Page 2 of His in the Dark

I could never be who they say I am.

Achill runs down my shoulders as I leave the grand main hall with haste. My heart pounds and as I pass the gardens; I’m reminded that they knew before I did. All the tales they tell come true and that turns my blood cold.

The roses wilt and the edges of the grass turned to a putrid brown. I stop midstep and stare back at the faded petals. It is a sign of death, when flowers shrivel and do not come alive again, no matter how rich the soil is.

My power is fading. That is the reality and I have no choice but to drown in the despair of it all.

I swallow thickly as my bare feet pad on the quartz floor, and my pale pink silk gown flutters behind me, giving away my urgency. I pass by the grand foyer and the din of talk comes and goes quickly as I move past the open doors, my presence not being required.

And why would it be?

Olympus is the home of the Gods and Goddesses. The heavens that Zeus, my father, shares with the powerful and mighty. I’ve heard that mortals can’t imagine the beauty of this place. It is beyond their depths. There are white spires like clouds, and the rich marble floors are warmed by the heat of the sun. Lush gardens grow in courtyards trimmed with gold. I’ve heard they don’t have water like we have here, every drop sparkling. Everything here is as pure as the Gods themselves.

Every presence in this grandeur is worthy of its divinity. For the servants, it’s the highest honor to be in the company of the divine and their blessings.

I was divine once, too. My birth was a celebration. Demeter’s daughter would bring fruitfulness as she does with such ease. I was once filled with powerful magic. Not anymore...and he knows. There is no hiding from Zeus. The prophets will not keep their knowledge a secret, for that is why they hear the whispers of the universe. They hear so that they can share what they know.

I fear they will all come to know what was just told to me.

After all, the prophets have been right all this time for everything that has fallen and risen.

The moment I get to my gilded carved door, I close it with my back to the gold painted etches. The thud is barely heard over my racing heart. It is not the foretelling I wanted, but it is the fate I knew I would receive. I’d still hoped that some miracle would happen in my favor, perhaps even a blessing from the Gods who still have power flowing in their veins.

“My Lady,” Beatrice calls out in surprise as she rises from her knees on the floor. The mortal has a hand on her chest as she takes in my presence and bows with respect. It only adds salt to my wound. For I do not feel worthy of such things.

She’s as graceful as anything in Olympus. Dark haired and dark eyed, she makes a calming contrast in her servant’s robes. Her Grecian blood is evident. Beatrice’s hair, plaited behind her head in a thick braid, shines in the light from the candles. She is surrounded by dozens of small tea lights and taller tapers.

It seems I’ve caught her in the middle of a ritual perhaps. She did not expect my early return.

The pure gold candle holders with white candles coated in a mixture of herbs sit in a pattern on the floor. The flames are bright and tall and in the center of the altar lies an old iron key I recognize.

My heart still beats too fast to be truly calm, but I have interrupted her and I regret that. “It wasn’t my intention to disturb your prayers.”

My father’s disappointment in knowing my own servant prays to another God is etched in my memory. Yet another failure on my part. I cannot provide for those who provide for me. I cannot give them the grace they need from me.

For so long, I thought of Olympus as my home, but now I see how little I belong here. Olympus is grand the way my father is grand. His power reaches every corner of the earth and the heavens. No one can hide from his power, and whenever they seek him, he can be found.

What am I next to that?I am nothing. I have no presence that can fill these flawless rooms. I am as small as one of the flowers in the gardens. Even the flowers have more to offer Olympus than I do.

I do not speak any of this aloud to Beatrice. She already knows the things I fear, and the things that are coming. She is my confidant and I am hers.

“What is it you ask of Hekate?” I question her, righting my gown and standing taller as I should. My heart still beats savagely from the fears that have only grown stronger.

“Only guidance,” Beatrice answers. “I long to see my sister at peace in her dying days and I struggle with my grief.”

“If you wish to go to her?—”

“I will not leave you, my Lady. I only need to hear of her peace.”

“Your sister is merely mortal. She will only be here for a short while. If you change your mind, your departure will be missed but it will be divinely guided and protected.” Before I can add that she should go to her sister before she’s gone, I catch the agony in her stare and I realize it’s for me. I too may not be here much longer. Not as a Goddess. Not in the castles. I’ll be shunned to the forests and lost forever as a garden nymph. So much of what I thought I would be seems so close to being lost forever. Beatrice will lose me as she loses her sister. The choice before her is which one of us to see for the final time.

My throat tightens as I realize her reality. I wonder if my name is in her prayers to Hekate.

“I do not need to go to her; I will see her in other lives. Death becomes us all and it is not an end, merely a crossroad,” Beatrice tells me and I rip my gaze away from her, making my way from the atrium, further back to the broad window with the daybed so I may rest. “What have they foretold?” she asks and her tone is tight with emotion. An anxiousness resides in her eyes. It’s been there far too long. I can barely remember a time in which she did not worry for me. That worry has been stronger in recent days, and there is nothing I can say to comfort her. “What did the prophecy tell you this evening?”

The last rays of sunlight outside Olympus are a deep, rich gold, as they should be in the presence of the Gods. I gaze upon it with a pain in my throat. I will not be able to look upon these sights for much longer. I try to console myself with the thought that I was able to experience them at all, but it does not bring me any comfort. Sometimes I think it might have been betterif I were born mortal. If I had been born like Beatrice, I might never have known what I have lost. What is so close to slipping through my grasp.

“Nothing more than a garden nymph,” I make myself say although it’s barely a whisper. “I will not be a powerful Goddess.”

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