Seeds (2 page)

Chapter I

o0o

     After the din on Olympus, the silence of the Underworld surrounded Hades like a warm blanket, his tension slipping away in the tranquility of dead quiet.

     His Palace was a forbidding sight to visitors, knife-like ebony spires jutting up into a dark gray sky, its windows almost invisible amidst the black marble structure. To a fearful – or guilty – heart, it looked more like a place of torture rather than a home, especially with the twin obsidian statues that flanked the entrance to the palace. They had been carved in a likeness of Kerberos, the infamous three-headed hound of Hell, six stone heads baring meticulously-carved teeth in the direction of whoever passed between them.

     The doors opened under his silent command, and the only sound that met his ears were his own footsteps as he walked across the silver-veined black stone. The polished marble reflected the light from the ethereal lamps that were mounted sparingly on the walls, creating an eclectic mixture of shadow and illumination. The stark quietness of this Palace and the understated elegance of its interior decoration could not contrast any more vividly to the ever-present light, decoration, music and chatter that permeated Olympus. There truly was no place like home.

     Out of the corner of his eye, Hades noticed a wisp of deep violet-gray smoke. As he turned his attention towards it, it filled out in form, now resembling a faceless human above the waist and mist below, although its color remained the same. This translucent form lowered itself in what was unmistakably a bow.

     “Have supper brought to my chambers,” Hades commanded. After the cloying ambrosia and nectar of Olympus, he was in the mood for considerably more substantial and satisfying fare, and to recline in the comfort of his rooms.

     The main room of his apartments contained a divan and table, with a large fireplace at one side of the vaulted chamber. Velvet drapes hung open to reveal a balcony that led to his private gardens. With a flick of his wrist, the drapes closed, plunging the room into near-total darkness. Already, the table was set, the aroma of his supper filling the air, and the fire that danced in the hearth gave the chamber a comfortable feeling despite the lack of other light.

     Uncovering the lid to the wrought-silver pot revealed a hearty meat stew, steam rising into the shadows enticingly. On a covered plate was warm and spicy goat cheese-topped pita bread, and a shallow bowl contained pieces of fruit drizzled with honey. Two slender-necked silver jugs – one of wine, the other of water – sat to one side next to a matching goblet.

     He removed his cloak, draping it across the arm of the divan and leaving the heavy clasp on the table before he settled down to partake of what the finest chefs of the Underworld had prepared for him, eyeing the stew with an appreciative rumble in his stomach.

     As usual after going to Olympus, he thought of everything he had seen and heard. A few of the gods had seemed bored. Hephaistos hadn't cared to pay attention to the antics of his wife as she flirted shamelessly with those around her, her tiny waist showing off the golden girdle that he had made for her in a failed attempt to win her favor. It was true that the girdle was one of the smith god's best works, but as Hephaistos had confided into him one time, the girdle was no more magnificent than anything else he had ever made. There was no actual spell on it to charm those around her – Aphrodite was perfectly capable of that entirely on her own.

     The bowl fit in his large hand comfortably as he scooped up some of the savory stew with a slice of the pita bread. All of the ware on his table – the dishes, jugs, and platters – were Hephaistos's work. He was only too glad to share the riches of his realm with the smith. It was an advantageous trade – Hephaistos got whatever metal and precious stones he needed for his work, and Hades had many examples of his nephew's work in the Palace. The throne was from the lame god's hand, as well as most of the jewelry Hades had in his coffers. Whatever was not made by the smith-god was made by his own artisan servants who were almost as skilled as the god that they had worshipped in their mortal lives. Even now, these souls of blacksmiths and craftsmen still acknowledged Hephaistos, and now also acknowledged Hades as their other guardian. He was not a jealous god and was happy to share patronage.

     The food and wine settled comfortably into his stomach, and Hades let out a quiet sigh as he stretched out, resting his feet on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace. Shadowy tendrils snaked up the short legs of the stool to unclasp his boots and slide them off, and the god wiggled his toes, feeling the heat from the fire on the soles of his feet. Around him, nothing stirred, and everything was where it belonged. Peace and quiet, this was all he could ask for.

o0o

     After the last tedious gathering on Olympus, Demeter decided that she needed a change in scenery. Her last stint among the mortals had been spent in one of the valleys of Hellas, listening to the songs of praise from her worshipers. Every year the harvest was abundant, and people traveled from other parts to settle down here. When she had first found the valley, it was nothing but ashes and ruin, devastation wrought by one of the dragons that had once been a lizard before it found some of Ouranos's severed flesh and ate it. It had made this valley its lair for years, leaving it only to hunt for food, leading it to terrorize other towns when it had exhausted resources within the vicinity of its home.

     The land was dead before she arrived, everything burned over and over by the dragon, who had gained the ability to breathe fire from its frightful metamorphosis. Demeter loved a challenge, and went up against the dragon, her sickle making short work of the beast.

     She coaxed life out of the black earth. The dragon bones that Demeter decided to leave be were overtaken by moss, grass, and vines after being bleached by the sun. Insects came, and then animals, and eventually, lured by the lush and wild growth and the plentiful game, humans settled into the valley. The wild lands became cultivated, pouring forth a bounty that ensured that not one single living thing would go hungry. She had killed that dragon over fifty years ago, and the valley was now a bustling town surrounded by trees and plentiful farmlands. People praised her to the heavens, and her temple was never lacking in offerings or priestesses. Her temple courtyard had been built around the dragon bones, the fossil serving as a reminder of what had happened so long ago.

