Seeds: Volume Two (5 page)

     “Wait, Kampe. I would like you to tell me about this.” She waved her hand at the tub and pile of urns.

     “The prisoners here are one of few who ever leave Tartarus,” Kampe replied as she turned around.

     “Excuse me, but I thought that Tartarus is... permanent.”

     “Most of the time, it is. But not every crime is committed with malice in the heart. The ones here committed their crime out of fear and obedience, and they were further provoked by the ones they had been told to murder. The crime was grave indeed, so a punishment was necessary, but not an eternal one.”

     “I want to hear the story,” she replied firmly. Kampe nodded.

     “There was a king named Danaus. He had fifty daughters by a nymph, and they were all of great beauty, and renown through the land. Their father guarded their virginity closely, for he had ambitions to take his twin brother's kingdom for his own. This brother, Aegyptus, had fifty sons of his own. So Danaus offered him his fifty daughters as brides for the fifty princes. But before they were sent to their grooms, he gave them each a dagger and told them to kill the princes. That way, Aegyptus would have no heirs, and Danaus intended to murder him right after the wedding banquet. Thus, both kingdoms would become his.”

     Fifty daughters and fifty sons? Funny how both men had sired an even number of offspring, Persephone mused.

     “Forty-nine of the girls killed their grooms as their father had ordered, for he was a powerful and despotic king who did not hesitate to punish or execute his subjects whenever he saw fit. The fiftieth spared her husband because he had honored her wish to not give up her virginity to a man she did not know, and thus their wedding night was peaceful. Because murder is a severe crime, the others had to come here to Tartarus. However, they had no malice in their hearts, and were fearful of their father, and being forced into their wedding beds by their grooms only exacerbated their terror. Though these men were murdered, they had their own crime, that of forcing themselves upon innocent maidens. Had they not, they might have been spared just as their brother was spared by Hypermenstra. So her sisters' punishment was to draw water from the Cocytus and fill up the tub so they could bathe in it and wash away their sins.”

    
Doesn't sound too bad
, Persephone thought to herself. The river looked placid, and she didn't see any instruments of torture. She knew better than to voice that assumption.

     “There is more to it, is there not?” Persephone asked as her eyes moved to the pile of urns, noticing tiny perforations around their rounded shapes.

     “By the time they got to the tub, most of the water had leaked out. It took them several decades to complete the task. They could complete this task on their own time, since there were no shades to push them along. Every time they stepped into the Cocytus, they were overcome with incredible sadness and lamentation. Some of them lamented more than others, but as you can see, all finished the task in due time.”

    
Ah, and here is the third river of Hell
, Persephone mused. “Does this river run through other parts of Tartarus?”

     “Indeed. Through Tartarus, the Cocytus cuts a winding path, as does the Acheron and the Phlegethon, flowing where they are needed.”

     It was a unique punishment indeed, but she could see Kampe's wisdom. Persephone could understand how having a cruel father who threatened your life, and a groom you had never met before taking you by force, could reduce a woman to such measures. Had she had a sword or dagger when Ares tried to force himself on her, Persephone wouldn't have hesitated to stab or castrate him.

     She felt appreciation to Hades for honoring her wishes, and as if he was aware of her feelings, she felt him squeeze her shoulder as the trio continued down the path.

o0o

     Persephone's stomach had been bothering her for most of the day. It was something other than hunger pains, and it had been located below her stomach. Having a scrumptious-looking feast in front of her as Hades had his supper only increased her discomfort. She curled up on the divan, her back to the table as she tried to ignore the tantalizing scent of the dishes. She heard him coax her to come and eat, but she covered her ears with her hands. Damn Hades!

     Finally, the door to her room swung open. She retreated into it without so much a glance over her shoulder, closing the door behind herself. How dare Hades try to coax and tempt her with the food when he saw her discomfort! In her anger, she slipped off her sandals and flung them against the wall. Cloe appeared in a moment to pick up the shoes and put them away, which only pissed her off all the more.

