The Ballad of Persephone Read online

  Koray shrugs her concern. “I’m not going to like this am I?”

  “Hush. After the chaos dies down, come meet me in town.”

  “What chaos?” Koray asks. “Meet you where?”

  “Remember where the locals were flocking to? The drinking place?”

  “Yeah.” Koray grips a loose portion of the rope. “It doesn’t seem terribly secure. You sure?”

  “Yeah.” The corners of Persephone’s mouth curl up into a wicked smile. “We’ll get drunk and spend mother’s money.”

  “Alright. Samiri will have both our asses for this.”

  “Let me worry about him. Now secure the rope, I’m certain I didn’t do it right.”

  Chapter 5: Covet Not that which is Forbidden

  Aryan castles are almost always high up above the landscape. Since the movement to deify the Forefathers and Persephone began years ago, the abode of the ruling House in Aryavan has become known as ‘Home of the gods.’ The majestic mountain of Kailasa has a large town at the base, looking up at the Anuk structures embedded into the rock. Not much can be seen from below. Not even an escaping Princess climbing down jagged rock walls.

  Persephone couldn’t descend far with the meager length of rope she stole from a servant. Thirty-feet remains between her feet and the hard surface of a hanger platform. The plan was to ‘borrow’ a transport, but that seemed improbable now with the drop.

  Clutching the rope tight her heart skips a beat. Koray looks down with a worried look. Below is a 30-foot drop. Her heart feels heavy with fear and doubt. The fall will hurt. With eyes closed, she releases the rope.

  Her body slams on to hard concrete, knocking the wind out of her. She grits her teeth at imagined pain, but there isn’t any. The cold ground vibrates with creeping intensity. A sudden sputter of engines demands immediate attention.

  Fifty-feet behind her a craft rumbles to life, making ready its taxi to the forward edge for takeoff. With a desperate roll, Persephone anchors herself on the edge of the platform. She peers down the side, wishing she had not done so – screaming wind gusts intensify the reality of the enormous drop.

  The sleek craft shoots out, into the sky. She rips her body upward and rolls onto the platform. “Damn it,” she whispers, staring down at the oil spot on her blue tunic. Such trivial matters shouldn’t concern her after the harrowing escape; it troubles her nonetheless.

  The ground-crew are busy fueling, maintaining, and even lounging. A perfect opportunity to sneak onboard a dual-seater craft. Time to use those lessons I hated.

  The glass canopy is rolled back. The cockpit is narrow, allowing a quick climb in. She ducks down, holding her breath in anticipation of getting caught. This is not Princess Persephone’s first time engaging in grand larceny.

  She looks for the battery grid. A panel light blinks at the flip of a switch. Next, the auxiliary-power-unit. She hesitates for once this switch is initiated, the hum will alert the crew. She scans for the engine starter. It’s now or never. Her heart races. Quick hands accomplish the task before the ground staff catches on. The single afterburner ignites sending a powerful blue flame out the exhaust. In seconds the craft shoots out of the hanger, rising away from the mountain as the short wings expand.

  Persephone screams with delight. “Such behavior is unbecoming of a queen,” she says in a mocking tone, imitating her mother. “Well, I was bored and wanted to explore,” she answers herself. “You cannot do-”

  Alarms blare on a panel. She snaps her head back. Damn it. I am not going back!

  Two aircraft engines roar behind the escaping craft. One fires a warning shot. Demands blare through Persephone’s headset. She pushes her craft into a steep dive, relishing in the g-forces assaulting her body. She slams the stick to the left initiating a spin. Several revolutions later she recovers control, cutting thrust to let the pursuers accelerate past her.

  The trick worked. The disruption in the rear airflow caused slight wind intake variations in the other crafts, causing their pilots to shift concentration to avoid a potential stall. They pull their sticks hard to break free from the rockface quickly approaching. Screaming curses erupt over the intercoms.

  “Control tower, this is Princess Persephone,” she transmits, with a slight giggle of excitement in her voice. “Call off your aircraft. I don’t want your pilots getting hurt.” She pulls back on the stick, sending her craft into a near-vertical ascent. What the hell do we do? she imagines them saying. She waits.

  “Copy that, your highness.” It’s the smooth voice of an air-traffic controller. If he’s nervous, he isn’t showing it. “Disengaging pursuit.”

  “Princess Persephone.” It’s Samiri’s voice over the intercom. “Perhaps next time, just ask.”

  She smiles wide thinking of the day’s events. “But that wouldn’t be any fun.”

  Crunching snow under her boots puts a smile on Persephone’s face. The joy of walking around the dingy town amongst the common folk is overwhelming. Her cloaked visage incites a few onlookers to regard her with curious sneers. Her demeanor screams ‘foreigner’ to the locals. Her luxurious clothing stands out amongst the folks sloshing about in slush, carrying heavy sacks of simple food like grain and cheese. Fat pigs trot about through mud, infusing the air with their stink. The smell of freedom.

