The Eighth House

"I see quite clearly," he bit off the words to his capitulation.

"Splendid. You have a week to prepare. Always a pleasure, I'm sure, my Lord Hades," she smirked, turning from him to glide across the room. As she reached the open doorway, she looked back over her shoulder and reminded him again of their agreement. "Seven days. You know where you must wait. I will make good on my part of the plan; see that you do as well." With that she swished out of the room, her entourage flowing after without a backward glance for the Lord of the Dead.

Risks were not Hades' way, and now he planned to take one of the greatest of his life. What had he gotten himself into?

* * * * *

Every stem and leaf in the field was touched with gold as the Sun made its way toward the western horizon. It was a humid, windless afternoon, late into summer. Fat honey bees hummed from perch to powdery perch at the center of the season's last blooms.

Persephone stood with her eyes closed at the edge of a tiny stream, taking in the warmth of the Sun on her face, shoulders, arms. She sighed, opened her eyes, and bent at the knees to pick up the Fate-cursed basket by its woven handle.

Her bitterness did not match the lazy serenity of the day. She worried that her mood would be obvious to the others, and would ruin the afternoon for them. She turned back to her companions, who were making sport a few dozen yards off. Artemis, always up to one game or another, had something dark and unidentifiable in her hand, and was chasing Athena, who in a rare moment of irrationality was shrieking in half-feigned terror and darting about to avoid her friend's grasp. A laughing circle of Oceanids cheered them on. Persephone did not share in their merry mood.

She looked down at the basket in her hand. It was about the size of a large serving platter, flat with only a slight curve in its bottom, woven from reeds and topped with a large rounded handle. Her mother had given her the basket that morning, and sent her with her friends for a day of "flower picking" in the fields of Nysa. Her mother seemed to know very little about what Persephone judged to be a worthwhile day.

Of course the fields were beautiful, flowers dotting the curve of what might not be called hills precisely, but gentle swells at least, and the occasional grove of trees, mainly cypress, and a few others that were too far away for her to see and name punctuated the glowing afternoon landscape. And of course her friends were always pleasant company. Particularly Artemis, whose sense of adventure always spurred her on to attempt feats that she probably shouldn't.

No, her sour temper at the moment sprung from the fact that her mother, Demeter, took great pains to push her into what she felt were appropriate activities for her "maiden" daughter. If she only knew.

It began when first Hermes, and then Apollo by turn, made their attempts to court her. She was flattered by their attentions, naturally, even if she was not seriously considering either one of them as more than someone upon which she might practice a bit of flirtation. Witty Hermes was certainly engaging, and she was sure that he would make an excellent lover. Anyone who could move his tongue that fast outside of the bedroom... But she took care to note that while his eyes were on her at that time, had they not been fixed to Aphrodite for quite an age before? Who was to say that he would not turn his back on a new lover just as swiftly? No. No, he would not do for anything more than a dalliance.

And Apollo was quite a charmer, she did admit. He was generous, handsome, always with a sunny outlook and warm ways toward her. And Artemis, of course, encouraged the suit of her brother toward Persephone. He was everything a mortal or even immortal woman could ask for. But somehow, though she could not exactly put name to it, there was something essential lacking in him that caused her not to take him seriously. She thought perhaps he was almost too gallant and bright. She had asked herself once, then, if that did not mean that she secretly desired just the opposite in a companion: a darker, more wicked partner. She had swiftly brushed that thought out of the way as ridiculous. Who would want such a thing? And what would that mean was wrong with her if she did?

Without taking her opinions at all into account, however, her mother immediately rejected the suits of both gods. Demeter found their offerings to be quite lacking, although what greater gifts could be given than those presented by immortals she didn't know. If these two gods would not meet her mother's standards, then who would? Demeter began keeping her from Olympus altogether in hopes of hiding her from the affections of any of the male gods. Certainly she was allowed to associate with any of the goddesses, outside Olympus, of course, but the line was drawn there.

