The Ballad of Persephone Read online

  “Go over there, you stink of burnt rubbish and pig shit. Don’t worry.” Koray winks. “I won’t ask...yet.” Smiles break out.

  Forced to sit next to Osiris, Persephone tries in earnest to resume the role of Princess, despite her disgusting appearance. “Typical,” Osiris jokes under his breath.

  Their greedy hands' press cups to lips. Patrons sitting downwind scowl and fire off insults, which is met with laughter. A couple of cups each diminish any semblance of social decorum.

  Whispered recounts of the day’s happenings are told, with exaggerated twists to induce excitement.

  “Where do you suppose the slaves… I mean the people came from?” Koray asks.

  A knot forms in Osiris’ stomach. His hand feels for the data tube, rattling ill-gotten coins in his search. “Somewhere in Aryavan. They’re free, that’s what matters.”

  “But why were they kept in such horrid condition?” Persephone whispers.

  “How do you think slaves come to be?” Osiris looks into her eyes, ignoring the confused expression. He chokes on his unfriendly tone; it burns his throat much like the Boza. His stomach turns as guilt creeps up his spine, for the seal burning his pocket.

  “I don’t know. They volunteer?” She feels the ridiculousness of her statement but does not have an answer. She turns to Koray who looks away with a mouthful of Boza.

  “All slaves lose their freedom at some point,” Osiris says in a friendlier tone. “Even the servants in your household. No matter how clean and pretty they look, they are slaves.”

  Persephone shoots Koray a glance. Tears glaze over her eyes.

  Koray’s eyes open wide. “I’m not a slave. Never was.” “Not Koray,” Osiris says, smiling. “She’s nobility. I asked my father once about slavery in the banners of ENki. He told me it’s not a subject I should concern myself with. No sense in worrying about an ancient practice, he warned.”

  Persephone wriggles her body and shoulders. Her grim look changes to joy. “Well…more important subject. This is the best day I’ve had in years. It’s what I want, to do unexpected things, see the world.” She nudges Osiris’ shoulder.

  “The world may not be ready for you,” he jokes.

  “You’re lucky,” she says with envy.

  “Queen Farah keeps her on a short leash, ever since…” Koray begins but stops as a secret memory intrudes. An awkward silence prompts more drinking.

  ~ Five Years Ago ~

  Childhood was a happy indulgence for Princess Persephone. Each year she looked forward to spending six weeks during summer months visiting the realms. Time was spent with families of Greater Houses, except Northern Illyria. Her holidaying with Prince Vali came to an abrupt end at age five.

  In her twelfth year, the family stayed with Princess Dahlia, Osiris’ mother, at an estate overlooking lush meadows and a small lake in Persepolis. Prince Odin’s campaign in the wastelands continued with aggressive fervor, encouraging King Shuru to defer his visit in favor of lending support. This year only the girls were on holiday.

  It promised to be a thrilling vacation because Koray would be there. She was Persephone’s age and part of Dahlia’s household.

  These days Persephone’s obnoxious behavior was considered a phase, and for the most part, ignored by her mother. She roamed free anywhere she liked with minimal supervision. On one of her defiant days, she slipped past the Royal-Guard and venture to a public lakefront.

  The sweet smell of independence invigorated her. Being able to mingle with the common folk without prescribed fanfare was heaven. She made friends without any effort.

  Koray was absent this day. Persephone wasted the afternoon basking in golden sunshine. After a quick swim, she invaded a meadow to nap amongst bright flowers.

  Evil inclinations of man reared its ugly head. Dashe, a town’s blacksmith, became enthralled with the Princess, ever since he laid eyes upon her during a visit to the city. He struggled for days with dark specters, inducing unnatural lust. It didn’t matter who Persephone was or what she represented. The unthinkable burden of suicide crept into his soul; a preferred alternative if he couldn’t possess her. Self-pity gave way to indulgence. He waited. He watched.

  In the bushes, Dashe readied a dilapidated chariot, liberated from a broken theater at the city’s outskirts. His dementia landed him in a grand epic within his mind, once sang about a heroic rescue of a maiden from the clutches of a warlord – a tale familiar to man a hundred years past. He lashed his steed as the sun sparkled above a watery abyss. On he rode with malicious thoughts stirring in his mind.

  Under the guise of a friendly face, he encouraged the trusting Princess into his vehicle of despair. On they rode to unfamiliar grounds, descending beneath the earth into a labyrinth of darkness. Helpless, afraid, she retreated into a protective shell any mortal would cower into.

  At first, he played simple games by dressing her up into the doll he wished he had. The next night brought on sinful touching. The third night, starved, beaten, afraid, Persephone succumbed to the most heinous violations of all.

  A day prior, the heavens trembled when King Shuru descended on Persepolis with vengeful warriors, intent on razing every building until his precious daughter was returned. They searched in vain, until Koray prompted her father, General Marcus, to investigate the broken theater, where she often played as a child. In the meadow, she recognized a piece of the chariot’s emblem, felled from the wooden relic.

