The Good Counselor Ch. 03

"Hmm."

"It's a good thing that Hera wants to befriend her. Good for everyone. Persephone is the only child of Zeus she's ever been kind to, so can you please, please do your part to not ruin it?"

The Boatman didn't reply.

"Not for me, but for her." Hermes leapt into the air, thankful to be on the other side of the Styx. Ever since the fateful day he had appeared before Hades and Persephone at the command of Zeus to return her to Demeter, he had carefully abided by Persephone's edict that he not cross the Styx except by Charon's boat. It was ploddingly slow, made worse by the shades that often made the journey alongside him, and worse still by the unpredictability of Charon's temperament— he never knew whether Charon would be gratingly dour, or spend the entire trip needling him.

The air was dank and chill, but he could feel the spray from the falls beside the palace on his face and it was refreshing after the stifling stillness of the Styx. He raced upward, torchlight guiding him to the throne room. He could hear Persephone's voice inside.

"...on the full moon exactly between the first of Spring and the Solstice."

"The seeds have already burst and reached into the soil by that season. Petals have fallen and the fruits have begun to pull on the branch. The weave of this is strange—"

Hecate whipped around as Hermes alighted on the balcony. He stumbled back.

"Oh it's... you... It's almost the— I suppose it's the last quarter moon, isn't it?"

Persephone made her way back to her throne and sat down, folding her hands in her lap as Hecate shuffled closer to the Messenger, toying with him.

She extended a bony finger. "The long-toothed wolf makes the pup yelp, eh?"

"There are old gods above, too. But they're ageless, and, well, you are too, but... I normally see you when you're..."

"When I look to have more pounce than prowl?"

"Well, yes."

"Cross the still waters more, whelp, and the boatman's call might lead you to a wiser world. But if the withered wolf makes your tail tuck away, I mark that the pawns of Olympus have no heart for the splendor and shades of Chthonia."

Persephone sat up. "What brings you here, Hermes?"

Hecate slid into the shadows, the crows feet around her eyes deepening as Hermes picked at a fingernail. He bowed to one knee and held a scroll aloft. "A letter. From the Queen of Heaven."

Persephone stood and extended her hand. Hermes stepped onto the dias and handed her the papyrus, the seal marked with the eye of a peacock feather. She broke it and started unrolling the scroll, then stopped. Hermes stood waiting. "My husband summoned you, no? He's below, in the courtyard."

Hermes shifted. "Oh. Yes."

No wayward gossip for you, Persephone thought. When Hermes was out of sight she walked to the desk and unfurled the missive.

Hecate hobbled closer. "Queen of Heaven, says the nipper at heels. A crown of twigs that lays claim to the forest of the cosmos..."

"Likely not self applied."

"We can hope that the crow but wears the peacock's feathers. What says the consort of the sky god?"

Persephone scanned the words. They weren't in Greek, or Theoi, but in the hieroglyphs of far off Aegyptus. She wrinkled her brow. What reason did Hera have to encrypt a letter? Persephone had only learned that language a quarter century ago, and had yet to master the spoken tongue.

My dear sister Queen,

I hope this finds you well. Your absence has produced a dreadful series of storms that has blanketed Thessaly in a lovely frost, but lost several ships near Crete, or so Poseidon tells me.

No matter. I look forward to your return and what we spoke of before your departure. Every passing day with my husband and his infernal sons convinces me that your ways below the earth should be reflected above. I don't want to speak of this on Olympus. There are too many eyes and ears here. Perhaps in your realm, if you would be so kind. I know you have much faith in your people.

I cannot leave now. There are matters I need to see through. And you are often busy in the Spring, but perhaps Summer might be a better season for us to visit Elysion together.

Please write soon.

All regards,

H.

"The serpent asks the sparrow to nest on the ground," Hecate rasped.

"Why do you say that?"

"She knows well that the Pact of the Pomegranate binds you to the fields when the sun soars highest, yet asks you to walk with her into these sunless halls while the fruits grow above."

