Receiver of Many Ch. 00-01

Prologue

She looked skyward and blinked back tears, determined not to let them fall on the infant's head. If Demeter shed tears, who knew what terrible consequences her sorrow would have on the newborn child?

The ten year war was over. Father Kronos was cast into Tartarus along with the other Titans, monsters, and demons of the old order. Her child was safe here at her temple in Eleusis. All the Olympians were safe.

Her heart was broken. She had been his first and his love, their child conceived to rule in peace or in war. But as her belly grew, Zeus Kronides turned his attentions elsewhere— first to Metis, then to Hera. Hera had not captured his heart; she'd secured his critical alliance with the priestesses of Samos. She had convinced several of the Titans to join with the rebel god, Zeus. She had ensured their victory and earned herself the title of Queen of Olympus.

And with that, Demeter was forgotten. She had been left to tend the growing things while her brother gods divided the firmament, the waters, and the earth.

The infant was oblivious, happily gumming her breast. Demeter coaxed her child to suck droplets of ambrosia from her finger. She smiled, enjoying the grip of her daughter's tiny hands and staring into her wide, pale eyes.

The soft voice of her servant Cyane interrupted her.

"My Lady," the nymph said, "Th-there is someone here to—"

"Hades Aidoneus," Demeter said to the looming figure behind her. She hid her breast behind her red chiton, brushed back her long blonde hair, and clutched the swaddled infant to her shoulder.

Demeter looked up at him; his dark eyes peered at her through the slits in his golden helm. The black plumes of the crest were stiff and caked, the helm and plate armor stained with the blood of ancient gods and monsters. The edges of his charcoal and crimson tunic were frayed, and his great black cloak was torn and flecked with blood. Cyane bowed and departed quickly.

"Deme," he said informally, removing his helm and shaking out his hair, "Please, I'm Aidon to you. I was— I am your ally, even still. "

"I will have no such familiarity with any of you. Keep your war and your scheming to yourselves. I'll have no part of it."

"But you did have a part in it. Just as we all did," Aidoneus said, standing over her. "Deme—"

"Address me by my proper name, my lord."

"Fine. Demeter Anesidora," he said, chewing on the words, "the war is over. I regret that all was not resolved the way you hoped."

She looked away, her green eyes filling with tears again.

He continued, "This war didn't turn out as I wanted either. When we cast lots to divide the cosmos, I received rulership of the Other Side. I, the eldest. Do you really think I fought for the privilege of having Kronos and his pantheon of monsters haunting my doorstep?"

"The Other..." Demeter paled. The third lot was not rulership over the earth as they had all thought, but... ruling the dead. Aidoneus would rule over the dead. And if he did... she held her infant daughter closer. "At least you were given something. What I have lost—"

"Enough, Demeter. Do you really want to be with him? To marry him? In just the past year he's had many and pursued more women than I can count. Not least among them Themis..."

"Stop."

"Metis..."

"Stop!"

"Hera—"

"Stop it!" She screamed, jerking away from Aidon's hardened eyes. "Stop it." The wind howled coldly outside, and the baby squalled, balling her tiny fists. Demeter held her closer, cradling her head with her arm as the gale subsided. "You scared her." She turned back to Aidon, glowering.

He waited silently for her to calm the child. As he listened to her cries, something heavy and unfamiliar settled in his chest. Aidoneus shook his head, then straightened. "About Persephone—"

"Kore."

"Excuse me?"

"Her name shall be Kore."

"Zeus— the Fates— named her Persephone. Given her name, and who she is destined to become..."

Demeter looked away from him. "She is not to marry. And certainly not to someone as hard-hearted as you."

He recoiled, then drew himself up and narrowed his eyes. Demeter wouldn't— couldn't do this to him. Too much had already been taken from him today. "When she comes of age—"

"She will remain with me," she said, but her voice wavered as she spoke. Demeter's eyes grew wide and pleading. "Aidon, please; she's all I have left." She looked down at her baby girl, who murmured softly as she drifted to sleep.

"We made a bargain," he said, growing impatient. "I rallied the House of Nyx against the Titans and their servants. The war would have been lost without me. She is part of the oath that both of you swore."

"There is no longer a both of us," Demeter cried. "He has taken that... that... bloodless, brainless, conniving—"

"Careful...," he said quietly, his teeth on edge. Love and loss were not his concern. He didn't understand matters of the heart any more than he understood childbirth or the movements of the sea. "His choice of queen has nothing to do with our pact."

