by Lucas, Naomi
“Don’t think to question me. Mortals do not command me. Now that you’re free of Cerberus’s protection, I could do all manner of things to you, and no one would help you,” he dictated, rounding on her. “More than you could imagine.”
Cyane stiffened but kept her feet rooted. She was in the sunlight and wasn’t going to be intimidated by him, didn’t even think she could after all she’d been through. “The deal you made was to take me where I wanted to go, God of Crossings, and you have yet to do anything but escort me down through a tunnel to a place I could’ve gone myself.”
A sneer tugged Hermes’s upper lip. His beauty diminished with a single gesture.
Cyane continued. “Don’t you want to know? Want to know what Hades has planned? If not for my sake, then for Persephone’s? If I helped you once, you know where my loyalties once lay.” She hoped she sounded convincing. She couldn’t hide the racing of her heart that seemed to grow louder with every passing second. She was sure Hermes heard it. “Help me remember, and I’ll always be in your debt.” She lowered her voice. “I’ll be eternally grateful.” She threw the same words Melinoe used on her, at him.
“Grateful, we’ll see. Take my hand, Cyane.” He threw his hand in front of her face, almost threatening her with it. “If you are who you think, Demeter and I owe you a debt, but if you’re not… You’ll be left there with nothing but that flimsy dress on your back, stranded.”
Cyane swallowed. She reached up, took his hand, and didn’t care for once about her own wellbeing.
The Final Descent
Cerberus returned to the ballroom where Hades awaited him atop his dais. He tapped his foot, rapped his fingers, and scowled with an angry frown on his face.
My face. Cerberus shook the thought as he approached his lord. The reminder of their shared face only filled his head with recent memories of Cyane. It hurt to think of her, knowing he would never see her again. It hurt to think of what he discovered in her arms, only for it to be taken away. He’d treasure the memories he had and paint her on his wall. So she could forever be immortalized in his haven.
He rubbed the place her hair still wound over his thumb with his forefinger. It was all he had of her.
That, and her note.
The ballroom was empty. The others had yet to arrive for Persephone’s descent, and he had a feeling he knew why.
Cerberus stopped before Hades.
They stared at each other for a length of time. Hades licked his lips and eventually sighed.
“You’ve angered me, my friend. A great deal of anger is not what I should feel when I ought to be exuberant and anxious for my wife’s return. Yet, I feel nothing but fury, and I know it is because of you.” Hades looked around, raising one ebony brow. “Cyane is gone. I no longer sense her presence, and I can’t help but feel it has something to do with you.”
Cerberus reached for the note which rested in his armor and handed it to his lord. “Why didn’t you tell me you were her father?”
Hades scowled at the note. It burst into flames as if it had never been more than a simple piece of paper. Cerberus dropped it as it turned to ash and ember between them.
“I share my mind with no one, not completely, not even you—despite our great many conversations. You know this, hound,” Hades spat.
Cerberus glared. “You don’t trust me, after all we’ve been through.”
“Trust? You dare to speak of trust? I trusted you like no one who has ever existed in this realm or the next, this life or the after! I trust you more than my sweet, honest wife, whose loyalties are, and always will, be strung between Demeter and myself. But I have every right to take my trust away, especially after you ruined what should have been a grand celebration that I had planned for decades.”
He was no longer bothered by Hades’s anger. Somehow, Cerberus realized nothing, not even his lord’s fury, compared to watching Cyane walk away.
“I did enjoy your celebration,” Cerberus said.
“A little too much! I told you to enjoy the celebration, not dismantle it! You did far more than enjoy!”
Cerberus scowled. “If I had known your intentions for Cyane—”
“Is that your excuse for disobedience? I know you enjoyed your debauchery, but she is a mortal—a weak mortal. I can help you find a replacement. The nymphs of this world are delicious, many of them maidens yet themselves, but if you want something more innocent to spoil...”
“Cyane is irreplaceable.” he snapped. “She was something else before you stole her.”
