Work Text:
13 days. It had been 13 days since the wedding. 13 days since Eurydice’s sweet smile had been taken from me. 13 days since we’d had our final dance together. 13 days since I’d had to bury her in the cold earth. What was I supposed to do with myself? My only purpose had vanished. My muse, stolen by that wretched snake.
I stared at my lyre in the corner. A gift from Apollo, even its divine inspiration was useless to me now. There was nothing to sing about. All of the beauty I saw in the world disappeared with Eurydice’s final breath. Still, it felt as though the lyre was pulling me towards it. I brushed my finger against it. Delicately, I lifted it into my arms and set off from the house into the forest.
Leaves crunched under my feet. My hand was urged toward the lyre’s strings. Slowly at first, I began to strum a song. I felt air build up in my chest that longed to break free. I began to sing. I sang of Eurydice, of the grief that had begun to build a home in my heart. The more I sang, the angrier I got. I didn’t know where I was planning to go. Deeper into the forest? It’s not like changing locations would change what had happened. Negative emotions piled on each other with each step, like waves crashing onto the shore. What had Eurydice ever done to deserve this? All she’d wanted is to live a simple life.
The forest got angry with me. Trees leaned in towards me as the wind whistled through their leaves, forming a frenzied choir to sing alongside me. Pebbles began to bounce up and down. I heard the hard crack of thunder. I wanted her back. I wanted to wake up to her skin glowing in the golden sun. I wanted to create little songs with her and teach them to the birds. I wanted to dance, light and carefree, in the fields. I wanted to grow old with her, to raise children. I wanted to–
Another crack, this time from under the earth. I faltered. A dark hole gaped in front of me, just like the one I’d dug almost two weeks prior. This hole, however, must have been deeper than six feet. I took a small step toward it, leaning over the edge. Were those… stairs? They didn’t look particularly well-maintained, but they were there. I kneeled down, grazing the top step with my hand. It was hard and sturdy: made with intention.
My mind drifted back to my years ago: my time on the Argo. One of my crewmates, Heracles, was usually quite closed-off. Once, with the influence of a few days without rest, he’d opened up and told me of labors he had done as repentance for his mistakes. The last of these involved a journey to the underworld, deep beneath the earth, of which he’d accomplished with divine guidance. I didn’t know much about divine guidance, but I was fairly sure the ground didn’t split open on its own. What could have done this? Was it allowing me to find Eurydice? The life I had dreamed of… was it still within my reach? Step… Step… Step… I felt a drop of water on my scalp. With it, a voice from the very ground around me. "Save her."
***
This wasn’t my first time stepping into the realm of Hades. I’d become accustomed to the mindless stares of the shades and the humidity constricting my mind and body. Although I had despaired about my yearly journeys at first, it was easy to find beauty down here. The shades, glowing the color of a ripe pomegranate, reflected hauntingly on the dusky waters of the Styx River. I walked along her banks with a purpose, making my way towards the gates.
The closer I got, the more at peace I was. There were no arguments among the departed: no petty annoyances or depressing wails – they were quietly waiting for their turn to be judged at the gates. I couldn’t even hear Cerberus’s mighty footsteps or howls. The air itself felt different. A clear sound was piercing through the cavern, accompanied by the strumming of a lyre. The voice was enthralling. I waded through the crowd toward it – I needed to know what the source was. I was back on the surface again, in my first life: spending time with the nymphs and celebrating after a hunt. I wondered how a song could bring me this much bliss. That must have been why it was so peaceful here, in contrast to the usual clashing energies. I weaved my way through the ghosts, laughing and conversing amongst each other. Then, I saw him. Immediately, I understood. He was the spitting image of Calliope – one of the nine heavenly Muses. She must’ve been his mother.
He turned his eyes to me and stopped his singing. Inky black curls hung over his face and shoulders, almost as if they were trying to hold him together. His skin was tanned with a pink hue from the light of the shades. It was not the skin of a dead man. What was he doing down here? I couldn’t even comprehend how a mortal had gotten down here. I had a vague sense of who might’ve been involved, but my mind quickly dismissed it.
“I have a feeling that you don’t belong here.” I said quizzically. His wrinkled brow made it clear he didn’t hear the humor in my voice.
“I’m here for Eury– my wife. For Eurydice. She died.” He stuttered out.
