by Rick Riordan
The guards hesitated.
Triptolemus frowned at his mother, then at the old woman. He was smart enough to realize something wasn’t right here. The baby was crying, but otherwise he seemed fine. He didn’t look burned. The blanket wasn’t even singed. The old woman looked more exasperated than guilty or scared.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked their guest.
“The meaning,” growled Demeter, “is that your mother just ruined things for the baby.”
The old woman began to glow. Her disguise burned away and she stood before them as a golden-haired goddess, her robes shimmering with green light, her scythe sword glinting at her side.
The guards dropped their weapons and retreated. Maybe they’d heard the story of Eric.
The queen gasped. As a pious woman, she knew how to spot her gods. “Demeter!”
“Yes,” said the goddess. “I was trying to do you a favor, you silly woman. A few more hours in the fire, and your baby boy would have been immortal! He would’ve grown into a fine young god and brought you eternal honor. Now you’ve ruined the magic. He will simply be human—a great hero, yes, strong and tall, but doomed to a mortal life. He will only be Demophoon, when he could have been Fully Phoon! Phoon the Great!”
Metaneira gulped. She wasn’t sure if she should apologize, or thank the goddess, or what. She was so relieved to have her baby back safely, unburned and without hairy pits, that she didn’t really care whether he was immortal. A great hero sounded good enough for her. Still, she didn’t think she should say that to the goddess.
“I—I should have trusted you,” Metaneira murmured. “Please, great Demeter, punish me for my lack of faith, but do not harm my family.”
Demeter waved her comment aside. “Don’t be silly. I won’t punish you. I’m just annoyed. You’ve been helpful in my search, and—”
“Oh!” Triptolemus raised his hand like he had a burning question.
“Yes?” Demeter asked.
“That reminds me,” Triptolemus said. “One of my riders just returned with news.”
“About my daughter?” Demeter completely forgot her annoyance and grabbed the prince’s shoulders. “Have you found her?”
Triptolemus wasn’t used to being shaken by an immortal goddess, but he tried to keep his cool. “Uh, not exactly, my lady. However, the rider says he met someone who met someone who met a guy in a tavern far to the east. This guy claimed he was the Titan of the sun, Helios. He was trying to impress the women with his stories, apparently.”
Demeter narrowed her eyes. “Flirting with random women in a tavern? That sounds like Helios. Well, it sounds like most of the gods, actually. What did he say?”
“Apparently he was telling a story about your daughter Persephone. He claimed that he saw the abduction and he knew who did it. But, er, he didn’t name the culprit.”
“Of course!” Demeter got so excited that grass started to sprout on Triptolemus’s shirt. “Oh, sorry…but this is excellent news! I should’ve thought to visit Helios sooner. He sees everything!”
She kissed Triptolemus on the cheek. “Thank you, my dear boy. I will not forget your help. Once I reclaim my daughter, I will reward you handsomely.”
Triptolemus tried to smile but failed. He was worried Demeter was going to make him sleep in a burning fireplace. “That’s okay. Really.”
“No, I insist. But now I must fly!”
Demeter turned into a turtledove, which was one of her sacred birds, and flew out the window, leaving behind the very confused royal family of Eleusis.
Helios knew he was in trouble as soon as Demeter burst into his throne room. The sun Titan always liked to relax in the last hours of the night, before he had to saddle his fiery horses and get to work.
He was kicking back, thinking about all the crazy stuff he’d seen during his ride the day before. He really should write a book. Then suddenly, the bronze doors of his audience chamber flew open, and Demeter rode her dragon-drawn chariot right up the steps of his throne. The dragons snarled and bared their fangs, drooling all over Helios’s golden shoes.
“Uh, hi?” he said nervously.
“Where is my daughter?” Demeter’s voice was calm and deadly serious.
Helios winced. He didn’t want to get involved in godly disagreements. They didn’t pay him enough for that. But he decided that right now was not the time to withhold information.