This was sufficiently annoying even if she were not interested in courting any of them: she had enjoyed the company of many of the gods. She had not heard Hephaestus' sudden bark of laughter in an age, or laughed at any of Ares' crude jokes. He and Ares were content to compete over Aphrodite; she saw no reason why she should be sequestered from them.

It was one thing for Persephone to resent her mother's edict, and the cloistering it forced upon her. This was a thing that lay on the surface, and her friends could make sense of this obvious irritant - it was a ready explanation for her ill temper. What she hid, though, from not only her mother, but from her closest confidantes as well, was that she was not the maiden everyone thought her to be. And the fact that her own mother was oblivious to this reality made her burn inside.

No, Persephone was no maiden. Demeter may have succeeded in keeping her from the arms of any immortal lover, but while all of her mother's attention was focused on this task, Persephone had made a playground of the world of mortal men.

She descended whenever the fancy took her, in the guise of a mortal woman, to Athens, Thebes: any place that was crowded with the bodies of men. She had sampled the flesh of man numerous times, and tasted all that their earthly fruit had to offer. Her secret outings made for quite an amusement; a rare entertainment within her restricted existence. But if her clandestine adventures and lusty couplings with the sons of man were any gauge of the acts of marriage, then the amount of fuss her mother put up over keeping her from them was all out of proportion. She could not see why her mother endeavored to prevent her from taking an immortal lover, or even husband, the Fates allowing.

It was because Demeter professed to care about her so much that she was willing to hide her away, but at the same time knew so little about her, that Persephone resented her mother irretrievably. The Goddess of the Earth was utterly oblivious to her daughter's comings and goings between the cities of men. When Demeter sent her to play in a field like a child, with the naive belief that her daughter was well under control, it made Persephone's blood boil.

She saw that Artemis had given up her chase, and she and Athena were now collapsed on the grassy meadow, staring up at the fierce golden sky, Athena pointing to something above them and Artemis nodding in agreement. The Oceanids had wandered toward a point further down the stream to dip their feet in the clear water and to give Persephone her space. Everyone sensed her peevish temper.

She brought up her hand to shield her eyes from the Sun and surveyed the field once more. If she didn't bring home evidence that she had been out collecting blossoms, as advised, she would hear another lecture.

Just beneath the gentle rise of a hill to the west, she spotted a lone green stalk topped by what appeared to be a vast number of yellow blossoms. There, she thought. That should appease her mother.

She stepped carefully across the stream and made her way toward the lonely flower, her path heading directly into the arc of the setting sun. Her bare feet pressed into the damp grass and dark, loose earth with each step, and she angled her body forward now to compensate for the subtle incline of the hill.

As she moved closer to her goal, she became aware of a heady scent in the air. She could not place it, but as it increased in potency she hurried to breathe it in. The scent was like...like joy itself! It could only be coming from the same flower that she had set her eye on. She approached the plant with curiosity, and judged it the source of the aroma, as she'd guessed. Nothing on Olympus could compare to this fragrance! It was so powerful that she swayed a little in her place, and had to lock her knees to prevent herself from stumbling.

All the flora of the earth were her domain, and she felt almost giddy to discover something that she had never seen before. Dozens of yellow blossoms burst open at the crown of the stalk, each with six-pointed petals arranged in a star, surrounding proud trumpets at their centers. She bent to inhale from the source of the intoxicating scent and nearly swooned. She considered for a moment that it might be poison, but she brushed the thought aside. She put down her basket and, righting herself, began to tug at the thing, intending to pull it out completely by the root.

She persisted in her tugging, but the plant remained stubborn. She was about to give over and return to Artemis and ask for a blade to dig the determined flower out of the ground, when she thought she felt a rumbling under her feet.

Time for further speculation was obliterated.

A sudden jolt. She tumbled her to her hands and knees, scraping her skin. The hillside spasmed like horseflesh beneath a swarm of summer flies. A violent and terrible grating of stone welled up from the deep, before a dizzying paroxysm of the earth rent the ground beneath her. In the space of a breath, a gaping chasm split the land in a dark gash.

