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 |  With Olympus out of comission, the Greek gods grapple with their own mortality |
| [Introduction] ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "Hear me, O Death, whose empire unconfin'd extends to mortal tribes of ev'ry kind. On thee, the portion of our time depends, whose absence lengthens life, whose presence ends." - Orphic Hymn Co-authors: Alexandra Jones  and Hayley I. (aka Kilpik) |
| Ares, god of dirt, tossed a stone into the fray of limbs and blood. He imagined that it dented some poor idiot’s helmet, ricocheting to and fro amidst the writhing bodies. That was wishful thinking, and he knew it. The stone, much like himself, was going unnoticed by the brainless buffoons with their sharp sticks and roughly articulated battle cries. Ares sighed and leaned back, stretching out his hands across the sun-baked ground. The sweat rolled off of his skin in sticky waves, and the oppressive heat hammered at his brain like the blunt mace of a vengeful madman. He was now a slave to the elements, not to mention the whims of fortune and chance. An errant ax head found the jugular of a red-faced warrior. The color seeped from the man’s face, and blood spewed in an arc of violent beauty across the clashing hoards. A few splatters landed on Ares’ golden sandal. He looked at it with an expression of wistful remembrance. There was a time when entire armies raised arms in his name, when a single word from him could change the tides of war and crumble kingdoms in its wake. Courage bloomed in the hearts of men as good soldiers fell and rose from the ashes of the battlefield. He had lived off of the fear, the honor, the passion of the fight, and now it was all gone. Those days seemed an eternity away. In reality, a mere week separated former glory from current desperation. “Are you a coward?” a voice asked suddenly, ripping Ares out of his sun-stroked musings. “You will not fight like a man?” Ares groaned, swearing under his breath, as he turned to face the new arrival. The person was standing in front of the blazing sun, a dark silhouette of annoyance to further ruin Ares’ already awful day. “Do you know who I am, human?” Ares spit out contemptuously. “You risk much too address me with such insolence.” Despite himself, Ares found himself enjoying this new development. He had always liked talking with humans. They were small and stupid and simplistic – a good cure-all for the powerless god struck with a recent crisis of identity. “I do not know who you are, but I am well aware of what kind of man you are. You are a coward, sir. You are the man who hides in the shadows while others spill blood for the honor of kings and gods.” Ares laughed bitterly, throwing his head back and allowing the sun’s cruel rays to dance upon his flesh. “Do not speak of gods to me, human, or the silly men who wear crowns of bent metal upon their heads. They mean nothing to me, and you, even less.” The silhouette faltered a bit, sensing the sharp edge in Ares’ voice. For the first time, Ares noticed the small stature of the form before him. “You’re a child,” he said, surprised. “A child address me with such language?” “I am young, but not stupid. I am forced to the sidelines of battle, useless, while my countrymen fight for glory. What is your excuse?” “Well, child, I am old and quite possibly useless. We have that in common. As for my excuse? You’ll have to ask the gods.” The child paused, leaning to the side as he pondered the stranger's words. “They say Olympus has grown dark,” the child finally said. “They say a shadow has passed from the heavens and into the abodes of the almighty. They say the gods are troubled.” Ares massaged his neck with a weary hand. Dirt, sweat, and blood swirled together in a dark blur of muck against his tanned skin. “They may speak the truth, whoever your mysterious sources of gossip may be. The days are not as they once were.” Ares did not notice when the child left. He lost himself in the memories of power and might, in the desperate hopelessness of his bleak future. As the afternoon sun sank reluctantly into the horizon, the battle simmered down. The injured crawled away, while the dead awaited the circling vultures. The valley smelled of rotting flesh and dried blood. For awhile, everything was still. Ares remained motionless, waiting for divine inspiration to compel him to move. He was tired and powerless, an old god finally feeling his ancient age. When she arrived, he knew. There was a subtle shift in the air, a delicate change in the balance of what had been and what now was before him. He raised his weary head. Their eyes met, and both valiantly attempted to hide the disappointment they found in each other. The past week had not been kind to either of them. Ares swallowed, preparing his dry and cracked mouth for speech, while his mind racked abandoned corridors of reason to find the appropriate words to soothe the agonizing situation. |
