The Good Counselor Ch. 03

"What I'm trying to say," Demeter shouted after Persephone, "is that he's behaved quite differently since Eumolpus died. Usually he's here more often." She quickened her pace and muttered under her breath. "Too often..."

Persephone strode paces ahead of her mother through the ripened field, saying nothing. The autumn sundown winds whipped past them, rising off the sea and threatening rain.

Demeter would rather be speaking about anything else. Any talk about Hades rankled Persephone, no matter how innocent Demeter's intentions. Sometimes it seemed as if her daughter was searching for any reason to find fault with her. She only wanted her to be happy, even if it meant happiness with the Lord of the Dead.

"You should at least ask him if he even looked into that matter about Orpheus."

"Before we created Elysion..." Persephone spun about. "We opened ourselves to each other, completely. We can each tell if the other is holding something back."

Demeter rolled her eyes.

"What?"

"Yes, I know. That's what the hieros gamos does, for fatessake. You think that Zeus and I didn't share that same sacred connection? That you're the only one who's ever felt what you feel?" She worried for Persephone. Her marriage was new, less than a century old, and she acted as if she and Hades had been together as long as Gaia and Ouranos.

"He's not lying to me if he doesn't tell me everything right away. Fates help me if we described every detail of our separate lives. We'd have time for little else."

"This isn't a meaningless detail, Persephone. Not after that... adventure you had in Alikarnassos at that harlot's suggestion—"

"Aphrodite is allowed to be wrong, sometimes. And stop calling her that."

"Of all the Olympians you could have befriended— and you shouldn't be companions of any of them, by the way— it still baffles me why she holds such a thrall over you."

"Because she is kind to me."

"Oh, kindness indeed..."

"Isn't that what you taught me to value?"

"When it's served on the back of hidden demands, it is hardly kindness. Besides, if that is how you measure your relationships with them, why do you shrink from meeting with Hera again?"

"I'm not talking about this with you again. If you'd been there, you'd agree with me. Hera and Amphitrite were lobbing me back and forth like an episkyros ball. It was disgusting! And Hera didn't seem very pleased with my company by the time I left. She turned... cold."

"And yet she's summoned for you to return. Twice." Demeter bristled. How she had been reduced to making a case for that horrible cow of a sister was beyond her. Nevermind that she had just been pleading for Persephone to seek out and speak with Hades! If the Demeter of a mere century past had been listening to her speak, she would think she was completely mad.

"I'm not going back."

"A wise decision."

"And not on your advice! I have nothing to say to anyone there."

"Except that Eastern whore."

"Enough, mother," Persephone said, drawing an asphodel up from the earth.

"Instead of letting her talk you into visiting any of her barbaric fertility cults, maybe you should summon your courage and demand Aidon—"

"I said enough!"

Demeter stumbled back as a great ring of fire swirled behind her daughter. Persephone stepped through and was gone. Demeter stood in her wake, a tangle of brambles and blackberries snagging and staining the edges of her skirts. She shook her head. "So dramatic..."

She walked slowly back to the Telesterion, her head held high, refusing to draw any more attention from the mortals. She knew that her daughter had been disappearing to secretive places over the years, and though Persephone swore up and down and even upon the Styx that she'd never done it, Demeter knew in her bones that she would slip away to her husband's chambers in the Underworld. Persephone could do it. Apart from all the gods, her daughter could visit any realm whenever it pleased her. Demeter knew she wouldn't be so rash in the middle of the harvest, though. She would be back at Hades's side within days, anyway. Persephone had doubtless retreated to the inner sanctuary of the Plutonion, already piling up with pomegranates, dates, and olive oil.

Fine, she thought. Let her sulk in her cult's shrine. It did nothing to change the facts. Aidoneus was being furtive. He usually came to Eleusis before harvest to see her daughter, and on the rare occasions that he had stayed long enough to run into Demeter he had been curt but cordial, and had enough respect for her to carry out any... marital relations... away from the Telesterion. She still choked on bile at the very idea.

Keryx stood at the gate, his grayed head bowed as he swung the doors of the Telesterion wide for Demeter to enter. She stopped. Something felt... off. She smelled irises and a vague undercurrent of sour milk. A woman cloaked in a fine weave of saffron colored linen stood at the foot of Metaneira and Celeus's sepulcher. Mortal petitioners at Demeter's altar across the room glanced this way and that, then quickly scurried away as Demeter stood by the door.