She did not remember losing her footing, but as stones and clods of moist soil bounced and spun down into the yawning depths below her, she realized she was now being supported only by the tenacious stalk of that cursed yellow blossom she'd had to have. Her knuckles were white with the effort of holding herself at the rim of this new scar in the earth, grasping at the mercy of a singularly unfortunate flower.

Quiet yourself, she thought. Panicking will be of little help. She took a deep breath, and then another, slowing her heart and pushing down the terror she felt at the sight of the black oblivion below. She steeled her will and planted her right foot on the wall of earth in front of her. She levered herself against the freshly broken soil, tested the stability of the stalk she clung to, and found that it held. With a grunt of effort, she brought her left foot up hoping to hoist herself over the edge of the gap. It was at this point that Persephone's fortune took a turn in a different direction.

The traitorous golden flower consigned her to her fate as its root system broke free from the soil. Her heart stopped with a momentary clenching in her chest. Stark terror erupted within her, and she frantically clawed at the earthen ledge in a desperate surge of effort to avoid the plummet she was now sure would end her.

Her wild tearing at the ledge came to an abrupt halt, her efforts betraying her. It seemed that she fell backward for a small eternity. The afternoon sky fled, shrinking from an infinite dome above to a jagged and receding crescent of light. She almost laughed as she thought how her mother's efforts to protect her had ultimately destroyed her instead, and how perhaps she'd made a mistake in passing up on her opportunities with Hermes and Apollo when she'd had the chance. It appeared now, as she tumbled away from the Earth she knew, that she would not have another. Persephone fell and fell and was swallowed up by the darkness that separated the living from the dead, and for a time she thought no more.

* * * * *

Hades stood at the base of the chasm and watched his intended bride struggle with the narcissus. A hand resting patiently on one tall wheel of his chariot, he watched as the Fates gave her to him and she tumbled from her home above the earth. She fell and he was there to catch her. Her unconscious form plummeted toward him and he scooped her from her descent with a swing of his arms to minimize the impact of her body when her fall was cut short.

He was not, however, prepared to shield himself from the impact of his first glimpse of her.

He was in unfamiliar territory: he suddenly did not have any idea at all how he wanted to proceed. He had not been certain what to expect of this daughter of Zeus whom Aphrodite had connived him into abducting. Of course there were immortals that were known for their great beauty, but there were homely and even hideous divine beings as well. Which of these he would be taking into his kingdom had remained to be seen, despite Aphrodite's assurances that he would not be disappointed.

Persephone lay draped over his arms, her knees in the crook of one of his elbows, her neck in the other, unconscious from passing directly into the Underworld from the Earth above, rather than entering his realm by the more customary means across the Styx.

She looked to him like the embodiment of divine creation itself. Her skin was fair and smooth like the petals of a summer bloom; it all but glowed, even this far away from the light. Waves of her dark hair spilled over his arm and framed a face that even at rest compelled his rapt attention. Her eyes were closed, the black fringe of her lashes brushing her cheeks. He was seized with a desire to jar her to consciousness so that he could see her eyes open and look into them.

No. He would not maintain control of the situation if their first interaction found him staring at her in awe. Mastering his urge to rouse her for the moment, he allowed himself instead the indulgence of gathering her slack form higher against his chest. He lowered his face to the bend where neck met pale shoulder and drew in the scent of her, sampling it as a taste of what might come. Dewy green springtime filled his senses; a hint of vibrant budding life completely incongruous with the still hollows of the Underworld. Hidden beneath that floated a hint of her own personal scent. Something small and dangerous flared to life within him. He clutched her body a bit tighter as his imagination began to spin with unspeakable possibilities.

A stone skittered across the rocky ground. Ripping himself out of his reverie, he came to find Kerberos padding toward him out of the darkness.

What foolish thing have you done, Clymenus?

