The Ballad of Persephone Read online

  A bell rings out marking mid-morning. Snowflakes descend from the cold dark sky as if on cue. Foot-traffic diverts from muddy streets to the stone promenade. Within moments the crowd grows to almost fifty chattering heads.

  Pushing through the crowd, a chunky woman in yellow robes makes for the statue. Her garb is accentuated with flowers and religious ornaments around her thick neck. Her bright lipstick is frightening – this is the priestess of a local cult. Two acolytes stumble through to reach the statue’s feet.

  “A comedy,” Persephone announces with joy.

  “Oh, it’s a big one,” Osiris agrees with anticipation. He barely contains his amusement, which she anticipates is a sign of excellent theater.

  The mud-covered royals settle on a large bag of straw. They crouch together, thankful to be out of the accumulating snowfall. Their bodies move intimately closer, as the sharp wind slices through.

  “Gather round my flock.” The fat priestess motions with her hands and speaks in the common tongue. “Receive the blessings of the goddess.” One acolyte translates while the other lifts a copper bowl of ash near her breasts. She passes her hands over the container, whispering words only she understands.

  She closes her eyes. Her arms reach for the sky, grabbing an invisible power lost on the spectators. Her body shakes, her eyes roll back to reveal the white. She blurts out gibberish for all to hear. The acolytes chant in unison to the alleged torment; it lasts a full minute.

  “Our goddess has revealed her displeasure,” the priestess proclaims. She points an accusatory finger at the heads of the flock. “Her mighty wrath shall descend upon you like the plagues of old, destruction of the unfaithful…the unbelievers. You have seen her past vengeance. The wicked perished with the innocent. Why must we suffer so?”

  “What can we do, holy one?” a voice screams out.

  “Repent!” the priestess yells. “Repent to the holy mother. Ask her for wisdom in the coming days. She will send protection if you show reverence!” An acolyte moves about the gathering with a tray to collect offerings. “Come, be blessed with the ashes of the holy mother. Join our church, and you shall be saved. Be free from the wretchedness of disease that will rid the world of apostates. Let her save you from death, like she did before. Blessed art thou, our mother…Persephone.”

  “What?” the Princess blurts out. Osiris is stifling laughter. Persephone shoves the Prince aside to march out to the crowd.

  “‘Sephie wait!” he screams. He reaches her at the edge of the flock.

  Before he can grab her, she spins around and points. “I only want to know what this is about…that’s all.”

  “Fine. I warned you.”

  The Princess opens her arms as if ready to embrace the crowd. She looks at the priestess, “Good people!” she yells at the top of her lungs. The priestess hushes the crowd, confused at the sight of Persephone – the real one, not the statue. “What do you want, child?”

  “Fear no longer, for I am amongst you.”

  Osiris drops his head. He plants a palm on his forehead, expecting the worst possible outcome from Persephone’s naiveté.

  “And who is this skinny little thing among us?” the priestess asks, rolling her eyes.

  “I…” the Princess starts off with a glowing smile and muddy outstretched hands, “…am Persephone.”

  Widespread laughter erupts from the gathering. The priestess is horrified. “Blasphemy!”

  Shock overcomes Persephone. She pouts without trying. Do they not recognize me? She looks at the statue, “Eh?” The face is of an old woman with round features. There is a pronounced belly, with sandals on the feet not even the poorest human in Hyperboria would dare wear. She starts to protest. A soggy heap of lettuce explodes on her head. More vegetables follow with remarkable accuracy. At this point, Osiris drags her off towards a back alley.

  “Help me!” Persephone pleads to Osiris behind a mound of manure. She picks at residual tomato sludge lodged in her hair.

  “You got yourself in that mess,” Osiris says. “so clean up on your own.”

  “You’re a horrible little boy who has no respect.”

  “Well, you’re a nasty little girl who smells like pig-shit.”

  After all her years getting whatever she wanted, Osiris’ blatant disregard for her feelings brings on an eruption of tears. She slumps down on the ground hiding her face with shame.

  Osiris grumbles to himself, silently admitting it was he who brought Persephone to the gathering in the first place. He slouches down beside her, moves her hands with a gentle touch, and offers a smile to ease the sobbing. “I smell like pig-shit too.”

  Persephone looks over, then breaths in and out slowly, trying to calm herself.

  “We can’t stay here,” he whispers. “How did you get here anyway?”

  “I stole a ship,” she says in a childish voice.

  “Let’s get back to it then. Come on.” He extends a hand.

  Persephone pouts but still takes it. “I’ve got to meet Koray.”

  Thirty minutes pass before the pair reaches the vicinity of the stolen ship. Persephone and Koray’s meeting place is nearby. They hurry alongside a stable, hoping they are not noticed by stragglers from the gathering.

  “What is wrong with them?” Persephone asks. She grips Osiris’ hand tighter.

  He gives her a quick look over his shoulder. “You really do live in a box. Didn’t you know? You’re a god.”

  “I don’t understand. They were praising a statue.”

