Dazzling Brightness

by Roberta Gellis

  Although he still hunted sometimes for pleasure or to kill an overbold predator in a blue-light cave for the safety of his gathering parties, he had not fished since he was a boy. He shivered once, remembering that raw fish were all he had to eat when he used to hide for days from Kronos in the caves behind the slave prison. He had always gone back, his bitter loneliness overpowering his fear of his father. Each time he would convince himself that he had misunderstood Kronos’s frequent brutality. For a long time he had been unable to believe that his own father really intended to kill him—until his mother had warned him one night, just in time for him to escape Kronos’s freezing blast.

  He shivered again and then laughed. Nothing is ever all bad. He had thought it the ultimate horror when Kronos was not satisfied to have driven him out and set out to hunt him to the death. It was his need to defend himself against the sucking out of all warmth, which was Kronos’s Gift, that had taught him to use his own, the moving and heating of rock and earth. And, he thought, chuckling again, surviving before he had discovered his Gift taught him just what he needed to know now.

  He lay down and extended a hand into the water, slowly moving his fingers as if they were responding to the current. The fish were blind, of course, but either the warmth or smell of his hand or some sensation from the movement of his fingers was an irresistible attraction. He did not catch at the first, which was small. Soon a larger one darted in to nip at his hand. Hades managed to stroke the creature’s side as it passed and it turned and slid back over his hand. The third pass it made was slower. On the fifth, Hades’s hand closed. He always felt a trifle guilty about beguiling the poor things, but in the past he had been hungry, and now Persephone was hungry.

  Chapter 7

  Persephone did not sleep for very long. She was wakened by an urgent need to relieve her bladder, a need that had been suppressed earlier by fear and excitement. The urgency was too great for shame or politeness, and Hades’s casual response—first he had handed her several broad, still-pliable leaves on which the meat rolls had rested, and then pointed to a modest crevice at the far end of the cavern into which ran a small stream from the pool—eliminated any embarrassment she might have felt. She returned to the fleece-padded rock feeling much better, but still hungry. Hades intercepted her look at the basket and laughed. “There is only fish for now,” he said, beckoning her to another of the flat, raised rocks.

  He used the corner of a thin slab of stone to pry off another slab, which had hidden a cavity holding two large fish. They were already headless and tailless and had been baked in their own skins. With the knife from the basket, he flipped one of the fish onto the slab of stone he had used for prying and the other onto the cover of his improvised oven.

  Gingerly, but with considerable haste, Persephone pulled away the blackened skin and picked out a piece of the flesh. It was soft and moist and, even unsalted, delicious.

  “I must say,” she remarked, teasing at another strip of flesh, “that your Gift is much more useful than Zeus’s. All he could do would be to char the poor fish to ashes with his lightning.”

  “I thank you,” Hades responded gravely, working on his own fish with an alacrity almost equal to hers, “but I fear you are not thinking the matter through. He could use the lightning to make a fire and cook fish that way.”

  “And what would he burn in here?” Persephone mumbled through a large mouthful.

  “Alas,” Hades replied, “that is one of the drawbacks of my realm. But I must admit, I have more trouble imagining Zeus cooking fish at all than wondering how he would do it. Between his looks and his charm, he manages to get someone else to cook his fish even when he wanders among the native people.”

  “What are they like?” Persephone asked with bright-eyed interest, recalling from their discussion about manured fields that Hades also went among the people who lived on the coast below the mountains that sheltered Olympus.

  “They are very much like you and me. Most are not so tall and strong as Olympians, and—they know different things. For instance, they know little of working stone and they can only work the soft metals, but they are much better hunters and many can live off the land, an art Olympians have forgotten. Most of my people are native folk.”

  Persephone’s hand hesitated on its way to her lips. “But they are dead—I cannot forget that.”

  “They are dead to their own people,” Hades replied. “They cannot go back to the outer world. But in Plutos they are not dead. They eat and drink, laugh and cry, work and sleep, just as you and I.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means exactly what I have said, no more, no less. I cannot explain further to you, not yet.”

  “Will they be cold to touch?” Persephone’s voice trembled slightly.

  Hades laughed. “Of course not—at least not unless they have been swimming in a cold pool.” Then he sobered and his eyes grew very sad, “Some are very twisted and broken. Do not be afraid of them or turn away from them. Those are often the most Gifted, and they were cruelly abused because the native people fear the Gifts of the Mother. Be kind, Persephone. They have suffered enough.”

  “Is my father there?” she asked.

  “But you know Zeus—ah, you mean your blood father. I keep forgetting.”

  “Iasion, my father,” Persephone repeated stubbornly.

  “No, he is not in Plutos. I have never seen the man and never heard his name before Zeus said he was not guilty of his death.”

  “How can you be sure he is not in Plutos? How could you possibly know every person who has died in Olympus and among the native villages?”

  “Thank the Mother I do not,” Hades said, smiling. “That would be hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of thousands. We are not nearly so many. In fact, I do not know every single person from the native tribes, but I have made it my business to know every person from Olympus.”