  A vendor beckons the Anuk with enthusiastic hand gestures. The old man smiles with enthusiasm and missing teeth. His graying mustache curves upwards at both ends, complimenting his kind eyes, wrinkled face, and matches his gray fur hat. On his counter is an assortment of handcrafted beads, silver armbands, and other jewelry. Next to his stall, smoke billows from a baker’s brick oven, enticing pedestrians with the aroma of fresh-baked bread. The old man rattles off in his native dialect.

  “I do not understand,” Persephone says. “The common tongue?” she asks with a poor attempt at gesturing her request.

  “Ah,” the man says with a smile and a nod. “For you.” He holds up a multicolored necklace.

  The Princess retrieves a gold coin but the man refuses.

  “For you,” he repeats with his humble smile.

  “You remind me of my Peki…an old Peki,” she chuckles and drops her coin in the baker’s box. She grabs a large loaf, gives the old man two-thirds, then bites into the warm bread, filled with cheese infused with local herbs. She bids both vendors goodbye with a cheerful wave then gets on her way. The simple life of these people. So humble and endearing; my people.

  A familiar voice sounding off curses in the local dialect breaks the Princess’ musing. She darts behind a wall to peek at the source. Her curious stare is met with funny faces from pedestrians prattling off jokes at her expense. Her eyes twitch with her grimace. What is he doing here!?

  Prince Osiris is dressed like a common street urchin, drenched in mud-stains. He looks up at the bouncer, shouting obscenities in a fruitless attempt to gain entry to the local tavern. He lets out a long sigh and reaches into his pocket, then slips a gold coin in the bouncer’s hand.

  The bouncer uncrosses his arms and smiles, allowing Osiris inside.

  Curiosity encourages Persephone to investigate. She stops a woman trudging by. “What is this place?” Persephone asks, gesturing towards the building.

  The peasant wrinkles her face before touching the tips of her left index finger and thumb to form a circle. She thrusts her right index finger through the hole several times before walking off.

  Persephone huffs in outrage.

  Patrons stomp along the dance floor, in tune with the spirited fiddler, spicing up the smoke-filled, raunchy tavern atmosphere, or brothel – it is unclear which of the two it is. Travelers to the Aryan province fill the cozy wooden walls, drinking together and making merry with the working girls.

  Persephone holds the edge of a shaky bar-stool and climbs on with a nervous glare at the barman. Anxious wraiths wrench her stomach. Quick glances at the husky Anuk behind the thick burgundy counter brings on a terrible reaction. Her palms are sweaty, her heart
races to an uncomfortable pounding. Nausea is setting in. Why are you scared? “Ale, please.” Her lips tremble as she orders.

  The barkeep looks her over with mild annoyance. He delivers a cold mug with an abundance of froth overflowing the top of golden nectar.

  She sips the top like any Princess would – calculated. The barman sends a dismissive huff. “Seems you’re out of your element.”

  Persephone winces; he’s right. She gazes around, attempting to stifle her misplaced fears. The reveler’s joyous and carefree spirit provides a welcomed distraction. Mugs are attended to, spilling ale without caution. Some patrons let out exasperated exhales after a single gulp. Others choke, eliciting riotous laughter from onlookers. Persephone decides to give the gulp a try. She plants her mouth on the mug’s rim before making her tilt.

  “Open your throat,” the barkeep advises.

  His smile under an otherwise menacing face relaxes her. She sends him a polite nod, grateful for the advice. Strong fermented wheat blended with exotic spices enters her mouth. Bitter herbs hit her taste buds, forcing her throat muscles to close. A wasted mouthful erupts on the floor. Persephone’s cringing face brings an eruption of enthusiastic cheers from the crowd.

  She bows in good spirit and takes another drink, throwing up less this try. The bartender tosses a towel and gives her and solid slap on the shoulder. The crowd returns to their business.

  A rough hand grabs the Princess’ shoulder from behind. “What are you doing here?” Osiris growls.

  “Having a drink. What are you…never mind. You’re here for a piece of ass.” Persephone rolls her eyes with a grunt.

  Osiris gets in her face. “You can’t be here.”

  “Leave me alone. Go back to the whores, they look lonely.”

  “Shut up you spoiled brat,” he snaps, and tugs at her expensive jacket. “Do you have any idea what will happen if anyone finds out who you are?”

  “They will love me.”

  “Really?” he asks with an obnoxious smile. “Where’s your entourage? Your kiss ass sycophants?”

  “I’m alone, just so you know…but Koray will be here soon.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re a test on that poor girl’s soul.”

  “Oh, shut up. I know you’ve always had a thing for her.”

  “She’s like my sister.”

  She rolls her eyes and takes a long drink. She drops the mug to protest when he grabs her hand. “Hey!”

  “Come on then.” He grabs her arm, spilling ale down her neck.

  She rips her arm from his grasp. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Believe me, I don’t want you going anywhere with me either. You want to mingle? There’s something you need to see first.”

  She points her finger in his face “This better not be a trick.”

  Osiris leans over to the bartender and whispers a request. The bartender nods. Osiris pulls Persephone through a dark hallway behind the bar. Her protesting continues until they exit a back door.