"Marriage is now Hera's province, and I'll have no part of it. Not for me, and not for Kore! I swear off all the Olympian men and swear on the Styx that none of them shall have her. No one shall destroy her as he destroyed me!"

"I accept," Aidoneus said.

"You accept what?"

"Your oath. After today, I am no longer one of them. If you are so eager to keep her from the Olympian men, then I will renounce their company, and with them the sunlit world."

"That doesn't mean you can take her from me! I didn't mean—"

Aidoneus stood resolute. "For my part in the Titanomachy, when Persephone comes of age, she is to be my queen and consort and rule the Underworld by my side. You cannot change that!"

She glared up at him, tears staining her cheeks, saying nothing.

Hades shook his head and turned his back to her, walking to the door. "Do not think to see me again until that time," he called out behind him. "None of you will see me. If you are going to swear off the Olympians for her sake, then so will I."

*****

1.

"Kore!" Demeter squinted in the noon sun and called out again, "Kore?"

"Over here, Mother!" Kore stood amidst the sheaves of barley to wave Demeter over, then crouched again and poked her finger into the soil. Dark green leaves shot out in every direction, and she circled her wrist upward, raising a stalk out of the earth. She stood slowly. The plant crept toward her hand. Kore splayed her fingers wide and a purple blossom sprang from the thorny stalk.

"Oh, Kore, if you grow a thistle in the barley field, someone might prick their finger."

"Wait," Kore said, smiling. "Just watch."

A fiery copper butterfly fluttered on the warm breeze and alighted on the blossom. Demeter smiled.

"You see? I saw her wandering in the barley and made her a home. You don't mind, do you?"

"My sweet, clever girl, of course I don't." Demeter hugged Kore. The butterfly folded its wings, fed and content.

"My thistle won't interfere with the harvest, will it?" Kore knit her brows.

"Not in the slightest."

The butterfly spread its wings, sunlight catching them as they fanned. "I don't think she will be alone for long. Surely a good mate will come looking for her."

"Yes."

"What's wrong, mother?"

Demeter looked north, toward distant Thessaly and Mount Olympus.

Kore leaned on Demeter's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't think before I spoke. The meeting is tomorrow, yes?"

"It is..."

"Why must you go?"

"Because," Demeter smiled and stroked her daughter's shoulder. "Although I don't dwell on Olympus with the rest of them, I am still a member of the Dodekatheon. I have my responsibilities here, but each full moon, I also have a responsibility to them and to the domain I govern. Just as you have a responsibility to the fields and all that blooms within them. And my going there... keeps us safe."

Kore swallowed. Demeter, she knew, had made Eleusis forbidden ground for the rest of the gods, specifically the male gods. She had known little of the Olympians since her childhood in the Fields of Nysa. Artemis and Athena visited infrequently, and she had seen Hermes on the rarest of occasions when he delivered news to her mother. She'd heard about Apollo and Hephaestus, and all the rest of her cousins, only from nymphs and in stories told by the mortals.

"There remains much for me to do before tomorrow. I need to go to Thassos and Crete. And I regret leaving you with Minthe again..."

Kore sighed.

"Daughter, you know you're safest here. Eleusis is under my protection, and with it— most importantly— you. Don't ever forget what Daphne was forced to do to protect herself from Apollo."

Kore's lips tightened into a line and she looked away. Maybe if she met these gods herself they would see that there was nothing at all tempting about her. Maybe she could convince her mother there was nothing to fear. Kore would wait until tomorrow. "All right," she said. "Perhaps I can accompany you to Crete next time, Mother? Or to... wherever you happen to go?"

Demeter grinned and stretched her hand out, opening up a pathway that would carry her over land and sea to the ripe fields across all of Hellas. "We'll see."

"I'll see you around sunset," Kore called out as Demeter disappeared into the sheaves of barley. She turned back to the thistle, watching the butterfly rest on the thorny stalk before it flew off toward the pasture. Kore danced after it down the pathway.

* * *

Rhadamanthus handed a scroll to Minos, who unrolled it and ran his eyes across it.

"The one before us is Aeolides, son of Aeolus and Enarete, king of Ephyra." He flattened the scroll on the ebony table before him and folded his hands.