“Hades took her,” he said. He told her everything he’d seen.
Demeter held back a scream. She didn’t want to cause another popcorn epidemic. But Hades? Of all the disgusting, horrible male gods who might have taken her precious daughter, Hades was the most disgusting and horrible of all.
“And why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Her voice was as sharp as her scythe.
“Well, um—”
“Never mind!” she snapped. “I’ll deal with you later. When Zeus hears how Hades has dishonored our daughter, he’ll be furious!”
She rode out of the sun palace and made straight for Mount Olympus.
As you can guess, her conversation with Zeus didn’t go quite the way she planned. She marched into the throne room and yelled, “Zeus! You won’t believe what happened.”
She told him the whole story and demanded he do something.
Strangely, Zeus did not seem furious. He wouldn’t meet Demeter’s eyes. He kept picking at the end of his lightning bolt. Sweat trickled down the side of his face.
A cold feeling came over Demeter—a kind of anger that was much deeper than anything she’d felt before.
“Zeus, what did you do?”
“Well…” Zeus shrugged sheepishly. “Hades might have mentioned that he wanted to marry Persephone.”
Demeter’s fingernails dug into her palms until her hands were dripping golden ichor. “And?”
“And it’s a good match! Hades is powerful. He’s handsome…or, um, well, he’s powerful.”
“I want my daughter back,” Demeter said. “NOW.”
Zeus squirmed on his throne. “Look, babe—”
“Do NOT call me babe.”
“I can’t go back on my word. It’s done. She’s down in the Underworld. They’re married. End of story.”
“No,” Demeter said. “Not the end of the story. Until I have my daughter back, nothing will grow on the earth. Crops will die. People will starve. Every single living creature will share my pain until you do the right thing and return Persephone!”
Demeter thundered out of the room. (Thundering was usually Zeus’s job, but she was beyond mad.) She went back to Eleusis, the one kingdom where people had helped her. She allowed the crops there to continue growing, but on the rest of the earth, everything withered and died just as she’d threatened.
Zeus told himself, She’s just throwing a tantrum. Give her a few days and she’ll get over it.
Weeks passed. Then months. Humans starved by the thousands. And when humans starved, they couldn’t make burnt offerings to the gods. They couldn’t build new temples. All they could do was cry out in agony, praying to the gods twenty-four/seven, Help us! We’re starving! Which gave Zeus a huge headache.
Also, the gods were reduced to eating ambrosia and nectar, which got old quickly. Without grain, they couldn’t have any bread or those awesome fresh-baked brownies that Hera sometimes made.
Finally Zeus relented. He summoned his main messenger, a god named Hermes, and said, “Hey, Hermes, go down to the Underworld. Tell Hades he’s got to send Persephone back right away or we’ll never have any peace—or brownies.”
“On it, boss.” Hermes zoomed down to the Underworld.
Meanwhile, Persephone had been in the palace of Hades this whole time, and she was learning the hard way that the world did not revolve around her.
No matter how many times she stamped her feet, held her breath, or screamed for
her mother, she couldn’t get what she wanted.
She threw some epic tantrums. She tore up her bed (which made it hard to sleep); she kicked the walls (which hurt her foot); and when Hades’s ghostly servants brought her meals, she smashed the plates and refused to eat anything, even though she was starving.
The “not eating” thing was important. See, in Greek times, eating food in another person’s house was like signing a contract. It meant you accepted your place as their guest. They had to treat you properly, but you also had to behave properly. Basically, it meant you and your host were on friendly terms.
Persephone didn’t want to sign that contract. Not at all.
The first few days, she refused to leave her room. Hades didn’t force her to, though he tried to talk to her a few times.
“Look,” he said, “your dad agreed to the marriage. I’m sorry about the whole kidnapping thing—which by the way was his idea—but honestly, I love you. You’re amazing and beautiful and I promise—”
“Get out!” She threw whatever she could grab—which happened to be a pillow. The pillow bounced off Hades’s chest.