  The wind kicks up the invigorating stench from a muddy pigpen on their left. Persephone pinches her nose shut, staring suspiciously at Osiris. Why is he smiling?

  Osiris lunges, striking Persephone square in the chest. The forceful shove sends her crashing between frightened pigs, parting the way to a cushion of filth. Mud splashes all over her expensive clothing, along with exposed skin and hair. Her surprise turns into anger at Osiris’ uncontrolled laughter. She springs up, determined to knock him down.

  “Hold on, now,” he insists with palms out. “That was for your own good.”

  “What?” she shouts at the brink of tears. She looks at her body, sickened at the nasty covering. Brushing off the thick layers of pig-shit aggravates her even more.

  “You can’t go around looking like a palace princess. Now you look, and smell, like the common folk.” Osiris teases her with pig grunts. He spins her around to slice off the mud on her back. His hands swipe down to her butt, igniting on further rage.

  “You insult me, throw me in filth, and feel me up…boy this better be good.”

  “Be quiet. Save your ‘Boo-Hooin’ for later.”

  She throws her arms down at her sides, flinging shit and mud down to the ground. “I do not ‘Boo-Hoo’ you scamp.”

  “Yes, you do. It’s just there’s no one here to entertain it. Stop your whining and follow me.”

  The firm grip on Persephone’s hand causes a tingle inside. She smiles inside, oddly excited to be dragged around by the Prince through the mud-filled streets, although she stifles any joy from showing on her face.

  They avoid several bison-drawn carts, a mule, and barking dogs to cross a seedy-looking avenue. “There’s danger everywhere,” he whispers. “Pickpockets, hustlers… even monkeys.” The journey ends at a corner with a welcoming view of a mud-brick straw-covered shed. A pair of pedestrians duck inside an adjacent butcher’s shop.

  Osiris pulls Persephone out of view behind a wall, the mid-day sun upon them. “We’ll wait here for the shop to close for lunch. Won’t be long.”

  She ignores burning questions about their venture. For the first time since arriving in Aryavan, she admits silently, This is the most fun I’ve had. She studies Osiris’ blank stare on the ground. “Why did you leave me?”

  “What?” he asks with an annoyed tone.

  “Why did you leave…everyone? Hyperboria. Home.”

  He cocks his head in surprise. “You wait one year to ask me this?”

  Her wide eyes beg for a response.

  “We had fun growing up, didn’t we? You, me, Koray.” He waits for her nod. “After Persepolis…when you got sick, everything changed.”

  “I don’t see the connection.”

  “You turned into a cold-hearted bitch, Persephone.”

  “I did not!” she yells. “I was 13.”

  “Please… that’s when you stopped being a lovable brat and turned into a mean attention whore.”

  Osiris’ words sting Persephone. She gasps at his accusations. “Oh really? You’re just sore because I didn’t entertain you and the tramp on your arm at my 15th birthday bash.”

  “Get over yourself. You were busy receiving praise from uncle Vali and his crowd adoring your fingernails…and anything else you cared to shit out for them.” His hands rise to match a silly, mocking face. “Look at me, I’m Persephone…worship the dust under my feet.”

  She leans in close and slams her palms on his chest, snickering at each strike. He snatches her arms and pins them to her sides.

  “It’s not just then,” he says in a severe tone. “I went from best friend to casual acquaintance overnight. You couldn’t stand to be around me. You became self-absorbed in trivial things. Yes, we were children, but you turned into a stranger, and I can’t apologize for something I don’t know I did.”

  Osiris shoves her away to peer at the butcher's shop. She fumes in silence with her arms folded. Movement under the shed draws her attention. She scowls at the thought of continuing with whatever Osiris dragged her into, yet she does not want to leave. She softens her glare. “It all came back to bite me in the ass.”

  Osiris sighs in regret for undertaking the venture. “What are you talking about?”

  “I live in a prison…I guess after I recovered, things changed. Mother keeps me under her thumb. Papa gives me whatever I want. They suffocate me. All of a sudden, I had to be Princess of Hyperboria, learning all the responsibilities required of me; cater to a multitude of others wanting my attention. How you deal with it, I don’t know. Now, all I want is to run in the rain, roam the countryside without an escort, visit my friends unannounced…like you do.” She settles herself on the wall near his side without complaint. “I still don’t know why I was angry with you…or if I ever really was.”

  “Apology not accepted. Now be quiet.” He hears the muffled insult as her nose goes up in the air – a trait he finds ‘cute’ but refuses to acknowledge it. “Look, I didn’t mean…”

  “I
’ve heard enough,” she says, with a dismissive hand shooting up to demand silence. “What are we looking at?”

  “The butcher locked up. Come on.”

  They run under the shed. Osiris ducks behind the short mud wall and pulls Persephone down with him. “Shit! It’s too late.”

  “Late for what?” she whispers.

  “I wanted to show you something.”

  Forty-feet ahead in a square, people stroll by a copper statue of a robed woman. Candles flicker on the ground. Abundant streamers of yellow flowers litter the stone base and adorn the statue’s neck. Copper bowls filled with milk surround smoking urns.