Radiant Darkness (16 page)

   But Melita is like a rock, stubborn and unmovable. She won't admit a thing.

My weaving is all snaggy this afternoon. Nothing is going right. I can't stop thinking about Arachne, and every time I see her fingers flailing around that little pea body, my yarn tangles.

   It's almost like the gods are weaving with sinew and heartbeats. A flick of the wrist, a pass of the shuttle, and a mortal life is changed forever.

   I stop to tug out a knot.

   Look at Zeus, king of the gods. A fine example he sets, deceiving pretty girls with his elaborate disguises. Seduction is just a game for him, and mortals, his playthings. I wonder what would happen if he actually made friends with a human, like I'm friends with Melita. I've heard her stories; I've imagined living her life. So, no sinew and heartbeats for me. The only thing I'm weaving is this bedspread.

   Again, my shuttle rows back and forth across the loom, jumbling spring blossoms with summer's ripe plums, nestling river reeds among mountain pansies, defying borders of place and time.

   Borders. Boundaries.

   You know, I think I understand how mortals feel, and not just from listening to Melita. After all, I spent most of my life with my mother. Talk about someone who needs to control things! I can practically hear her voice now: "Isn't it time you cleaned your room? That color is too light for your dark hair. Stand up straight—you look like a mollusk that strayed from its shell!"

   She had to snip and prune every little thing about me. Why couldn't she just let me be myself? Why couldn't she let me go?

   My hand stops again. This time, the strings I'm trying to untangle are all in my head:

   
A spider, eight fingers waving frantically at her sides;

   
The farmer planting his feet in that crowded room;

   
Shutters banging in the wind of my mother's anger
. . .

   The thoughts I'd tried to push away in the throne room start spinning into one thick thread, and then the thread is weaving its own hideous tapestry, lightning fast, before my unwilling eyes. I see crops withered to dust, and children with jutting ribs, and graves, hundreds and thousands of graves, and all because—

   A volcano of hot, ugly truth surges through my body.

   Because of me.

   
I'm
the reason people are dying.

   The shuttle drops from my hand. I feel so dizzy, I stagger, grabbing the loom so I won't fall.

   My mother is trying to force me back to Earth! That's why she's causing the drought, to make my choice simple. Either I find my way to the vale, or every single living thing shrivels and dies.

   How could I have been so blind? The truth has been staring me in the face, and I just squeezed my eyes shut because it was easier to pretend my mother didn't care. But she cares, all right. She cares that I've defied her, that I'm living my own life, becoming someone in spite of her. She cares about getting what she wants, which is showing me my place.

   My breath is so fast I can barely think. What makes her assume I can cross the Styx? Cerberus would tear me to bits, and the ravens would peck at my shredded flesh for the rest of eternity. And even if I could go back, I don't
want
to. I don't want to sleep in my skinny old bed, under my mother's watchful eye, that tight smile showing how much she relishes her return to power.

   Because that's what this is about: power. When Athena smashed her shuttle down on Arachne, she was saying the same thing: Y
ou think that body is yours to control? Think
again.

   Something starts to build in me. It rises up from the ground, through my feet, my legs, tightens in my arms, gathers in my lungs, until a single word bursts out and reverberates through the room so loud, the loom quivers.

   
"No!"

   This body
isn't
hers, it's mine! I have a home here, and my husband and—

   
My husband
. As soon as I think the words, panic gives way to a flutter of hope. I don't have to solve this! Hades, Lord of the Underworld, ruler of one third of all creation—if anyone is clever enough and strong enough to face my mother, it's him.

I race out the door and down the corridor.

In the throne room, the workrooms, the storage rooms— nothing. I grab one servant after another.
Have you seen
Hades?
Gone. I dash out the door, across the forecourt, over to the stables. The horses stand in their stalls nibbling oats. They feign ignorance. But one of the stalls is empty.

   I sprint outside and scan the horizon. He could be anywhere. I need someone to harness a horse—how hard can it be to ride on my own? Finally, I spot a stable hand and run over, but when I grab his arm, he shrinks back in fear. "No one but Himself rides the horses," he cries, quaking. "Not even you."

   Back to the palace. Still no Hades. I try to calm down. He'll be back this evening, I tell myself. It's not long now, only a few hours, and he'll know what to do. We can't let her kill any more people. Maybe Hades can cross to Earth, or at least send a message with Hermes, and when Zeus sees what's happening, he'll force my mother to make it rain. She'll have to accept my marriage, my new life.

   I tell the servants to fetch me the moment Hades returns. I go to our room to wait, but I can't sit still. I pace between the windows and the wall like a caged wildcat, back and forth so many times it should wear a path in the marble.

   A knock. I run to the door, fling it open—a servant. Hades has sent word not to wait up. He'll be very late. Do I want anything sent to my room? No, nothing.

   Hours later I stop pacing. I climb under the covers. I think I won't fall asleep. I think wrong.

It's morning when I wake. The bed beside me is still empty. But there's such a clamor and shouting outside, I jump up and fling open the shutters. Below my window and across the forecourt, shades are embracing, calling to each other, waving friends over to share news. I dash to the door and call, and a servant comes running. I ask her what's going on outside.