There was no need for speech between himself and the Guardian. The great beast made his disapproval clear, even taunting Hades a bit with one of his epithets: Notorious.

"A god cannot fulfill his desires?" He was amused with Kerberos' ever surly manners.

A Deathless One can rut with any mortal bitch he chooses, and sire pups as he wishes. Why bring an immortal female here? It will only result in complications.

Hades shook his head at this admonition. He was lord of this realm beyond a doubt, but Kerberos could not be rightly called his servant. The imposing hound and he held a respect for each other, but the Guardian did not beg or run to please his master like the dogs of men. Of a height with Hades himself, groveling before even a god would be laughable. Each was loyal first to his duties in the realm of the Dead, and an easy familiarity had grown between the two from ages at work under the same purpose. Calling it a friendship, however, would be taking the sentiment a bit far.

"There is more at work here than a desire to 'rut', Kerberos. Unfortunately, matters are already complicated. Olympian complications are exactly what has brought this female here to me," he explained as he turned to lay her carefully across the floor of the chariot. The harnessed pair of black mares stamped and snorted in the presence of the great hound. "Barring interference from any injured parties above, she is to be my wife. My mate, if you will."

Kerberos snorted in dark amusement, one of his three heads shaking itself with mirth. Sometimes I think that gods are just as mad as the humans when it comes to mating!

"Why have you come here, Guardian?" he wanted to end this exchange with the beast and bring Persephone to the palace before she woke.

You were not to be found for too long, Lord of the Deep. Others began to talk. Charon, Minos. I chose to come look for you rather than listen to idle chatter. Now that I've found you I will return and put a cease to their gossip.

Hades had no response to this, and waited to see if there would be any more from his colleague. There was not.

I'll leave you to your new female, then. I must return to my place at the river. Kerberos turned his heads as one and trotted away into the darkness, his attention for the affairs of gods disappearing as smoke in a breeze.

Hades turned to calm his horses with pats to their arched necks and a few murmurs of reassurance before he brought his attention once more to the goddess laying unconscious where he had left her. He could see the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she slept, her lips slightly parted. Her skirts had been rucked up as he laid her there, a length of pale thigh now revealed to him.

So vulnerable she was there. So exposed.

A molten hunger welled up within him as he cast his eyes over her. The Underworld. Everything here belonged to him, from the waters of the Acheron to the very souls of the Dead themselves. He would make Persephone belong to him as well. And he would enjoy every delicious moment he spent taking his possession of her. Cries of fear and of pleasure excited him equally, and Hades intended to bathe himself in whichever he managed to wrest from her beautiful lips.

* * * * *

Persephone woke from what seemed like the longest sleep of her life amid a pile of cushions. The deep violet of the pillow that supported her head was the first thing she saw, and she knew immediately that she was somewhere she had never been before. She pushed herself to a sitting position as her eyes darted over her surroundings, trying to make sense of where she was. Nothing was familiar.

She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and began to survey the room where she found herself. She had been asleep on a raised platform of grey stone covered in a bounty of cushions. Every size and shape was represented, fabrics of purple, red, and black predominant. This bed where she woke was situated in the curve of a wall at one end of a long ovoid chamber. In fact, she noted that even the floor and ceiling met the walls with a slight curve as well.

The stone floor at the center of the oval room was covered with several overlapping rugs, their dark woven patterns of a design she did not recognize. At the opposite end of the room there was a granite wash basin. An accompanying pitcher stood next to it on a waist high outcropping of rock that appeared to have been carved from the wall itself. A wide slab bench, of the same granite as the basin, sat a pace or so apart from it. The room was lit, but from where she could not discern. She saw no torches or braziers on any of the walls.

Another thing she did not see on any of the walls were doors. As she looked around she realized that there was in fact not a single opening that a body could fit through in this room. Her eyes traveled to the ceiling. There were a few smallish vents in the rock arranged in a pattern similar to that woven into one of the rugs, but these would certainly not allow a person to pass. How had she gotten in here in the first place, then?