“You came here for your wife? Well, I don’t see any wives around here anywhere,” I sighed, “Perhaps you’d better head back up topside.” I couldn’t imagine that the king and queen would feel too ecstatic about letting a soul stroll back up to the surface. I expected anyone who asked, especially someone as… intimidating… as him would not be able to cajole them into letting someone go back to the land of the living. I doubted he would even get into the throne room, much less walk out unscathed.
“I’m not walking out of here without her. I know that I can save her – I was told to.”
He stood up straighter, his determination apparent in his eyes. His lyre, which was being held tight, was let back down for him to play it again. Swiftly, he turned back to the gates and strode forward. That heavenly voice once again cut through the air, dissolving the tension that I hadn’t realized was returning. I began to follow in his steps – would he even be let through the gates?
He was walking faster than I’d realized. I began to run forward. “Wait! …Young man?” What was his name? I couldn’t remember if he’d said. “I can help you!” I called after him. Maybe if I went with him I could convince her. As long as Hades isn’t there… maybe he had a chance. The queen might be more suggestible with me there. It wouldn’t exactly have been the first time she’d let someone leave.
I grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. “I can help you rescue her,” I urged.
“I don’t need help. I have my lyre: that’s all I’ve needed so far.”
“Are you just planning to find her, put her over your shoulder, and go straight back up?” I pointed at the faint shape of a temple in the distance. “Without them knowing?”
He shifted on his feet. No response. I marched to the gates, grabbing his hand tightly. It was surprisingly cold. The three judges sat upon large court benches: Minos, Rhadamanthys, and Aeacus.
“It is really that time of year already, Adonis?” Minos mused.
“Truly, it is. I’m sure you missed me.”
“Of course I have,” His eyes stared accusingly, “Is that a pet with you? If I didn’t know better I’d say that was a living man.”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s my companion. I assure you the king and queen won’t mind at all.”
“I doubt that. You know we don’t make exceptions.” He paused. “I did hear that Hades is away on business, though.”
I could feel the hand holding mine begin to sweat. “I’m sure Persephone would be fine with a visitor. He’s just getting an early tour of the place, anyway.” I dropped the man’s hand and crossed my arms. “If you want to waste my time you can get her permission, but I think she’d rather not wait for me.”
Minos weighed his options – which one would get less punishment for him? “Fine.” He glanced at his desk, “Do as you wish. I don’t have the time for this.”
I gestured for the man to follow me as we quickly made our way through the gates.
I turned to him as we walked. “Your mother is Calliope, yes? What’s your name?”
“Orpheus.” He gulped, “How could you tell?”
“It’s not often a mortal can sing that well. It also helps that you look exactly like her.”
He seemed flustered by the comment. “I guess I never realized the resemblance. The singing, on the other hand, is something I’ve been made quite aware of. I think it may have been how I made it down here.”
“And how exactly did that happen?”
He paused, looking ashamed to admit it. “I was in quite a bad mood earlier. I decided to take my lyre with me through the forest. At first, I was hoping to cool off, but it didn’t go that way. It felt like the world around me joined in my anger and the ground kind of just – I don’t know – opened.” He glanced at me, then to the ground. His feet planted themselves. “Your name is Adonis, yes?”
“It is, as you heard Minos back there say.”
“It sounds familiar, but I can’t recall anything about it. You definitely aren’t a shade – what are you?”
“My guess is that it’s a story your mother has told you. I’d heard of her visiting mortals to share the stories of Olympus… All you must know is that I’m a friend of Persephone’s. I come down during the winter to keep her company,” I smiled, “We’re quite close.”
Orpheus seemed deep in thought, as if he was still trying to figure out my origin. I gave a small push to his back to keep us walking.
Continuing my thoughts, I said, “We’re coming upon the Asphodel Meadows. This is where most of the dead end up. I recommend you stay behind me… and try not to stare too closely at them. It’s rude.”
“Would it be alright with you if I continued my singing?”
“That would be nice.”
***
How long had it been since I’d died? 13 hours… 13 days… 13 years? Time didn’t feel like it existed down here. All that existed was the dark, endless labyrinth of a castle that the monarchs owned – the castle that I lived in. I had happened to arrive down under at the same time that Queen Persephone made her yearly trek to see her husband. She’d only glanced at me, but apparently that had been enough. Those three judges, on chairs that seemed higher than mountains, told me I was to be sent to the castle. She’d taken a liking to me.