Hades looked sad and left her alone.
Around the fourth day, Persephone got bored and left her room. No one stopped her. She quickly realized why. Outside of the king’s palace, there was no place to go. She was stuck in the Underworld, with nothing in any direction except gray gloomy plains filled with dead people, and no sky above except dark mist.
Even if she ran away from the palace, she didn’t want to walk through those fields full of dead souls, and she had no idea how to get back to the upper world.
The most infuriating thing? Hades refused to get mad at her, no matter how many plates she smashed or sheets she tore up, or how many horrible names she called him—though honestly she didn’t know that many insults. She’d lived a happy, sheltered life, and calling Hades Stupid Head didn’t quite seem forceful enough.
Hades took her abuse and told her he was sorry that she was angry.
“I do love you,” he promised. “You are the brightest thing in the entire Underworld. With you here, I will never miss the sunlight again. You are warmer than the sun by far.”
“You’re a stupid head!” she screamed.
After he left, she realized that what he’d said was sort of sweet—but only in a creepy, pathetic way, of course.
The days passed. The more Persephone wandered through the palace, the more amazed she became. The mansion was huge. Hades had entire rooms made of gold and silver. Every day, his servants set out new bouquets of flowers made from precious jewels: a dozen ruby roses on diamond stems, platinum and gold sunflowers with emerald-studded leaves. Even on Mount Olympus, Persephone had never seen such dazzling wealth.
She started to realize that as creepy and horrible as Hades was, he had tremendous power. He controlled thousands of souls. He commanded horrifying monsters and creatures of the darkness. He had access to all the wealth under the earth, making him the richest god in the world. No matter what Persephone destroyed, he could instantly replace it with something even better.
Still, she hated the place. Of course she did! She missed the sun and the meadows and the fresh flowers. The Underworld was so clammy she could never get warm. The constant gloom gave her a serious case of seasonal affective disorder.
Then one day she stumbled across Hades’s throne room. He was sitting at the far end, on a throne sculpted from thousands of bones, talking to a shimmering ghost. Persephone guessed it was a soul newly arrived from the mortal world, as it seemed to giving Hades the latest news.
“Thank you,” Hades told the spirit. “But I will never give in! I don’t care how many mortals die!”
Persephone marched up to the dais. “What are you talking about, you horrible person? Who are you killing now?”
Hades looked stunned. He waved at the ghost and it disappeared.
“I—I don’t want to tell you,” Hades said. “It would bring you pain.”
Which only made her want to know more. “What’s going on?”
Hades took a deep breath. “Your mother is angry. She knows now that I took you for my wife.”
“Ha!” Persephone’s heart soared. “Oh, you’re in so much trouble. She’s on her way down here right now with an army of angry nymphs and grain spirits, isn’t she?”
“No,” Hades said.
Persephone blinked. “No?”
“She will not cross into the Underworld,” Hades said. “She hates it here. She hates me.”
“Of course she does!” Persephone said, though she was a little disappointed. She’d been counting on her mom to rescue her. Surely Demeter would come get her personally, whether or not she hated the Underworld. “But…I’m confused. What were you saying about mortals dying?”
Hades grimaced. “Your mother is trying to force Zeus into getting you back. Demeter is starving the entire world, letting thousands of people die until you are returned to her.”
Persephone almost fell over. Her mother was doing what?
Demeter had always been so gentle and kind. Persephone couldn’t imagine her mom letting a corn plant die, much less thousands of people. But something told her that Hades wasn’t lying.
Persephone’s eyes stung. She wasn’t sure if she was sad or angry or just sick to her stomach. Thousands of mortals were dying because of her?
“You must return me,” Persephone said. “Immediately.”
Hades clenched his jaw. For the first time he didn’t look mopey or weak. He met her gaze. His dark eyes flared with purple fire.