  “Exactly.” He stops abruptly, and she rams into the back of him. “The religion of our Forefathers is no more. Practiced in Hyperboria yes, but out here…in the rest of the world, this is what you have.”

  “I’m not a god, that’s blasphemy. Yet you would think they would love me if I were one.”

  “There isn’t much going on in that pretty head of yours, is there?”

  He thinks I’m pretty. Persephone blushes inside.

  Osiris tugs on her hood to get a snugger fit. “Look here, stupid,” he says, “Real people suffer at the hands of those who influence their lives and beliefs. It is just the way of things.”

  “And what are you doing about it?” she asks.

  He ignores the question, yet the truth of it begins to fester. Between heartbeats, he darts towards a building 50-feet away. He stops mid-way to wave the Princess over.

  She huffs with her slow run.

  “You’re joking.” He looks down at her legs. “You still haven’t gotten your abilities?”

  She throws him a sarcastic look. “I’m less than a common Anuk…a common woman.”

  They run at regular speed to a corner. Pedestrians ignore them. They catch sight of Koray, investigating hanging fabrics. They waste no time in reaching her.

  “Oh no…” Koray says with a chuckle at Persephone, “someone’s going to kill you.” She wraps her arm around Osiris. “I was wondering when you’d get here.” They get a questioning glare from Persephone.

  “You knew he was here?” Persephone asks

  “What?” Koray shrugs. “It’s not like you two ever talk.”

  Osiris fidgets with a wristwatch. “Alright you two, time to get lost. Go on with your business.”

  Both girls look at him with a questioning glare.

  “Why in such a hurry?” Persephone asks. “Going back to the whore house?”

  “No,” he says sarcastically. His heart yearns for their nostalgic company. He takes a deep breath. “I’m in dire need of a church.”

  “What church?” Koray asks. They ignore her.

  “Payback?” Persephone asks with a smile. Osiris nods.

  “Koray, meet you in one hour.” Osiris grabs Persephone’s hand. They take off running.

  Chapter 6: Religion of the Damned

  Running to the docks takes a toll on Persephone. Each desperate gasp for air forces a crushing pain on her side; a reminder of her impotent Anuk abilities. Osiris shows her no mercy. He urges her on with gru
mbles and harsh prompts to hurry along. The abuse seems unnecessary when they reach the local chapter of the fire goddess’ temple.

  The modest building is hardly worthy of being called a church. Plain mud bricks make up the walls on the single-level structure. A thatched roof violates any fire code in existence if there are any. Sad windows scream of neglect. There is nothing holy around this insult.

  Inside is bland, with rows of seating to hold fifty parishioners. Ugly statues line wooden shelves on the side walls. Pictures of the resident priestess hang high, showing off her gold teeth and wrinkled cleavage. Osiris leaves Persephone to catch her breath while he rummages through a back room.

  “I found something!” he yells. Persephone peels herself off a bench with reluctance to join him.

  “We should burn the place down and leave,” she says, still catching her breath.

  Wine boxes are tossed to the side of a wooden floor door with a padlock. “Care to open it?” Osiris asks. His face is serious.

  Persephone sneers at him. “Very funny. You know I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can,” he says with an outstretched hand. His wiggling fingers draws her in. “Humor me.”

  She puts her hand on the thick lock. “See? I can’t.”

  Osiris plunks down next to her, intimately close. His hand clasps hers with a gentle squeeze.

  She meets his gaze, feeling the heat radiating from his skin, warm breath caressing her senses. Her heart takes off in a race she knows not where to. His grasp tightens.

  “Your strength is in your blood, dormant, waiting to be energized. Light upon light captured in the plasma. Each thought solicits a reaction. The right thought activates power.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispers.

  “Shhhh. Close your eyes. Clear your mind. Pull.”

  She pulls with no result. Her scowling face screams of her failure.

  “Pull,” Osiris says. “Pull.” His tone grows harsher. His hand fires off on the back of her head.

  “Hey!” Her cheeks flush with anger.

  “Pull!” he screams at her. “Pull!”

  She voices her angst. A louder scream from Osiris compounds her anger. She rips the lock off in one swoop, sending the metal block shooting to the ceiling. The force it hits the brick with creates a gaping hole.

  Persephone calms herself. She looks at Osiris with disbelief. Uncomfortable soreness infects the side of her right calf, mid-way below the knee. A desperate hand fires off to subdue the irritation.

  “If I told you to get angry, it wouldn’t have worked. Sorry for screaming in your ear.”

  “And for slapping my head!” She relaxes her shoulders and furious gaze. “Is that the trick to it?”

  “No. It’s a shortcut, not a very good one. Remember the sensations beneath the anger. The flow, heat. Using rage to enhance abilities will cloud your judgment. When I run, I’m not angry. I simply want to run. The thoughts linking the flow, calling energy up for use becomes second nature. Knowing it’s there and how it feels is a step to unlocking it.”

  “It seems so easy.” She laughs. “A joke. How is it I couldn’t do this before?”

