ii
(her world)
Hermes has always been a trickster and has no qualms about deceiving the other Olympians. He wraps his arms around her to carry her away. She catches a last glimpse of Hades’ face, resigned and still as miserable as before, as the wings on the messenger’s sandals take her through the Underworld. She shuts her eyes against the horrors, of the never-ending tasks assigned, of the river of fire, until she feels a cool blast of air against her face.
But the air outside is not as sweet as she remembers it. Rather, it is icy. The north wind brushes her cheek as it passes, speaking of barrenness, a white blanket covering the earth. But another word is on its lips. You… and somehow she knows that the flowers and the warmth will return when she does.
She is still uneasy about leaving him, his sorrowful eyes, the ugly hands and muscled arms that comforted her. But he agreed and he knows it is necessary.
“Look,” the messenger whispers in ear. Below, a huge lake is frozen over, but by its side there is a figure, cloaked in grey and hooded. It is hunched and slowly rocking and it causes her pain because she immediately knows who it is.
Hermes sets her down a few feet away and gives her his warm, bronze smile.
“Mother?”
The word is full of emotion and memory, and the goddess feels it. It takes her an eternity to lift her head. Her face is hollow, the eyes sunken and the lips thin. But slowly it lights.
“Persephone?” she asks. Her voice is even smaller than her daughter’s.
She nods. “It’s me.”
Without another moment of hesitation, Demeter takes her in her arms. Tears of joys escape both, sobs rack her mother’s ribs beneath her fingers as well as her own. It is the happiest moment of all time, she thinks, as the snow underneath her feet begins to melt, but something like guilt tinges it.
At last they break apart and her mother looks to Hermes in gratitude.
“You may thank your brother,” he says, careful not to say which one. But the goddess’ face darkens.
“I can never forgive Hades for the pain he has caused me.”
She bites her lip and looks into her mother’s earthy brown eyes. “He has done much,” she says almost without wanting to.
Her mother looks strangely at her but does not speak. She thanks Hermes once again for her safe return and the two make their way home together, flowers sprouting where their feet pass.
Her mother’s eyes pass over her again nervously. She returns a questioning look and her mother shrugs. Stopping to take off the grey shroud- at which point the sun reappears bright and yellow, “You appear… different,” she says, trying out the word. “Changed. As if something is wrong.” She lowers her voice. “You didn’t… you didn’t eat anything there, did you?”
“Of course not, Mother,” she lies with an ease that she has never had before. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I suppose…” her mother murmurs thoughtfully. “only that the old laws must be obeyed. But if you didn’t eat then it’s alright.”
She looks down at her hands. Indeed, her fingers are white rather than rose-pink, her fingernails brittle. As they pass over a bridge, the river below turns to the most brilliant blue to reflect the sky. She catches her own reflection and is shocked by what she see. Her eyes, the same colour as the summer sky, are dull and black bags hang below them. Her golden hair sits lacklustre and straw-like upon bare, bony shoulders and hangs limply behind her. Her plump lips are pale and chapped and there are no roses in her cheeks.
The world is returning to summer, but she is remaining in winter.
That thought haunts her in the days that follow. Her mothers is cheerful about her work, restoring meadows and fields to their former glory, making the world plentiful again. The work fills her with joy, as the people begin to praise her again. Demeter thrives on love, like any devoted mother does, from the earth and from her own child.
Persephone, however, try as she might, is not herself. She cannot find happiness in lilies and crocuses, or the pleasant conversation of her maidservants. The sun is too bright, the food too wholesome, the days too long and she finds herself longing for night. It frightens her, and she spends hours and hours thinking of what she has done, the terrible lie her life now is, and the six tiny seeds sit in her stomach like dead weights.
At last her mother, concerned for her, takes her to visit the other gods and goddesses upon their mountain. Her mother thanks the king profusely for her release while she herself is greeted by her cousins.
Proud and beautiful, an owl perched on her shoulder and her helmet gleaming, grey eyed Athene, warrior and wise one, looks her up and down slowly.
“You are… different,” she says, repeating Demeter’s words, and a frown forms over those unique eyes, “Winter reigns over you.”
Winter, Winter. The word did not exist before she was taken. Snow and ice, yes. But winter, where the earth grinds to a halt, where the trees drop their leaves because they are too tired to hold them up, where the soil curls up to sleep under a blanket. The goddess of wisdom seems to know, know what terrible thing she has done, know it cannot be repaired. She quakes under the gaze and turns away. A slender, gold hand takes hers as she does, and her most beautiful cousin leads her to her gardens.
The goddess of love’s brow also knits into a frown and her low, musical voice speaks the words that she does not wish to hear.
“His kingdom has a hold over you.”
Aphrodite’s eyes fill up with sympathy and the words are gentle, so gentle that they do not sting and agonize Persephone as she expected. They sit at the edge of a fountain and she sees their mirror images, Aphrodite’s gorgeous face only a reminder of what has happened to her own. Winter reigns over you…
A child’s giggle sounds from behind a bush, its leaves an inky and rich green. A flash of pink and plump limb is seen, the edge of a tiny quiver of red tipped arrows, the curve of a golden toy bow.
“I have a confession,” Aphrodite says, her voice still in musical tones. “As you picked flowers that day, my son was playing. He happened to strike Hades with an arrow.”
She wants to hate the goddess, to insult her, to lame her, hurt her, but finds that she cannot. Like all, she is subject to her charms and can only sit and wonder. Eros’ arrow, his arrow tipped with desire struck him, struck him. And so, infected with an overwhelming passion he took her. Pity floods through her limbs as his face returns to her mind, miserable and confused. Her fingers traipse in the pool, disrupting her own reflection, and shooting a look at Aphrodite, she knows what she must do .
Her legs, though still weak, run of their own accord, for her body now knows her it belongs, but her mind disagrees. She wants to stay, to stay with her mother, her home, her meadows, all that is bright and good (though they pain her eyes, the heat tires her, sleep will not come and water will not cleanse). The seeds still nag at her and though she is trying to convince herself that she can stay, she can, it is not working.
She returns to the court. The king looks with question in his black eyes (just like his brother’s) at her.
“I ate,” her mouth says breathlessly as her mind fights the words. “Six pomegranate seeds.”
Her mother’s mouth hangs and she wants to run to her, embrace her, tell her I want to stay, I want to stay… A wind, cold and dangerous surrounds her mother and rain falls below them like tears, the plants begin to wither.
“Six…” Persephone says faintly, her mind in control once again at this sight.
The king’s eyes are filled with worry and she knows why. At once, both her mother’s destructing grief and the persistence of the old laws present themselves.
Athene, wise to the end, clears her throat. “Perhaps…” she says and all look in her direction. The sharp, knowing gaze finds Persephone. “Perhaps each seed can represent a month. After all, they are only pomegranate seed.”
Her mother is now clinging to her, and she can feel tears trying to fill her eyes, but her eyes themselves know where they should be. She comforts her mother, sobs once again shaking her, and she hears Zeus’ assent, his voice so like his brother’s in words that have already been said.
“Yes,” he says. “Only pomegranate seeds.”
AN- this is my least favourite part of the three, but I needed something to fill in the gap between the two others. Please give me all your thoughts!
