Radiant Darkness (18 page)

   "Who are you?" she demands again.

"Persephone," I say softly.

   "I don't believe you! You're not a servant or a gardener. Who
are
you?"

   I say it again, louder this time. "I'm Persephone."

   I didn't think her eyes could get any wider, but they do, the instant the truth hits her.

   "You mean you're . . ."

   "Yes. I'm
that
Persephone."

   I cringe at what might come next. Will she fall to her knees in that surging water?

   "I should have told you," I say, almost pleading, as I watch the thoughts racing across her face—the angry eyes that call me a traitor; giving way to the gasp and lowering head that call me a queen—but suddenly her head flies back up in revelation.

   "If you're a goddess,
you
can save Philomena!" she says eagerly. "Fly across! Make sure she's safe!"

   I sigh, a gust of wind. "I can't go back, either."

   "Of course you can! You're a goddess. You're queen of the underworld. You can do anything you want."

   "I'll try to send a message—"

   "A message! Philomena will be dead by the time you do that. She'll never grow up or know love or have children. There's no time for a message."

   As she speaks, her face hardens with a new realization. "You don't care, do you?" she says. "I thought we were friends, but it was just a big game to you. You, complaining gods don't respect mortals, and all the time you were tricking me!"

   "I was scared I'd lose you!"

   Her words are icicle-sharp. "Demeter is your mother! You could have gone back anytime you wanted and made her stop. Then
my
mother would still be alive.
My
daughter would be safe. But you never did a thing. No, you were just pretending to care."

   Cerberus growls and I tighten my grip on the center collar, trying to find words to explain.

   "If you were ever my friend," Melita says, "if it wasn't all a lie, go to Earth and save my child."

   "Melita, I can't!" I cry. "I can't cross the Styx! I can't talk to my mother! I can't do anything!"

   "
Can't
," she says bitterly. "That's all you ever say. Can't even try. But it looks like there is one thing you can do." She stares at my hand on the collar. "Hold him so I can cross."

   Cerberus feels the desperation building in me. He tugs, whining.

   Melita turns against the furious water. "Me, I don't have time for
can't
. Show me now there was friendship between us. Hold that beast back so I can save my child."

   Once she takes a step, Cerberus can't restrain himself any longer. With an earsplitting bark he bursts from my grip and into the river.

   "Melita," I shout, "stop!"

   Cerberus lunges at her, grabbing a mouthful of floating chiton. He shakes the fabric from his teeth—a flash of white rushing downstream. She keeps struggling forward. He leaps again and this time he rakes her arm. Blood oozes up in bright red lines and starts to flow toward the roiling water. He's readying himself for the next attack and still she isn't stopping, and the blood is swirling downstream, weaving into the dark strands of the water, and I open my mouth and scream so loud the air shakes.

   
"I'll do it!"

   Melita stops and turns to me. Cerberus, fangs bared, holds still.

   "I'll get Philomena," I say. "I'll make sure she's safe. I don't know how, but I'll do it. Just come back, please."

   "Promise," she says.

   "I promise."

   "Make it a vow that can't be broken."

   "I make this sacred vow. I'll return to Earth and find Philomena. I'll make sure she's safe."

"T
hen run!" says Melita. "
Run
!"

   I look at her shivering in the middle of the river, blood dripping down her side. I wade in and wrap my arm around her waist, help her to shore. Tear off a scrap from the bottom of her ripped chiton to bind her arm.

   "First I'm getting help for you," I say. "Back in the palace. Come on."

   She stands straighter to show me how strong she is. "You'll go faster without me," she says. "I'll be fine, but Philomena—without my mother—no, hurry! Go!"

   I look at Cerberus, pacing now on the far bank. Then I stare back the way I came. "And you won't . . ."

   She shakes her head. "The Lethe? How could I when I don't know she's safe? Now go!"

   I hug her close, letting go reluctantly. And then I run.