  “My brother calls it the Light of Orion. It exists in every living being, Anuk and man. Our race can tap into the power, our genes are adapted for it. When an Anuk turns 13 a switch is turned on you can say. For us ‘Pure-Bloods,’ our genetics generate and absorb the power in far greater quantities. Your ‘Light’ collected into a powder keg…waiting for the match. The slightest spark would do.”

  He slips her hand off the itchy leg. “There’s your stamp.”

  She lifts her pant leg, revealing a reddened pattern of dots formed like the constellation Lyra.

  “Burns doesn’t it?”

  Persephone hugs Osiris as if it’s the first time sharing an embrace. She lets go after an awkward look covers both their faces.

  The door lifts with ease. Lights switch on automatically, showing off a wooden stairwell and concrete flooring beneath. Each descending footstep creaks from rotting boards.

  Faint shifting in the wind alerts them to movement behind a far wall. Muffled shrieks flow in the stale, foul air. They approach with caution. On either side of a narrow path are boxes overflowing with gold coins, artwork, merchandise amassed from the Creator alone knows where. The corner comes upon them. Together they peer down a dark hallway.

  Iron cages line a short wall, sectioned off in three compartments. Frightened people huddle in tattered clothes, pulling each other into darker corners of their cells. Cries from children ring out.

  “Slavers,” Osiris mutters under his breath. He gestures to the far cell. Persephone nods.

  She grabs a steel padlock. Frightened faces stare back at her, bodies waiting to be lashed, hungry children at the point of collapse. Emotions tingle, boiling over into rage. She keeps the thoughts but channels the sensation to her hands. A subtle pull is all she needs. The lock breaks off without effort.

  Osiris breaks the middle lock. No one leaves the cells. “It’s not a trick,” he says, motioning the slaves towards freedom. “Go quickly. Take as much treasure as you can carry.”

  “Hurry,” Persephone says. “We’re burning the place down. Get out. Now!”

  The slaves rush out. The stampede clears within moments. Persephone and Osiris head back the way they came. Most of the treasure remains. They hurry to the stairs. A console catches Osiris’ eyes. He breaks off to investigate.

  “What are you doing? We have to go.” Persephone starts to follow him.

  He stops her. “Find anything that will burn. Cloth, a stick…make a torch. I’m right behind you.” She complies and runs off.

  He breaks open a draw. A fusion-cutter, logbooks and magazines bear no fruit until a data tube no larger than a little finger rolls out. On the bottom, the dark green seal of House Octavia of ENki shines in the overhead light. Osiris pockets his find. He flips through a palm-sized notebook. The script is unfamiliar, except for notations at the back, ‘Dardanii.’ “Finally, something I recognize.” He takes it, as well

  Intense flame burst out from the fusion-cutter’s tip, ready to set fire to anything flammable. Osiris eyes the golden shimmer from a shallow box of coins. His pockets feel light. Oh, what the hell.

  Topside, three slaves bunch up sections of dry bush on the roof. They jump down as Osiris makes his exit, and ignites Persephone’s torch. Bowing, the slaves prattle off thanks in a tongue native to the Aryan coast.

  Flaming embers drop from Persephone’s torch. She grips tight, holds her breath and throws. The thatched roof ignites into a roaring pyre within moments. Black smoke crackles in a fury, the heat pushes on them from the river breeze.

  “I’m thirsty,” Osiris says with a smile.

  Persephone looks at him with pride. She feels a tingle inside for her renewed friendship with her once lost friend. Reuniting with Koray will be the seal to a blessed day.

  Returning to the village center is slow and pleasant. Osiris regales Persephone with tales of his travels. Past slights are forgotten. Plans made in pre-teen years were reignited, with images of climbing mountains, swimming in sacred Hyperborian pools and riding mammoths. It all sounds wonderful for children, but now into adulthood, the allure once felt disappeared, along with their innocence.

  Ahead, a full marketplace under covered stands comes into view. Pleasant music draws in listeners to a short building with a half door and barman waiting at the counter. The sign brings warm thoughts on a cold day – it’s an outdoor bar.

  Osiris scowls at the pedestrian appeal. “There? What were you two going to do anyway?”

  “Get drunk and spend money,” Persephone says.

  “Right…” Osiris rolls his eyes. “This way then.”

  Patrons are directed on to a narrow outdoor deck. Molded wooden floor planks contrast with white-washed posts touching dark roofing. Twelve square tables with four chairs each are spread out evenly on the noisy flooring.

  Several patrons hav
e begun late afternoon indulgence in the much-desired drink ‘Boza.’ Fermented wheat in a milk-like concoction; warms the body with its intriguing flavor and intimate burn. It is a perfect delight in the miserable cold. Koray relishes her second cup when she spots her friends.

  “You caused a terrible uproar,” Koray says with a slur. “Everyone is livid, except Samiri, which is strange. The Kitchen boys just told me.”

  Persephone shoves Osiris towards the ordering counter. She ignores the accusative smirk the handmaiden is sending her, however, silently delighting in the mystery swirling in Koray’s head.