"I'm sure it's completely innocent. When I spoke of the Agreement with her and Amphitrite, it seemed she hardly knew anything about it."

Hecate thinned her lips. "The serpent smiling through a cloak of blue feathers is still a serpent."

"I don't trust her either, but she is trying to befriend me, and the last thing we need is to make an enemy of her. Besides," Persephone said, reaching for a stylus. "If she is sincere, we could affect meaningful change in the world above. Wouldn't you prefer that to mortal women being treated as little more than chattel, or your followers being stoned or exiled?"

Hecate clenched her jaw.

"She is clearly scared and alone." Persephone held up the scroll.

"Serpent or worm, wolf or lapdog— be certain you know which beast you see. The Queen wore a thousand masks before you first saw your own reflection."

"I'll be cautious. But I'm not going to raise a wall between her and me." She rolled the scroll until Hera's words disappeared. She whittled the end of her papyrus reed to a sharp point and dipped it in the ink.

"What words will you send to the mountaintop?"

"The truth. That I've never returned to Chthonia in the spring or summer, in accordance with the Pomegranate Agreement, and I don't ever intend to do so."

***

"Hold," Aidoneus said in the dream tribesman's language. He stepped back and dug the pommel of his sword into his palm to stretch his tendons and relax his grip. As he clenched and unclenched his fingers around it, Aidon watched the deep wound on his forearm knit back together then disappear entirely.

Icelos Phobetor, chieftain of the Oneiroi, waited. His shape drifted from shimmer to shadow as he lowered his dagger and spear.

Aidon wiped the sweat off his brow. "You may enter, Psychopompos."

Hermes dropped to a knee knelt at the entrance to the courtyard. When he stood, he looked up at Aidon, but his eyes were drawn to Icelos. Twice as tall as him, the shifting mass kept a roughly human figure, massive weapons suspended within hazy fists, cloudy muscles rippling. The color drained from Hermes's face. "What... who..."

"He doesn't speak Theoi. Don't bother," Aidoneus said, replacing his helm.

"What are you doing?"

"Practicing."

"What for?!"

Aidoneus glowered at him through the eye slits. "Chthonia stands between your world as its former masters. Should the Titans ever escape Tartarus, I need to be ready. Stay where you are, Hermes." He looked up at Icelos and spoke in the hollow tongue of the dreamworld. "Last time. Advance."

Hermes winced, first at the unfamiliar words, then the clash of bronze. "It's been forty thousand years, Aidoneus—"

"And if you want another forty thousand," he said, grasping the spear to pull Icelos toward him and thrusting harmlessly into his immaterial form with a riposte, "I cannot afford to rest on my laurels."

Icelos jerked his spear back and Aidoneus dodged aside. The heavy spearhead slid by him, a hair's width from his shoulder, and struck the cobblestones with a clang. His helm vanished and swallowed the rest of his armored form, and he silently rolled backwards. Icelos lunged and hacked at the ground around him with his knife, hitting nothing but stone. Hades waited. He trod silently, then leapt forward. Arm cocked, he reappeared and cleaved Icelos's spear in half with a hard blow, then stood. "That's enough for today. Thank you for your time, friend."

Icelos silently bowed and vanished, taking the broken spear with him.

He inspected the nicked edge of his sword, then sheathed it, leaning the scabbard against the wall. He'd hone it later. Aidon removed his helm and sent it away through the ether. Hermes was shifting from foot to foot, agitated since the first clash of bronze. He was always on edge whenever Aidon wore his armor. They'd taken away his wife for half of each year, and each year passed quietly. Did the Messenger still fear that he would make war on Olympus?

Let them worry on that, Aidoneus thought, so they don't think they can take anything else. Still, he couldn't tolerate Hermes's fidgeting. His armor melted and rippled into the more familiar shape of his black tunic and himation as they walked toward the courtyard gate.

"Your wife sent me to see you here. I was willing to wait in the throne room."