Hades Aidoneus nodded to the judges, then leaned back on his throne, regarding the trembling mortal. "Aeolides, known to his people as Sis—"

"Please! You don't understand!" The dead mortal screamed. "I'm not—"

"Silence," Minos said, barely raising his voice. "You dare to interrupt the Receiver of Many? At your own judgment, no less?"

"There's been a mistake," he said, crumbling to his knees and weeping. The man raised his eyes to the inexorable god on his throne and the fearsome winged daimon beside him. "Please... Mercy. Please..."

"You will not speak unless spoken to. There are worse fates than even Tartarus," Rhadamanthys added before addressing Hades. "My lord, this one has been ranting since he arrived that he is not Sisyphus. Should we—"

Aidoneus raised his fingers from the arm of his throne and the brothers fell silent. "Hold, Alekto." The winged daimon relaxed her golden wings and stepped back. The Lord of the Underworld turned to the mortal. "You died three days ago, no? A mighty king leveled by tooth rot."

"No, no I wasn't, I was burned. I was burned by him!" The man trembled. "I am not him. I am not Sisyphus!"

"Aren't you now," Aidoneus peered at the mortal, his face a mask. "You know of my other names, do you not?"

"I know, y-your excellency. You are the Lord of Souls. Please, Merciful One, Righteous One, I beg you, look into mine. Look into my soul. My true soul," he cried, his words choked out through sobs. "Please. You will see. I am not Sisyphus. He betrayed me. The black henbane... the pyre..."

The barest hint of a smile crossed Minos's face. He snorted. "I've heard this before, my lord. Wealthy mortals, fearing an eternity in Tartarus, pay charlatans to cleanse them of their wrongdoings, and will even murder, thinking the sacrificed souls will take their place so they can escape your judgment." He leaned forward to speak to the weeping man. "How many talents of gold did that false trick cost you?"

Alekto snickered and folded her wings.

Aidoneus was not amused.

"Please," the mortal begged again, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"You wish for me to look into your soul, then? A brave request." The Lord of the Underworld narrowed his eyes. "I will tell you what I see."

"You," the mortal's voice shook, "y-you will give me a chance?"

"If your words are true, you will drink the waters of the Lethe. You will forget the suffering of your mortal life, and you will join the souls in the Fields of Asphodel. If, however, your claims prove false..."

"Thank you; thank you my lord. You are wise and just." His shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

Aidoneus stood, his staff held firmly in his right hand, his gaze affixed to the mortal. "I see one who defied Zeus, the King of the Gods."

The dead king's eyes opened wide. "No..."

"A host who murdered his own house guests."

"No, please!"

"A kinsman who raped his own niece, compelling her to murder her children, then drove his brother to madness and death."

"That's not true. That was him! It was him!!"

"I see a man who, through his own hubris, tried to elevate himself above the gods."

"Please, no, no, no," the man crumpled forward, sobbing.

Aidoneus had seen the wicked react this way before when the breadth of their sins was laid bare. He had very little patience for it. His staff pounded the floor, the echo resounding through the room. He stood tall, his shoulders drawn back. "Abandon all hope, Sisyphus, son of Aeolus and Enarete. For the murder of your guests, the violation of your niece, for offenses against Zeus and all the gods, you are denied the waters of the Lethe. I, Hades Aidoneus Chthonios, firstborn son of Kronos, sentence you to Tartarus for all eternity. Rhadamanthys and Alekto will escort you to the Phlegethon. You will be cast into the Pit where the Hekatonkheires will exact your punishment."

"No, it's a mistake! Please, Merciful One, please have mercy on me! Mercy! Mercy!" The man let out a wail of grief, his voice ringing through the granite halls as he was dragged bodily by golden-winged Alekto.

Aidoneus sat, exhausted. He rarely sent a soul to Tartarus, and disliked doing so. But it was a necessity. He pinched the bridge of his nose and slumped back into his throne.

"Are you well, my lord?"

"I'm fine, Minos."

"Hypnos tells me you haven't been sleeping."

"A full night's sleep would be worthier of Hypnos's gossip, no?"

Minos chortled.

Aidoneus opened his eyes. "Are there any more today?"

"No my lord. And no coming judgment of any other kings or nobles, either."

"That is good."

"You know, the harvest is on the full moon," the judge said. "Fewer die during this time. I truly believe the sick, weak, and old are filled with enough joy from the harvest festivals to stay alive a little longer than they normally would."