  Persephone knew that smile was significant, but his last remark distracted her from thinking about what he had said first. “Why do you need to know everyone from Olympus?” she asked.

  “At first because Kronos was trying to find a way to kill me. Later, after Zeus drained Kronos and he killed himself, I had to assure myself that those who came from Olympus did not desire to avenge Kronos’s death on his rebellious sons, starting with me.” He shrugged. “I have never come across any who loved Kronos enough to wish to kill me for his sake, but some blamed me for the loss of their privileged status under the old order and wished to reestablish the order in Plutos.” He paused thoughtfully for a moment and then went on. “Most have settled down well enough. A few are even less trouble than those who settled into the ways of Plutos.”

  Although she was certain that something dreadful had befallen those who now made “less trouble”—befallen them at Hades’s hands—and she knew she should be horrified, instead Persephone felt a rush of pride in Hades’s calm voice and half-smiling expression. He was a man who knew how to rule.

  If Hades was aware of her approval, he gave no sign, his half-smile changing to a frown as he continued. “The malcontents are a different matter. Most are just a nuisance, like an itch one cannot scratch. I know they try to stir up trouble, may even succeed some day, but there is nothing I can do.”

  “Why not?”

  “My realm would be no better than those they escaped if I punished without cause. And I might be mistaken. A grumbler might be just that, one who has a complaining nature but intends no harm.”

  Persephone uttered a giggle. “But Hades, you would be considered a public benefactor if you rid the realm of those.”

  He laughed too, but the crease between his brows did not disappear. “The danger, not to the realm as a whole but to a man or woman here and there, is not from those who live in Plutos and whine and complain. There are outlaws who roam the outer caves and valleys. Some I exiled, some committed crimes and fled before they could be taken, some refused to accept the conditions I require to enter Plutos—”

/>   “You would turn a man away because he had not two obols to pay your ferryman?” Persephone asked, shocked.

  Hades blinked and then laughed more heartily. “No, my ferryman is not really so niggardly, but,” he added conspiratorially, lowering his voice as if someone could overhear, “you must not spread that word around or Plutos would soon be utterly ruined.”

  The laughter made the bejeweled collar around Hades’s neck and the gold and gem work on his belt flash. Persephone sniffed and said, “You need not make a jest of two obols because of your wealth. I have known those who dripped as much gold and as many gems as you do to be far from generous to the temple.”

  “You are right, but that tale of Charon collecting obols is a strange one. I wonder where that started?” He stared past her for a moment and muttered, “I wonder if someone is pretending to be a doorkeeper and collecting obols before they come to Charon… Hmmm. I must look into that.”

  “But why should anyone want obols?” Persephone asked. “You just pointed out that Plutos is rich in gold and gems.”

  “Those are worthless in the outer world because they are bespelled. They turn to dross when touched by daylight, unless I myself have released the spell. So someone might want to collect a hoard that would not crumble away.”

  “Who?” Persephone did not ask why Hades had bespelled the wealth of Plutos. It was clear enough to her that if a few escaped the caves and brought back gold and gems, the caverns would soon be invaded by armies of gold seekers.

  “I would suspect someone who ‘died’ for a real crime rather than for being Gifted. A person can be both, and my judges might not look farther than the Gift for a reason a man or woman is sent to Plutos. Even those who have committed crimes are given a chance to redeem themselves, and a twisted soul can be hidden.” He shrugged. “Obols are a small matter. It would take a very long time for anyone to collect enough obols to buy his way into a place where he could do harm.”

  “And enough obols for that might be too heavy to carry,” Persephone said.

  Hades laughed again but then the troubled look came back. “In Plutos what folk hoard is food, not coin. Within the home caverns, every man and woman has a share. Their labor and what they produce is exchanged for food and cloth—those things we cannot yet make in Plutos. Food is what those who live outside Plutos’s shelter seek. Most do not survive more than a few days or a few weeks, but a few have mage power. Some have formed outlaw bands. All the outlaws are desperate and dangerous, Persephone.”

  “You do not need to warn me, after our meeting with one of them where the chrusos thanatos grew.”

  “Not about someone so far gone, but if I bring you, as I promised, to where you can see the sun and feel the breeze you must not think because you are in the outer world that any party is trustworthy. They may be; they may be my people hunting, but if they should be outlaws and take you, they might use you very ill before I could find them and take you back. I do not want you to feel you can safely roam alone just because you are outside the caves.”

  “I will not,” She put out a rather greasy hand and took his, no less greasy. “I swear as I hope my Goddess continues to favor me that I will not run away nor show myself nor speak to any if you bring me to the outer world.”

  On her last words, the light went out of Hades’s face. Up to that moment whether he was laughing or troubled, there had been an underlying joy in him and it was suddenly gone. He stood up abruptly, his hand slipping from hers.

  “Very well, we can go now if you wish, I cannot promise we can actually leave the cave, but there is some opening to the surface beyond one of the tunnels. You will be able at least to look out, and if I can do it, I will get you out.”