     Tartarus had been a wonderful distraction, but she had also felt moody this morning, wishing to see something darker than the library or one of the gardens. She couldn't explain why she had felt so impatient and frustrated even when Hades hadn't forced her to sit with him for the morning meal.

     With an angry mutter, she pulled the pins out of her chiton, letting the soft black material fall to the floor before pulling her tunic over her head. She leaned down to tug down her loincloth, and gasped softly when she saw a bright pink-tinged red stain on the white silk. With slightly trembling hands, she lowered it further and stepped out of it before lifting her left thigh, gingerly touching the area between her legs. Her fingers came away wet, and Persephone stared down at the crimson slickness on her fingertips.

Chapter XXII

o0o

     Persephone stared at the bloodstains on her trembling fingers, her heart beating rapidly as she tried to process what had just happened to her. Why was she bleeding? She wasn't bleeding from...
there
, was she? Hesitantly, she turned toward the mirror and approached it, barely conscious of her shallow breathing.

     With her other hand she reached down, careful to not touch anything until she reached her most private part. Tentatively, she slipped her finger between the soft folds of flesh down there, discovering slickness that didn't come from arousal.

     No no no.
She felt as if she might faint. Why was this happening to her? Was it something Hades had done to her? Had Tartarus somehow triggered it? The punishments in Tartarus were gruesome. She had found it horrifying but fascinating.

     Those who enjoyed inflicting pain upon others in life were rewarded with torture for eternity. Some were chained while various abuses were inflicted upon them – whippings, stabbings, needles, fires, hot oil – while others were allowed to run around in a confined space, but this provided no reprieve because there was always a shade to punish them, driving them on with nail-studded whips. The flesh would tear and fall apart. The souls were tossed into the firepits to regenerate their flesh, and the pain would be inflicted anew. A few of the inmates of Tartarus even had their bodies removed, leaving them nothing more than heads stuck on poles, screaming and wailing, denied their bodies until the shades decided to toss them back in the firepits, which might be the next day or several centuries hence.

Had seeing all that blood inflicted some kind of... internal injury?

     The very idea seemed silly, but she couldn't think of any other trigger. How could she bleeding in the first place? She was a goddess, and should be immune to lasting injury. She hated not... knowing. After the time she spent in the library, she had been exposed to ideas she had never contemplated, making her realize how naive and sheltered she had been. It was one thing to be unaware of other lands, or old stories of the gods. But this was her
own body!
How could she not know what was happening within her flesh, within the most intimate part of her body!

     Her first thought was to panic and go to Hades for help. But she stopped herself, thinking about what might happen. She knew she would feel embarrassed to say she was bleeding down there and had no idea why, and besides, she was angry with him over the evening supper. A brush on her arm caused her to gasp and shudder, and she looked over her shoulder, seeing Cloe. She blushed even though she knew that her servant was merely a shade, with no mind or personality of its own.

     The shade floated there, waiting for a command. Apparently it had sensed her distress, but this was a situation it had never encountered, and it was waiting for her directive. That gave Persephone something to think about, and she took a deep breath. First she had to take care of the mess. She gave the shade the command to bring her some absorbent cloth.

     The shade disappeared and Persephone picked up her bloodstained underwear, going to the fountain in the corner of her chamber and dipping it in the water. The clear liquid turned red for a moment, but the movement of the water thinned out the crimson as she scrubbed and wrung it out. Though the blood had been washed away, a stain remained on the silk. This didn't surprise her, because her cousin had gotten into a fight with a neighbor boy once, and he had been punched in the nose. Blood had dripped down on his tunic, and Ptheia had not been able to wash it all away despite vigorous scrubbing, so the garment had been relegated for use in the field. After several weeks, the rust-colored patches were barely distinguishable amongst the dirt and grass stains.