“You are my very existence now,” Hades said. “You are more precious to me than all the jewels under the earth. I’m sorry you do not love me, but I will be a good husband to you. I’ll do everything I can to make you happy. I will not return you. If I must, I will counter Demeter’s attack. I will open the gates of the Underworld and let the dead flood back into the world rather than release you!”
Persephone didn’t know what to do with that information. Her heart felt like it was compressing into a tiny jewel, as bright and hard as a diamond.
She turned and fled. She ran down a corridor she’d never explored before, opened a doorway, and stepped out into…a garden.
She couldn’t breathe. It was the most incredible place she had ever seen. Ghostly warm lights floated overhead—perhaps the souls of particularly sunny dead people? She wasn’t sure, but the garden was warmer and brighter than anywhere else in the Underworld. Beautiful subterranean flowers glowed in the dark. Orchards of carefully pruned trees bore sweet-smelling blooms and neon-bright fruit.
The paths were sculpted with rubies and topaz. White birch trees soared into the air like frozen ghosts. A brook wended through the middle of the garden. On a nearby table sat a silver tray with a frosted decanter of nectar, along with Persephone’s favorite cookies and fresh fruits.
She couldn’t understand what she was seeing. All the flowers and trees she loved best from the upper world were here in this garden, somehow blooming and flourishing in the darkness.
“What…?” She couldn’t form a sentence. “How—”
“Do you like it?” Hades spoke just behind her. He’d followed her outside, and for once his voice didn’t make her cringe.
She turned and saw a tiny smile on his face. He didn’t look so horrible when he smiled.
“You—you did this for me?”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry it wasn’t ready sooner. I gathered the best gardeners in the Underworld. Askalaphos! Where are you?”
A thin young man appeared from the bushes. He had gardening shears in his hand. He was obviously one of the dead, judging from his papery skin and the yellowish tinge in his eyes, but he managed a smile. He somehow looked more alert than the other zombies Persephone had met.
“Just pruning the roses, my lord,” said Askalaphos. “My
lady, a pleasure to meet you.”
Persephone knew she should say something, like hello, but she was too stunned.
Just then a winged gargoyle flew into the garden. It whispered something in Hades’s ear, and the god’s face grew stern. “A visitor,” he said. “Excuse me, my dear.”
When he was gone, Askalaphos gestured to the patio table. “My lady, would you like something to eat?”
“No,” Persephone said automatically. Despite everything, she knew she shouldn’t accept the hospitality of a god who had kidnapped her.
“Suit yourself,” said the gardener. “I just picked these ripe pomegranates, though. They’re amazing.”
He pulled one from his coveralls and set it on the table, then cut the fruit into three parts with his knife. Hundreds of juicy purple-red seeds glistened inside.
Now personally, I’m not a big pomegranate fan, but Persephone loved them. They reminded her of her happiest moments aboveground, frolicking in the meadows with her nymph friends.
She looked at the luscious fruit, and her stomach howled in protest. It had been days since she’d eaten anything. She was immortal, so she couldn’t die; but she felt like she was starving.
A little bite won’t hurt, she told herself.
She sat down, put one seed in her mouth, and couldn’t believe how good it tasted. Before she knew it, she had eaten a third of the fruit. She probably would’ve eaten more if Hades hadn’t returned with his visitor—the god Hermes.
“My love!” Hades called, and his voice sounded like he’d been weeping.
Persephone shot to her feet. She hid her sticky purple fingers behind her and hoped she didn’t have juice running down her chin. “Mmm-hmm?” she mumbled, working a few half-chewed seeds around in her mouth.
“This is Hermes.” Hades’s face looked broken with despair. “He—he has come to take you back.”
Persephone swallowed. “But…you said—”
“Zeus commands it.” Hades sounded so sad that Persephone forgot this was good news. “I would gladly fight any god for your sake, but even I cannot fight against the entire Olympian council. I am…I am forced to give you up.”