The woman turned, her eyes darkly lined, her lids dusted a bright turquoise. She pulled back her veil. "Good day to you, sister."

"That color looks horrible on you."

Demeter had turned all that was green and living to dust to regain her daughter. Her emotions had always run wild, and she couldn't disguise the disgust in her voice. Other goddesses were more refined, Hera thought, able to master their feelings and summon them when appropriate. The distance Demeter had put between herself and Olympus was showing. She wasn't who Hera had wished to see, but she would do for now. Besides, she rarely had the opportunity to catch Demeter Anesidora off guard.

"I agree." Hera smiled. A wave of blue swirled across her himation and overtook the yellow of her veil and peplos. "But it would have been vulgar to arrive with a train of peacocks in my wake, nay? When in Eleusis, do as the Eleusinians do, and all that. Even if that means covering myself in the colors of your glorified pasture grass..."

Demeter scowled, baring her teeth. "What in Tartarus are you doing here?"

The door burst open and Persephone padded through, her feet bare and caked with mud. "Mother, I need you to listen to—"

Persephone's eyes grew wide and she swallowed. She bowed her head and curtsied. "Your grace."

Hera smiled at her. "Oh come, this is your temple. If anyone should bow it is I."

Persephone cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry for surprising you." Hera walked to her, passing Demeter without a sideways glance. "Is there anywhere we can speak alone?"

"Don't trouble yourselves on my account," Demeter gritted out, then disappeared through parted rows of conjured wheat sheaves into the ether.

Hera was silent for a moment, then turned again to Persephone. "Oh, dear. I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?"

"No," Persephone huffed. "Nothing that can't be sorted out later. If I might ask, though, what brings you to Eleusis?"

Hera demurred. Even though the girl before her was muddy almost up to her knees, and her hair was wind whipped like a mortal peasant, she still had all the bearing of a queen. Demeter's influence could never spoil that. "I had not heard from you, even after sending Hermes with two seperate messages."

"Apologies," Persephone said. "From midsummer to harvest, I have little time to spare. Too much needs be done to ensure that the mortals survive winter."

"Of course, of course." Hera cast her eyes to the ground. "I only thought... perhaps you could have spared a minute for me."

Persephone's mouth opened, toyed with words, but no sound came out.

Hera raised her hand. "And then I thought, it was no wonder you didn't want to visit me, after how abominably I treated you on our first meeting."

She gave Persephone a sidelong glance, one that always worked to great effect when she needed a favor from Zeus. The Goddess of Spring softened. "Your grace—"

"Hera."

"Hera, I... don't know what to say. The ways of Olympus are not my ways, nor my husband's ways. It wasn't disappointment or hurt that kept me away, but realizing that I simply don't belong in... that company."

"Would it be too much for me to say that that is exactly why I need you? I went about it poorly. And I apologize. It would have been far better to meet with you alone instead of in a setting where Amphitrite is sure to bring out my worst."

"But why do you need me? There are plenty of goddesses in your retinue, you have countless allies and friends..."

"I have all the servants I could want. Endless sycophants. But none among them are my equal. No one I can speak with in confidence, and no one who would be willing to listen."

She scowled. "I do not wish to be your pet, Hera. Nor do I believe that you would find anything I have— or do— to be of much interest."

Hera hid her surprise, pulling her shoulders back. The girl was smarter than she— and most others— gave her credit for. And in this world of men, she knew the dangers of that asset all too well. "On the contrary. There are things that I could learn from you. There is much I could stand to learn from you, in truth."

Persephone sighed. "I can't imagine what. You have been Queen of all the Gods for aeons—"

"Please. We both know how it goes here, in the world above," said said, speaking lower. "We both know that I am nothing, in truth, but for the fact that I am married to Zeus and bear his children. There is little else."

"No," Persephone replied, frowning. "That's not true."

"Isn't it? Perhaps Amphitrite is right about me."

"You two are different women. It was, I must admit, uncomfortable watching that play out."

"I thought about that, too. I fought so hard against her words because in my heart of hearts, I know she's right. Perhaps I do have much to learn from you about reining in my husband."

