Goddess of Spring (18 page)

Lina had little time to ponder Hades' reaction to her question. At Iapis' command, another shadowy figure detached from the waiting doorway and Lina watched a pale woman make her way hesitantly across the Great Hall. She was dressed in much more somber robes than Stheneboia had been, but her attire looked just as rich and her dark hair was intricately dressed in a similar fashion. A small coronet circled her head. As she drew closer, Lina could see that she was a plump but attractive woman who looked to be thirty-ish. Then she felt a jolt as she realized that the splash of scarlet on the front of her robes was an open wound, which still seeped blood.

The spirit curtsied deeply.

“Persephone and Hades, I am honored to bow before the Goddess of Spring as well as the Lord of the Underworld.”

The woman's voice was strong and regal. Lina smiled and inclined her own head in welcome.

“Greetings, Dido. What petition does the Queen of Carthage have to set before me today?” Hades asked.

“Hades, I beseech your blessing that I may depart the Region of Lamentation beside the River Cocytus and pass into Elysia.”

The god studied the spirit thoughtfully. “Have you overcome the grief of your unrequited love, Dido?”

The woman lowered her eyes, not coyly as had Stheneboia, but in a manner that Lina recognized too well from her own past. She lowered them to hide the pain that was still reflected there.

“Yes, Great God. I am finished pining for that which I cannot have.”

Lina shifted restlessly in her chair and glanced at Hades. Surely he wouldn't believe Dido.

Hades rubbed his chin and considered the dead queen. “What have you learned from your time of lamentation?”

“That I should have believed more firmly in the strength of love. I should have known that Aeneas just needed time. He was ordered by Zeus to leave me, what else could he do? He was a pious man, a warrior of great faith. It was not his fault. I should have been more understanding, more willing to—” Her words broke on a sob and she covered her face with her hands.

“Dido, you have not overcome your lamentation.” The god's voice was gentle.

“But I have!” Dido raised her chin and wiped her face. “It is simply that I am filled with the awe of a child at being in the presence of immortals, and it has made my emotions tremulous.” Her shining eyes shifted to Lina frantically, looking for aid from the goddess.

Lina returned the desperate woman's gaze with sympathy. She knew too well how it felt to be abandoned and left to blame only oneself.

“I grant your request, Dido. You may enter Elysia with my blessing.”

Hades' words shocked Lina to the core. She found herself staring blankly at the god as the exuberant Dido rushed from the Great Hall.

Again, Iapis moved to raise the god's spear and Hades' motion prevented him.

“You do not agree with my decision, Persephone?” He turned in his throne so that he was facing the goddess.

Lina straightened her spine and met his gaze. You're a goddess . . . you're a goddess . . . you're—no. She stopped the litany. More importantly, she was a woman who had, in real life, loved and been rejected and she understood exactly what Dido was feeling.

“No. I do not agree with your decision.”

Surprised by her answer he said, “Could you explain?”

“Dido's not over Aeneas. She's deep in the trenches of hurting and blaming herself. She's still a victim. Whatever lesson the River of Lamentation was supposed to teach her, it hasn't taken hold yet.”

Hades felt his anger rise. What did Persephone know of love and loss? She was a young goddess who had always been given everything she desired.

“And how would you know that?”

Lina's eyes narrowed at his condescending tone, but she caught herself before she spat a snide answer at him. To Hades she was only a young goddess. He had no way of knowing her true past and her heart-aches. She took deep, slow breaths and got a firm grip on her temper before she began her explanation.

“Well, there were a couple major hints. First, looking away and crying was a dead giveaway. Pardon the bad pun. Second, did you listen to what she said?” Lina barreled on, without giving him a chance to reply. “Her whole little speech was filled with I, I, I and poor me, me, me. Add that to the ‘it's not his fault, it's my fault,' and you have one huge victim complex. She doesn't need to go to paradise, she needs to go to the gym, or maybe to a shrink, and work out some of that self-hatred.” Lina abruptly shut up, wondering if Hades had any idea what a shrink was.

He cocked his head sideways and looked at her as if she was a very interesting science experiment. Then he did something that really pissed her off. He smiled. And chuckled.

She set her jaw and dug deep, trying to find her own voice somewhere in Persephone's youthful sweetness, and she was rewarded by a steely tone with a satisfyingly sarcastic edge.

“Check into one thing, Hades. This Aeneas guy. I'll bet you one of your diamond chandeliers against one of Demeter's golden crowns that he's in Elysia. And that would be the same Elysia Dido just manipulated her way into. I'll also bet that he's a new arrival, which is what has instigated her sudden interest in moving into Elysia.”

Hades' chuckle died and his eyes flattened. “Perhaps the young Goddess of Spring would like an opportunity to do more than observe and comment. The next judgment is yours, Persephone. Fate will, in turn, judge how well you choose.”

Lina nodded tightly. Two words passed through her mind.
Oh
and
shit
.

Iapis struck the god's spear against the marble floor, and it rang its somber knell like it was heralding the end of the earth.

This time not one, but several shadows disengaged from the entryway and approached the dais. Lina counted almost a dozen spirits. Her heart pounded and her sweaty hands gripped the armrest of her chair. This wasn't one or two lonely petitioners, it was an entire herd. They were all women, but were of various ages, and their spirit bodies were in varying states. Some of them were almost as substantial in form as was Eurydice, and some were so transparent, they were practically nonexistent. They moved as a group like frightened sheep, at first hesitant and unsure, then they caught sight of Lina in her chair next to Hades, and a definite change came over them. They lost their timidity. As one they walked purposefully forward, their steps becoming more eager the closer they drew to the dais. When they were at the foot of the stairs they stood silently, gazing in open fascination at her. Then one spirit, a woman who was obviously the oldest of the group, dropped to her knees and bowed her head. The rest of the women followed her example.

