Persephone's Orchard (The Chrysomelia Stories) (26 page)

“Nearly all, and when I say ‘I don’t know’ it means I haven’t noticed any effect. But I’m immortal, and the effect on mortals could be quite different.”

She rose, rubbing a wet spot of paint between her thumb and finger. “We’ll think of safe ways to test them. Besides, plants have uses beyond eating.”

“Like the harnesses, yes.”

“Exactly. Think what else we might discover.”

Their discoveries over that first summer were sundry but not earth-shaking. Persephone coaxed Hades into allowing her to taste very small amounts of some plants, once in a while, to learn their effects.

The red violets, when eaten, made you go harmlessly numb all over for about a quarter of the day.

“Wish I’d had these when Mother pulled my sore tooth last year,” Persephone said, touching her jaw in regret.

One tree’s berries, when boiled, dyed cloth and other materials a permanent dark red, and left a deep stain on skin too. Persephone dyed one of her cloaks, and it took a month before all the red faded from her hands.

Around there, Sophie awakened, and faced her first morning as a single woman in five months.

Today I just recover, and study
, she vowed. And she did—with a pleasantly long video chat with Tabitha later, in which she related the break-up discussion in detail.

It felt good just to see Tab’s face on the video screen. She had rosy skin, playful blue eyes, a sheet of blonde hair cascading almost to her waist, and a plump figure that she clothed in dramatically contrasting solid colors. Today it was a fuchsia knit top with a plunging neck, and a black velvet wrap with a yellow sunflower pin on its shoulder.

“So here’s what you do,” Tabitha said. “Think of all his annoying traits, and how you’re free of them.”

Sophie pondered. “Always saying he was going to ‘grab’ food.”

“Pointing at people when he said hi to them.”

“The turquoise Converse that don’t match anything he owns.”

“His opinion that classical music is ‘boring,’ and opera is ‘weird,’” Tabitha said.

“The way he won’t eat any salads except the most boring iceberg lettuce ones. Not even the awesome ones
I
make.”

Tabitha waved her hand grandly. “See? Completely incompatible with the daughter of produce. Hey, how are your folks and Liam? Any news?”

Sophie sighed. “Not really. Liam says Mom still spends a lot of time out of the house, but he hasn’t figured out why. Dad acts like everything’s fine as long as I text him every twelve hours. And Mom’s supposed to come down and visit me soon, where I’m sure she’ll act like everything’s fine, too. I don’t know.”

Tabitha nodded in commiseration. “You remember how royally it sucked when my parents got divorced. I hope you and Liam never have to deal with that. But still—there is nothing, repeat, nothing, you can do. You’re an adult, and you’ve got your own crap to deal with.”

“Yeah.” Sophie sighed. “It’s just—her
kissing
some other guy…and he looked like a sleazy
banker
or something, with the haircut and the suit…”

“Honey, I know. But don’t torture yourself with that. Today, just take care of you.”

Sophie obeyed as best as she could. She finished most of her textbook reading and her worksheets. Then she laced up her running shoes and jogged to Avery Park and back. She’d taken up jogging in the last year, but had neglected it since coming to college. It did her good—it left her tired enough to sleep, and she dropped with exhaustion into Persephone’s world.

Persephone and Hades were still experimenting with the Underworld’s plants. One tree’s bark yielded an effective substance for tanning animal skins in a fraction of the usual time it took, and with less of the obnoxious odors. Another, when fed to pigs, made them stay up all night and sleep all day in reverse of their natural habits; and, when fed to bats (captured in one of the more remote sections of the cave), switched their habits the other way.

“Day-flying bats.” Hades shook his head, watching them flutter and swoop around outdoors in the noonday sun. “A lot of good that’ll do anyone.”

Persephone frowned at them, shielding her eyes from the sun. “The real problem, if you ask me, is that so far none of the edible plants do anything special unless they’re eaten inside the cave. We can’t be dragging people to the Underworld all the time for cures.”

“Agreed. But I take it as a sign that we’re not meant to export too much magic. The Underworld likes to keep its secrets close.”

“Then back into the cave we go,” she declared.

There was a whole half of the cave she never saw, though she knew it existed.

“The place where the evil go,” she finally dared to say one day, as they walked the fields. “Where is it?”

Hades shot her a stern look. “Deeper. But I’m not taking you there.”

“Why?”

“It’s no place for a pleasant young person. Even
I
hate going there.”

Dread chilled her, and she almost felt relieved that he wouldn’t show it to her. But the need to know the truth pushed her to ask more questions. “Why? What is it like?”

He sighed. “They’re alone, each separated from the rest, and though they’ll talk to me if I wish, they’re always sunk in horrible guilty thoughts. And the vines hold them there, all by themselves, until the Underworld decides to let them go. That’s what disturbs me, really: seeing the cave as…as some kind of thinking, judging thing. I don’t know what to make of it. Perhaps it’s the great Goddess at work, and that’s…frightening, in a way. Even if it’s also good, in the larger scheme.”

Persephone nodded, gazing down at the pale grass as they walked. “I feel no need to see it yet, then. Your description is enough.” Then she looked at him. “The vines, you said? Vines hold them? Like the ones for harnessing the spirit horses?”

He glanced at her, guilt shadowing his eyes. “The same. That’s how I learned to do it. I looked at the vines down there, which the Underworld twists together on its own. I didn’t want to tell anyone, though. The others think me insane enough as it is, and if they knew I was using methods from the caves of punishment to capture horses for them…”

“I won’t tell,” she promised. “And I think it’s admirable, actually. You took something dark and made something useful of it.”

He gave her a soft smile. “Thank you for putting it that way, at least.”

