A Goddess Belongs at His Side
Kore.
It was two days later that I finally set out on the Cocytus inspection I had been putting off.
Even before I reached the river, the sound was different. Where there had once been nothing but wailing, the ring of hammers now carried across the water — a sound this kingdom had never heard in all the years of its existence.
At the riverside, the guides were already earning their keep. The embankment stood halfway finished, a full fortnight ahead of schedule. Black stone lay stacked in neat rows along the bank, and marker stakes already dotted the rocky rise where the current would be split.
"We present ourselves before the King."
Minthe stepped out from among the laborers and bowed low at the waist. Behind her, twenty guides folded themselves in unison, drilled to move as one body. The river nymphs who had taken up the work set down their tools and lowered their heads as well. No one straightened until the King had passed.
"Progress is swift."
"We have to seal the lower reach before the rains, Your Majesty. Since we divided the channel, even the water tastes a little gentler — the lamentation splits and flows in half. The inspection path Your Majesty will walk is this way. I laid it out to match the patrol route."
Along the path, broad stepping-stones had been set wherever the ground was wet. Laid yesterday, she said, so the King would have somewhere to tread. Her competence was almost enough to draw admiration.
The temporary bridge was only wide enough for a single adult. Minthe walked ahead, glancing back every half-step, starting to offer her hand with a murmured caution about footing, then drawing it back again — twice, three times.
A scent like peppermint kept drifting toward me on the river wind. Being a water nymph, perhaps her fragrance deepened before her own river.
Beneath the bridge, the lamentation flowed in two divided streams. Splitting the channel had thinned the sound considerably.
On a rise with a fine view of the water, a broad flat stone had been placed.
"I moved it here yesterday, thinking it would give Your Majesty a good vantage of the river."
The stone sat at just the right height for sitting.
"The volume of flow—" I began.
"The volume has increased by roughly ten to forty percent over the past three months."
The answer was already waiting. It was the same when I meant to ask about the schedule, the same when I meant to ask about the workforce. One matter remained, she said.
"While we connect the channels, boats cannot moor downstream. We'll need to shift the ferry landing for a fortnight — if Your Majesty would decide which direction."
"East. Wherever the processions tangle less."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Minthe drew another plan from her robes and unrolled it — a temporary landing on the eastern bank, already drafted from the start.
I looked down at the drawing for a moment. Minthe kept her eyes lowered, smiling quietly.
"When the work is finished, we will launch the first boat on the new channel. Your Majesty must be the one to ride it. They say a river remembers its first passenger for a long time."
"Finish the work first. Then we'll talk."
"It won't be long. I look forward to that day."
I rose from the stone. Minthe and the twenty guides bowed again as one.
On the way back, I passed through the Asphodel Meadows.
Far across the grey plain, a bronze club flashed in the light of a lantern. Orion. The giant swept a wide circle over the fields, and the scattered beast-souls funneled inward like a flock of sheep. With every circuit of the drive, the keening of the meadows thinned by another layer.
Along the roadside, human souls stood here and there, watching. Some still glistened with river-water, freshly crossed.
An attendant at my side reported in a low voice.
"These days the souls who come across ask to see that first, Your Majesty. Petitions from the meadows have fallen by half."
From across the plain, Orion spotted me and raised his club overhead. I answered with a single nod. That seemed enough for the giant; he plunged back into the press of beasts.
At this rate, I thought, quiet days might finally be coming around again.
Mister.
My Mister.
Mine alone.
Ah — no matter how many times I turn the words over, they never wear thin.
On the outside he is a king, the eldest, a face that gives nothing away. Inside him are wounds he has never shown a soul. My Mister.
The firstborn who came out last. The one who stood alone at both ends of everything. Even while he told me that story, his face stayed exactly as it always was. He must have endured like that for eons.
Because no one ever asked. Because no one ever wondered.
I should have asked.
Three hundred years ago, I should have asked right then.
It's late — but I know now, so that's enough.
The wound is mine now.
Somewhere in all the world, there is a Mister that only I know. I take him out every night, and somehow he never wears down even a little.
I was crouched in front of a seedbed in a corner of the flower field.
Mother doesn't know this place. Neither do the nymphs. For three hundred years, it has been mine alone.
I raise the ones I'll plant in the Underworld here. I keep them only in shade on purpose and water them cold. Mister's house is cold and dark, so they have to get used to it in advance.
The sturdiest pomegranate tree is Number One. I've put the most work into that one, so its roots will take even in the soil of that house. I haven't set a planting date yet, but of all of them, it finished preparing first.