“Oh, so she told you, did she?” Hades glanced up at the ceiling, his hands shaking. “Who knew she’d grow so fond of a monster like you in such a short amount of time.”
“You steal too much, Hades,” Cerberus fumed. “Every time you do this, it never ends well. Minthe, Leuce, Persephone.”
Hades surged up from his chair. “Don’t you dare.”
“Would you not hear the truth from me? Or would you rather Zeus say as much?”
The ballroom darkened round them. The candle flames throughout the room danced back and forth as if a wind whipped them. Cracks filled Cerberus’s ears as the stalactites from above elongated and sharpened. Several fell upon the floor with a boom and shattered.
“I’ve been too kind to you, my friend,” Hades whispered. “You dare to act childishly, speaking out of turn when you don’t know the truth of what you speak of.”
Despite his enraged lord, calm filled Cerberus. Did the way Hades spin it really matter? The outcome would have been the same either way. The thought alone of Cyane being used and hurt made him want to kill. “Then for all the damned souls, enlighten me! I love her.”
“She was not yours to love!”
“Neither was Persephone.”
They scowled at each other. Twins, in nearly every way.
Hades spoke after a pause. “I would never have thought you could love someone more than me.”
“Nor I you.”
Stalactites fell continuously now. They stared at each other, neither one willing to back down. Somewhere, far below, something enormous and destructive moved beneath their feet, awakening, just a little, disturbed by what was happening above.
Typhon.
“You will not like what love will do to you,” Hades said as the floor trembled.
“It has already done more than you know.”
Hade's face softened, throwing Cerberus off guard. It wasn’t a look he’d seen before, especially one he’d never imagine being directed at him. Within the next instant, Hades’s face went stony and cold again even if the hate was gone. The change was enough to fill Cerberus with unease. There was comfort in knowing what to expect.
Cerberus wondered if his concerns were the same for Hades when it came to him. Expectations, on both their ends, had died like out-of-season flowers this last week.
The tension left Hades, and his shoulders fell. “I’m beginning to feel I’ve cursed you with this new body rather than give you a gift. I cursed both of us.”
Cerberus had thought the same thing before the celebration began. But now, with Cyane and all that had happened between them, even the bad parts...it was an experience they had shared with this body. It was something he wouldn’t trade for the world.
“No, my lord. This body hasn’t been direct, nor easy, but I wouldn’t go back to the creature I was before. I cherish all that you’ve done for me. Despite the confusion, despite the pain, despite the hunger.”
Hades scoffed. “And you show your thankfulness with betrayal.”
“Cyane was afraid of what you planned for her,” he gritted. “She swore fealty to me—to me! I could not let you destroy her, so I gave her my protection, as a god should. As all gods have to their mortal servants. I may not have been a god before her, but I am one now. Because of her.”
What softness between them evaporated as quickly as it had emerged. Hades’s face darkened. “And what about your oath of loyalty to me?”
“I wouldn’t let her be
used as a vessel for your children!” He settled his hand on the hilt of his xiphos sword.
“A vessel?” Hades cackled, his eyes growing bright with amusement. “You think I would lower myself to lay with a lowly mortal when I could have any female in my realm? No, she was supposed to be a gift! A gift of mercy!”
Part of the ceiling crashed down beside them, but neither looked towards the crumbling destruction ensuing around them.
Cerberus took a step towards Hades, burning with rage. “Lowly mortal? I’m done with these secrets. And what gift of mercy? You’ve slaughtered more in the last week than you have in millenia. What mercy do you have? Mercy of death? Mercy of servitude? Mercy of secrets and half-truths? Tell me!”
As Cerberus drew his sword, his hounds closed in on all sides, and raw power pumped through his veins. Tartarus, feeling the build of Cerberus’s power grow, shook the realm in anger.
Hades turned pensive for a moment before he lowered to a crouch like an animal. “A mercy of love.”