"Given that you read her missives earlier this year, I don't blame her for dismissing you. I have a task for you," he said. "Come with me."

Aidoneus walked quickly toward the grotto and the pool beyond. "Wait outside."

Aidoneus knew Hermes wouldn't move an inch into the room until he was under the water. The Messenger had seen enough for one lifetime when he'd barged in on him and Persephone.

Aidon removed his sandals, his himation and tunic, then his loincloth, and left them in a crisply folded pile on the divan. He pulled his hair free of the torc and dove head first into the water. He swam to the bottom, coming to rest cross legged. The rush, the darkness, the utter silence of the water was welcoming. A respite. Aidoneus opened his eyes with only black stillness to greet him. It was warmer at the bottom and he let the heat seep into his flesh and bones. He'd begun sparring with Icelos early in the morning, and should have gone most of the day. He hadn't expected Hermes so soon, and his request of the Messenger would not be an easy one. Aidoneus knew that just one misplaced word or distracted thought would beget a torrent of gossip among the gods, and cause him and Persephone, and likely Demeter, endless problems. He rolled his neck, then slowly surfaced, his shoulders breaking the dark water. With a flick of his wrist, he lit the room, the torches illuminating the sapphire and diamond inlaid ceiling above. "You may enter."

Hermes poked his head in the door and scanned the dim room, empty but for Aidoneus chest deep in dark water. He waited for Hermes to take stock of the room, then spoke.

"Who on Olympus would have a silver lyre?"

Hermes raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"It is a gift for a mortal." The boy's eyes widened and Aidon could see the wheels turning in his head. "It is not so grand a favor, Hermes. I allowed a mortal to use my own helm once."

"Yes, but the Stygian nymphs were the ones who actually handed it to Perseus."

Hades rolled his eyes, despite himself. "Of course they did. What living mortal in their right mind would cross the Styx, enter this palace, and meet face to face with the Lord of the Underworld to ask of him a favor?" Aidon slowed his tread under the water until only his head bobbed above the surface. Warm water crept up his neck, soothing him. "It's beside the point. And before you ask, my reasons for this are my own."

"I didn't ask. I know you better than that."

"You created the first lyre, no?"

"I did. But I traded it almost as soon as I made it."

"For what?"

"A herd of cattle."

Aidoneus stared at him, water dripping down his scalp.

"It was a joke. It's a long story."

"There must be more than one silver lyre on Olympus. Which of the Muses would have one? Calliope? Erato?"

"They do, but not the kind you're looking for. The only silver lyre is Apollo's."

He exhaled and disappeared under the surface for a long moment then came back up. "Of all the gods to which you could have given it..."

"He doesn't use that particular one often, but he does treasure it above all others. If I told you what Euterpe had to do just so she could touch—"

"I don't want to know," he said. "Turn, would you?"

Hermes complied, facing the wall. "Who is the lyre for?"

Aidoneus hoisted himself up out of the water and shook out his hair, then stood and wrapped his himation around his waist. "A hymnist named Orpheus, who lives on Samo—"

"Him?!" Hermes spun back around. "The one you said has been putting the gold scrolls in the mouths of the dead?"

"The same," he answered, throwing the long end of the dark cloth loosely over his shoulder, careless of how it lay. It wouldn't be on for long. Persephone was meeting him upstairs after this business was over.

"And here I'd guessed you'd ask Zeus for his life for that. Not grant him a gift!" Hermes rolled his tongue on the inside of his cheek. "Wait; isn't he Apollo's son?"

"He is."

Hermes laughed. "My lord, forgive me, but I thought you had an actual task for me. 'Excuse me, Apollo, I need to borrow that magical lyre of yours and give it to your musically and poetically gifted son who composes hymns about you. You can have it back in thirty years or so when he's dead.' That is what you want?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure you can't tell me wh—"

"No," he said firmly. "All I need is discretion. Especially if you are going to Apollo. I don't want him to know that it was at my behest."

