up a basket of seeds, bark, leaves, and vegetables for him, and dictated instructions on how to use them. He thanked her with his gentle smile before leaving.

  She and Hekate stood watching them cross the river on the raft. Adonis and Aphrodite climbed the opposite bank and soon disappeared through the entrance tunnel.

  “His parents will probably die, won’t they,” Hekate said solemnly.

  A shiver ran through Persephone. “Some people don’t. Some recover.”

  “I hope he doesn’t die.” Now Hekate sounded anxious, an emotion that likely had the same cause as her oddly silent mood throughout Adonis’ visit. Few young women ever saw such a handsome man as he, among the living or the dead.

  Persephone smiled, and stroked her daughter’s disheveled hair. Hekate said such unusual things all the time, it was actually odd to hear her say something typically adolescent.

  “I hope so, too,” Persephone said. “He’s a good person.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  That very night, Hekate developed a fever. Whether the sickness arrived with Aphrodite and Adonis, or with Hades from his visit to Crete, or some other way, they didn’t know. She stopped eating, and only accepted water. Persephone saw her own fear reflected in Hades’ eyes.

  “They had no better ideas in Crete?” she asked him, though she’d already asked when he returned earlier.

  “Not really.” Kneeling by Hekate’s bed, he met his daughter’s dark-eyed gaze and tried to smile. “But you’re a healthy girl. Magic all round you. Right?” He stroked her forehead.

  She nodded, but soon closed her eyes and lay shivering.

  Within three days, she was coughing up blood. Two days after that, sores bloomed on her body. The fever raged, spiking high and falling a little sometimes, but not enough. Hekate became too exhausted and disoriented to speak. Persephone raced back and forth between the Underworld’s gardens and Hekate’s bedchamber, a small cave just off theirs, bringing medicines and attempted cures.

  Hades had abandoned his duties among the souls, and stayed beside her day and night. Sleeplessness darkened the hollows around his eyes. He looked up at Persephone as she brought in the latest infusion of herbs, steaming in a wooden cup. “People have recovered, even from this stage, haven’t they?” The anxiety racking his voice tore at her heart.

  But sharing her panic wouldn’t help him, nor Hekate. She cleared her throat. “I think so. It’s…hard to predict. Here, hold her up and we’ll see if she can drink this.”

  They both knew the pattern now as well as anyone: about one-quarter of the people who contracted the plague died. The illness didn’t pick off any particular age group more than another. Those with weaker constitutions did die more often, but they heard a lot of stories of strong, healthy youths dying too.

  Hermes showed up that afternoon, and sucked in his breath at the sight of Hekate, her skin sweaty and marred with brownish-red sores. “I heard a rumor to this effect, but…” He glared at Persephone and Hades. “My gods, you two. Why aren’t you giving her the orange immediately? We’d all forgive you!”

  “She’s twelve!” Persephone said. “What would happen if someone became immortal when they weren’t fully grown? What if she stayed twelve forever? Her mind—her body—I don’t know!”

  Sternness still glowered in Hermes’ green eyes, but now uncertainty flickered there too. He took a slow breath, nostrils flaring, and let his gaze slide to the girl lying limply in bed.

  “I’ll do it anyway if we must,” Hades said. He remained seated by Hekate’s bed, his hand on her arm, his eyes never leaving her.

  They listened to Hekate’s wheezing breaths. The girl’s skin was now flushed red around the sores, and her lips had taken on a blue tinge. Terrifying symptoms. Persephone laid her fingers against Hekate’s cheek. The fever burned higher than ever.

  “Hermes, will you fetch my mother for me, please?” Persephone whispered. “Quickly.”

  He nodded and sprinted out of the cave at such speed that he seemed to vanish in a flutter of his cloak.

  Persephone sat opposite Hades and took Hekate’s other hand. He met her gaze. It was like looking into a mirror, she thought: in his face she saw a thin crust of courage and fortitude covering a deep well of terror. If she looked any longer, she’d burst into sobs, so she turned again to Hekate.

  “Grandmother’s coming, dear,” she said. “She’ll help you feel better.”

  But as they waited, Hekate’s breathing became wheezier and more irregular. And a bit later, as Persephone tried to adjust Hekate’s position on the pillow to assist her, Hekate began convulsing.

  “Gods—what—” Hades pressed her arm to the mattress, as if to stop the seizure.

  “No, don’t hold her down! Go. Get the orange.”

  “I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to be gone if—if—”

  “Then hurry!” Persephone wailed.

  He raced out, bare feet pounding the stone floors.

  Kerberos whined, pacing back and forth by the end of the bed. Dogs did that sometimes, sensing death just before it happened, Persephone thought in despair. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. She drew her convulsing daughter onto her lap, doing her best to shield Hekate from biting her own tongue or striking the hard wood frame of the bed. Please, Goddess, this cannot be how you mean to end her life, and destroy ours, she prayed. But countless parents lately had sent up the same prayer and still ended up burying their children.