  Without time to return word, Marcus ventured with Koray into the bowels of the earth. Torches flickered in desperation inside damp caverns. Frustration ended when the seasoned General faced off with the terrible creature of a man. Koray found Persephone crumpled in a destroyed state, bleeding, frightened, absent her senses.

  The Villain endured a slow death at the hands of Shuru. A public spectacle done with purpose, to show off the wrath a parent will let loose on the world for their child. The entire affair was covered up; the victim’s identity kept amongst those concerned.

  Months of treatment restored Persephone to a recognizable state, but it was a secret exposure to the Holy Amon-I that brought her out from the depths of hell. She returned oblivious to a cloudy past.

  Persephone’s return to the ‘Mountain of the gods’ brought down an entourage of medical staff, priests, and an overabundant scolding by her uncle, the Regent. Once the ordeal finished, she expected the wrath of disappointment from her Watcher. To her surprise, a calm, collected air of reason greeted her. Samiri inquired on her state of mind and all that. Unknown to the Princess, during her escapade, spies from the Watchers local chapter observed her every move.

  With the Watcher’s counsel no longer requiring the sacred Amon-I, Samiri tasks himself to find a new road to the relic. Allowing Persephone to roam free in the world could provide the right stimuli for a new approach. He did not anticipate Prince Osiris interacting with the Princess, but this fortunate encounter opened the door to a yet unknown solution. He imparts his constructed version of wisdom – ‘Safety is paramount in foreign lands,’ before sending the Princess off to a well-needed bath.

  A host of servant’s fuss over Persephone in a large bathing area. Waiting patiently in the main chamber is her caretaker, Peki. He and his wife received a prestigious assignment to the Princess on the day of her birth. The couple is without children, so they treat their royal charge with as much love and consideration as they would their own child.

  Servants escort the Princess to the main chamber for grooming. Persephone has her evening gown on for a banquet later. She cringes with the hair brushing, wishing to be out in the slums with Osiris. She swats the servant’s hand before turning to Peki. “How is Shireen?”

  “Much better, Highness.” He tries to hide a sadness encroaching on his voice. Sad eyes give away the harsh reality of concern for his beloved.

  “You should be in Hyperboria with her, not here with me.”

  “This is where I need to be, Princess. If it is the Creator’s will to take my wife, it wil
l happen, no matter where I am.”

  “It is not right. I will tell Samiri to arrange your return straight away.” A loud clap summons a palace aide, perched at the door. The girl runs to the Princess. The moment she receives her handwritten note, she takes off with haste. “There…it will be arranged.”

  “You are too kind, Highness, but I am afraid it is your Watcher who secured me for this trip.”

  There is a lot Persephone does not understand. Her protected life created an imbalance with the version of reality she is taught and the real way of things. Despite the enormous affection she has for Peki, he is simply a slave. In her mind, he is a beloved servant, free to conduct his affairs as he wants, like Koray. This disparity in the social strata within her household is something she unintentionally ignores. Osiris’ glaring point of her ignorance rings in her mind.

  “Peki, have you ever returned to the place of your birth?” she asks with genuine curiosity, wanting to hear about a faraway place, foreign to her.

  “No, it has been many years since I have seen my homeland.” The old man sits near the Princess with a broad smile, causing her to reciprocate in anticipation. “I was born in pTah-”

  “The Underworld?” she interrupts.

  “Yes, on a small farm outside the Giza plateau. We could see the pyramid from there. Everything was as green then as it is now, full of wildlife and easy living. There weren’t many people in the town, so everyone knew everybody. I had three brothers and two sisters…I am in the middle. The nearby lake flowed with cool clear water. We swam there in the warm months. For me, it was a paradise.”

  “What made you go to Hyperboria? It is always cold there. The opposite of pTah, isn’t it?”

  “I did not have a choice, Princess. I was taken by marauders from Aryavan.”

  “But why would they take you?”

  Peki lowers his eyes. “It is the way of things, Highness.”.

  She leans closer to whisper, “Peki, are you a slave?”

  Telling the truth is a trait the old man instills into the Princess through wisdom and deeds; he hesitates to offer this truth, which may shatter her view of him. She must wake up one day. He smiles warmly, “Yes. I am grateful that I have been fortunate. Many are not as I am, serving the Royal family, but this is the way of things.”

  “I don’t like it. The people in the town here, is it like that everywhere?”

  “Not everywhere,” Peki says, and it’s the only response he cares to offer. He stands, as the other servant finishes her brushing. “I beg your leave, Highness. I have duties to attend to before the banquet.”

  “Alright.” She sighs. Peki bows reverently.

  As he makes his way out, she regards the slave she’s known all her life. Such a humble man. The experience in the town echoes in her head; the priestess with her flock is at the forefront of her memory. Is this the direction we are headed? The elevation to godhood is but a descent into insanity.

  Chapter 7: Justice is But a One-Sided Affair

  For one week, up until her departure from Aryavan, Persephone remained under the watchful eye of Samiri and her mother. Queen Farah returned one day after the Princess’ gallivanting through the mud. Persephone bombarded Farah with questions about her place in the world, all of which fell on deaf ears, as they always do.

