Chapter 14 - The Lethe

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Hades made his way to the Stables, his hands trembling beneath his robes. Anger was warring with confusion, the emotions causing blood to flow in eddies down his chest as he quickly saddled Orphnaeus. The Fates talked in riddles, but their prophecies were rarely wrong. The man from the forest was coming and Hades had not imagined Persephone’s horror. Did she fear Hades’ reaction to the appearance of her lover, or was there a more sinister reason for the haunted look in her eyes? They had promised that he would find his answers in the Lethe and it was time he returned to the River of Forgetfulness. The connection between his forgotten memories and Persephone was unclear, but he had no choice -- he must retrieve them. The day he had woken up by the river’s shore he had held a cup in his hand, which he had pitched into the river, his mind disoriented and throbbing. He had avoided the Lethe since that day, wondering what had caused him to seek the amnestic waters. What could possibly have been so agonizing that he could not bear for it to even reside in the darkest recesses of his mind? He rode through the darkness like a man deranged, Orphnaeus flying over the rough terrain. If he wanted to retrieve his memories, he would have to locate the original cup he drank from. The river held hundreds of thousands of cups abandoned by those souls desperate to purge their mind. He slowed as he neared the shoreline, his chest damp with blood and sweat as he scanned the waters below. Seconds, minutes, hours passed as he sat, keeping silent vigil. And then he saw it -- a ruby red flicker that danced under the waves then disappeared far below.

"Mine," he growled.

He flung himself from the horse and dove into the icy waters, causing his breath to shoot out in a quick gasp as the chill began to spread through his body. Tentacles of other memories that had been sacrificed to the river began to wrap around him: a young girl hanging from her neck, her tongue bulging from her mouth as her body swayed in the breeze; a father kneeling at the cold, blue body of his child that stared ahead with wide glassy eyes; a husband’s hands wrapped tightly around his wife’s bruised neck as she lay motionless beneath him. He felt himself sinking under the weight of grief and regret, while all the time the icy water dug into him, pushing him deeper and deeper. As he was pulled further into the murky waters, he felt his resolve waiver, wondering why he had leapt into the Lethe, feeling content to give into the icy blackness. A gleaming ruby cup swept past his fingertips, and he fell as the current pulled it from his loose grasp. Persephone. He pushed forward, clamping the cup tightly in his hands even as icy arms tried to pull him deeper. With a wave of his hands, a brilliant purple light pushed them back and Hades shot to the surface, gasping for breath as his head rose above the water. He pulled himself from the river, breathing heavily

as he lay on his back letting the cold waves pulse around him. He may have lost consciousness briefly for his eyes shot open as he felt  Orphnaeus’ cold nose pressed against his face. He lifted his hand to stroke his muzzle.

“I am okay, Orphnaeus, but you are right, we should go.” Using the horse to brace himself, he stood and allowed himself a moment to lean against the solid warm strength. “Come, let us go to Acheron.” He pulled himself into the saddle and leaned heavily forward as they rode to the opposite river-- Acheron, ‘The River of Pain,’ the river that would return his memories. He dropped from the saddle, staggering slightly, then strode to the water, the cool depths coming close to his feet. He was careful not to let the icy hot waves brush his skin, for the waters of the Acheron brought with it insurmountable pain. Bending to fill his cup, he stepped from the pools, walking to a nearby cave. He sank against the wall, letting his long legs stretch before him as he stared down at the cup in his hands, seeing his distorted reflection stare back at him. What dark memories would return to him when he allowed the water to touch his lips? She will destroy you. It mattered not, he was ruined anyway. But Persephone still had a chance.

“Acheron,” he whispered,  “bring back my memories no matter how painful.” And he drank deeply from the cup. As the water touched his lips his muscles began to clench and he felt his stomach twist against the putrid taste. He almost dropped the goblet as a rigor went up his arms, but he forced it back to his mouth, pouring the entire contents down his throat. He pushed his head tightly against the wall as a wave of agonizing pain moved over him and he bit his lip to suppress screams. Tasting blood in his mouth, he finally had no choice but to give in to the ripping pain coursing through his body. He felt his insides were being ripped out and he wished for death as his agonized howls echoed through the cavern, but no one could hear him. A surge of pain filled his body, and he begged to put him out of his misery as his muscles spasmed and his body convulsed. He thought that perhaps this would be the worst part, but then the memories started flooding back.

He was at the River Styx watching Persephone in the forests above, her dark hair spread across the green earth as she cuddled a small deer to her chest, smiling happily. Watching her had become his ritual, and for those few moments, he felt happy, he could separate himself from the death and despair that filled his existence. The first time he had seen her he had sought the calmness of the River after visualizing the brutality of a father against his young children. He had felt broken by the wickedness of the man he had sentenced to Tartarus, tainted by the sharing of his vicious memories.