  Sandals slapped upon the stone tunnel floor outside. Demeter ran in, and handed a torch to Hermes, behind her.

  “Mother,” Persephone entreated.

  Demeter sat on the bed next to her daughter and granddaughter, taking in Hekate’s appearance. “You should have called me sooner.”

  “I thought…we…” Words failed Persephone. She stared at her mother in anguish.

  Demeter turned a sharp gaze upon her. “Fetch the orange.”

  Persephone nodded. “Hades i
s. He’s—”

  His footsteps raced back toward the chamber, and he rushed in with an orange.

  “Give it here.” Demeter reached out.

  Hades handed it over and knelt by the bed. He stroked Hekate’s black hair. “But how will she eat, if she’s like this?” he said. Hekate still convulsed, her jaw clenched shut.

  Hermes, looking pale, stepped up and rested his hand on Hades’ back. Hades didn’t even glance up.

  Kerberos whined again, closer now, and bumped his muzzle against Hekate’s hand. Persephone petted him, but moved him out of the way.

  Demeter ripped the peel off the fruit. The fragrant orange curls fell to the floor. “We’ll have to try our best.” Holding a wedge of the blue fruit, she crawled closer to Hekate. “Open her mouth.”

  “I’m trying. I can’t,” Persephone said. Hekate’s whole face was blue now. The world thundered in Persephone’s ears, about to end. If she died in the Underworld, at least her soul wouldn’t have far to go. They’d see it separate from her body, right before their eyes, and she’d still be with them, but they’d never hold her again, never see her quick living passions…

  “Let me try.” Hades climbed up too, and pried at Hekate’s locked jaw. “Come on, darling, come on. I don’t want to break her jaw—”

  “She has to get this in her mouth!” Demeter snapped.

  Kerberos howled, and nosed forward again, his head bumping Hekate’s limp hand.

  “Kerberos—I’ll take him—” Hermes began, but then Hekate’s hand twitched and reached for the dog.

  Persephone noticed the motion. “Wait, let him.”

  Kerberos set his chin on the bed, and Hekate’s hand rested upon his furry head. At that moment, her jaw relaxed its hold and she took a calmer breath. They seized their chance: Demeter squeezed the orange’s juice into Hekate’s mouth.

  “Swallow that, dear,” Persephone said.

  Hekate swallowed it, coughing and choking, but the juice stayed down.

  “Now eat this little bite.” Demeter tore off a morsel of the orange wedge and placed it on Hekate’s tongue.

  “Chew that and eat it,” Hades said, still stroking her hair. “That’s right, darling.”

  Persephone placed her hand over Hekate’s, atop Kerberos’ head.

  Sliding her fingers back and forth in the dog’s fur, Hekate weakly chewed the orange morsel and swallowed it. The convulsions died down and she lay still. The wheezing sound faded, and her breath steadied. With eyes still closed, she licked her cracked lips and squeaked, “Tastes good.”

  Demeter smiled tenderly. Persephone wiped tears off her cheeks. Hades sank his face into the blanket, shoulders trembling. Hermes heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Have another, dear.” Demeter fed Hekate the rest of the orange slice. “It’ll make you all better.”

  Hekate ate the blue morsel. The torch in Hermes’ hand flickered and crackled, suddenly the loudest sound in the calm chamber. Kerberos resettled his large head on the mattress, his nose bumping Persephone’s leg. Keeping one arm around Hekate, Persephone reached down with her other and stroked the fur on the dog’s neck. Possibly he had transferred some kind of magic to Hekate that revived her enough to let her swallow the juice, the sort of power she claimed to feel when she touched various objects and creatures. At the least, his presence had grounded the girl. Whichever it was, Persephone felt even more grateful for the dog today than when he had hauled her out of the river years ago.

  Hekate stirred. A healthy sweat shone on her skin, and she pushed off the goatskin blanket. When Persephone touched her lips to Hekate’s damp forehead, she found her temperature descending back toward normal.

  “I’m thirsty,” Hekate mumbled.

  “Here.” Hades scrambled aside to fetch the jug of water.

  Hekate sat up unsteadily and took it and drank, then examined his tear-streaked face. She looked around at all of them. “You weren’t that worried about me, were you?”

  Persephone beamed, but still couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat. Neither, it seemed, could Hades.

  Hermes stepped up to tap his finger against her bare toe. “We were, and with good reason, you imp.”

  Demeter folded the blanket onto the end of the bed, and rose. “Sweetheart, would you like to sleep now, or eat?”

  Hekate took another drink of water, and coughed, but the cough sounded less lung-racking then it had a short while ago. She yawned and handed the pitcher back to her father. “Sleep.” She wriggled free of Persephone’s arm and flopped onto her side, eyes closed. But now, even with the sores still red upon her skin, she looked more like her old self, the child comfortable and cozy in bed, not the trembling, sick patient.