     She wrung out the undergarment, feeling sad that such fine white silk was now forever ruined by this stain, unless Cloe could get rid of it somehow. It wouldn't hurt to ask, right? The servant appeared as she was wringing it dry, and she handed it to him. Her. It. Even now, Persephone wasn't sure how to think of Cloe.

     “Can you get rid of this stain?” she asked. The shade nodded, and she sighed in relief as the offending garment was whisked away, and a small stack of material in the crook of its other arm was promptly offered.

     “Thank you,” she whispered. These felt like towels, but were of the size she had specified, so she could fold one and place it between her legs comfortably.

     She quickly dressed in a dark blue ankle-length tunic and matching robe before sitting down in front of the mirror, still feeling apprehensive. She had merely found a way to deal with the mess, and felt frustrated at not knowing the source of the problem, even though she felt she should know.

     Think, Persephone.
There had to be a reason for all this.

     Her life in Enna seemed almost like a dream sometimes. It had been over a decade since her father died and she had been taken away from her family. It didn't matter if Zeus was her sire, she would always consider the people she left behind as her family. She had been treated with love and warmth by everyone. She missed them and often reminisced about them even though Mother said that that part of her life was past.

     One day, she and Alestis had gone to one of the ponds near the farm with Ptheia to collect berries. Her aunt had taken a basket of laundry with her and while the girls romped and collected blueberries as well as herbs, Ptheia washed clothes, beating them against a rock and hanging them up on the branches of a tree.

     By chance, Persephone – Kora back then – noticed that her aunt had a rag at the bottom of the basket that was dark with blood. She wondered if Ptheia had hurt herself, and watched silently as her aunt scooped up some water into a clay bowl and washed the rag in it before wringing it out on the grass, so as to not dirty the pond. She repeated this process a few times, refilling the bowl and dumping its contents on the grass.

     “Did you hurt yourself?” Kora asked, breaking the silence. The older woman looked up, startled.

     “Are you well?” the girl asked, concern evident in her tone.

     “No, I did not hurt myself. But thank you for being so concerned. You can go collect some more blueberries.”

     “What happened, then? Did someone else hurt themselves?” The blood had looked fairly fresh, brown and dark red.

     “No,” Ptheia sighed quietly, shaking her head. “It... comes with being a woman. You and Alestis will learn about it soon enough.”

     “Why would a woman bleed? Does it hurt? Where do you bleed from?”

     “So many questions, Kora. Your husband will have to be a very smart and patient man,” Ptheia replied. Now, as Persephone thought about it, her aunt's statement had been rather prophetic. Hades
was
a smart and patient man...

     “Do men bleed?” Kora could not help but ask.

     “It would be nice if they did,” her aunt replied ruefully as she wrung out the rag one more time before hanging it up to dry.

     “Why?”

     “It would make them more humble, for one thing. But no, it is a woman's burden. You will learn about it in a few years and your mother or I can explain it. For now, just enjoy your girlhood. It is short enough as it is, so do not dwell upon such matters.” There was a tone of finality to her voice which made it clear that she would not answer any more questions about the subject, at least not until the right time came.

     When she had asked Mother about why a woman bled, Demeter had become tight-lipped, refusing to speak of the matter at all.

     Persephone stared at her reflection in the mirror, admiring the swell of her breasts under her tunic, and the graceful curves that were replacing her almost boyish angles. Oh yes, she was becoming a woman. She wished that Ptheia had been willing to discuss the subject further. How often did this happen? How long? Did Ptheia experience the same pain she felt in her lower abdomen? Did all women feel vaguely cranky or irritable when they bled? She tapped her chin, pondering the fact that her breasts had felt slightly tender the last couple of days, especially her nipples. Was that from her body growing up, or did it have something to do with this bleeding?

     The underlying irritability she felt fed her resentment towards Mother. If Mother had been honest with her – and not forced her body to remain in a childlike state – then she would know exactly what to do and what to expect.

