Eager for the confrontation because Zeus was so well known for his womanizing that no one would believe his denials, Demeter passed the wide-open doors that offered welcome and hospitality to all who wished to enter the public rooms of the palace of Olympus. A huge corridor ran crosswise to the entrance, its painted and gilded roof supported on silk-smooth walls of white marble veined with gold. Three great arches opened into the corridor, of which only the one on the far right showed light. A murmur of many voices came from the chamber beyond the lighted arch but no loud shouts or clashing of serving dishes. The perfect moment. Demeter ran the last small distance, leaving Aglaia utterly breathless, clinging to the pillar that defined the arch.
“Zeus, where is my daughter?” Demeter shrieked.
“You have laid your hand on one sacred to the Goddess—”
“Not I,” Zeus replied, pushing back his carved and gilded chair and standing up.
He had not needed to raise his voice in the sudden silence that had fallen after Demeter’s accusation. Hera, still in her chair beside his, raised furious eyes and then frowned slightly, rage dissipated into puzzlement by what her seer’s eye saw behind the innocent and righteous expression on Zeus’s face, which she knew all too well. The great mages seated at two long tables just below the dais had all turned to stare at him also.
“Liar!” Demeter cried.
“She is my daughter also,” Zeus continued, shaking his head, “and I would not foul myself with such pollution. If Kore is not in the temple, I will swear by your Goddess, avatar of the Great Mother, that I do not know where she is.” He shook his head again. “I am not perfect in chastity—” A roar of laughter greeted that miracle of understatement and Zeus smiled briefly, but the laughter died abruptly as his face grew grave and he gestured for silence “—and Kore is a ripe and beautiful woman, but I would not soil my own daughter.”
Demeter swayed with shock and Aglaia crept forward to support her. Demeter had expected Zeus to claim innocence, to protest on his honor that he had not seized her daughter—which might even be true if he had set Hermes, who could flit from place to place, to snatch her. But she had not expected Zeus to call Kore his daughter and to speak of pollution—that rang true in her ears and she feared in all others—nor did she believe Zeus would swear an oath on the Mother with such sincerity. Yet he was lying. She knew he was!
“You thought her safe in my keeping!” Zeus exclaimed, and swallowed hard as if to suppress more words.
The eyes that had been staring at him shifted to Demeter, and Zeus had all he could do to suppress his satisfaction. They all believed him now—and why should they not? Every word he had spoken was the truth. He had no idea where Hades had taken Kore, and, attractive as Kore was, she had become taboo to him once he had adopted her. But mostly they believed him because everyone knew how much Demeter hated him; they also suspected that she brought her accusation to the dining hall of Olympus—although the girl might have been missing for hours—to make the greatest trouble for him.
“But I do not have her, Demeter,” he added, frowning as if he were worried. “Foolish woman, how long has the child been missing? She might be lying out on a hillside with a broken leg.”
“No,” Demeter whispered. “I would know that.”
“Does Kore have the Gift of speaking mind to mind?” Zeus asked, subduing a sharp qualm.
“No,” Demeter said hastily. “She has no Gift beyond the link with Our Lady that lets her quicken the seed. But I am her mother. I would know. Hera snorted. “Did I know when Hephastus fell into that ravine and broke his hip so badly the healers could not mend it? He was there two days. Mothers may think they are so closely bonded to their children that they feel their hurts, but it is wiser not to trust too much to that.”
“Ares,” Zeus said, “call out the young men so we can send out search parties.” As Ares rose and hurried out, Zeus looked down at his wife. “Hera, will you scry for us? I know one bit of hillside looks much like another, but perhaps something will be recognizable and Ares would know she was out there, so the men will search more carefully.”
“She has been taken!” Demeter insisted. “I know she is concealed somewhere, held by force.”
“I will scry for her in the city as well as on the hills,” Hera said. Then she rose and stared at Zeus. “But there are spells that can blind any scrying, even mine.”
“Then let Demeter conduct a search herself or direct the search of others as she pleases,” Zeus said promptly. And then to Demeter, “I will give you a sigil that will carry my authority to enter into any place for the purpose of searching for Kore. And that authority will include the private rooms of this palace and the public and private rooms of any home or workshop in Olympus. It will entitle you to command a force of men, or search with your priestesses. Can I do any more?”
“Hermes hid her for you outside of Olympus!” Demeter cried.
“Hermes,” Zeus commanded.
The tall, slender mage rose. For once his hazel eyes were not sparkling with laughter and his mouth was solemn. “I swear I have not seen, spoken to, transported, or hidden your daughter anywhere, Demeter. Nor do I know where she is now, nor have I known her whereabouts at any time today.”
Demeter scarcely glanced at Hermes. He was known for his love of mischief, for slyness, and for his clever lies. If he had been involved, she would not catch him nor catch Zeus through him. She had only wanted to remind those whom Zeus had convinced of his innocence that he had more ways to work his will than direct abduction. And then she remembered another problem.
“You will move her from place to place as I search,” she sobbed.
“I do not have her, Demeter,” Zeus repeated, his voice soft, his eyes steady on hers. “Nor do I know where she is.”
