Hades and Persephone

Chapter 24: Pomegranate

Two furies swept by to drag her out by the arms. Minthe nursed one of her arms, shards of pottery stuck in.

"Get out of my realm."

Not even Minthe had noticed a fruit was caught in the folds of her tunic until it was too late.

*****

Fighting the torrent of the river back to the surface was no easy task, even for the nymphs that called the river their home. Each second the waters consumed her head the clearer the sounds and sights of the dead became. Minthe took in a mouthful of water as her already bleeding arm slammed into a rock.

Rapids flung her into each wall and jutting rock indiscriminately. Each impact forming a new welt or bruise. Finally, with one last impact, her chest exploded the water around her into a red mist. It was only a brief moment she thought it as blood, and for that brief moment she did not care what happened next. Consumed by the waters she was born in, it was not ironic nor beautiful nor sad in her mind, it simply was. Then the moment passed, and the mist was not blood and tissue being pulled away by currents. Remains of an underworld fruit floated away into the land of the living.

"No no no no no!" Minthe swam for them, kicking and treading with injured arms and a bruised body. The pomegranate had burst and was carried away long before she could reach for it. In her hurry she managed to save the surface from a handful of seeds, no more.

The nymph pulled herself on the banks of the river. A bloody arm washed clean and shards of pottery pulled away with the tide. Fine sand clung to her in an attempt to make a cast of her body. Ice nipped at her fingers as she drug herself onto the banks. She tucked the seeds safely away in the odd pocket, hoping not to worry about them again.

The nymph hobbled away, bent beneath the folds of her clothes in an effort to keep warm. Dead grass pricked underfoot; exposed burs latched on trailing fabric. Lost and alone and desperate, a mother called for her child.

"Persephone?! Persephone!"

Memories of the dead flickered to life. Each spirit blissfully unaware of their death and bodies mere feet below the dirt. A lost village at the banks of a river. The first who whispered for Spring's return and the first to suffer Winter's wrath. An old flower stand that never seemed to wilt and an old brewery where mortals and men and mystics alike frequented for their dice.

"Persephone!" Winds whipped and nature froze the louder she spoke the name--as if the name itself meant destruction.

"I'd advise against speaking that name again," Hecate screamed over the winds and cold. "It's not welcome up here." Small and crooked, the goddess matched the dying moon with aging skin. Her torch the only light in the night and the only warmth around.

"I need your help. Please, Hecate."

"My hands are tied as well as Hades'."

"Please. I know he can hold Demeter. I know you can get Perseph-- Kore. Please. I want her safe."

"She is safe. Zeus would not allow her to be so after the destruction her mother caused in her absence--"

"Bull. That girl does not have bruises or breaks or scrapes but bull if that girl is safe. And bullshit if the world is any better, either! Look around," Minthe waved at the grass--yellow and sharper than steel--and pointed to the frosted tops of trees. "Does that look like spring? Does that look like fall or summer? Does it even look like winter? To me it just looks like pain."

Hecate made no motion to dispute; a silent agreement between the two. "I am afraid we cannot dispute our king."

"You've done it before--"

"Exactly why we cannot do it again. Wars are destructive and I doubt mortals would be able to handle one of that scale again. Hades cannot defy his king. I cannot defy my king."

"Then what can you do?"

"Stand idly by."

"No shit, a god can stand by and do nothing instead of helping!"

"Minthe, you misunderstand. I can help by doing nothing. I have allowed that girl even the smallest semblance of a life by doing nothing."

"What in the name of Styx--" the memories of an imperfect spell that did nothing to shield a young goddess came rushing back. One that constantly had to renewed, but never was. "When was the last time you casted the spell?"

"Who knows. Half the time I cannot find my way without lighting the trail." A series of torch lights spring to life in the distance.

Minthe took off running before the crone of a goddess was able to warn her that Demeter was home.