"He takes no issue with you."

"You told me yourself that he is still... resentful... of how Aphrodite publicly humiliated him on Persephone's behalf. It's doubtful he would forgive that any time soon."

Hermes nodded. "If anything he detests Aphrodite for it, not Persephone. Aphrodite and I— well, he has no quarrel with me, you know, and she and I... are..."

Aidon closed his eyes and massaged his temples with his fingertips. His voice dipped in register. "Is that why Ares has been making an absolute mess of Argolis for the past month?"

Hermes winced. "Possibly?"

"Your affair with her has created a season of headaches for us down here. It's not just soldiers we've received. The city was ransacked. Women, Hermes. Children."

"Take it up with Ares. I didn't tell him to start a war."

He sat down on the divan. It was always someone else's fault with the Olympians. Any time he had asked after the causes of mortal suffering he'd been met with a chain of pointing fingers. It wasn't even worth it to lecture the boy.

"It won't be difficult, I promise. Apollo is my friend."

"Just make sure."

The Messenger paused for a moment and tilted his head, suspicious. "You've never, and I mean never engaged in intrigue, my lord. Why this?"

He tilted his head up and stared Hermes in the eye. "It has nothing to do with Olympus. I swear that to you on the Styx, Hermes. It concerns our own matters in Chthonia, only. And you'll know the answer soon enough, if our efforts are successful."

"Our?"

Damnation! Aidon could have kicked himself. The crack in the levy was already there. Best repair it before Hermes made any suppositions. "I want my wife's name kept out of this, Psychopompos."

Hermes stared at him, and Aidon knew that he was trying to divine the reason. The Trickster was wise with emotions. He could see around the slightest bluff, the quickest lie. Hermes relaxed. "Think nothing of it, Aidoneus. I'll do it."

"You have my gratitude."

"Any messages for Zeus?"

"No. Likewise, I take it?"

Hermes shook his head.

"You may go. Charon will be along shortly."

"Aidon... since I'm doing you this favor, is there any way you could reverse the decree and I could just... come and go the way I used to?"

"That decision is for the Queen alone," Aidoneus said, smiling dryly.

Hermes opened his mouth to say something, then deflated. He bowed quickly and disappeared through the doorway.

"He will be as true as any whelp to a good master. "

Aidoneus turned to see Hecate, standing on the surface of the pool, her aged reflection perfectly mirroring her in the still water.

"The pup's yapping is not the sole storm in my mind. You are not only swimming against the river, you try to force it from its banks. These are not your ways. Or mine."

"Have our ways given my wife a child?"

Hecate slowly walked toward the deck, the water undisturbed, then padded soundlessly across the limestone. "The words of the Fates—"

"Contradict themselves. You tell me that. They told me that Persephone and I would be as fruitful as the land of the dead, and they told her we would have three children. So it is up to us, then. Just as it was our ordained actions that created Elysion."

"The river forks ahead, Aidon. It spreads before the sea beyond. And too many tributaries flow into a whirlpool. Lives will be churned. Swallowed. I see agony. Suffering."

"If I do not go to Samothrace, then we suffer the fate of never knowing if this was our one chance. I'm not about to let it slip through our fingers."

"And so you sail with your queen. What of the other ships that sail alongside you?"

"It's a fertility rite. Suppose the mortals have a poor harvest, as they did after our last efforts... Persephone and I can set it to rights before the first chill of winter. We would have months to do so."

Hecate's face fell. "The passing parts of seasons concern me little, Aidoneus. It is winters counted together as mere moments. It is the ripple that builds until it sends all ships to the deep."

"I have faith in ananke, Hecate. I'm not abandoning what you taught me, or you, or what I believe. And the hymnist himself follows our ways. I feel, in my soul, that this is right. More so than anything we've tried before."

She nodded, but her lips pursed as she looked up at him. "If this is your course, and if you sail with clear eyes and strong heart, who am I to stop you?"