Destroyer of Light (9 page)

She felt something building within him, powerfully singular, focused and strong.
His peak is approaching
, she thought briefly.
Oh gods, I can feel it…
She could feel her own climax growing closer. His was so similar to hers but lacked the anticipatory strain, the contracting waves she felt rolling inside. Persephone knew from his untempered voice that Aidon could feel her spasms starting in earnest. She felt her pleasure sharpen powerfully, tinged for the first time by his approach, burning white hot. Fire rose from their joined cores, through their hearts, their throats, their minds overtaken by the sensation building higher and higher. She wondered, they wondered together, if this was what it always felt like for their mate.

And then everything shattered— gone in a radiant burst as brilliant as the birth of the cosmos. Mingled with the rapturous song torn in unison from their throats, they could hear the women’s voices ululating as though it were a wedding, a death, a rebirth, an anointing—

The coronation of a Queen.

Persephone collapsed against his shoulder, almost sliding off of him against frictionless perspiration, his skin burning, his muscles taut and holding her to him. Aidon’s fingertips had left a radial of quickly fading bruises on her hips. His arms came up and glided over her back to support her. They heard the joyful noises of their kingdom die down and fade back into whispers.

Thea… Metra… Pater… Anax… Annessa… Theos…

She wondered if he had heard that strange celebratory cry every time he was with her. If, in their occasional haste, when he hadn’t time to remove his rings…

“No,” Aidoneus finally breathed, hoarsely answering her very thoughts. “That’s never happened before. Just the usual whispers, if that. At least, I’m almost certain. I’m usually… distracted,” he chortled.

“The rite you and Hecate speak of…” she struggled to speak, still overwhelmed, her tongue thick in her mouth. “Was that it?”

“I don’t think so,” he said between labored breaths. Aidon allowed the maelstrom of his thoughts to collect again. “No, it wasn’t. The
hieros gamos
is performed deliberately, steeped in ceremony. There was none such tonight.”

She carefully lifted herself from him, and they each felt a momentary pang of longing as he slipped from her. They both needed to breathe, needed to collapse beside one another.

We’re gods. We need no ceremony
.
To whom would we swear ourselves?

Persephone remembered him saying those words a month ago. “Ceremony…”

“I want that for us,” he whispered. “I want to wed you in the sight of all.”

“Gods have none to swear by…”

“I don’t care. We’ll swear by the Fates. We’ll swear by the cosmos itself. And I want more than that— so much more…” He swept her hair away from her face. “I want to perform the Rite with you, Persephone. I want to bind us as one…”

“On the full moon?” She said, gleaning from his thoughts what little he knew of it. “That’s nearly here. Tomorrow. We’ll never learn it in time. And I still must go…”

“Not tomorrow. The very next one we’re together…”

“I am no one’s acolyte, and never was. I know nothing. To fulfill my role—” She reached for him in the dark, the fire playing against his skin.

“I will guide you. As your consort, I will learn… and I will guide you. It is one of the last things Hecate has left to teach me. I will go to her while you are in the world above. I want to seal myself to you.”

Persephone ran a hand over his forehead, playing with one of his wayward curls, feeling affection and a hint of impatience course through him. She didn’t need to hear him ask, and she gave no answer. Persephone reached for Aidoneus as he moved over her, then within her. She wanted the same thing he sought— to spend the rest of the night exploring this new connection, this newfound pleasure, for as long as their intertwining bodies would allow.

The day before the full moon,
the Telesterion opened its doors to all the people of Eleusis. Those who had patiently waited for their womenfolk to bring back food each day could now bask in the warmth and sustenance provided by the Corn Mother.

The gardens outside yielded enough, but the steady flow of new arrivals had not wavered, and the stores were wearing thin. Demeter contemplated the idea of extending fertility to Athens’ fields, enough to feed the people traveling in on the sea road. She clenched her jaw. The patroness of that city had betrayed her: Athena had all but handed Kore over to the Lord of the Dead to curry favor with her father. It would do the supposed Goddess of Wisdom no good. Demeter knew from bitter experience that Zeus cared nothing for his offspring. Athens would go hungry. Its temples would stand empty. Let its people come to her instead.

Eumolpus and Diocles stood below on the first step of the dais, one holding a bundle of wheat, the other a sickle. They watched over the men, women and children filing silently forward, each placing a sheaf of millet or barley on the steps, muttering their blessings with eyes averted. Cups of
kykeon
were passed to the congregants as they took their seats.

Triptolemus stepped forward from his place next to the Queen of the Earth, glancing back at veiled Demeter, who smiled at him from beneath the linen. The hall was silent as he picked up a single sheaf of wheat and raised a short iron knife. He split a single grain from the end and held it up.

“A single corn, reaped in silence, for the Maiden’s return from the halls of the Unseen One.”

The room stayed silent, watching. He placed the grain into a kylix of olive oil. Taking a red-hot coal with iron tongs from a brazier, he set it aflame, holding the offering above his head.

