That Fatal Kiss (3 page)

“Does she?”

“Yes. I was surprised that she finds him acceptable.”

“Why?”

“Hermes is so immature. He lacks a certain authority. While occasionally amusing, I find his ceaseless tricks and jests belie a rather spiteful sort of nature. I find it difficult to consider him marriageable when he is constantly in search of some frivolous amusement or other. He is handsome enough, in his way…” Persephone wrinkled her nose. “But, no. I want someone with whom I may share lighter moments, to be sure, but also someone who can turn his mind to more serious matters, someone who is capable of intelligent discourse.”

Athena thought again before suggesting, “Then what of Eros? He certainly is pleasing enough to look at and has all of those qualities you admire.”

“Yes, he is an excellent candidate,” Persephone said. “Unfortunately, I find him more suitable for the role of confidante than that of husband.” At Athena’s perplexed look, Persephone elaborated, “I regret to say that I feel no particular yearnings in his direction.”

“Ah!” the elder goddess exclaimed, in the tone of one who had finally come to the heart of a matter. “So you seek a male of authority, wisdom, depth and beauty, as well as one who can stoke your—ahem—internal fires. Well, that seems reasonable enough. Alas, I cannot think of a name to fit such a tall order.” But even as the Warrior Goddess uttered those words, her eyes widened and she became completely still.

Noting the Warrior’s trance-like state, Persephone prompted gently, “Pallas?”

Athena remained silent.

Growing concerned, Persephone asked, “Athena, what is it, what are you thinking?”

The Warrior shook off her reverie and was about to reply, but their sister interrupted. Artemis bellowed from afar, demanding that Athena cease her dallying and aid her in the capture of a magnificent stag.

Athena looked down at Persephone and, for a moment, appeared to be at war with herself. Then she grinned and said, “I’m thinking I’d better get over there before Artemis makes off with the better part of the spoils!” And with that, she placed the wreath upon her head, took up her shield, and dashed after the Huntress, leaving Persephone to her thoughts.

Persephone suspected Athena concealed something from her but shrugged to herself, knowing the other goddess would tell her in her own time. She was about to start picking flowers when a sparrow fell to the ground before her, startling her. The Life-Giving goddess picked it up to examine it and saw that its delicate brown wing had been injured. Cooing to the frightened bird to calm it, she ran her hand over the wound. Within moments, it was completely healed and the bird once again soared through the air.

“Poor thing,” Persephone said to herself as she stood up. “It would have bled to death if I hadn’t been here.” She took a look around and saw a bed of crocuses waiting patiently for her to pluck them. Taking up the basket she’d willed into existence, she sauntered over to the white flowers. The gentle winds ruffled her hair and Persephone took a deep breath, savoring the sweetness of the Earth’s beauty.

III.

PERSEPHONE GATHERED SO
many flowers that her basket could not contain them all, and night was nearly upon her. But rather than create some other container for the surplus, she instead fanned out the uppermost layer of her gown. She quickly filled her lap with precious crocuses and narcissi, as she wished to return to her mother’s home in time for dinner. The goddess had forgotten about taking the midday meal in her eagerness to join her sisters on Etna and now felt she could cheerfully devour a veritable banquet all by herself.

A burst of blood-red presented itself in her peripheral view, and her movements stilled. Curious, Persephone gathered the edges of her skirts carefully, to keep her blooms safe, and went to take a better look. The vivid splash of color seemed so harsh, almost cruel, amidst the more fragile pastels. She could only stare at these foreign blossoms in amazement. When had her mother created them? Or had yet another mortal died of love and been transformed?

Persephone’s eyes searched the mountainside for her friends. There was Artemis, aiming her silver arrow at the stag, and Athena ready with her sword, should the arrow somehow miss its mark. Persephone thought about calling her sisters over to see the rare beauty. But then Artemis let out a cry of victory and ran after her prey, with Athena and the Oceanides hard on her heels. There was no one with whom she might share her discovery.

She looked back at the crimson flowers. They were so unusual, and so many in number. So beautiful, so inviting. And though a voice within suddenly urged her to let them be, she found that she could not resist their exotic appeal.

Persephone drew closer to the flowers, biting her lower lip. It would be sinful to wrest such glory away from its home. But then she laughed softly, thinking to herself, “Am I not the daughter of great Demeter, who causes all things on Earth to live and grow? I can return life to these blooms, if such is my will.” Pushing back her qualms, the goddess grasped a bud by the base of its stem and tore it away from its roots. She let out a cry when a thick, dark liquid poured forth from it, soiling her white hands. The ground beneath Persephone’s feet began to tremble and she knew she had somehow been betrayed.

Persephone felt hitherto unknown terror when the Earth she loved split in half and yawned, like the mouth of a lion preparing to ravage its victim. But the goddess found that she could not move. Her limbs grew heavy with dread, her lips and tongue became paralyzed by fright, and she could not run to save herself from the figure she saw rising from the chasm. She could only stand, scarcely breathing, as the land opened wider, and a chariot of gold led by black horses emerged from the abyss.