I never saw her in person at first. I was made to work in her gardens, along with other shades that I assume used to be nature spirits like me. It was quite gorgeous; she wouldn’t have it any other way. Flowers burst from the ground in every free spot. Asphodel, red anemones, poppies, narcissi, aconites – split apart by looming myrrh and cypress trees. The largest tree, of course, was the pomegranate tree that started the garden: the one that bore the fruit she ate on her first journey down here.
The more time I spent with the plants, the more I was able to see her. She would walk past, chatting with shades, underworld nymphs, or my fellow gardeners. She’d smile as she walked past and comment on whatever I was working on before moving onward. Eventually, I began to join those walks. We became close: garden strolls turned to tours through the palace, eating together, and laughter together. I’d almost forgotten about my life before. The air may have been restricting, the heat and cold becoming uncomfortable, but I had work to do and people to enjoy.
Even so, that name still lingered in my mind. Orpheus. The man from above. The last person I’d seen, and all I remembered about him was his name. I thought about him in the night – or at least whenever my alone time was. A nervous smile; warm blue eyes that could’ve held the entire Mediterranean with room to spare. Did he think about me too? My life down here left me satisfied, yes, but what had I left behind?
That question was answered when Orpheus walked into the throne room one day, led by the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I looked up at Persephone on her pedestal. Her smile, from seeing the first man, faded with the second.
“Long time no see, your majesty,” said the man I didn’t know – a grin following his speech.
“It seems you’ve brought a guest.” Queen Persephone replied with an unamused coldness in her voice.
“His name is Orpheus. Says he wants to bring his wife back – who, from the way she’s looking over here, appears to be her.” He pointed at me, causing me to tense up.
Persephone looked towards me with serious eyes. “Is what Adonis says the truth, Eurydice?”
My gaze became fixed on Orpheus. Truly, he was the man I’d remembered. His hair clung onto him, almost wet from the humidity. He looked terrified – yet there was a sense of determination in the way his feet were planted and his lyre was held firmly in his hands. He also held a small hydria – a vessel for water. I wondered where he’d gotten that. It looked chthonic – like something I’d seen made to decorate these halls. A quick drink of it seemed to clear his thoughts.
“It is. I believe he’s my husband.” I looked at my feet.
Orpheus spoke up, “Dreaded Queen, I beg of you to let me take her back. She was taken too soon, you see, on the night of our wedding.”
Persephone stared at him with contempt, but I could see the thoughts swirling in her mind. “And why would I do that, young hero? What makes you worthy of a feat none have accomplished – bringing the dead back to life?”
Adonis chimed in, “A feat that one has accomplished before, my lady.” They must’ve been close if he could speak to her like that.
“A special exception. One I had reason for.”
“How can I prove myself to you, your majesty?” Orpheus inserted himself back into the conversation.
She seemed to already know how this would go; I couldn’t tell what her decision was, though. “Play me a song on that lyre of yours. I see you have the waters of the spring of Mnemosyne, hero,” she gestured at the hydria now placed on the floor, “I’m not surprised she would lead you down here and nurture you with the waters of memory. I trust she’s blessed you with a great story for my court.”
“Yes,” he faltered, swallowing his anxieties, “I would be honored to play for you.” He held his lyre looser, preparing it for the performance. He adjusted his clothing and brushed a strand of hair out of his face. I wasn’t quite prepared for the sound that was to come from him. His lungs filled with air and he strummed the first chord.
Suddenly, a heavenly voice filled the room. I felt the air, sticky and pressing around me, banished by the melody that was let loose. I could’ve sworn there were plants beginning to sprout through the cracks, vines hanging like seaweed from the ceiling. He sang of a story I’d heard before, in the darkness of the cramped hall from a hushed group of shades. It was the story of Adonis and Aphrodite: a story of which Persephone knew all too well – but this time it was her story, not theirs.
