Page 80 of His in the Dark

The dead are many.

It takes me a moment to realize he must mean the mortal realm.Demeter.

We leave the glade behind, and he disappears onto the main path just as a crack of lightning rends the sky in two.

The decision is made for me, then. I will not follow him further.

I go back the way I came, toward Persephone.

I am nearly back at my home when she appears on the path ahead of me, her brow furrowed with worry.

“Hades.” She hurries to me and takes my hand. I curl my fingers though hers and keep us moving. I want to be within the walls. Persephone cranes her neck to look over her shoulder, then looks up at the sky. “What was that?”

“It was nothing.”

As if to taunt me, another thunderous crash of thousands of screams is heard overhead. It is loud enough to ring in my ears. Persephone stops on the path, staring up at the dark crack that has been left in the sky. This one lingers for several beats, only beginning to fade against the brightest light of the sun.

Slowly, her eyes drop to mine. “Whatwasthat?” Persephone asks again. “It is not my father.” She states although there’s uncertainty there.

“That is the sound of mass deaths and the imbalance of life and death.”

“What does that mean?” she questions, her eyes wide and her body breathless with worry.

I stare up at the sky, wanting to deny Hermes’s judgement. “More of the dead are coming.”

HADES

It has been days since Hermes came to the Underworld.

It seems like an eternity and at the same time, no time at all.

It’s like she’s slipping away and there’s nothing I can do about it happening. I know it to be so. With every wretched thunderous cry in the darkness above, thousands of souls pour into the River who should not be here. They overwhelm the Judges. They drown in the River with fear. And the balance has been upset. The pain is immense.

Agony is felt by all. It’s a suffering the worlds have never known.

And yet, every moment that I am with Persephone is precious. In the bedchambers what lies beyond this space does not matter. It does not exist.

But whatever the Fates said to her left its mark. She does not seem to recognize herself.

In the days since they met, Persephone’s powers—and her control over them—have improved a great deal. Even the amount of power she keeps close to herself is greater by far. When she walks past the torches, the fire blazes as if they cannot contain themselves. When she stares intently at a fire inthe grate, it burns hotter. When we walk among the shade of the trees, the sun shines more strongly through the branches, warming us from the inside out.

The power calls to her although I do not know if she’s aware. She seems lost in contemplation.

Persephone’s attention has turned back to Olympus.

She speaks often of the roses there. Several times a day, her expression goes distant. Agony has met me in such ways though I try to deny it.

“The roses will surely have wilted,” she says one afternoon, the corners of her mouth turned down.

The next morning: “They used to pray to me, you know. The mortals. I heard their prayers on Olympus. I cannot hear them in the Underworld.”

The day after: “I cannot make the roses bloom again, Hades. I cannot answer the prayers of the mortals. What good is power if I cannot use it for those who pray to me?”

I have no answers for her and it only adds to the despair that grows within me. My Queen struggles and I can only distract her. I can only offer what I have in the Underworld. For the most part, it is enough. She need only release what once was.

As I prepare to open the door to the bedchambers, a weight seems to settle in the pocket of my robe. Curiously, I check it and find the seeds of the Underworld. The pomegranate seeds, at least a dozen of them. Lifting one, I observe the shiny translucence of it, the delectable dark red and burgundy shades.

For a moment, I think to squeeze them into her wine and then shame falls upon me given what happened before. Putting the seeds back, I open the door to find Persephone standing at the lone window, looking out.

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