“So you say and so you swear.” Demeter’s voice grated like chalk on slate. “And perhaps the words are even true, but the spirit behind the words is false. I will neither bless seed nor sow it—
“Demeter!” Zeus’s eyes blazed and blue light hissed and sizzled between the fingers of his raised hand. He did not roll that light into a ball, however, nor even point a finger to send a little stinging arrow. Instead his voice rang like a brazen gong. “You may not starve a whole people because you blame me for the death of your lover more than ten years ago. I did not take and do not have your daughter. Your temple is sacred because you bless and sow. If you do not, the temple is sacred no longer and I will not lift a hand to protect it—or you—from the just rage and revenge of people whose own children are starving.”
“Zeus.” Hera, who had risen to her feet when she agreed to scry for Kore but had not moved away, laid a hand on his arm. “She does not mean it. She is mad with grief. She loves her one child too much.”
Zeus sighed. “You are right. But the spells that quicken the seed are in the Goddess’s giving and Demeter has no right to withhold Her bounty because of a private grief or rage. If she will not do the Goddess’s will, the Lady will empower another.”
As he spoke, a terrible weakness washed through Demeter from her head down to her feet as if some warm strength that had upheld her was draining away. She clung to Aglaia to keep herself upright, and in another moment the strength had returned. Had the Goddess warned her, or was she just frightened by Zeus’s threat?
“We will see,” she gasped. “But in the end I will have Kore back.”
“It may be so, Demeter, but I will tell you plainly that if Kore is not lying hurt somewhere, then I think she went because she wished to go—to find a little freedom. Hera spoke what all know. You love her too much and hold her too close. Even a daughter must breathe. However, since I have no proof that she is where she is by her own will, I say here and now to all assembled—and order that my word be carried to all those not present—that if Kore is anywhere in the valley of Olympus she is to be brought to a public meeting where she may answer for herself whether she wishes to return to her mother’s keeping.”
“I wil
l have her,” Demeter repeated. “I will never give up.”
Chapter 5
“If that golden light is not the sun, what is it?” Persephone asked softly, all her suspicion reawakened.
It had occurred to her, as her mind sought a refuge from a horror that could cause Hades to shudder, that he would certainly wish to keep her away from any exit from the caves, and that sunlight might be abhorrent to him. That would account for the shudder and the way he looked back, as if facing the danger of the ponpikoi might be preferable to giving her access to the surface world. Yet somehow those thoughts did not comfort her.
Although he had released her, they were standing close enough that she could feel him shake his head. “I do not know what it is.” Hades’s voice was quiet, but not as if he feared detection from whatever lay ahead. “We call it chrusos thanatos, the golden death. It grows on the soft black rock that we cut for burning. It is slimy and stinking and if it touches you, it eats you, slowly, inch by inch. If you can come to a healer in time, it can be cut out, but the roots grow deep and fast. Sometimes it will grow inside the body without any outward sign until the pain begins. One healer cut to find the cause. She could not even recognize what was within. It was all golden slime. The healer also died.”
Persephone swallowed hard. What he had described seemed an untraversable horror. So untraversable as to be a made-up reason to avoid an exit from the caves? “Must we go back then?” she asked.
“We cannot,” he said, and she felt the movement of his body as his head turned to look back again, “I am almost certain that the ponpikoi are in the little cave. I do not think they have yet entered the passage we took, but there is no way we could travel downward and take a different passage safely. And there have been no side passages to this tunnel. We will have to go through. I would have to sooner or later, for the place must be cleansed.”
Persephone’s heart had sunk like a stone. What he said made impossible her hope that he was lying to keep her from finding her own world again. But the final words wakened hope once more.
“You can cleanse it before we pass?” Persephone sighed with relief and then found she had hoped too soon.
“I could have if the ponpikoi were not behind us and we had food and drink enough. It will take many days for the natural waters to cool the rock which I must set afire.” Suddenly his arm went around her and he pulled her close. “I have frightened you. I am sorry. You will not be in any danger. I will clean a passage for us and find you a safe place to stay while I return and burn it all.”
“But you are afraid,” Persephone whispered, burying her face in Hades broad chest.
His other arm joined the first around her and she felt a pressure that must be his lips against her hair. She brought up her hands, but she did not use them to push him away as she knew she should.
“Only a fool does not fear that kind of danger,” he said against her hair. “But I hate it more than I fear it because it has killed so many for whom I cared.”
One part of Persephone was terribly afraid, but another part was tempted to raise her head and see if his lips would find hers. Shocked at her impulse to invite a caress when his abduction had not only violated her rights but placed her in terrible danger, she did push away. Hades lifted his head and let her go. Persephone was so annoyed she snapped at him.
“Because they had to pass through and did not have your power?”
“I do not think so,” he answered calmly. “All carry fire and can burn a path clean. But the torches are both salvation and the greatest danger. We are fortunate that there is so little crystal in this rock and I was able to see a hint of the yellow light ahead. Had there been more light in the tunnel, we could have walked right into a patch before I smelled the stinking stuff. What often happens is that the torchlight and odor of burning mask the first signs of growth, and a hunter brushes it unknowing or steps upon it. It will eat, not only flesh, but also leather, anything that lives or once lived.”