Even after watering, I don't wipe my wet hands. I have to acclimate too. These days I even like the way my fingertips go cold. It feels a little closer to the air down there.
A sound of wind breaking overhead, and Hermes dropped straight down.
"Sister! So this is where you were. I had a message from Lady Demeter, and you weren't in the fields — I've been looking forever."
"Mother's in the western fields. And you. I haven't forgotten what you said last time."
"What'd I say?"
"You asked me when I was going to grow up. You even dared to pat my head."
"Aw, that was just a blessing — a blessing! Grow up soon, that's all."
He grinned shamelessly and plopped down on the field ridge beside me.
"Want me to tell you something fun to cheer you up? You know I've been running the Underworld route lately, right? That palace. It's nothing like what people imagine from the outside."
I'm not cheered up. Not even a little. It's only that… only that I want to know about the place where I'll be.
"…What's it like."
"First off, the old ferryman. That silent one — the moment he sees my face now, he brings the boat right over. Once I said I was Uncle's messenger, from the second trip on my face is the pass. Crossing the river gets you to the palace quick enough, but the corridors are so vast that even running in winged sandals you can't find the end. I only peeked at the great hall through a crack in the door. The lamps run in a single line all the way to the throne — you look at that and think, yeah, that's the King of the Dead all right."
"…Must be nice. Coming and going as you please."
"If you're jealous, Sister, you could be a messenger too. Oh — and I saw Uncle's study. There's a mountain of flowers in the corner. Those are the ones you gave him, right? In that pitch-black palace, that's the only place where anything's still alive."
My heart slammed against my ribs. I was sure the thudding would spill out into the open air.
My flowers are carrying life down there. Well done, all of you. Truly well done. I'll tell Number One and Number Two. Your seniors are holding on so steadfastly down below.
"But lately there's something even more interesting going on in that palace. You can't tell anyone this."
"What."
"A nymph's been coming and going. The one who manages the River Cocytus — Minthe, I think her name is. She comes to deliver construction reports, but she's there constantly. And the way she dresses — so radiant, she's like spring all by herself in that ash-grey palace. But here's the really suspicious part. You know the night attendants? Those tight-lipped ones? The second anyone mentions that nymph, they sew their mouths shut completely."
"…Is that so."
"And this is the funniest part. At her first audience, that nymph brought flowers as a tribute. Flowers that bloom in the Underworld, or something like that. I saw it with my own eyes — a black vase sitting right there on Uncle's desk. Meaning he didn't throw them out."
A soft snap sounded in my hand.
I looked down. The flower stem I'd been holding had broken clean through. I had no memory of tightening my grip.
"Sister? Are you listening?"
"Yeah. I'm listening. Go on."
"But Sister. Your voice sounds a little weird."
"I'm fine. I said go on."
He stopped mid-sentence.
"…Sister. Over there. The field."
Along the edge of the flower bed, an entire row was bowing its heads without a sound. Starting from where my shadow touched them, one after another. I hadn't even noticed when the birdsong stopped.
"I said go on. I'm listening."
"N-no, never mind. I'm late — the message is urgent. Western fields, you said? I'm going!"
Hermes shot straight up without so much as a goodbye. I had never seen him fly that fast.
The field was too quiet. Quiet enough to make my ears ring. Even the wind seemed to be steering clear of me.
The ones my shadow had touched never lifted their heads again. I picked them up one by one and gathered them in my lap. I'm sorry, little ones. It wasn't your fault. I'll plant you in the best spot later. I promise.
From the River of Lamentation, he said. A neighborhood that's seen more than its fill of reasons to cry, then.
…Endure it. Not yet. Not until I've seen it with these eyes.
Mister won't know. He's the kind of man who can receive flowers for three hundred years and still miss what they mean. So it isn't his fault. Not yet.
Fault belongs to the one who knows what she's doing and does it anyway.
A nymph.
Every river has its nymph. Every spring, every tree — nymphs underfoot wherever you step.
And something like that dares to cast its eyes toward Mister's side.
I caught myself on a stake as I stood, and heard a crack inside my hand. It took me a beat to realize the sound had come from me.
Does she even know who he is.
The eldest of the three kings who divided the world in three. Master of everything that has died, master of every treasure that sleeps beneath the earth. His side is not a place just anyone may stand. Least of all something like her.
A goddess belongs in that place.
Not just any goddess — blood of the highest order. Daughter of the King of Heaven, daughter of the Goddess of the Earth. The richest blood Olympus has to offer.
The Goddess of Spring, for instance.
Yes. Someone exactly like me.
The whole world knows it. She alone does not.