Radiant Darkness (19 page)

   "You'll never see me again," says Hades.

   "And you won't even save mankind. Demeter has found her weapon."

   "She'll scorch the land whenever she wants her way."

   "You're giving up everything for nothing."

   "If you go, you won't come back."

There's a pause.

"Just so we're clear on that," says Hermes.

   They're both staring at me, waiting. One for me to go, the other for me to stay.

   In the silence, the pomegranate warms my hand. It tells me I know what I have to do. But that doesn't make it easy.

   I look into Hades' eyes. "I'll take my chances," I say. "I'm going."

   I hold out the ripe, round fruit. "I grew this with my friend, a shade. I promised to rescue her daughter. To save her, and Earth, I have to go. Even if Zeus didn't command it, I'd go."

   Hades stares at the pomegranate as if seeing it for the first time, his eyes opening wide.

   "Maybe you're right and this will cost me everything," I say. "Maybe I won't be able to come back here. But then at least you'll know what it's like for mortals, losing what they love."

   Losing it forever.

   My voice rises and I brandish the red orb in front of his face. "Maybe then you'll think about balance for a change! Yes, I'm going. Don't you see? That's why you'll still have a realm to rule."

   Hades listens, thinking.

   I don't know whether to shout or cry.

   "You've been a glutton for power!" I say. "You kept the

truth from me! You've been thoughtless and selfish and—"

My hand, with its burden, comes to rest on his chest.

"And I love you. I still love you."

   I love him so deep down it shakes me, and being angry doesn't change that one bit.

Suddenly, Hades tenses. His eyes dart to the window where Hermes leans, adjusting the wings on his sandals.

   "All right. So you're going," says Hades.

   Hermes and I both stare in disbelief. Hades is giving in.

   "Hermes," he says. "Before this day we were friends. In the name of that friendship, give me a last few moments alone with my wife."

   Hermes realizes he's won, and his face relaxes.

   "Zeus said not to let Persephone out of my sight." He shifts from foot to foot. "This isn't easy for me, either, you know. Still . . ." He runs his fingers through his hair, thinking. "I guess it's enough if we're in the same room."

   He turns his back to us and stares resolutely out the window. "This is the best I can do for your private farewell," he says, and starts humming loudly to create a few moments of privacy.

   Hades looks back at me, eager. For a last kiss? He leans in so close our mouths almost touch. Then he says softly, his breath warm in my ear, "Let's share it, then. Your pomegranate."

"Now?"

   "Now. As a token of the love that will bind us, even when you're on Earth."

   So hushed, so intimate. My anger fades. The only thing I feel is what I risk losing.

   I start tugging at the little red crown and one of the spikes breaks off in my hand, a miniature cat's ear. An acrid smell rises, green fresh and red sweet at the same time. The next spike comes off and a fragment of rind. Soon the whole crown is gone, but all I've done is reveal a jagged patch of yellowish pith. I still can't open the fruit.

   Maybe it wasn't ready after all. Maybe it fell off too soon.

   I pull off another chunk and another, and now all my easy fingerholds are gone. Still the fruit sits there, encased, secretive. Only one tantalizing, shiny spot peers up at me from the pith, a little dark eye.

   Hades' breath has been coming faster and faster. Exasperated, he rips the pomegranate from my hand, pulls a knife from his waistband, and slashes into the thick hide.

   Red juice splatters my chiton, next to the mud stains and the smears from Melita's bleeding arm. A sharp scent slices the air. A handful of seeds splashes onto the marble floor like drops of blood, an offering.

   And they're crowded in—a family of seeds, a womb crammed so tight, the bodies push curved indentations into the hard pulp like a river carves canyons into rock. Each seed barely restrains its load of red juice under a translucent membrane. Through the juice, in the center of each, shines a white core. New life.

   Now that the hide is broken, Hades peels a chunk of seeds away; they cling to each other and to their raft of rind. Each seed is faceted like a crystal, and facet fits into facet with the perfect order of a honeycomb.

   I tumble a bunch of seeds into my palm. Like beads. Like drops of fire.