“Then we will have to walk in the dark,” Persephone said.
“If you will again give me leave to steady you, you will not fall.”
Persephone could hear in Hades’s voice that he was smiling, and she began to wonder again whether he was telling her tales of horror to bend her more easily to his will. Even if he were not, why could he not use his power to avoid the danger?
“You told me you brought me down through the rock,” she said. “If the danger is so great, why do you not bring us back up through the rock?”
“One does not rise through rock as through water,” he replied, laughing. “And how do you suggest we reach the roof? Can you float through the air and carry me with you?”
“I have no Gift aside from the Goddess-lent ability to quicken seed,” Persephone snapped. “But I am not a fool either. Is it not possible to begin at the wall and climb?”
“You are not a fool,” Hades agreed, approval and admiration in his voice. “It is possible, but unfortunately there is nowhere to go. There are no caves or passages near enough to either side or above or below us. It would take a week or more to find the surface, and I cannot sustain us for so long, even with—” He stopped abruptly and then continued, “Besides, there would be the chance of passing through a seam of black rock that carried the chrusos thanatos. In any area where it appears, one is safest in the open, where one can see it and avoid it.”
Hades’s acknowledgement of her objection and his earnestness in giving a reasonable explanation bolstered Persephone’s self-confidence. That he could laugh at all eased the sick fear inside her.
“Then let us go,” she said, “before I sink down weeping and am a useless danger.”
“Queen of my heart, light of my eyes, that is not in you,” Hades murmured, finding her hand and raising it to his lips. Then he chuckled. “It might be that when the danger is past you will weep, but not before we are safe.”
She knew she should pull her hand away and reprove him for speaking words of love to her if she wished to continue to insist he return her to Olympus, but strangely, with each dreadful danger, she became less sure she wished to go back to her protected existence and her mother’s coddling. Allowing him to retain her hand, she drew a deep breath and bent her knees to pick up the basket she had dropped when he first pulled her against him. That she had remembered their food in the face of danger made her feel strong and competent, and when she straightened she merely repeated, “Let us go.”
Hades brought the hand he had kissed to his belt. “Take hold and come behind me,” he said. “We must stay in the center of the passage in as narrow a space as possible. Wrap the cloak close and keep the basket between us if the passage narrows so that neither brushes a wall.”
He set out at a slow pace, which he increased when she did not falter. Soon Persephone wrinkled her nose as the cool smell of earth and rock was tainted by a putrid-sweet mustiness. Another few moments and Hades stopped. Peering around his broad shoulder, she saw a bright thread of sickly yellow-green creeping along the right-hand wall. Hades reached back and patted her hand comfortingly, bringing his other hand up to point at the thin end of the yellow-green glow, which thickened into a rope farther back.
The bright thread hissed, then darkened, and the stench of burning flesh mixed with the smell of rotten sweetness making Persephone gag. Hades’s finger moved and the hissing increased as a thicker portion of the putrid growth blackened. Slowly Hades moved forward, following the still broadening band of yellow-green, heating the rock as he went and killing the growth. Now the band was so broad that it lit the passage dimly. Persephone could see the stuff had an oily sheen, which gave an iridescent quality to its phosphorescent glow. It should have been beautiful, but somehow it looked slimy and somewhere in the distance she heard the slow drip of liquid. Persephone’s stomach churned.
The passage curved a little, blocking their view for a few steps, and when they rounded that curve Hades stopped abruptly, drawing breath. They were in a small cavern, which was
lit from one side—brightly to Persephone’s dark-adjusted eyes—by broad seams and thick branching trees of the growth that crawled up the right-hand wall and swathed the roof almost to where they stood, hanging down in glistening strands. Directly below the thickest growth was a little pool of water edged by what appeared to be large rocks fallen from the roof.
Persephone instinctively looked upward, and was distracted for a moment from her sick fear of the growth by a new fear, a forest of threatening spears of naked rock that hung from the roof, protruding through the chrusos thanatos. A single drop fell from one rock point, larger and thicker than the others. The finger of rock itself was clean of the growth, as was the cone that rose from the floor where the drop landed, but around the base of the cone the yellow-green slime grew in thick folds, brighter above and darker below as if it fed on itself.
Suddenly Persephone became aware that Hades was standing with closed eyes slowly turning his lifted head from left to right and then back again. Following him she looked all around and then, more anxiously, around again. When the second survey did not show what she sought, she drew in a breath that trembled with horror and began to shiver. She could see no other opening, no way out.
When he heard her gasp, Hades reached back to grasp her wrist. “Do not fear, I have found a path, and it is safe, I think, but we will have to climb.” He pointed. “There.”
About a third of the way around the cavern to the left, up near the roof, were several jagged openings. She could barely make them out because it was dark there—and then she sighed with relief. It was dark there because the rock was clean. On that side of the cave there was no growth she could detect as, she now realized, there had been no growth on the left side of the passage.
Dazzling Brightness Page 6