  The Royal entourage made its way to a new city called Corinth in Southern Illyria; ‘new’ being relative to the surrounding cities, for Corinth is already 200 years old.

  Queen Farah insisted the party travel the ocean, instead of the scenic but long journey by land from the airport in Mari. This past month has been a vacation for her and Persephone, so the conventional air transportation was passed up as much as could be tolerated, in favor of a sight-seeing tour of the world – anything to avoid Vali.

  Warm blue ocean waters crash on mossy rocks near the harbor. The sun is bright. Birds are flying. A large sailing ship is anchored after its short journey from Anatolia.

  The principality of Corinth falls within the territories belonging to House ENki. The Great House Octavia rules these lands; the Primary being a first cousin of Prince Odin – Princess Octavia. She holds the attention of any fortunate enough to be in her company.

  Flowing dresses are a standard for this elaborate display, mixed with sparkling jewelry and styled red hair, done in the fashion of an expensive dancing girl. The elegant way she walks dazzles men, with rising anticipation of discreet conversation stimulating imaginations. Her pretty face always has what Persephone calls ‘War-paint’ plastered over age lines.

  Opulence is an understatement when one attempts to describe the lavish lifestyle of Octavia. She is fortunate to control sea-lanes passing through her region, bringing much wealth to her House. A lesser-known source of her income comes from illegal temple activities.

  Prince Odin banned all Houses of ENki from participating in popular heresies plaguing the civilized world. When enacted, he inadvertently encouraged the rise of secret cults within principalities under his rule. In Corinth, Octavia popularized a new phenomenon called ‘sacred prostitution,’ a growing attraction in the underbelly of society.

  Devotees from all over come to be inducted on a roster blessed by the gods. The ‘Line-up’ is limited to 20 ‘sacred-prostitutes’ per month, keeping the price of admittance high. Initiates are offered to suitors in search of a spouse, male or female. Episodes of debauchery and decadence are the norm. This is not an affair for the shallow pocket – another control set by Octavia to ensure secrecy.

  The evening sun is low. Soft rolling waves crash on rocks at the back of Octavia’s residence on the top of a hill. She refuses to call her dwellings a palace, although the decor, abundance of slaves in expensive dress, along with an endless supply of food and drink says otherwise.

  Princess Octavia is a lean, well-proportioned Anuk of medium height; no one knows her actual hair color as it changes with the new moon. This evening she insists on wearing her hair in a nest of curls, adorned with blue flowers attached to strings of gold.

  She looks ridiculous, Persephone muses with a slight chuckle escaping unnoticed. It’s the ‘lounging time before dinner,’ as Octavia puts it. Everyone gathered are sitting on cushions, eating grapes, and indulging in lies. The chatter is a mix of pretentious laughter resulting from scandalous banter – foul yet entertaining.

  “You poor dear,” Octavia opens her arms wide in a gesture mostly for show. “Come, give your Thia a hug. We are fortunate you weren’t attacked by those village people.”

  Persephone cringes slightly in her Thia Octavia’s embrace.

  “Shuru would have had a fit,” Farah says before Persephone can get a response out. “You know how he loves his daughter. I swear Octavia, how you tolerate living this far south is beyond comprehension…the humidity is terrible.”

  “I think it’s refreshing,” Persephone says with a wide smile. “I noticed a shuttle from Hyperboria came in an hour ago.”

  Octavia’s fires off a sneer. “It’s only Thoth,” she says with slight disdain. “They are here for the night.”

  Persephone’s eyes widen to match her smile. “They?”

  “Odin’s sons, Thoth and Osiris.”

  “What are you grinning about, you silly child?” Farah asks.

  “Nothing…just good to have people my age to converse with…unlike you old…”

  “Persephone!” Farah yells. “Watch your mouth. Don’t mind her, Octavia. She excels at being rude.”

  Persephone stands to brush off grape stems from her long cream-colored dress. “Since everyone is on the wrong side of 500…” she smiles at the crowd, “…no offense, except to my mother, I’ll be off exploring.”

  At the onset of Farah’s protest, Octavia grabs her arm, “Let her go, cousin...there aren’t any villages nearby.” They watch the Princess run off to a nearby hallway.

  Octavia scowls at her handful of grapes. “My doors have been jarred open to visitors of late…first Markus and now my nephews.” She catches
Farah’s questioning glare. “Not you dove. You practically own the place.” She stuffs a grape in her mouth and mutters, “In name.”

  “So, you dislike Thoth?” Farah asks. “Shuru adores him, treats him like a son.”

  Octavia’s face sours. “If he weren’t close to the King, I’d consider an experiment in seduction. I’d only be wasting my time.”

  “How so?” Farah asks.

  “Thoth is devoted to his duties as Keeper-of-Secrets…or is it Keeper-of-Forbidden-Knowledge. Bloody Anuk language can’t even be translated right.” Everyone laughs. “I love my nephew. I don’t trust someone who possesses so many secrets…or a virile Anuk who withstands my charms.”

  “Octavia, you tramp,” Farah bursts out.