Aphrodite’s gaze trailed over the broken man sprawled in the muck before her. Ares, god of war, was reduced to a crumpled wreck of flesh and bone, no better than the soldiers now scouring the battlefield for their lost comrades. Worse, in fact, for the humans’ eyes were filled with the fierce fire of battle. They were driven; they had purpose. The ‘god’ before her sat listless, drained not only of the light of immortality, but of the light of life itself. She removed the silk handkerchief covering her mouth and nose, and the stench of death and dirt seeped into her nostrils, coating the back of her throat. She gagged once and then clenched her fists to steady herself. Fury boiled in her stomach at Ares for forcing her to come out here to find him. This was no place for a woman, yet here she was prepared to do whatever it took to shake him out of his childish moping. “How long are you going to lay on the side of the battlefield, eyes glistening like a poor lost puppy?” Ares shifted his seat in the mud, and she could see the disappointment in his eyes turn to malice. “And you, Aphrodite? Are you so much stronger, clinging to your flowers, gold, and silk as if they will make you beautiful? You look no better than a common whore.” His words bit deep, and Aphrodite had to close her eyes to keep from wincing. She knew there was still beauty in her form; she could see it in the hungry gaze of the soldiers as their eyes raked across her body, but she lacked the grace and golden glow of her power. The radiant perfection had been leeched away, leaving her tainted and vulnerable. She could feel the change in the sweat that slicked the wisps of blond hair to her forehead, in the slight sag of her breasts once so firm and supple, and in the heaviness of her body. Each step was uncomfortable and full of effort as if her veins had been filled with molten lead. She bit back a retort and hissed out her anger in a long sigh then glanced up over the battlefield to where the sun was sinking beneath a distant mountain range. The last crescent of the sun dipped below the horizon, and the skyline blazed crimson as if the gods were honoring the blood of those who had fallen in battle. But Aphrodite knew the truth: the gods had nothing to do with this show of brilliance. “Why did you come here, Aphrodite?” Ares asked his voice gentler than before. She looked down at him and saw her own sadness reflected in his gaze. She noticed the sheen of dirt and sweat coating his face and the bleeding cracks of his lips. It was obvious that he had not been taking care of his mortal form. She pulled a flask full of water from her hip and handed it to him. He gave her a begrudging nod of thanks and then drank deeply of the cool liquid before returning it to her. “I came to fetch you back to Mt. Olympus. Zeus has called a meeting to decide what is to be done.” Ares gave a rueful chuckle, imagining the scene that such a meeting would cause. “No one will stop arguing long enough to decide a thing. They are a worthless bunch of malingerers. That is why I left in the first place.” A crease formed between Aphrodite’s brows as she scowled down at him. “That is exactly why we need to be there. They are lost without their immortality, but something must be done. The Heart of Olympus must be returned to the mountain. You are the only one with enough strength of character left - enough fight - to force a plan into action. ” “And you?” A smile flitted across her lips. “I have the skills of persuasion necessary to guarantee we get our way.” As if to emphasize her point, her eyes sparkled with a hint of manipulation, and she gave a gentle sway of her hips. She could feel the soldiers’ eyes zero in on the sensuality of her movement, but Aphrodite was focused on Ares as his gaze traveled over her body. “Not all of my powers were granted by the Heart of Olympus.” Her chest grew warm under his stare; she was satisfied to know not all of her ability was granted by immortality. His words before were delivered in spite. Ares forced himself to look back to her face and asked, “And you believe that the two of us should be the ones to return the Heart?” His words were hesitant, but Aphrodite could see a hint of resolve burning in his eyes. The familiar shine of strength and power sent a shiver down her spine. “I believe we should try. I am not willing to spend the rest of my life in the shackles of a human body, nor am I willing to watch you waste away on the sidelines of a war you should be leading.” She knew her declaration sparked something in him when he heaved himself from the ground and stood tall before her. “You know this will not be easy?” A wide smile lit her face with a glow not unlike the light of immortality. “Nothing worth doing ever is.” |
| Night brought a frosty chill that quickly banished the sweltering heat of day. Sweat turned clammy on the skin, and breath exited the body in tight puffs of frigid air. Ares was not happy. His mortal muscles were not accustomed to strenuous labor, and his attire even less so. The passage to Mount Olympus was for desperate men and brave fools, not for gods. Miles of untamed wilderness stretched from the plains to the acropolis, rocky outcrops leaning over dangerous precipices and hidden pits waiting to swallow up unlucky travelers. Aphrodite had insisted they take this route. Ares cursed her for it again, even though he knew she was right. The old ways were gone, evaporated with the immortality that the Heart of Olympus had contained. Rumors held that some modes of less degrading transportation existed, but for now they were forced to walk and grovel the earth like the pathetic men they once ridiculed. Ares looked ahead to where Aphrodite plunged ever forward into the darkness. She was like a one woman army of intensified stubbornness. Ares thought, not for first time, that he would have been happy to have just died on the battlefield, a rotten corpse to join the other faceless bodies of mortal men that littered the ground. “We’re almost there,” Aphrodite called back, speech noticeably labored as she paused to catch her breath. “Hurry up.” The slight tremors of past desire that had stirred in Ares’ soul at their reunion had all but vanished. He was a man of the battlefield. Long treks into the bleak unknown did not suit his appetite for violence or passion. “Did you