     The tidbit of information that she remembered from Ptheia helped her to calm down about the situation. It was something all women went through. Ptheia took care of her husband and children like any other woman did. Evidently this bleeding wasn't dangerous or harmful, though she still needed to know why and how. Who would answer her questions? She would simply figure that one out on her own, and rose to her feet, feeling more confident.

     At least, until she thought about leaving her room. She would have to face Hades. How long could she hide this from him? How did women deal with this around males, anyway? Were men aware of this? Oh dear, there were more questions than she had originally thought...

     Staring ahead, she picked up her brush and ran it through her hair in slow, idle strokes. Normally she would have Cloe do her hair, but she was looking for an excuse, any excuse, to delay facing Hades, since she was still angry with him about supper, and her overall grouchiness certainly wasn't doing any favors for the Dark God.

    
Stupid hair, why does it have to be so wavy?
She groused as she tugged her brush through several tangled locks, and felt the wispy, ethereal fingers of her attendant brush against her hand.

     “No!” she growled. Obediently, Cloe drew back.

o0o

     Hades had already changed into a comfortable robe, ready to relax for the night with his bride. At least, he hoped she would want to relax with him. They'd had a pleasant time today in Tartarus, but her attitude towards him had deteriorated at supper. He had heard the rumble of her stomach, why did she have to be so damn stubborn? What was she afraid of? She seemed to enjoy everything she was shown, including Tartarus.

     She had even shown disappointment in the fact that the Furies had not been in Tartarus at that time – they sometimes went to the surface to torment mortals and drive them mad – and had seemed eager to come back to Tartarus at a later date so she could meet them. Her interest was genuine – she wanted to know things and her questions were interesting, rather than seeking knowledge merely for the sake of escaping the Underworld. How could he convince her to take a bite of the otherworldly food?

     He waited for a while before he rose from his bed and approached the door to her room. He wouldn't let her sulk. He hated seeing her angry or perturbed, and he paused before her door. Never in his entire existence had the feelings of somebody else affected him in such a way. He was generally cold and aloof, yes, but he was also fair, and deep down inside, compassionate. But he had never been moved as he was now, and it was a feeling he was far from used to. He was upset with himself for upsetting her, angry that she continued to be defiant, and baffled at her refusal to eat his food.

     “Persephone,” Hades said loudly before giving the door a couple of sharp raps. No response came from within, so he opened the door without hesitation. She sat on a stool in front of the mirror, staring ahead blankly as she brushed her hair. He stared for several moments as the brush went down her hair slowly, tugging at the thick waves. She did not acknowledge him.

     Like the shadows that he controlled, the Lord of the Dead moved across the floor smoothly, dark and regal as he approached her from behind, his pale face standing out amidst the muted light of the chamber. Persephone's eyes flickered as she noticed his reaction before looking down.

     “I do not like to see you unhappy,” He placed his hands on her shoulders. She continued to brush her hair, and he grabbed her wrist, holding it in a firm but gentle grip.

     “I do not want to see you go hungry. I am sorry you are upset, but I cannot sit by and watch you starve yourself.”

     “If you would bring food from the surface world, you would not have to watch me starve. Then you would not have to be so concerned,” Persephone replied primly, trying to tug her wrist from his grip, but he did not budge. She was unused to being hungry, because her mother always made sure she had enough to eat. Mother was the Goddess of Bounty, after all.

     The tantalizing fare down here was nearly impossible to resist. She hated feeling her mouth water at the food Hades set before her, or the angry rumbles of an ignored stomach. And this self-denial was not without its consequences. As her body blossomed, it also showed signs of her refusal to eat the food of the dead. She had noticed tonight that her ribs were starting to show, illustrating themselves as a faint outline against her pale skin.

     “I have told you before that I will not be doing that. The only way to sate your hunger is to eat what I offer you.”

     Persephone sighed softly, shaking her head in irritation.

     “We had such a lovely day today. Please do not sulk.”

     “Then kindly refrain from setting all that food before me!” she replied petulantly.