   The riverbank tries to hold me back, grabbing at me with reeds and branches, snagging my clothes; but soon I burst through the trees into the open. My feet pound along the path faster now, and then the sound is swallowed by long grass, the Lethe's grass, and the river is flowing beside me, filling the air with its seductive song.

   
Hades won't help you
, it sings.
It's all because of you . . . all
that death because of you. . . .

   And the song grows louder and louder, until it's ablaze in the air, promising me how good it will feel to lose it all. Everything: Melita's blood swirling into the Styx, and Hades' greed for death before its time, and shades crowding the throne room because of words I didn't speak. The Lethe will wash it all away forever. . . .

   I clamp my hands over my ears. And I run.

   Silky grass turns to dusty trail, to garden paths laced with thyme. My breath comes in great, ragged shreds. I slow to a walk, clutching my sides. But slowing lets thoughts come into my head, as painful as the Lethe's tune was sweet.

   What if Hades won't let me go, what then? He's relishing his growing realm, and he thinks this is just another struggle for power. He doesn't realize my mother is frantic with worry. And the promise I just made—how can he understand that when he doesn't know Melita? He doesn't even know I have a friend! I never mentioned her name to him, not once. And now I know why.

   I didn't want to admit I was deceiving her. Deceiving myself.

   The thought hurts so much, I stop and close my eyes. I used to think not telling the whole truth was different from a lie. Now I'm not so sure.

   But there's no time for this! I gulp in a deep breath, open my eyes—

   And there it is. The pomegranate. Lying on the ground where Melita left it, shocking and red and real.

   Something makes me lean over and pick it up. It's so heavy, as if a whole world is crowding inside that leathery shell. I run my thumb across the dents and dots and brown patches mottling its skin. All of this came from the glistening seed I planted, a single red drop, as powerful as a word.

   I'm about to put the pomegranate back down when suddenly I feel strength surging up my arms, as if whatever's inside this warm, bumpy rind is speaking to my blood. I'm going to need all the strength I can get to convince Hades to let me go, convince him to care. So I grasp it tighter and start striding toward the palace doors, and my husband, and if the fates are willing, Earth.

I
cross the forecourt and climb the steps. This time it's easy finding Hades. Loud voices rise from a closed room. We have company.

   That's not going to stop me.

   I push open the heavy door, and Hades' voice snaps off abruptly, like a sword coming down on an enemy's neck. There's dead silence. The air is thick. It's like I'm wading into the room.

   Hermes stands by the window, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. He stares over at me, his mouth a thin, determined slash.

   Hades is leaning over our inlaid gaming table, clenching the sides so tightly, a crack snakes across the polished wood. His eyes blaze at Hermes as pure and destructive as fire, like Cerberus on the attack. His head pivots toward me, and he straightens, letting the table go. Two halves clatter to the floor.

   He strides over and slams a possessive arm around my shoulders. I tighten my hold on the pomegranate.

   I'm not even going to ask. Whatever it is, I don't care. Nothing will change my mind. I'm going to talk to Hades. Now.

   "Hermes, I need to speak with my husband."

   Hermes doesn't budge. Hades is gripping me too tightly. I look from one face to the other.

   "Alone," I say.

   "There isn't time," says Hermes. "I have my orders."

   "Damn your orders," says Hades.

   He swivels me around to face him. My hand, cradling the pomegranate, is trapped between us.

   "Your mother has played her hand," he says, anger dripping like venom.

   "She made a deal with Zeus," says Hermes, not moving from the window. "You come back, she stops. No more destruction. She'll allow sun and rain in balance. Crops will grow, animals fatten, people thrive, and the gods will be appeased with their sacrifices again."

"Zeus can do that? He can call me back?" I ask.

The two of them answer simultaneously.

"Yes," says Hermes.

"No," says my husband.

   The "no" slides off my back like water. I can't believe my luck! Now I can do everything I need to do, with an easy chariot ride back to Philomena and my mother.