  Persephone kissed her fervently on the ear before standing up. “We’ll be near if you need us.”

  “Mmf,” Hekate answered, her usual response when she was ready to be left alone to sleep.

  Kerberos hopped onto Hekate’s bed and curled up at her feet—his customary spot, and tonight no one would contest it. The adults withdrew outside her chamber. They looked at each other, shock and tentative joy on their faces. Persephone’s legs wobbled beneath her.

  “So we see what happens,” she said.

  The others nodded, gazes flicking to Hekate.

  “It wouldn’t be so bad, being twelve forever.” Nonetheless, anxiety wavered in Hades’ voice. “She seems to enjoy it usually.”

  “She’ll be fine if that’s how it goes,” Hermes assured. “A new type of immortal. The child goddess.”

  “She’s nearly grown,” Demeter said. “Some girls marry at twelve. I wouldn’t worry. Now, you two get some rest. I’ll watch her.”

  “But if—” Hades began.

  “Yes, of course I’ll wake you instantly if anything’s wrong.” Demeter’s annoyance rose to the surface again. “Go.”

  Hermes stayed too, and made up a bed of extra blankets against the wall of Persephone and Hades’ bedchamber. He fell promptly asleep. Beside Persephone, Hades settled into a quiet rhythm of breaths. But Persephone couldn’t sleep. Every time she slipped toward relaxation, her mind fluttered awake again, attuned to her child, listening to each rustle or murmur. It was like the night she’d spent after giving birth: exhausted, but unable to rest, concerned her child would need her, worried she would miss something important.

  And what kind of girl was being born into the world this time? What had they done? Even while thanking the Goddess ardently for allowing Hekate to live another day, Persephone pleaded that Hekate wouldn’t hate her parents for transforming her into—into what, Persephone didn’t even know.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Zoe recognized the feeling of waking up as an immortal, the first morning it happened to Hekate. It had happened to her as well, after all, not so long ago. In Zoe’s own case the change had come with a wondrous brightness. Her eyesight had reasserted itself slowly upon eating the orange, some of it not entirely healing until she slept. When she opened her eyes the next morning, lying next to Tabitha in the Underworld, the world suddenly loomed everywhere, colorful, detailed, confusing. Dazzling.

  With Hekate it was almost as bright and amazing a change, Zoe now recalled, shampooing her hair before work while her mind wandered in the ancient world.

  Though Hekate’s eyesight had been fine to start with and wasn’t much changed, the difference between the bodily aches and dizziness with which she fell asleep and the sweet, vibrant freshness in which she awoke was—well, a miracle. That was what the orange accomplished.

  But Hekate didn’t even know, when she awoke, what she had eaten or what it had done.

  Persephone woke her when she quietly pulled aside Hekate’s blanket in the bedchamber to examine her legs. Hekate squinted at her, then sat up, curious herself, and tugged up her tunic to show more of her skin. Persephone hadn’t brought a lamp with her, probably not wishing to wake Hekate, and the only light came from a torch burning outside the chamber in a wall sconce. It wasn’t much to s
ee by. But it was obvious the sores were completely gone, on her legs and everywhere.

  “Huh,” Hekate remarked. “Well, I feel much better. I guess this plague isn’t so bad after all.”

  Persephone smiled, looking both anxious and relieved, and sat to push Hekate’s hair out of the way and feel her forehead. “The plague is definitely bad. We fed you a special medicine, which has apparently worked.” She tilted her head at Hekate and blinked, as if finding her appearance odd.

  Hades stepped into the little chamber, carrying an oil lamp, his hair unruly and escaping its twine ponytail holder. “Look who’s up.” He came forward and kissed her, but he looked anxious too.

  Hekate narrowed her eyes at her parents. “What’s wrong?”

  They exchanged a quizzical look.

  “She’s grown,” Persephone said to Hades.

  Hades examined Hekate, frowning. “Quite.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hekate demanded.

  “Can you stand, dear?” Persephone asked.

  “Of course I can.” Hekate swung her legs out of bed and stood on the stone floor. Then she swayed in confusion, because although she felt fine, she was higher than she should be.

  Hades lifted the lamp, sending bright rays of light across her. Her parents gazed rapt at her. She looked down at herself, running her hands up and down her body, and gasped in astonishment to encounter hips and breasts beneath her wrinkled tunic.

  She glared at her parents. “How long have I been asleep?”

  They broke into grins. “Only a night, darling,” Persephone said. “We…had to save your life, so…”

  “We fed you the orange,” Hades said. “The immortality fruit.”

  Hekate slowly reached out to touch the stone wall. The Earth magic so alive in the Underworld flooded into her fingers, potent and scintillating. Yes, it was hers now, she could tell: the bodily perfection she had craved.

  “I’m immortal,” she said.

  “Yes,” her mother whispered.