Styx had shown Persephone to him, her beauty and kindness acting like a balm to his torn, wretched soul. He was not sure when he began to love her, but he only knew that he did, fully and reverently. Everyday he sat by the river, he wrote briefly of what thoughts had passed through his mind during the day.

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Persephone, I wonder at the cruelty of the world. Sometimes I lose hope that there is any goodness left in mortals and Gods alike, but then I see the innocence of a child or the love of a mother. I see you and I remember that there are those who still hold kindness in their hearts.

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He realized one day as he sat, that  he had written several pages, just streams of his consciousness, but he decided that he would send them to her.  He left the message unsigned and  placed a black rose with golden tips over the letter, wrapping it with a golden thread. He bent to the Styx, asking if the river would deliver it to the stream Persephone visited every day. When he returned later that day to the River, he watched in surprise as a letter floated towards him with a red rose placed on top. Persephone had written him a response.

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Dear unknown one,

I thank you for your letter. I too wonder at the savagery that exists in the world. You say I am kind, but it seems sometimes the only peace I find is in the meadows and the forest and I wonder if I am a coward not to do more to help the world. My impact in this life has not been perhaps what it could be. Tell me more of yourself and perhaps I may offer you advice, though my experience is limited, unless you seek assistance in horticulture. In that, if you will excuse my immodesty, I do excel. I will offer you this last thought -- do not despair of the world entirely. Today I saw three fox cubs in a den and  life cannot be too bad if they exist in it. Do not give up hope for a better world.

Persephone

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One letter turned into two, and two letters turned into four. They wrote for weeks, and as those weeks turned into months, Hades began to feel that he could not live without her writing. She told him about Olive, how she had longed to know her father, her hopes, and fears.

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I sometimes feel that I am living a half-life, safely hidden from those who wish me harm, but is that how one is meant to live? I long to roam, to be free to see every tree, swim in every river and get to know every badger. Yes, badgers! I wonder how long I will sacrifice my freedom for my safety? I feel like a bird who has never been allowed to fly. And is it worth the cost? I think of how my father loved my mother, despite the risk to himself. Love is worth the danger, I think. Think of Eros and his lover, I believe that someday they will find their way back to one another. Their story is sad, but underneath it all, is hope. Hope that they will somehow move past all the obstacles that keep them apart. Hope. What this word has come to mean to me. Hope that tomorrow I will find the life I dream of. How dreary my thoughts are, I find they turn darker as the sun drops from the sky. Olive is currently laying his head in my lap and the first stars are just beginning to appear on the horizon. I wish you could meet him, he is the dearest creature. Please write again soon, your letters have become the most important part of my day. I hope that you will not always be unknown to me.

Yours,
Persephone

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He remembered the day she told him she loved him and he confessed how he loved her. He wanted to spend his life with her, make her his Queen, and he her King. If she waited by the stream he would send a message  telling her when they may meet in person. He would meet her at the surface, revealing his true identity and if she was willing, he would ask for her to become his bride. I will kiss you under the stars. He folded it carefully sending it down the river to his beloved.

Persephone’s letter returned within moments, her usual elegant hand haphazard in her haste.

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I do not care who you are my prince. If you are mortal or God it matters not. I will love you forever. Just come for me, make me yours.

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For the first time in his life he found a reason to love immortality. He placed her letter in a drawer with the others. A lifetime with her would be a life worth living. He decorated a lavish room for her and spent days chiseling the fireplace with engravings of Eros and Psyche for her arrival.

Memories, they were painful to watch. He watched how happy he was, how hopeful, how stupid. It hurt. He watched their story again not knowing how it would unfold and was helpless to look away.

It was sunset when Hades travelled to the stream with a rose. Flower petals danced on the summer breeze as he looked for Persephone, but he was alone in the forest. He strood along the shore, and then a small huddled bundle drew his eye. A sickening feeling twisted in his stomach as he approached and saw Olive’s small, broken body, his sad brown eyes blank as they stared into nothingness. He laid a hand over the deer's eyes closing them and  looked around carefully to see what had harmed the little deer when he saw the crushed black rose petals scattered on the ground. He followed the petals, his heart in his throat, fear for Persephone making his feet fast. Then he saw shreds of paper thrown onto the grass.Turning the fragments of the letter, he recognized the writing as his own, under the stars. He saw a separate letter sealed, and when he opened it, Persephone’s writing filled the page.