   "Give me an hour to change," I say, looking down at my chiton. Mud and dirt mingle with browning smears of blood from Melita's arm.

   "What?" says Hades, incredulous. "You want to leave?"

   "This won't take long," I say. "There's something I have to do on Earth—I'll tell you later, when there's time—and my mother needs to see I'm all right. She's worried about me; that's why she's trying to bring me home. Back in the throne room, I was still figuring it out. I tried to tell you."

   "Oh, you didn't need to tell him," says Hermes. "He knew, from the day you got here."

   I shake my head at him. "He's glad to have more subjects, I know that, but he wouldn't keep something this important from me."

   But that's no expression of innocence I'm seeing on Hades' brow. He's seething.

   "Traitor!" he snarls at Hermes.

   Hermes is cold and determined. "He knew your mother was doing everything she could to bring you back, and he liked the results. He said not to tell you."

   "Not to tell me!" I stare up into Hades' eyes. "Say that's not true. Go on, say it."

   He looks away.

   My heart plummets. So he knew all along. That whole time I was worrying about my mother trying to force me back, it was Hades manipulating me, using me to gain power and covering it up with kisses. And I just trotted alongside as obediently as one of his horses.

   I'm not feeling so obedient now.

   "Mortals have been dying in my name and you didn't bother to tell me? I thought you loved me! But you don't even trust me with the truth. What kind of love is that? Or maybe"—I pause for a second, my disbelief deepening into anger—"maybe you only pretended to love me back in the vale, so I'd come with you! You
knew
what my mother would do to get me back. You
knew
more people would die. Is that all I am for you? A weapon for your war?"

   "That's one accusation you can't make," growls Hades. "I didn't pretend. I love you. But I thought once you heard, you'd go soft-hearted and leave. Was I so wrong? Look at you now, ready to run home to your mother."

   I don't believe this!

   "You never even let me talk about Earth!" I say. "Every time I said the word you cut me off, so you wouldn't lose a single corpse."

   The pomegranate is growing heavier in my hand. It must be packed full of seeds, each one a chance to start the cycle of life again.
That's
what he doesn't understand.

   "Don't you remember what you said to me back in the vale?" I ask. "You said we made a cycle complete. Remember?"

   "Of course I remember."

   "Well, you can't have shades without mortals." My voice grows stronger with each word. "If nobody is born, nobody dies. Who's going to come to the underworld then? No one, not one single shade for the rest of eternity! What kind of cycle is that? And you, the eternal ruler of a static realm, what will you do then—run shades through the Lethe over and over so you can pretend they're new? No, the only way to keep your precious power is to save mankind!"

   Hades is speechless after my tirade. When I glance at Hermes I see his mouth is agape.

   "So I'm going to Earth," I say. "For the sake of mortals and the sake of our realm. And when I come back, there are going to be some changes around here."

   Hermes' mouth snaps shut.

   "That's the thing," says Hades. "You won't be coming back."

   
What? Not come back?

   The thought explodes inside me, leaving an echoing hollow in its wake. For the first time, I stare at Hades' eyes, his hands, as if I might never see them again.

   "Look," says Hermes in a gentler voice. "I've always been Hades' friend. That's why I didn't tell you before. So I want to make sure you understand everything now. Zeus isn't suggesting you come to Earth for a visit. He's commanding you to live there forever. The underworld is closed to you, as they say, henceforth."

   No! They
must
be wrong!

   "That's impossible," I insist. "Once my mother sees I'm fine, once I tell her what idiots my husband and I have been, not letting her know"—I stop to look pointedly at Hades— "she'll let me return, and Earth will heal."

   "She won't let you return," says Hades in a clipped voice.

   "She wants you on Earth," says Hermes.

   "She still sees you as a child. But you're a woman, a queen."

   Their voices are turning into a chorus, the hard, short lines banging down like nails into a coffin.

   "You're giving up your home," says Hermes. "Your work."