A flood of silently screaming, tormented ghosts appeared around them.
Melinoe’s stench filled the space between Cerberus and Hades, and their scowls snapped to the goddess who dared to invade a private conversation.
Melinoe’s eyes widened at the scene they presented, but she quickly fell to the dusty, stone-ridden ground to genuflect before Hades.
“What do you want?” Hades roared as he stood back up.
Cerberus dropped his sword back into its sheath but kept his hand tight around the handle.
“Speak before I banish you for a thousand years at Typhon’s side!” Hades snarled.
If Hades did not kill her, Cerberus surely would.
Melinoe’s head jerked up. “Cyane is gone.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
The goddess’s eyes flickered between Hades and Cerberus. “Don’t punish Cerberus for my offense,” she said, stunning them both.
Cerberus growled. Why was Melinoe taking this? Was it because he gave her what she wanted? Was a putrid goddess like her so easily pleased?
Hades flung his hands into the air. “I’m surrounded by liars.” He turned back to this throne and dropped into it. “And plagued by insanity! What have I done to deserve this?”
Melinoe stood. “I made a deal with Cyane in exchange for her freedom. Her end of the bargain was satisfied, so I let her go. Cerberus only sought to be loyal. Do not blame him for my mistake, please.”
“And what did you get out of it, dear daughter?”
“I know,” Melinoe said with a quick breath. “I know everything.”
Hades cupped his brow and massaged it with his fingers. “It wasn’t out of loyalty, Melinoe. It was to protect the mortal.”
Confusion marred the goddess’ face.
Hades turned back to Cerberus. “Protection?” Hades whispered, lowering his voice with warning. “You will be punished.”
The giant doors to the ballroom creaked, and the subtle smell of new flowers filtered through the air. Cerberus quickly moved to Hades’s left side and knelt. Melinoe fell back to the floor where she chose to remain off to the side, her palms before her, fingers outstretched.
Hades jumped from his throne and strode hurriedly toward the two women entering. He made it several steps before he came to a dead stop.
Persephone, in glorious sun-dappled yellow, once the Goddess of Flowers and now the Goddess of the Dead, shyly wrung her hands as she made her way towards Hades. Even from where Cerberus knelt, he saw his queen’s eyes rove over the destruction in the grand room. Curiosity and worry flitted over her face, as well as excitement, reserved for when her eyes landed back on Hades.
Innocence—the kind of innocence one gave their life for eagerly—radiated off his queen. Cerberus had never enjoyed more than contentment for a job well done as the celebration came to an end, but not this time. Jealousy seized him as he watched Hades and his stolen queen reunite.
His lord—now tense with excitement—grabbed Persephone and embraced her, burying his face into the hair bunched at her neck.
She pushed out of his arms, and looked at Cerberus. He stiffened wondering what his queen thought at that moment.
Usually, there was fan faire, flowers, and all the gods of the Underworld here for her return.
“My queen,” Hades said with adoration.
Persephone looked back at him. “What have you done?”
Suddenly, a burst of energy split the space, a power that did not belong so deep in Hades’s kingdom. Cerberus snarled, rising up. What now?
Hades grabbed Persephone and pulled her towards him, and Cerberus rushed to protect his lord and queen.
The scent of Hermes’s magic met his nose as Cerberus’s hounds rushed forward.
But every single one stopped as the God of Crossings appeared, for by his side was a sobbing, wet human that Cerberus knew all too well.
Persephone’s Abduction
Cyane fell to the ground with a retch. Traveling with Cerberus had never induced such intense vertigo. But with Hermes, her head whirled until she was releasing nothing but bile and spittle from her empty stomach.
Hermes stepped away with a sound of disgust.
She swallowed down another wave of nausea and wiped her mouth with her hand.
They were on a water bank, with reeds and brush all around. In the distance, there were walkways and bridges where only a few people hung around. Everything was overgrown and wild, but kept well, as if the proprietors cared a great deal to keep the integrity of the site intact. Cyane glanced up to see the sun rising in the sky. Morning.
