Page 41 of Song of Memories

"Um, no," Hermes flushed, "not a psychedelic. It's the barley variety." There was something in Hermes's countenance that Eurydice couldn't identify, but she trusted him enough to know he wasn't lying. Eurydice said nothing but nodded, pushing an empty cup towards him. Eurydice expected a cloud of dust to come out of such an ancient looking jar. The string practically disintegrated and fell away when Hermes touched it, the linen lid revealing a wax seal over the top.

"What kind of kykeon is this, again?" Eurydice stared at the artifact, sensing some sort of weak magical hum coming from it. Hermes looked like he was a kid who got caught looking for sweets.

"Damn," he cussed under his breath. "I always forget that you've got enough immortal in you to sense a magical object when you see one."

"So it is a fucked up kind of kykeon!" Eurydice shrieked, her brow furrowing when she stared at the god. Kykeon came in plenty of different varieties. It was a fermented drink that plenty of peasants preferred to wine, but only occasionally did it function as a hallucinogenic.

"It's not fucked up." Hermes held up a finger. "It is not a psychedelic. I wouldn't lie about that."

"Then what is it?"

"I... I can't tell you," Hermes sighed in defeat, letting out a frustrated grunt as he leaned back in his chair.

"You can't tell me? Why do you want me to drink it?" Eurydice leaned a little closer, suddenly growing more intrigued as to what it might be that Hermes wanted to serve her.

"I can't tell you that either," Hermes grunted, looking increasingly upset. "But do you trust me?" The question was loaded, and the atmosphere grew more tense between Eurydice and Hermes.

"Yes," Eurydice nodded slowly, "but only because I know if you do anything to me, Pan will be furious."

"He'd kill me for it," Hermes agreed easily. Eurydice's heart skipped a beat.

Would Pan really kill a god, one of Greece's most powerful gods, for me? Even if that god was his father? Before Eurydice had another second to contemplate everything that Hermes's answer implied, she found herself reaching for the tiny jar.

"Will it hurt me irrevocably? Or put any of my loved ones in danger?" Eurydice grabbed the jar and brought it up to her nose, giving it a smell. She expected it to smell rancid, but it only reminded her of baby's breath and poppies. It was a light, floral scent.

Hermes looked at Eurydice with a hopeful expression; she noticed how keen he was, for whatever reason, that she consume the contents of that magical jar. He leaned forward, his broad torso stretching across the table, and held out his hand for Eurydice to shake.

"I promise," Hermes swore, "that the contents of this jar will not hurt you or your loved ones irrevocably. I cannot promise that it will be comfortable. I cannot promise that it will not change the world in which you think you are a part of. I will promise it is necessary."

His words were spoken with a solemn serenity. Eurydice had never seen that look in Hermes's eyes before; he was deadly serious. He may have been a trickster, but it was apparent that Hermes was putting his honor on the line. Eurydice looked down at the unassuming jar in her hands, the dust rubbing off on her fingers and the clay warming in her palms. Eurydice swallowed thickly and met Hermes's intense gaze. The air between them grew thick and Eurydice found herself nodding.

"Then I accept."

Hermes nodded, sitting back in his chair and patiently waiting for Eurydice to drink the jar's contents. She flicked a little bit of dust off the lip of the jar, took a deep breath, summoned her courage, and brought it to her lips. She held it with both hands and tipped her head back, consuming the jar's entire contents in a few messy sips. It was syrupy and thick, but it tasted as floral as it smelled.

It dripped down Eurydice's chin, staining the front of her clothes. Some part of the jar's magic consumed her, and she was overcome with the urgency to keep drinking, greedily gulping it down. She nearly fell off her chair, gasping for breath when the jar was finally empty. She dropped it, and it fell to the kitchen floor and shattered across the tile, sending pieces of wet clay scattering all over the kitchen.

Eurydice collapsed back into her seat, her eyes fluttering closed as a sudden heaviness overtook her limbs. She didn't possess the strength, it seemed, to keep her own eyes open. She faintly heard Hermes calling to her. There was more shouting. Two voices. Three? She tried to open her eyes, but it was impossible; her body felt like stone. She was faintly aware of her body sliding towards the ground and arms catching her to prevent her fall.

She could've sworn someone was shouting her name, but all the words sounded like they were underwater. Eurydice was hit with a sudden feeling of nausea, and her head threatened to explode under pressure—then everything went black.

* * *

The air smelled like sulfur. It was cloying and thick, as though it was fighting with the atmosphere to strangle the oxygen right out of the air. It made Eurydice feel sick, but she trudged on. One step after another. She couldn't remember anything anymore; the only thing that rang out in her mind was a warning. Someone had warned her this might happen. They said walking out of hell was not for the faint of heart. Her memories might come and go. There was a chance that she would forget her own name.

There was no way to measure time; the portal between worlds existed in a universe all its own. The only point was to keep walking. One foot after another. Do not stop. Do not slow your pace. Do not increase your pace. Heel to toe. Do not stop. Eventually, the bridge would be crossed, and when she saw the full light of day, her memories would be returned to her.

The stranger had warned her a final time before she started on this journey with no end and no beginning—say nothing and follow Orpheus. Orpheus loved her. Orpheus would keep walking. They would not stop... Keep going until the sun appeared.

The rough stone cut the soles of her feet and burned her skin. Eurydice was caught in a state that was somewhere between walking and sleeping, dead or alive. The atmosphere burned her eyes. She stumbled and held her hands out to catch her fall, biting her own tongue to keep from crying out and betraying the vow of silence. Eurydice hauled herself to her feet, dropping her hands to her knees and forcing herself to take a few deep breaths before continuing.

Finally... finally... Eurydice thought that the shades of darkness surrounding her started to lighten. Ever so slightly. The pitch black started to ebb to gray in some places, the corners of her vision were a little brighter than they had been a few paces ago. An impossible sway of hope started building in her chest. Was this torture over? How long had she been walking? How long had she lived in the space between worlds, with no sky, no flowers, no trees?

It doesn't matter, she reminded herself. You did this for Orpheus. You will reunite amongst the green trees and embrace the sweet earth you love again...and Orpheus. You will see Orpheus.

Eurydice's heart swelled with love, and it gave her what she needed to keep pushing. One foot after another. She started to be able to decode some of the landscape around her, the rock-strewn path covered in stones. She was able to dodge them now, sparing her feet, and started to pick up her pace. Finally, she was surrounded by the low light of dawn. The world around her was bathed in shades of grey and blue. The light of the sun was so, so close. She could sense it. Every part of her body was attuned to it—being a nymph—and she ached for the sun and for Orpheus. He had braved the Underworld itself to come after her, and the songs he had sung her!

She felt lighter thinking about it. There was nothing she wouldn't do for him; if there was anything she could do to make Orpheus feel as adored as he made her feel... Alas, that was why she was the muse, and he was the artist. There were times when he was hard to reach. More than once it had been obvious that his art was taking priority over Eurydice. But that was the cost of artistry, no?

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