   "My lady, the latest arrivals have brought news. It's raining on Earth—buckets and buckets of rain!"

M
elita runs over and wraps me in a gigantic hug, twirling me around in her strong arms until my feet fly off the ground.

   "Did you hear?" Her eyes glow like the sun. "Did you hear? It's raining on Earth!"

   "Waterfalling! Practically cascading!"

   "You and your fancy words. Plain old rain is good enough for me."

   It seems the drought has lifted with a vengeance. Earth's skies are black with thunderclouds. Rain is pounding down so ferociously, the soil is like a sated sponge struggling to soak it all up. It's almost as if Zeus heard my thoughts yesterday, because it's obvious he talked to my mother and made her see reason.

   Last night I was frantic beyond words, but now I'm actually relieved Hades was out so late. I don't need to bother him after all. There's no need to make a scene. Everything's going to be fine.

   Melita raises her hands to the sky, beaming in gratitude. "Do you know what this means?" she says. "Green grass for the goats to eat, and plenty of vegetables to stock the larder, and people with enough money to buy cheese. And when my husband comes home, he'll find Philomena fat and happy!"

   I feel as light as Melita looks. There will be enough water for every child and animal and stalk of grass. Seeds will burst open, sending out greedy roots. Calves will nuzzle their mothers' sides. Tables will groan under platters of meat and olives and eggs and figs and bread. Now no one will have to suffer in my name.

   "Let's celebrate," I say. "This garden will welcome back her sisters on Earth. Are there berries yet? We'll have our own feast."

   "It's high time you ate something from the garden!" says Melita. "But the grapes are all gone, and the plums are still hard and green. No, this is the only thing that looks ripe enough."

   She stops in front of the pomegranate bush. The solitary fruit dangles like a big red ball, arcing its branch low. The spiky calyx stretches toward the earth, a chariot hanging from a glowing harvest moon.

   But when I walk closer, the round ball becomes lumpy. Solid red paint separates into crimson dots stippled on a yellow base.

   How could I have thought, even for a second, that it was all even and perfect and simple? Nothing ever is. Like my life, for instance. I remember when Melita said she saw the queen—saw me—and all she noticed was a purple gown. That's what mortals can make out, from far away, a perfect being clad in priceless garments. But approach the throne and you can hear my breath. Yes, I'm actually breathing. Come close enough to look in my heart: what a rough, uneven place that is these days.

   I reach up to test the pomegranate's heft, but the spiky calyx jabs into my palm. I spread my fingers wide so the little crown slips through, and then I lift carefully. That's as close to cradling as it will let me get.

   My fingers tighten around its curves. I want to pluck the fruit and see what's under that tough hide, but something tells me it has to guard its secrets until they're sweet enough to emerge.

   "I bet it's supposed to be heavier," I say, letting go. "Maybe it will fall off by itself when it's ready."

   "Then let's pick some flowers and weave them into crowns for our hair," says Melita.

   Bright orange crocuses, delicate white daisies—we slip stem into slotted stem as the fountain sings of the glories, the wonders, of rain.

I
stretch out in the curved red tub, luxuriating as warm water caresses my skin. Every drop feels delicious today, and I stay in longer than usual, dunking my head under again and again. When I come out, I'm anointed with oils smelling of just-opened flowers, and my skin glows, reflecting the light. When it's time to choose a chiton, I point to one I've never worn before: a bright blue with waves cresting along the hem. No sun-hot rubies for me today; I want all my jewelry to be lapis, as shining as lakes, as bounteous as rivers. Necklaces, earrings, brooches—I sparkle blue all over.

   Hades strides in to see if I'm ready. I shoo out the servant girls and hold out my wrists for him to fasten the bracelet clasps. Then I throw my clattering arms around his neck and smile up at him.

   "Isn't it wonderful?" I say. "It's finally raining!"

   He gives me a small, strained smile, followed by a perfunctory peck on the lips. Then he walks to the window and gazes down. I join him, following his eyes to my garden, spreading rich and luxuriant. Every week there's a larger swath of green holding sway against the brown scrub grass.

   "Soon Earth will look like that again," I say.

   He's silent. I glance over and his lips are set, almost petulant—an expression I've never seen on him before.

   "Come," he says. "We're late for the throne room."

   We walk toward the door and it swings open by itself; it's a trick he has.

   As we head down the hall, I chatter on eagerly. "I can hardly wait for greetings today! I'm going to ask the shades what it's like, with the rain. Maybe Earth is already green. Everything's going to be better now! Too many people were coming here too early."

   "And why, pray tell, is that a problem?" His voice is hard, joyless.

   His words shock me to the bone and I stop, stunned. Hades keeps walking.

   By the time I catch up, we're in front of the throne room doors. Before I can ask if I heard him right, the doors open and he takes my arm, leading me in.

For such a celebratory day, the crowd is oddly silent. Shades stand shoulder to shoulder, pinched for space in spite of the chamber's size. When we take our seats, there's barely room for them to bow.

   Hades gives the welcoming speech by himself. I have to wave him on when he turns to me, because I'm too confused. What did he mean back in the hall? Doesn't he want the suffering to stop?