Persephone's eyebrows rose. Hera thought for a moment that she had chosen the wrong words. Zeus was Persephone's father, after all. And she had displaced Persephone's own mother in his heart.

The young goddess spoke. "If... you are hoping that... Aidoneus would somehow set an example for Zeus, then I'm afraid I cannot help you."

Hera smiled. "I don't expect to ever keep Zeus from his... wanderings. The Fates never had that in store for us. But... I would at least like to reclaim some standing with him."

"I'm not sure—"

"Please," she said, kneeling down. She picked a stray peacock feather from the floor. "Please, Persephone. As it is, I sit three steps below Zeus. Amphitrite mocks me for it, cruelly, but rightly so." She stood back up and wove the feather into her hair. "If we are to change anything in this world, I now see that it must start with me, the Goddess of Marriage."

Persephone tilted her head to the side and relaxed her stance, saying nothing.

"What you and your husband have done..." Hera looked around them, her palms upturned.

"This is my mother's temple," she said just above a whisper.

"Is it, though? No matter how she harries you or how tall her statues, the mortals come here for the new crop after the fallow. The promise of life after death. From you. And Hades. And the two of you, through your love and your realization of each other as equal halves of one whole, have achieved something greater than any of us before or since who took part in a hieros gamos. What you created changed the world as we know it. You made it better."

"That remains to be seen."

"But it has. You've given the mortals boundless hope. What is the number of offerings currently lying in the Plutonion?"

Persephone looked away, and fought to keep her hands at her sides. "Too many to count."

"The mortal world deserves to be better than what it is. For men and for women. I would like to see that come to pass above, by the same example you and your husband set below."

She could see the wheels turning in Persephone's head. The young goddess stood a bit taller, and Hera could tell she was formulating plans of her own. "We should talk about this further. But I'm afraid my time this season has run its course. The autumn wheat harvest is tomorrow, and afterward—"

"Naturally." Hera smiled graciously. "I won't burden you. But when you leave Chthonia in the springtime, would you join me on Olympus when you are able, without Amphitrite, without servants or other wayward ears, and... perhaps then we can discuss this again."

***

After her first disastrous homecoming, Persephone's return to Aidoneus's side was always a joyful yet sober affair.

They would cloister themselves in their rooms, then hold a quiet feast in the main hall on the next full moon— their anniversary. Hecate joined them without exception, as did Hypnos and Thanatos, the twin gods of sleep and death. Their mother, Nyx, the Goddess of Night, would make an occasional appearance, as would Askalaphos and Menoetes. An assortment of Erinyes and Stygian nymphs rounded out the feasting company. Charon was a rare sight in the hall, which made his arrival so surprising.

The doors opened loudly, silencing the idle chatter between Hypnos and Persephone. Askalaphos straightened, turning away from Nychtopula, who grasped his arm and peered around him. Aidoneus sat up on his divan, then stood in mild astonishment. Charon leaned on his oar as a staff, his thin frame even more frail against the backdrop of the great hall, then moved to kneel.

"No, no, please, Charon." Aidoneus stretched out his arms. "Come in, friend; it's good to see you."

"And you, my king." He turned to Persephone, "Aristi."

Persephone smiled at him and returned a slight nod.

Charon swayed, the motions of the Styx still deep in his bones. "I have something for you. A gift, of sorts."

"For me?" Persephone said.

Charon fought back a smile. "Beg pardon, Aristi, but this one I saved for your husband. It is a curiosity I found eight days past. Or rather, it found me."

Aidoneus glanced back at Persephone and shrugged. When he turned back, his eyes widened at the perfectly cut ruby Charon produced from the folds of his robes.

"It fell into my boat. Nearly hit a poor shade on the head."

Hypnos immediately dropped his gaze and fought back laughter. Hecate pointedly brought her fingertips to her lips and exchanged a glance with Thanatos. The God of Death rested his chin on his folded hands, silver eyes boring into Aidon's back. Persephone's bewilderment was palpable.

"We have the whole earth above us, so pebbles and such fall all the time," Charon explained. "But this stone was just... so finely cut..."

He turned it over in his hands, letting the light from the braziers shimmer through it. Thanatos cleared his throat, barely suppressing laughter. Aidoneus felt heat creeping up his neck and reddening his cheeks and ears.

He knew how that ruby had fallen into Charon's possession.