“For the Maiden’s return!” he said louder as it blazed brightly and produced a plume of dark smoke.

“For the Maiden’s return,” the room echoed as one, raising their cups.

“To the end of winter!” he said as the flames calmed.

“To the end of winter,” they repeated and drank the barley mead.

On their last word, Demeter sat up straight. A distant rumble rolled across the hills outside and echoed through the temple. No one else had heard it through the din.

Once the offering dwindled into a thin wisp of dark smoke, Triptolemus handed the empty kylix to Diocles and spoke to the assembly. “Our holy Mother revealed to me that I am to teach her Mysteries and wisdom to the world, to spread her worship and knowledge far and wide once her daughter is safely returned so that no man—” Thunder rolled again, stronger this time. He paused, feeling the Telesterion vibrate. “…So that no man or woman, slave or freeborn, will ever go hungry again.”

Demeter’s breath quickened.
He wouldn’t come here… He wouldn’t dare…

A bolt struck the frozen oak tree outside, splitting the solid wood with a deafening crack. The congregants startled, their cries and shrieks multiplying when they heard the groan and crash of an ancient branch falling to the ground. Another blinding flash of light framed the doors at the back of the hall. The hanging censers shook and rattled on their chains. Demophon started to cry. Metaneira gathered him in her arms and took him from the room with Celeus close behind her, their shoes clacking against the stone floor.

A nervous murmur spread through the chamber. In the second row, a rust-haired boy pressed his hands over his ears. A gaunt woman huddled closer to her husband. Demeter watched the Eleusinians shift about, turning and whispering to each other. Everyone could feel the electric prickle in the air, arcing across wool and skin and separating hair.

Triptolemus swallowed and started again, trying to stand as tall as he could to reassure and quiet them. “Sh-she has given to me her char—”

The doors flew open, each side slamming against the wall. The little veiled girl with the
koudounia
ran behind a column and dropped her copper bells. Wind whistled through the rafters, sending a drift of snow into the hall. The fires in the braziers stuttered and nearly extinguished. The posted guards ran inside, taking refuge from the sudden storm. At the back, several congregants strained to push the doors shut, leaning hard against the great entry to close it, then hoisted a heavy wood beam to bar it against the gale. No one paid any attention to the figure that had strolled in amidst the cacophony.

No one but Demeter.

The wind outside ceased and the room fell utterly silent. She stood and pulled her veil back from her face. Those in the audience averted their eyes from the face of the Mother and instead turned their cloaked heads to follow her gaze. A broad shouldered man stood in front of the sealed doors dressed in the same indigo as Demeter’s other petitioners. But his feet were sandaled, in stark contrast with everyone else, who wore leather wrapped in linen and wool up to their knees to keep their toes from falling off in the snow. His face was stern, and all in the Telesterion stared at him in curious wonder.

“I come to speak with your Queen of the Earth.”

He brushed the hood from his head and took a step forward. The man produced a bundle of wheat in one hand and a bundle of barley in the other. Offerings. He slowly dropped to one knee and knelt with arms extended, as her petitioners often did.

Demeter slitted her eyes and tilted her chin up before she spoke. “You are not welcome here, Loud-Thunderer.”

Gasps went up in the crowd. A single name was on every tongue. Zeus.

He arose and took another step forward. The crowd flinched back as a single mass, eyes darting from the Sky Father to the Earth Mother, unsure what to do. No one was foolish enough to place themselves in the middle of a confrontation between the two immortals. A few began to slowly move toward the exits, and then others followed carefully, all the while murmuring to one another. Then they hurried their steps, quietly opening the heavy doors and filing out into the cold, giving the King of the Gods a wide berth.

Zeus turned to watch them go, pausing on the rounded flare of a brunette maiden’s hips and imagining all the things he could do to her once this winter was over and she got a little more meat on her bones. His fingers itched, clutching at the bundles of grain. The two priests were the last to go, their himations drawn over their heads. Zeus casually watched them leave, then willed the doors to slam shut behind them.

“Come to chastise me? Plead with me as your wife’s handmaiden Iris did?”

“Neither, my lady.”

Demeter stood cold as stone, except for a finger brushing against Triptolemus’s hand.

That single touch made Zeus boil on the inside. He could hear the boy’s heart thundering in his chest the closer he got to the dais. With a slow cast of each hand, he spread the offerings of grain at Demeter’s feet, as though he were a mortal supplicant. Zeus spoke low. “Your pet may go.”

Triptolemus puffed his chest up, then reflected on who stood before them, swallowed, and dipped his head. “Your grace, I am here
only
by my lady’s leave.”

He smirked at this young hero’s bravery, then looked him up and down. “I can see that you are
deathless
now.”

Triptolemus nodded.

“Congratulations to you, boy!” he said loudly, smiling with white teeth, his eyes speaking a different story. Triptolemus imagined this was how a wolf must look at a cornered hind before it lunged. “It’s been a little while since we elevated one of your kind to our ranks. I believe the last one was my cupbearer… about five hundred years ago, or so. I brought him to Olympus, even. Deme, what was his name, again?”