For what seemed to Lina to be a long time, no one spoke, then Hades' strong voice cut the silence.

“What petition have you brought forth today?”

The oldest woman raised her head. She spoke her response to Hades, but her shining eyes never left Lina.

“We have no petition, Great God. We have come in supplication to the Goddess of Spring, thanking her for answering our orisons. We have been too long without the presence of a goddess.” The old woman motioned with her hand, and several of the younger women stood and moved forward. They carried within their skirts bunches of freshly cut flowers, which they placed at Lina's feet.

Hades was looking at Lina with one brow quirked upward. He remained silent, apparently remaining true to his word and allowing her to handle the situation.

She cleared her throat and forced her hand to stay clamped to the arm of the chair when it really wanted to twirl frantically at her hair. She was a goddess, she reminded herself for the zillionth time, and goddesses didn't pull nervously at their hair—at least not in public.

“Well, this is certainly a surprise. I do appreciate you coming, and the flowers are lovely.” She tilted her head toward the little spirit who stood by her side. “Eurydice will put them in water for me, and I will cherish them.”

The women smiled and made happy, breathless sounds. Lina began to relax. They seemed like nothing more than happy well-wishers. Even a baker from Tulsa couldn't mess this up.

“You will not be leaving the Underworld soon, will you Persephone?” the old woman asked.

“No,” Lina said firmly. “I will not be leaving soon.” Six months was certainly not “soon.”

The spirits whispered together in happy relief.

“We are so pleased, Goddess . . .” The old woman began, but her words trailed off as an amazing sound floated through the chamber.

Lina blinked in surprise. The sound surrounded her. Music. It was incredibly beautiful music. Entranced, she listened to notes that rose and fell like an impossibly complex birdsong. As the sound moved closer it became musical water. Some of it glided smoothly over pebbles in a clear brook, some tumbled along the slick bank of her hearing and still other notes cascaded powerfully over a rhythmic waterfall of tinkling sound.

“Iapis?” Hades' voice intruded on the music, causing Lina to frown and wish he would just be still.

“My Lord I do not—”

The daimon was interrupted as the musician entered the Great Hall. He walked toward the god's dais and the women parted to let him through. Lina studied him, still amazed at the beautiful music he produced. He was an average, normal looking young man and he was playing a small wooden harp that was gilded with gold. The gold was reflected in his hair and in the fine cloth that draped over his body leaving one tanned, muscular shoulder bare. He continued to pluck magic from the harp as he approached the dais. He was humming a lilting melody, and Lina was surprised when she noticed that his attention was not directed at Hades or at her. Instead his eyes blazed at a spot directly to her left.

“Why does a living man dare enter the Underworld?” Hades' voice sliced through the music, instantly silencing it.

Lina felt a shock of recognition. No wonder he looked so normal to her. He was alive.

“Who are you?” Hades thundered.

The answer came from the little spirit standing to the left of Lina.

“He is Orpheus. My husband.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EURYDICE'S voice was brittle with shock. Lina's eyes flew to her face. The girl was staring at her husband. Her eyes had gone huge and round. Her face was completely devoid of color.

“By what right do you enter the realm of the dead?” Hades demanded.

Orpheus tore his eyes from his wife. He bowed low, first to Hades and then to Lina. Then he ran his fingers lightly across the lyre, as if testing its readiness. When he spoke his words were accompanied by gossamer notes, and his voice was the magic that held them together:

 

Orpheus' words ended, but his fingers kept plucking a soft, sweet version of the melody of his song. Lina felt her heart ache and break. His music moved her like she had never before been moved. Her cheeks felt wet and she touched her face, wiping off the tears she hadn't realized she was shedding.

She looked at the silent god sitting beside her. His face, too, reflected the grief of the mortal's song. Hades began to speak, and then he stopped. His head turned slowly until his dark gaze met Lina's tear-filled eyes.

“The choice is yours. I gifted you with the next judgment, but even if I had not, Eurydice has pledged herself to your service. Only you can release her; therefore, twice over you are granted the power to decide her fate. Choose wisely, Goddess of Spring.” Hades said in a voice that mirrored the emotion in Orpheus' song.

Lina drew in a shaky breath, feeling for the first time the awesome responsibility that went with being goddess. Eurydice's future rested on her decision. She turned in her chair so that she faced the girl.

Eurydice's slender body had gone very still. The only movement that came from the girl was from the tears that washed wet trails down her colorless face and dripped steadily onto the gauzy fabric of her gown.

“How did you die?” Lina asked softly.

But Eurydice didn't answer her. Instead the tune Orpheus played changed to a darker melody, underscoring his words.

“Only one month after our wedding day we were taking a moon-lit walk. She became separated from me, lost in a sudden fog. She chose the wrong path. Instead of leading her back to me, her loving husband, it led her to a nest of vipers where she met her untimely death.”

Although Orpheus didn't sing, his words still sounded lyrical. Lina felt them create a spell of sadness around her. She wept anew over the tragedy of Eurydice's death. So that was the wrong choice the girl had made, and the loss of her young husband was the price she had paid for that choice—a price that still weighed heavily on her soul. So heavily, Lina noted, that Eurydice had been struck speechless with grief at Orpheus' appearance.