     Demeter was the kind of person who valued home. Like her sister Hestia, she was a goddess who preferred the comforts of her hearth. However, she also had the desire to feel needed. She enjoyed coaxing life out of dead lands, and she enjoyed having the gratitude and attention of mortals. But lately, her festivals had become boring. There wasn't much work for her to do. The humans here now knew how to cultivate and harvest the land, and as long as they honored her, they need not worry about empty bellies.

     The harvest had been splendid, and would continue throughout the month as various crops were harvested and prepared or stored. The tables would overflow with fruits, vegetables, and meats from the animals that were always well-fed. Every day this month, there was always something to gather from the fields. The people would sing praise to her, as always.

     The next morning, when the priestesses came outside for the rituals, they had to tell the disbelieving crowd that the Goddess who had been their personal patron for as long as they had lived in this valley was gone.

o0o

     For as long as he could remember, Iasion had an admiration for women who were full-figured in appearance. In his puberty, when his companions were off chasing the slender-limbed maidens of their age, he had eyes for the women who were surer of flesh and step. Such women were inevitably off limits, as nearly every adult woman in the village was married, and those who weren't were widows or about to be married. His admiration was just that, for he did not dare to pursue any of these respectable women. He didn't know why he should be so attracted to women of a certain body type. He didn't like the appearance of skinny women – and there were plenty enough of that here in this bitter land.

     His family was small and poor, five of his seven other siblings having died before the end of their childhood. Their farm was not too small, but the land was miserly in its offerings. It seemed as if the valleys and plains of Enna were cursed, and would only give its inhabitants only just enough to survive, and exact every single bit of labor it could from them.

     There was barely enough to feed the family that consisted of his mother, two brothers, and his older brother's new wife. This year they had gotten lucky, making enough to put away for the cooler months that were to follow, and a bit left over to sell or barter.

     Mother had decided that since he was the intelligent one in the family, he should go and handle the bartering since she was not feeling well enough to make the trek to the market. He would make the correct decision. He would not fritter away the trade on silly things like Ptheia – despite having lived in poverty all her life – dreamed and moaned about. Nor would he gamble it away or let one of the vendors short-change him. Hyalos and Ptheia weren't bad people, but they did have their faults, which their situation only exacerbated.

     His younger brother, Esthanes, followed several steps behind, loaded down with the other half of the crops Iasion had come to sell. They didn't have a cart, and didn't have anywhere near enough crops to need one, anyway. His younger brother welcomed the opportunity to leave the boredom of the farm, even for just a bit. And Iasion certainly wouldn't complain about the opportunity, either.

     The two-room house that he had grown up in had barely enough elbow room for five people. The seemingly obvious solution was to build another house for the newly-married couple. But where? There wasn't a suitable place to build a new house when every bit of available land was needed for farming or raising their few animals, and it took time and materials, which could not be spared for a good while at least. After a long day of farming, carrying water, foraging for berries and other food, hunting, spinning and weaving by his mother and sister-in-law, gathering firewood, tending to their animals, and coaxing whatever they could from the land around them, nobody wanted to do any more work than absolutely necessary.

     It was that way for many people in the village. The surrounding hills, valleys, and plains were barely hospitable. Wealth was a relative term in this village. A man who had a field of his own, a small surplus to barter every year, and enough to comfortably feed and support a family was considered wealthy.

     “What are you going to do with the grain?” Esthanes asked as he shifted the weight of his bags with a small grunt, squaring his shoulders and bearing his load.

     “I have been thinking about getting some land of my own. Alestis lost her husband last year, you remember, and she should be willing to let me use some of the land since she is unable to till it herself.” The widow had no surviving children, which meant that the land was hers to do with as she saw fit. It was also rather convenient that she was their neighbor.

     “But it would take more work...” Esthanes stopped himself before he could complain further. Their father had simply worn down over the years of toil, and had died one night after not feeling well for several days.

     “What if I used that land for animals? We have so few of our own. I could obtain a few more sheep and goats...”

     “You will have to barter for the land, what will you use? You will not have anything left! Animals are precious around these parts.”

     “I know,” Iasion replied as they came over the hill, seeing the village nestled comfortably in the center of the valley. He had carefully considered his options and what he would do with his current load. He could trade for extra crop seed, especially vegetables, and secure the harvest for next year, or he could simply trade it all for wool, tools, and other things that would make their lives a bit easier. Metal was especially hard to come by, so there was something to think about.

     But what about the land he wanted? How could he pay Alestis? What could he offer her? She was lonely, and was having a progressively harder time taking care of the land and herself. Would she agree to an arrangement where the family took care of her and fed her for the rest of her days in lieu of payment? Others could rent the land from him for their animals as long as they paid him in wool, cheese, or other things he considered necessary.

     For a moment, he wondered if he should turn back and go to his mother, discuss these ideas with her and see what she thought best. Mother was wise, a strong woman who had stoically endured her husband's death and the loss of her children amongst the daily difficulties that came with her life. Out of the three sons, he felt that he valued her the most. His brothers respected Mother, but sometimes Hyalos could be rather belligerent, especially when egged on by his wife.

     “Do you think perhaps we might get a baklava or two?” Esthanes asked hopefully as they entered the village gates – little more than two wooden posts with another across the top – and Iasion thought about the last time he'd had the honeyed treats. It had been several months ago, when Hyalos found a beehive near the farm.

     “If I can get a good trade. But do not tell Mother.”