“Ganymede,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Nice boy, Ganymede… served me well. Isn’t that right, Deme? Still does, sometimes. Much like how your
catamite
serves you.”

Triptolemus clenched his fists and ground his teeth at the insult. His fingertips danced along the hilt of the knife he’d used to cut into the blade of wheat. If this were any man other than the King of the Gods, he would have used its point to open his throat.

“Typhoeus was deathless too, and about the size of a mountain. They sing songs about what I did to him.” He watched Triptolemus— how he hated the very
sound
of that name— take a step up the dais, retreating toward his mistress. Zeus tried to banish the creeping images of him putting his filthy, calloused, mortal-born hands on Demeter—
his
Demeter. He quelled them, at least enough to resist the temptation to strike down her young lover where he stood. That wouldn’t help his cause at all. “Ask your lady what happened to the last deathless one that defied me. Or perhaps I can show you myself. Prometheus has been lonely too long— has only an eagle tearing at his liver each day for companionship. He may need some company…”

The Eleusinian prince shuddered and looked to Demeter. She nodded to him and squeezed his hand. “I’ll be alright,” she whispered, then leaned up to kiss him. “Go.”

Triptolemus cautiously crept down the dais. Zeus could still hear his heart drumming in his chest; see the cold sweat beaded on his brow. He feigned a lunge toward the youth, eyes wide and intense. Triptolemus flinched back, then quickened his retreat. The King of the Gods chuckled after the greenhouse door slammed shut.

Demeter sat back down on her throne. “How dare you threaten him?”

He shook his head and guffawed. “I suppose we all need our amusements. Don’t we, my heart?”

Her nostrils flared and she stared at him, shocked. “How— You have no right
whatsoever
to call me that!”

“And why not, Deme? I remember when you loved that name.”

“That was aeons ago. You lost that right,” she said, stiffening. “You will address me formally, or not at all!”

“As you wish. Demeter Anesidora, the Bringer of Many Gifts, the Cerulean Queen, Holy Daughter of Great Mother Rhea and Goddess of the Harvest, then?” he said, sky blue eyes sparkling. Zeus drew in a long breath. “Will that suffice?”

“The Eleusinians call me Queen of the Earth,” she said, quietly.

“The Moirai might have something to say about that… but if you insist.”

“When have you
ever
cared for what they say?”

“Oh, I care a great deal. If not for the Fates, I wouldn’t have claimed Olympus.”

If not for my choosing you
, she thought. “What did you come here to say, Zeus?”

“What would you have me say?” he crooned.

She flushed. “Stop that.”

“What?” he said softly.

“Stop it! Just stop it!” she said slamming a fist on the arm of her throne. “I’m not the blushing, naïve girl you knew me to be! And I refuse to get drawn into this… this
nonsense
with you! Say what you came here to say, then leave the way you came.”

He smiled at her and seated himself in the first row, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his widely parted knees. “Do you know why I fell in love with you, Demeter?”

“The same reason you’ve
fallen in love
with every other woman. For the heat between her thighs.”

“Hardly,” he said folding his hands. He smiled lightly and she swallowed, remembering that look. “It was your passionate stubbornness that won me over. You were a fighter. You refused to give in to anything. Most of all me.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Scoff at me all you want, Deme. I had eyes for no other in the early days. You know that.”

“You’ve had eyes for everyone else since… and you were chasing Metis almost as soon as you rose from my bed.”

His smile disappeared. “But I
loved
you. You know I did, my heart.”

“I said don’t call me—”

“If you had shown
half
the resolve during the war as you have over
this
,” he interrupted, looking around, “I would call you that still.”

Her face fell.

“It’s hurting my neck looking up at you, Deme.” He ran his hand through the hair at the base of his skull for effect. “Fates, woman, your throne is set high! Why don’t you come down here so I can speak with you?”

Demeter drew back and gripped the armrests.

“I’m not going to try anything with you,” he said with a reverent smile. “I respect you too much for that.”

Respect? Her daughter was passed off to the God of the Dead like chattel and he dared talk about respect? She roiled with anger and looked away so he couldn’t see it. “You must be joking.”

“I only wish to talk with you… see if we can come to some sort of accord.”

“You mean you want
me
to give in and submit to—”

“I never said that, Deme. I want us to
discuss
— to come to an agreement that leaves all of us satisfied,” he said. Zeus reached across the aisle and patted the seat across from him. “Come speak with me, my lady.”

Demeter didn’t move, her mouth a line, looking down at him. His playful eyes belied his serious intent, his relaxed demeanor that of a prowling lion. His essence was wrapped in the same contradictions that had left her guessing in the early days when he had loved her— ones that made him so delectably unpredictable and made her feel alive. Looking up at her now, his expression was set with the loving reverence that had captured her heart the moment she first blinked in the sunlight and saw Zeus as he gently carried her away from Othrys.