Upon awakening from that memory on a Friday morning, Sophie wandered to class in a morbidly thoughtful mood, recalling Adrian telling her about those caves of punishment, and wearing the same troubled look that Hades had.

Meanwhile, Sophie hadn’t forgotten Jacob. She had kept him with her throughout the dreams; Jacob, angered and hurt, hovered in the wings like one of the Underworld’s ghosts, even while she stepped into Persephone’s skin and explored prehistoric Greece.

But it had to be admitted: after these considerations of life and death and divine retribution, breaking up with her high-school boyfriend looked a bit less momentous. It was survivable, at any rate.

She got through the day with a bit more grace than she had yesterday, and fell asleep that night looking forward to her dreams.

Time and again, Persephone reminded Hades it would be extremely useful for her to be able to speak the language of the dead, and converse with the souls directly about the plants and other topics. He taught her several phrases and words, which she picked up easily. But they both knew the faster way to fluency.

“I don’t want any more mortals eating the pomegranate,” he told her in mid-summer. They were lunching above ground, on the beach. “There have only been three, and they were all ancient wise folk. Even most of the immortals have turned it down—like your mother.”

She glared at him. “So now you’re hoarding
all
the wisdom? You won’t let anyone else have it?”

“It isn’t that. It’s a burden, bringing all those past lives—and past deaths—into your mind. You’re much too young to do that to yourself.”

“Why should age enter into it? If I’m old enough to marry and bear children, why shouldn’t I be old enough to know my other lives?”

“You’re young and delightful.” His voice gentled, and the sea wind ruffled his black hair. “I’d hate to see you darken your mind with all the tragedies that have ever befallen your soul.”

She pitched an olive pit into the waves, and lay back on her elbows on the warm sand. “Does your mind feel darkened? You speak more of having been ‘enlightened’ by this realm, it seems to me.”

“Now you’re playing word games. Demeter would hate it if you ate the pomegranate. You know she would. You got your way in coming here so often; just leave it at that.”

But Persephone didn’t leave it at that. That afternoon, walking with Hades through the orchard, she spotted a freshly fallen pomegranate among the dead leaves. Under pretext of adjusting her sandal, she knelt so her gown’s hem covered the fruit. As she stood again, she wrapped the pomegranate in the corner of her red cloak and picked it up, tucking it into the cloth bag she carried.

Of course, in order for it to work, she would have to eat it here rather than take it home.

She looked into the bag and made a sound of dismay. “Oh—my paintbrush. I must have left it by one of the trees.” She began circling each tree trunk, pretending to search the ground.

Hades turned back on the path. “I’ll check the farther trees.”

“Thank you.” As soon as his footsteps died to a far rustle, she dropped to her knees and took out the pomegranate. She dug her fingernails into its thick skin. Red juice dripped onto her hand and splattered onto her white tunic. Swearing in a whisper, she ripped loose a section of the fruit and sank her teeth into the tightly packed seeds. They tasted sweet and cool. She tugged free one more section and ate its seeds too, just to make sure the magic would take effect. A drop of juice ran down her chin and splashed in a large pink spot on her tunic’s neckline.

Hades’ footsteps crunched back toward her in the leaves. She wiped her chin, swallowed the mouthful of fruit, and shoved the rest of the pomegranate under the dead leaves.

“Nothing yet,” he said. “You?”

“It’s all right, yes, I found it.” Rising, she held up the brush and stepped out from behind the tree.

“Ah, good.” He halted, his gaze falling to her tunic. His solicitous expression turned to suspicion, and his hand lifted toward the pink spot. “What’s on your…” She tried to cover it with her own hand, and instantly he caught her fingers and examined them—sticky with the fruit’s juices, her nails stained and still wet. Clutching her hand, he looked at the ground, kicked aside a rise in the leaves, and uncovered the half-eaten pomegranate.

She pulled in her breath.

He pushed her backward and released her hand. “
Persephone
!”

It was the first time she had ever seen him angry, and being the cause of it sent a thrill through her—part fear, part triumph. Even in that muddled moment she understood she wanted to cause strong reactions in him. Ideally of a more pleasant kind, but anger was a start.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I take full responsibility.”

“Yes, I should hope so.”

“I mean I won’t let you take the blame. I promise.”

Growling, he turned and paced away, one hand buried in his hair. “How can I trust you down here? The magic is dangerous, and if you won’t listen to me, I can’t let you be here.”

That was a threat that scared her and brought her close to tears. “Please let me come back. I won’t sneak about anymore. I
will
be careful. I just wanted the knowledge, the languages…”

Still glowering, he swung toward the river and marched that direction. “Come. It’s time to take you home.”

She chased after him, but could barely keep up because of her limp, and for once he wasn’t slowing his pace to accommodate her. Only at the river’s edge did she catch up to him, as he unwound the rope that tied the raft. “Please,” she said. “I’m sorry. Don’t send me home forever.” She closed her hands around his upper arm and laid her forehead against it, feeling the warmth and muscle through the cloth of his cloak. “Please.”

He held still a moment, then took her arm and led her onto the raft with him. He said nothing as he pulled the raft across the river, and lifted her up the other bank.

Tears pulsed in her throat as she followed him to the entrance chamber. Daylight glimmered from the mouth above. The warm breeze descending from outside swirled his cloak around him. He untied the chariot waiting there and stood aside to let her climb in.

Miserably, she did so.

Hades stepped in after her, but only gazed at the horses, his expression like a thundercloud.

“Can I come back?” she asked, voice quivering.

He sighed, and rubbed his face. The pause before he answered stretched far too long for her taste. “I suppose you’ll have to. Where else will you be able to use the language of the dead?”

She breathed free at last. Leaning sideways, she kissed his shoulder. “Thank you. Really, I’m sorry. I’m too impulsive and I know it.”