  Understanding came to Persephone. Hades thought she had been pleading to leave the cave. She barely bit back the assurance that she would stay in the caves forever to be near him. Too sweeping assurances would be a mistake, perhaps binding her to more than she wished to concede so soon. Surely she could bring back the light to Hades’s eyes without giving him all the advantage.

  “We do not need to go now,” she said, sitting where she was and idly picking at the bones of the fish to glean a scrap of flesh here and there. “It must be near dark outside, and it will be cold at night so early in the spring. This place is beautiful and comfortable.” She glanced toward the pool and back at the improvised oven. “And there are fish for supper. We can look at the opening to the surface tomorrow.”

  “I thought what you just ate was supper,” Hades said, plainly trying to sound exasperated, only the relief in his voice was so clear he must have heard it himself, because he began to laugh and admitted, “I am glad you do not hate the caves—and I already have two more fish ready for baking.”

  “How long does it take?” Persephone asked.

  “Not long enough for you to begin again considering how parts of me would taste,” he rejoined, still smiling. “But perhaps we should see how far the opening is and whether we can get out. We could come back here to sleep, but a few spices to bake with the fish would be pleasant, and if I can find a tuber or two—”

  “They will be very dry and woody at this season,” Persephone remarked without much enthusiasm, much surprised to find that she was not pretending—she really did not care whether they left the cave or not. And then she cocked her head curiously. “But how would you know which plants can be used as spices and which have tubers that can be eaten?”

  “Did you think I changed from a fugitive child to King of Plutos overnight? I lived no short time on raw fish, and then by hunting and gathering, both in the caves and in the valleys. It has been many years, but I think I would remember the look of the plants.”

  “I might be able to help,” Persephone offered somewhat doubtfully. “I was taught the lore of growing things as part of my studies to be priestess. I had to remember long lists of blessed and accursed plants. But most of what I learned will be useless. Many of the plants do not even grow in this part of the world. My mother told me that many grew to the north and west, far past the mountains, from where Kronos brought his people. However, there are a few I know I would recognize, because I have seen them in the wild places around Olympus.”

  “Then if you are not still tired, let us go.”

  Persephone thought his voice was tight, as if he were again wondering just how much she wanted the outer world, but she did not feel it wise to offer more assurances. He would see how she felt—she was not certain herself just how she would react—when they came to the opening. Thus she merely rose and followed him to one of the irregular crevices in the wall behind them, larger than the one she had used as a privy but not far from it.

  As in the passage leading to the cavern with the pool, there was much crystal close to the cavern and the light was bright. That diminished as they walked until Persephone stumbled. She reached for the wall to steady herself, but could not find it, and she realized the passage had become much wider. Hades put his arm around her as soon as she reached out, and she did not need to stumble again. Before much longer, however, a gray light appeared. Now Persephone could smell earth and growing things. She was surprised when she felt no urge to quicken her pace and she held steady beside Hades, although he dropped his arm when the light strengthened as if to allow her to hurry if she wished.

  It was as well she had not, because the passage ended abruptly in a sharp drop to the floor of another cave with a very wide, low mouth. The light came in from the opening, around which Persephone could see a carpet of green. Although she had been startled when Hades’s arm flashed up to block her way and protect her from the edge, in the next moment she saw that the drop was only about half a body length deep. Hades swung down and reached up for her, making the descent easy, but the roof slanted down toward the entrance so that they had to bend over and finally crawl outside.

  Less time had passed since Hades had seized her that morning than Persephone had expected. The sun was still up, although barely above the western
peaks. A glancing light gilded the delicate alpine flowers at the foot of sheltering outcrops, but snow still lay in many hollows. She looked around at the hillside, which dropped away from them in gentle undulations to a valley floor far below. In several places water broke out of the ground, forming small rivulets, most of which were swallowed up before they went any distance, but around which was a lush growth of plants. It was a pretty scene. Persephone smiled—and was suddenly aware, although she did not know how, that Hades had stiffened.

  “Tsk!” she exclaimed. “We should have brought the basket. How are we going to carry back what we find?”

  “We could stick some things through our belts,” he said, and his voice was easy as she had hoped it would be when she made plain her intention of returning to the cave. “But what I would suggest is that you allow me to cut off the bottom of your gown. It is torn with all the crawling, and you tripped on the hem once already. If you let me make a bag of the cloth below your knee, I promise you five gowns as lovely when we reach the home cave.”

  “And where would an unmarried man come by women’s gowns, one or five?” Persephone snapped before she realized that she was exposing her jealousy.

  Hades lowered his eyes. “I am the king,” he said too gravely. “I can take what I desire.”

  Persephone knew the gravity was assumed, but she was too furious to consider what that meant. “Thank you for your generous offer,” she said disdainfully, “but I think I prefer my torn dress to the hand-me-downs of your bed partners.”

  “Never would I do so crude a thing!” Hades exclaimed, struggling with the corners of his mouth. “I assure you, the gowns would be all new.” But the struggle became too much and he burst out laughing, rocking back and forth. “Persephone, Persephone, I am a man and not so young. Did you think I was a virgin too?”

  She turned her back on him, and he put a hand gently on her shoulder and turned her back.