Orpheus sang of a young man who took shelter in Persephone’s realm: of how Aphrodite had given Adonis to the Dreaded Queen to protect him. His beauty had brightened up the decrepit underworld. The mist over Persephone’s mind cleared. She was able to bring spring to a dead world, just as she did in the one above. The sweetness didn’t last, however. Aphrodite came to take Adonis back to the world above as her companion. She was the goddess of beauty; why shouldn’t she have the most beautiful mortal in her midst? The gloom returned to the underworld. Even upon her spring pilgrimage, Persephone wasn’t the same. She’d gotten a taste of real love, for her marriage to Hades was all but loveless.
Then, one day he came back. His blood soaked into the earth, seeping from a wound caused by a wild boar. Aphrodite grieved for weeks, her tears forming red anemone flowers around his corpse. Persephone, however, rejoiced. Her joy came back hearing about his return, yet he mourned. He loved Persephone, of course, but Aphrodite would always be his first choice. After days of not speaking, of Adonis staying in his chambers and wasting away, Aphrodite arrived in the underworld, just as Orpheus did. She had come for Adonis. Persephone refused, for this was the one love in life that she truly had. Sent by Zeus, the muse Calliope came to mediate between them. She decreed that Adonis would ascend to godhood, spending a third of the year with each goddess. The last third, set aside for himself, eventually became time for Aphrodite too. Persephone would give anything to have her own beloved. Adonis. Me.
I didn’t realize how the song had affected me until it ended; the last note hanging in the air. A stream of tears ran down my face – the love Orpheus had for me, Persephone had for Adonis, shivered in my heart. Did I deserve this? What sort of lover had I been for him? I wanted to find out. I wanted to dig my fallen life from the earth and give it all to him.
I looked up to meet eyes with Persephone. One tear ran down her pale cheek.
“Do you wish to leave me, Eurydice?” Her voice was hard and restrained.
“I’m sorry, my queen,” I quietly uttered. She knew the answer.
“Fine.” She turned her gaze back to Orpheus. “You are not a god, and you don’t have your mother here to negotiate between us, so you will go on my terms. I will allow you to leave without resistance, but there is one condition.”
“Of course, Queen Persephone. What must I do?” Orpheus spoke up. He seemed to be filled with a newfound sense of confidence.
“You may not look at her. Not even a glance. If you turn to see sweet Eurydice before you both reach the light of the sun, she will come back here to the grave. No second chances.”
Orpheus eyed me: maybe his last look of me as a shade. Adonis sighed and left to some hallway shrouded in shadow. Did he know how this would end?
“Now go, before I decide differently.”
Orpheus’s eyes left mine and he turned towards the door.
“Goodbye, Persephone.” I gave her a final, somber smile.
We’d made our way back to the gate without trouble: passing by the Elysian Fields where the departed heroes eyed me with an approving gaze, the Asphodel Meadows where the shades glared contemptuously, and past the three judges. Minos gave me an encouraging nod and some of the ghosts in line let loose hearty cheer for Orpheus.
We arrived at a tunnel. Had he entered here? It was cramped; lit with the haunting light of bioluminescent lichen and moss. The steps were well-worn, as if spirits and gods used them often. Every few minutes I felt the life of the world above soaking through the earth: water dripping, leaves along the tunnel walls, the wet scutter of a salamander across my feet.
I looked ahead to Orpheus – my husband. What was he thinking? Was he thinking of our future life? Or was he regretting it all? Maybe he would rather live an exciting life. The further we got, the more I remembered. He had that adventurous life before we met, traveling across the world to share his songs. Until the day where he performed in our forest. I had giggled with my sisters about him, singing a song for all the nymphs and satyrs. I admired how the dappled sunlight reflected on his skin, tanned from days of travel. His eyes, with so much kindness in them. His hair, black as the night sky with curls like ferns shading his face. Within a month, we planned to get married. It was such a gorgeous day. The field glowed golden in the evening light. The field where we had our wedding dance. The field where I stepped on something coiled wriggling underneath me, hissing and planting its knives of venom into my –
He turned back. His eyes were full of desperation, realization, and then terror. The morning light shone through his hair like a divine halo. I hadn’t realized we were that close to the surface.
“You’re still here.” His voice was small and bleak.
I wasn’t sure how I should feel. I was sorrowful, of course, but I couldn’t find it in me to be mad. He’d turned back. I could tell that he’d have gone back down again and again if I wasn’t there. His love made him turn back. To turn back was to love.
“I’m still here.”
Like a raindrop hitting the soil, I disappeared.