   Hades takes my wrist, stopping me, the shining drops cradled in my palm.

   "If you love me," he whispers, "if you truly want to return to my side, and only then, eat."

   I toss them in my mouth.

   Sweet and tart, the burst of juice, the crunch of tiny seeds between my teeth. A lingering sharpness on the back of my tongue. Another. And another.

   And now I lift my hand to his mouth to complete the ritual.

   "Only if you truly love me," I whisper, and he opens his mouth and I feed him.

   Now, when I'm on the verge of leaving, now I know. Yes, he wanted my power, whatever he thought it might be. But that wasn't all. He loves me. And now that may have to be enough for eternity.

Hermes clears his throat, turns, and walks toward us.

   I can tell Hades is ready to let me go. It's the oddest thing: he looks strong and determined, not defeated at all. That must be what comes with practice ruling a great land. I guess I can carry that much away with me, too.

   So I throw my shoulders back, lift my head, and say with as much strength as I can muster, "I'm ready."

   "Not quite," says Hades.

   He wraps me in his arms and we kiss, a huge kiss, a hungry kiss, a soft kiss, a kiss to last forever.

   Until it ends, and I walk, past spatters of blood-red juice, toward the door.

H
ermes grips the reins, his eyes glued to the horizon. Below us, the ocean rolls, endless, inexorable. Waves and wind and the mew of a gull are the only sounds. The gull arcs up below the chariot and tilts sideways to peer at me with an inquiring eye. Her curiosity satisfied, she zooms back down. Her wings shift the air.

   A thin white ribbon of land begins to unfurl at the ocean's edge. My breath catches, fear and hope mingling together. I've looked down on that land from a chariot exactly once before— down on green hills speckled with sheep, and lakes shining like jewels in the sun, and towns of white houses clustered together like chattering girls. And this time? What will I see?

   The white ribbon broadens into a swathe of sand rimming a cove. It's scattered with bright dots like brilliantly colored beetles. But as we come closer, the beetles grow and grow, until suddenly they become broken fishing boats. A tiny figure tugs a dinghy like an ant pulling an oversized leaf. Around him, painted boards lie splintered on the sand.

   Beyond the beach, everything is brown and gray under the leaden sky. At first I think this is a rocky area, but then I see twigs strewn across the ground—no, not twigs, tree trunks. Thin lines twist through mud, so many letters etched in clay; they turn into battered stone walls. That's where fields and houses used to stand. There's no green anywhere, not a leaf, or a bud, or a shoot.

   Even when the shades in the throne room spoke of crops withering away, of rain stripping the land, even when I saw how many newcomers crowded the floor, I never thought it would be like this: the earth's insides churned up and strewn around like bodies after a grisly battle.

   A battle fought in my name.

   My hands open and close—I need my spade so I can work that soil! I need plows and hoes and rakes! I need to be a hundred bodies, a thousand, with enough hands to reach into that earth and urge it back toward life.

   We fly over a hut that somehow survived intact. A small figure appears at the door, tossing out a bucket of mud. Another flap of the horses' wings and I see someone tugging on a rope, trying to clear away a bloated animal carcass. I feel my stomach rising in my throat.

   
She was trying to rescue me
, I tell myself.
She did this in the
name of love
.

   But how can I make the leap from that word,
love
, to the carnage spread out below me? My mother cared about rescuing one life: mine. To save me she was willing to starve and suffocate and bury mankind.

   How did anyone survive?

   The thought fills me with a sense of urgency. Melita was right! A young child alone, what hope would she have down there? How much time do I have to reach her? Am I already too late?

   I stare at the earth below, searching for the rock like a rooster's comb, the one Melita said towers over her house. Maybe I can land and find Philomena before we even reach Mount Olympus.

   "Go faster," I say.

   Hermes shrugs. He must think we're going fast enough. And he's not that good with the horses, anyway, not like Hades.

   I've seen them do better. I grab the reins out of Hermes' hands and bring them down with a slap on the horses' backs, urging them on. The air starts whipping by; the ground blurs.

   "What do you think you're doing?" shouts Hermes, snatching back the reins. The chariot jolts sideways, throwing me against the railing.