Hermes leaned upon a nearby tree and fingered a strange plant. “The only place in the world where papyrus still grows wild,” he muttered, as if that had any relevance at all.
Cyane looked back towards the calm water directly before her.
Nothing happened.
She dipped her fingers into the water. It was cold.
Still nothing.
“Well?” Hermes said from behind her. “Was it worth it?”
She pulled her hand from the water and stood, turning full circle, feeling nothing but the morning chill on her arms. “Is this where you received the belt?”
Hermes pushed off the tree. “I don’t know. The geography has changed. Last time I was here, it was more of a meadow and less of a swamp, I think? Ciane’s pond was much smaller.”
Cyane peered out over the water; it went on far past her view. It was a small pond no more.
She rubbed her arms with her hands, suddenly uncertain.
Maybe I’m wrong. This place didn’t give her any feeling at all, not like those subtle ones she experienced in the Underworld, and nothing like the deep certainty Persephone had made her feel. It didn’t compare. There was nothing but emptiness.
“Well, mortal,” Hermes came to stand next to her, walking through the brush. “I’ve done my part.”
“You have,” she whispered.
She saw him glance at her out of the corner of her eye. “You’re not going to argue with me? How surprising.” His head tilted as he visibly checked her out.
“I thought…”
“You hoped,” he corrected.
“I hoped,” she repeated. The words hurt to say. She rasped them out anyway. “I hoped I’d understand. Finally understand.”
Hermes cupped the side of her face with one hand and turned her towards him. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. The kiss was soft and supple, and full of talent, as if he’d done it a thousand times, with a thousand different women, his every movement was poetry. His lips moved, his tongue dipped into her mouth to slide over her own stiff one. He tilted her head, and she let him, allowing him to deepen it.
She didn’t kiss him back.
He wasn’t Cerberus. He wasn’t her god. So, no matter how good it was, or how it felt, it only brought sorrow and numbness, and terrible longing. It did nothing but fill her thoughts with hounds, fangs, lashing tongues, and serpents.
/> She said a quick prayer to Cerberus in her head, begging him for forgiveness.
Hermes released her and pulled away. Their eyes met. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Goodbye, Cyane,” he said.
Then he vanished, as if he’d never been there at all.
Cyane fell to her knees with a cry.
Alone. Always alone. Always to lose everything she loved most. The tears fell harder, violently, uncontrollably. A pounding wave of them that wouldn’t stop. Pain filled her chest, tightening it. She dug her fingers into the grass and dirt. Her head fell upon her bent knees—the weight too much for her to stay upright. The beds of her nails filled with soil.
Wet, moist soil, that called to her. This didn’t feel like the call of the grave, but instead the call of a well-worn bed.
A feeling. Something. It was weaker than anything she’d known in the Underworld, imperceptible compared to the power of Persephone. Something felt right. Every inch she moved kindled a secret fire within her. A vague sense of belonging took her over—so different and strange—and she desperately reached out to latch on before it too could abandon her.
She found the strength to crawl to the waterline, pulling herself along until the cold waters enveloped her, easing her entrance. As she descended into the lake she perceived nothing. The water was neither warm nor cool. It felt like she was relinquishing her senses, one at a time.
The tears, so heavy now, sunk her to the bottom. As the water cradled her she felt at peace. She didn’t struggle as it filled her lungs. She curled her arms around her knees and waited as the light faded around her when a long-lost memory emerged.
Laughter, delight, and all nature’s purest and most beautiful scents and sounds assailed the air.
Ciane lay on the edge of a brook, her bare feet in the water, with her naiad sisters to one side of her and the Goddess of Spring on the other. Dressed in flowers, colored by her friend, Ciane lounged, gazing up at the blue sky and dappled clouds.
“What should I name this one?” Persephone plucked a new flower from the water’s edge. It was gray, for the goddess had yet to give it a color.