The young goddess stood transfixed, gazing mutely at the rider. A dark cloak swirled around broad shoulders, coiling about his angular body like some sinister shadow sprung to life. A masterful twist of his wrists steadied his steeds and Persephone could then see his face.

A chill of recognition crept over her, tingled in her cheeks. The dying light of the day fell upon piercing, almond-shaped eyes, and a countenance that was gaunt, fierce. Unyielding. His face betrayed no warmth or softness. No smile curved his lips, and the familiarity she read in his expression offered no comfort. Somehow, he knew her. And though she had never before been in his presence, she knew that such raw power, such steely resolve, could belong to one being only—Hades, Lord of the Underworld.

Some mysterious anticipation arose within Persephone, quickened her heartbeat, even as his unrelenting stare immobilized her. Deep within the goddess a flame ignited, frightening her with its intensity. Barely capable of reason, Persephone knew Hades to be its cause. Hades’ eyes flickered, and so did the flame—it roared into an all-consuming fire and with that internal brilliance, Persephone’s destiny became clear. The Host of Many had broken his solitude and ventured above ground in search of a mate. He had come for
her
…whether she wanted him or not. Understanding that her moments above ground were numbered, Persephone’s heart seized, and the world held its sweet breath as Hades beheld his prize.

Pinioned by the god’s gaze, Persephone felt herself
his
prey, neatly trapped, and shock prevented even the thought of taking flight. The ichor throbbed sluggishly through her veins, pounding loudly in her ears, as he drew nearer, and her body twitched futilely with the dire need to act, to
move
. But she could not, and Hades’ chariot drew perilously close. Driving just alongside her, the god leaned out of the chariot, wrapped his strong arm about her waist, and gathered her to him. The blossoms in her lap fell to the ground in a cascade of color, forgotten. He righted the chariot and brought it down, letting his horses tear up the patch of violently red flowers with their thrashing hooves.

Hades enfolded her within his cloak, his arms swept over and around her, to secure her firmly in his embrace. As her body was pressed up against his, Persephone felt the shudder that swept through him and she gasped with surprise. For a moment, the goddess thought she saw something change in Hades’ face, a shift from implacability to awe. Then all expression left him and the god deliberately, slowly, placed that fatal kiss of possession upon her lips.

The kiss branded, claimed, and was done almost before Persephone could register it. Her lips burned after he’d pulled away, and the goddess felt herself go hot, then cold, then hot again in quick succession as Hades turned her around and faced her forward. She stared, unseeing, as she felt his arm secure her to his body.

It was only when Persephone felt the shaking of the chariot, as Hades set the horses in motion, that she finally found her voice and was able, at last, to scream.

AS A SHRILL
cry pierced the air, the daisies in the chain on Athena’s head instantly withered away to dust, which she shook from her hair. She turned to Artemis and the Oceanides, who looked up from the dying stag in surprise. “Persephone!”

The goddesses and nymphs ran to where they’d last seen Persephone but did not find her. They saw only that the grass upon which she had lain looked blackened, as if it had been burnt. Athena looked about and saw the trees bowing low, broken; the birds in the starry sky attacked one another viciously and fell to the Earth, dead; the grains in the nearby field slumped, lifeless.

Surveying the destruction, the Huntress turned bewildered eyes to her sister. “Athena…where can she have gone?” She looked at a dead sparrow lying near their feet. “Could…could it be that…Thanatos came for Persephone?”

“No. Not he,” said Athena grimly, who had thought of a more plausible answer. In vain did she attempt to suppress the rush of guilt that consumed her. For, as she’d pondered Persephone’s preferences for a husband earlier, it had been Hades’ image that had emerged in the Warrior’s mind. She’d wanted to consider the bizarre possibility before presenting it to her sister, only it seemed as though the thought had come into being. But simply thinking Hades’ name could not have summoned him…could it?

“Athena, what’s happened to our sister? What should we do?”

Jolted out of her tumultuous thoughts, Athena placed a calming hand on Artemis’ shoulder. But instead of reassuring the Huntress, the gesture served to alarm her further, for Athena’s hand shook, revealing her worry. The Warrior Goddess opened her mouth to speak, seemed to choke for a moment, then cleared her throat, commanding her sister, “Return to your home and await me there, for there is nothing you can do for Persephone now.”

“Await you?” Artemis asked. “And where will you go? What will you do?”

Athena’s lips thinned into a harsh line. “I will go to our father. If anything at all can be done, I believe him the only god capable of it.” Whether Zeus would be
willing
to help Persephone was another matter entirely.

IV.

The Underworld

PERSEPHONE WATCHED AS
Hades effortlessly commanded his divine steeds down through the crevasse, and she felt a strange pressure in her ears as he took her further away from the light of the Upperworld. As they descended, the darkness became enormous, oppressive. The goddess found herself gasping for air, to relieve the growing tightness in her chest.