Aidoneus would wait within the Plutonion for Persephone each fall, listening to her mother's priests drone on as they prepared the masses for her departure and the barren winter ahead. His hand would reach out from the shadows, and take hers gently, not daring so much as a squeeze of affection in front of all of Eleusis. None knew it was him: he knew it would sully all of Persephone's progress with the mortals if they knew that the feared Lord of the Dead stood in the shadows.

Once the door closed behind her, they would retreat through the caverns in silence. He would walk her to his chariot, hoist her up, and they'd be off, plunging through the scorching depths of the earth to emerge in the dark reaches of Erebus. Only then would he kiss her with all the uncaged fervor of six months spent without her in his bed. Normally, Aidon would stay away during harvest time, in part to let his wife work, but largely to avoid ever-present Demeter. By the time they were alone together it would have been at least two months since their last encounter. This year the wait had been worsened by the fact that Aidon had forgone their usual midsummer visit.

"...and so auspicious," Charon continued, "since this jewel fell into my boat on the very day our queen came back from the corporeal world..."

Aidoneus had been hasty with her. And she with him, he recalled, deepening his blush further. Her fingernails had gouged his neck and flanks in the dark as she had struggled to rid him of his himation and then his loincloth. His garments had fallen in a heap on the chariot's podium. As he was wrapping the reins around one hand and tugging at her dress with the other, he'd grown impatient, and with a growl he yanked her jeweled girdle off her hips. The gold set stones jingled and clattered in the cart. Neither one noticed. By then, he was pressed deeply into her, a rhythm growing between them, his senses flooded by the warmth and scent and sound and taste of her surrounding him...

Afterward, in the waxing light of the Styx, she fished for her clothes and righted his, only to discover a large ruby on her girdle missing from its setting. Persephone fretted about the jewel as they alighted in the courtyard, but it was no matter to Aidoneus. He was the master of earth and all the precious things contained therein. Summoning a replacement would be easy. And so, amidst the following days of their private reunion, he had forgotten all about it.

Until now. And of all the damnable places for it to turn up...

"I thought to myself," Charon smiled, "I could keep this, perhaps with all the coin I've received over the aeons, but no, that wouldn't do..."

Hecate snickered.

"Such a marvelous trinket should be given to you, so you could gift it to your dear wife," he said, holding it aloft before dropping it into Aidoneus's open palm. "In front of all of your gathered friends, of course."

One of Hypnos's silver wings arched forward to shield his face. Tisiphone didn't bother masking her harsh cackle, her body doubling over, one hand on Persephone's shoulder. Nychtopula whispered in Askalaphos's ear and his eyes grew wide.

"Which one of them put you up to this, Charon?" Aidoneus asked, his lip twitching into a smile.

"I swear it wasn't me." Hypnos shook with laughter. "I swear it!"

Thanatos parted his hands and raised one finger. Aidoneus looked at him in surprise, and Persephone smiled, her cheeks rosy with a mix of embarrassment and laughter. Aidon returned to his seat and sheepishly handed over the ruby. They exchanged a quick kiss and the laughter ended in quiet applause.

Charon smiled. "Now all's right with the world."

The Minister of Death would have been the obvious culprit a century ago, but Sisyphus had changed him forever. He was more somber, and Aidon had heard no complaints from Hecate, no boasts or rumors about him chasing after the Lampades— or any woman or man, for that matter. Aidon was relieved that this prank had been Thanatos's idea.

"Won't you stay, Charon?"

"Perhaps. You know the first days of winter can be busy—"

"Oh, please," Persephone said. "Anyone newly arrived can wait a mere hour. Come share the nectar that was sent to us."

"Nectar." Charon's jaw tightened.

"Courtesy of Hera," Aidon said.

"Do you recall the last time she sent us a... gift?" He looked pointedly at Aidoneus.

"It's in good faith, Charon. Persephone got on well with Hera this summer, and this was delivered by Hermes earlier today for the anniversary," Aidoneus sipped from his cup; he had quietly vowed to have only one. Everyone who had witnessed what happened that night was eager to lay the blame at Minthe's, or Demeter's, or even Hera's feet— anyone but him. Aidon knew the truth: if he hadn't downed that entire glass— and so many before it— he wouldn't have been so gravely affected by the ergot. "It won't alter your senses, I assure you."