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Never write to me again. You are a monster that no woman could ever love. I curse the day I met you. Everything you touch brings death and destruction and I hate you, hate all that you are.

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The words danced before his eyes. It could not be real, but it was her hand. She had written those words to him and he felt his heart shrivel in his chest. He crushed the letter in his hand, bending over the body of the fawn, trying to choke back a cry of despair but the pain escaped his lips as a savage bellow. It sounded like the wild scream of a dying animal, and that is what it was, the last soulless cry of a broken creature. He yelled out her name, but his voice merely echoed, lonely and alone through the trees.

“Persephone,” he moaned.

He pulled himself from the ground, keeping the deer’s body tucked close to his own. How he made his way back down the River Styx he would never know, but he only began to stir as he recognized the sound of the water next to him. He laid the deer’s body next to the river, gently brushing its head and then approached the gates to the Underworld, whispering, “Elysium.” Locking the door to his room, he poured a glass of wine with unsteady hands. He gulped down the first glass and then poured another. A bowl of water stood next to his bed and he walked over to it, waving his hand over the surface, “Persephone,” he spoke her name like a prayer.

She appeared in the water, lying on her bed, her mother grabbing handfuls of letters from a small chest on her desk and throwing them into the fire. Persephone raised her face and it was tear streaked and ravaged by grief.

“Oh Mother, I have been so stupid. He is a monster, he has no soul.”

Hades pushed the bowl from the table, shattering it against the wall. Blood dripped down his hand  and he grabbed his glass, kicking open his door and almost running down the halls. He did not stop until he reached the River Lethe, drenched in sweat, his breath coming in short, heavy gasps and he fell to his knees, letting the water soak into him.

“How could I think a flower would love a thorn?” he said hollowly.” How could I think she would ever love me?” He flung his hands into the icy depths. “I wish I had never seen her, I wish I had never loved her.” His heart contracted and he felt an actual twist in his chest.  “I will carry this as a scar.” He growled.

All you touch brings death and destruction, the words echoed in his mind over and over. He saw the light fade from his mother’s eyes, the madness in his father’s, the disgust on Persephone’s beautiful face. A monster.

Looking up into the heavens that he could never touch, he threw back his head and shouted, “Are you happy! Are we even? You have taken everything from me. I will never love another and my hope of happiness is lost.” He grabbed at his chest, wishing he could rip his heart out of it, wishing he could die. “How can I rule this kingdom? How can I rule these lands? I do not want to be here!” His curses fell empty into the Underworld. He screamed like an animal as his tears fell into the Lethe, “I hate her… I love her.” He bent down to the river staring into the water, his reflection looking back at him and knew his decision had been made.“I will forget her, I will forget this. I want to be free of this pain.”

He plunged the goblet into the water, filling it to the brim “Lethe, erase the memories of her and what happened between us.” He brought the cup to his lips and then paused. The wind blew through his dark hair as he sat staring over the darkened land that stretched for eternity. An eternity of never knowing her, never remembering how sweet her words had once been or how he had loved her. And how she too had once loved him. He would always be alone, but could he not leave a trace of her memory, a touch of light in his eternal blackness? “When I remember this, let me know that I loved her, gently, but that I knew I could never touch her. That is what I ask of you, Lethe. That she remain a distant, calm memory in the back of my mind. A lightness to touch the darkness in the longest nights. A quiet love. One that I never pursued.”

He drank deeply from the goblet and began to double in pain, screams of agony being torn from his lips. The moments passed as the cries began to quiet and silence filled the night once more. Hades sat up slowly raising a hand to his dishevelled hair. His head was aching fiercely and his unsettled thoughts disturbed him. He glanced down at the cup lying on the shore and then over to the River. He had drank from the River of Forgetfulness. He wondered what could possibly have driven him to seek the oblivion of the waters, searching his mind for any hint of what could have led him to this point, but found merely… blankness. He picked up the rubied goblet and then threw it angrily into the dark waters next to him. Standing, he began to make his way back to his palace.

Hades woke from the memory like awakening from a nightmare. He had the answers now. He was the reason her eyes turned hollow and fearful, why there was a mark on her soul. She had known him the whole time, known him and hated him. Persephone had played a game with him, or worse - her words were empty. After telling him she would love him no matter who he was, she fled the minute she guessed his identity. How well she acted her part, he had believed every lie she told him. His heart quivered in his chest and the blood dripped hot against his cold skin; he wished he would bleed out, that his life force would drain into the river, so he could let the peaceful blackness claim him. But he was not to be allowed that sweet release. He would never be free from the torment of her hatred. He brushed his hand across his face, the tears smearing with his blood as he stood and emerged from the cave, wishing he had never sought the truth.