   "Don't you see?" I shout back. "There's no time! Look down there!"

   "You forget," he says in a calmer voice. "I've been here every day. That"—he nods down at a man slogging through the mud—"is an improvement."

   If Hermes and Hades are right, if I never return to my husband's side, maybe it's what I deserve. Me, the girl who couldn't bother to leave her mother a note: "Ran away with the man I love. All is well. Don't worry."

   But wait. Is it
all
my fault? What about Hades? How could he revel in this? And my mother . . .

   Guilt, anger, and hope are shoving around inside me like a herd of hungry goats, each demanding a turn.

   "Anyway, we're almost there," says Hermes.

   The land is rising higher and higher to meet us. Craggy rock faces jut into the clouds, and on one of the uppermost peaks, a gold-pillared temple flashes through sunless skies. Mount Olympus, home of the gods.

A
crowd of mortals has gathered. They make room for the chariot to touch down and then jostle around us, so curious and excited, they don't even lower their eyes. A whitebearded man picks up a lyre, and staring sightlessly in my direction, sings out, "Hail, hail Persephone! Persephone is home!"

   The crowd takes up the words like eager children repeating a lesson. "Persephone is home! Persephone is home!"

   The horses fold their wings and Hermes steps out of the chariot before turning and offering me his hand. The crowd parts and Hermes leads the way up six wide steps onto a porch with a double row of pillars. We pass from glaring sunshine into sudden coolness. The antechamber is empty, a dim rectangle in front of towering wooden doors. Our footsteps echo as Hermes strides up and bangs three times with his staff. The doors swing open and we enter.

   There, beneath the gilt-covered ceiling, on a massive throne, sits Zeus. He's majestic, with waves of golden hair falling to his shoulders, a neatly trimmed golden beard, and interest flickering in eyes as blue as a summer sky. His chiton hangs in perfect pleats of soft-spun gold. Next to the throne, a pile of thunderbolts sits within easy reach. And to his left—

   But this woman doesn't look like my mother! A faded, night-blue cloak covers her frame, and her shoulders are bowed, like a farmer's wife carrying a load of firewood. For a moment she stares as I approach, her eyes raking my hair, my face, my bare feet, my disheveled dress—and then she strides toward me and wraps me in her arms.

   I see it in her face; I feel it in her arms. She does love me.

   I sink into her embrace, and for one long, beautiful minute, I let her be my strength.

   Then: "My child," she says, stroking my back. "My poor, ravished child."

   Wait. Ravished?

   My body tenses in her arms. I have some explaining to do.

   "We're going home," says my mother. "You'll be safe from him there. I've strengthened the borders. He'll never get back in."

   "I wanted to go," I say, but she's holding me so close, my words smother into her chest.

   "Of course, dear," she says soothingly, stroking my head, not having heard a word.

   She just needs to understand! I shove myself back, trying to speak louder; my words are a shout in the sudden air.

   "I
wanted
to go!"

   "And now you
have
gone!" she insists. "You've gone from the underworld forever. You'll never have to see Hades again. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

   "But—"

   "You see?" she says to Zeus. "She's overwrought, exhausted. I'm taking her back to the vale immediately. She needs rest."

   She wraps an arm around my shoulders and takes a step toward the door—toward the vale and my narrow bed and the pink cliffs, reinforced even stronger now . . .

   But I'm not the victim she thinks she saved! I'm not the girl she used to shush with a lowering brow! I throw off her arm.

   "I want to be with Hades," I say. "I'm his wife, his queen."

   She hears the words, but she still doesn't listen. She speaks to me softly, as if calming a frantic, fevered child. "If you were his beloved queen, would you be barefoot, your feet scratched and filthy?" she asks. "Would you be wearing— this?" Her fingers lift a fold of my stained, ripped chiton. "No earrings, then, or bracelet, let alone a crown, to show the honor due your rank?" Her hand rests on my shoulder as she sadly shakes her head. "Hades has been playing with your mind. You've learned to parrot his words to ensure your safety. It's time to face facts. You have been not his queen but his captive. Come home now."