Aidoneus nodded, staring across the dimly lit expanse of the Styx outside the terrace of his throne room, distracted and deep in thought. "Perhaps."

"If you no longer require me, I'll rejoin my brother and Aeacus at the Trivium."

"You may do so. Goodnight, Minos."

The judge nodded to his king and shut the door of the throne room behind him.

* * *

Her every footfall was filled by small flowers, and Kore glanced back to admire the bunches of larkspur climbing toward the sun along the roadside. She skipped, and soft petals grew under her springing feet. She twirled, and left a spray of purple irises all around her.

"My lady!" Kore vaguely heard Minthe call out behind her, the blonde nymph jogging to catch up. "Please, milady, we must stay within these fields."

"What are you afraid of?" Kore brushed her hand across the bare earth. "You needn't worry about straying from your river. What could possibly harm you?" Roses, thorny and thick with pink blossoms, circled them. "I can protect you better than you can protect me, Minthe."

"That's not what worries me, milady. Your mother said—"

"She wouldn't object to this," Kore said, rolling her eyes. "We'd have to walk this road for half a day before we left the Thriasian plain, and there is no one for miles around!"

A fan of scattered crocus spread across the field as she ran. The pale naiad picked up her skirts and chased after the maiden goddess. "Wait! Lady Kore! Please!"

"Besides, Minthe, even if we were to see someone, Mother taught me long ago how to make myself—" She stopped cold and staggered back. White lilies crowded around her, perfuming the air, heady and sickly sweet. Kore's breath caught in her throat and her eyes grew wide.

"What's wrong?" Minthe said, catching up with her. A yearling fawn sprawled on the ground before them, bunches of beguiling aconite growing all around it. Its eyes were vacant and its mouth held a half-chewed wad of its last, poisonous meal. Flies swarmed its face. Minthe grasped Kore by the wrist, startling her. "Come, milady, you don't need to see this."

"Why not?" Kore answered distantly, rooted to the earth.

"It's ugly and... it's..." Minthe tugged at Kore's wrist again, encouraging her to continue down the road, to grow more roses, to forget the fallen deer. "Your mother wouldn't like it if she knew you were troubling yourself with such things."

"Why would she care? I've seen this before; it's part of life."

The naiad's mouth went dry. "But I can't... your mother told me to act in her stead. You are an earth goddess of young life and blooming things. She wouldn't want you around anything... a-anything that's..."

Kore gave the nervous nymph a half-smile. "Dead?"

Minthe nodded and wrung her hands.

She giggled. "Please, Minthe. There's dead grass under the plants, and insects, and..." She broke out into full throated laughter. "Did you think she meant you to keep me away from all of that?"

"No," the blonde naiad muttered. "Only the bad things."

"The bad things." Kore cocked her head to the side. "Like what?"

Minthe fidgeted.

Kore grasped Minthe's hand and they walked away. Violets peeked out of the earth along their path. She wasn't altogether fond of being escorted through the fields like a little girl, especially by a nymph who was younger than her. But Kore knew that Minthe didn't, couldn't discuss certain things with her— that myriad topics were forbidden by her mother or simply made the poor naiad uncomfortable. Mating was off limits, and no topic was more forbidden than the process of decay in the fields behind them. "Alright, Minthe, we'll not talk about it."

"Thank you, milady," she sighed in relief.

"But your mother was from the river that flows through the world below, where the dead belong, wasn't she? The place where the spirit of that deer went..."

"I..." Minthe tensed again.

"Let's not talk about the 'bad things', Minthe. But..."

"Yes?"

"What about something good? Surely there must be one thing. Tell me something else about the world below."

"I-I know very little," she demurred. "I wasn't born there."

"Please?"

Minthe looked to the clouds above them, trying to find something to appease Kore's insatiable curiosity and end this conversation. A butterfly flew overhead, settling on a flower. More followed, clustering around the sweet violets. "Well... my mother told me something once, a very sweet idea. I don't know if it's true, though..."

Kore licked her lips, ready to devour anything Minthe offered.

"She said that sometimes mortal souls get lost on their way to the world below."

"What happens to them?"

"She said they grow little wings and become butterflies. They find their way back faster because their lives are short. But sometimes, if they loved someone deeply, they will find the one they lost, and journey to the Land of the Dead together."