hear what I said?” Aphrodite asked, stopping to look behind her. Ares shuddered, barely suppressing a thousand urges that would have resulted in a very unhappy Aphrodite. “Yes, love,” he answered, spitting the word out with a disgusted grimace. “Up the mountain of Olympus we go—a noble quest indeed!” Aphrodite placed her hands upon her hips, the same hips that had just recently enticed Ares to follow her across the valley and into the shadows of a dead Olympus. Her stance was not so alluring at the present moment. She frowned at Ares. “You agreed to this.” Ares threw back his head and laughed. “What is your plan, oh mighty Aphrodite? You may still possess your womanly wiles, but you cannot charm an entire pantheon of gods with a calculated flick of your hair. You want me to return the Heart of Olympus? Pray tell—how will we go about this? With my fists and your hips?” “Kingdoms have been built on less.” She gave him a small smile, a gentle gesture that offered inclusion rather than malice. He grunted, but said nothing. “Look, now,” she continued, voice softer, “The light of Olympus has not been fully extinguished. The fires of the gods still await us. They flicker dimly in this agonizing night, but our brothers and sister need us!” Ares was silent for a long moment. “You have always known the right words to say to me, Aphrodite,” he said after a few minutes had gone by. “I often feel like you see the hidden strings that control me. One tug from you, and I follow.” “I wish it were that easy,” she answered back with a teasing glimmer in her eye. “You are far too bull-headed for any woman, mortal or otherwise, to have such power.” Silence nestled comfortably between the two of them now. The brisk wind whistled lightly as it whipped around the mountain trail. Ares could sense Aphrodite’s desire to move onward. He himself wanted no more of this empty wilderness. “Who goes there?” a timid voice suddenly called out. “Speak now—if you be an enemy of this mountain, beware!” “We are no enemy,” Ares answered back, voice ringing with confidence as he ignored Aphrodite’s gestures to hush, “We are a son and daughter of Olympus.” A jumbled mixture of hushed conversation and clattering metal met this proclamation. “Did you ever consider that they might be enemies of Olympus?” Aphrodite hissed to Ares, unconsciously moving back to stand beside him. “I welcome enemies,” Ares said with a smile. For the first time, Aphrodite saw a familiar light return to the god’s eyes. “Welcome back,” she whispered. He turned to look at her, opening his mouth speak, but then a noisy ruckus interrupted him. “Sorry, it’s just us,” a scrawny boy shouted out, poking his head from behind a shadowy outcrop of rocks while doing his best to stash his dagger in his boot, “Me and Pollux! We were afraid you were…trouble.” “Castor and Pollux?” Aphrodite uttered incredulously. “What are you doing lurking on the outskirts of Olympus?” “And what sort of trouble were you expecting?” Ares questioned, looking himself like a man who even the gods should fear. Pollux, the taller of the two twins, looked back and forth between Ares and Aphrodite. “Olympus is a different place,” he said, “There is a strange darkness here. Even Zeus will not travel beyond the light of the fire pits. The absence of the Heart of Olympus stole more than our immortality. We are empty men without a path, waiting in misery for salvation.” “Then why are you here, outside the fire pits, calling into the darkness for trouble?” “Someone needs to scavenge for food,” Castor blurted out. Ares reached out and grabbed Aphrodite’s shoulder, gripping it with fury as he stared into the black depths of the mountain. “Is this what we have been degraded to? Timid scavengers crawling like thieves amidst the gates of our own home?” Castor and Pollux cowered under the unfocused gaze of the former god of war. Pollux moved to conceal a bag of meager scraps behind his back. Aphrodite touched Ares’ hand lightly, smiling at him once his gaze shifted to hers. “This is why we are here.” She turned to Castor and Pollux, “Take us to the fire pits of Zeus. We seek audience with the former gods of this mountain.” |
| Castor and Pollux scrambled up the final rocky outcrop, and Aphrodite followed close behind. Sharp crags of stone dug into the tender flesh of her hands, and she had to pull at the hems of her silk robes to keep them from snagging beneath her feet. She slipped once, her fingers failing to gain purchase on the bluff, and only the nimble grasp of Ares saved her from plummeting to the ground below. Glancing at the distant earth beneath her, she quivered, imagining what would have become of her mortal form if he had not been so quick to grab hold of her wrist. She looked up at him, eyes full of gratitude, too out of breath to offer words of thanks. A proud smirk quirked his lips, and then he gave her a gentle pull, helping her scale the final crag. As she heaved her body up over the edge, Aphrodite wondered how she would be forced to repay him for saving her life. Ares never committed a good deed without exacting a price. She staggered to her feet and gazed up at the massive marble pillars marking the entrance to the hall of the Gods. They stood like solemn sentinels, mourning the loss of the Heart of their mountain. “Never before have I been so grateful to see the gates of Olympus,” she exclaimed. “I would not be so quick to cherish the sight of home,” Ares murmured, his eyes shrouded in darkness. “I fear the hardest part of our journey is yet before us.” As if to punctuate his words, thunder cracked above their heads. Aphrodite gave a startled jump and looked up at the roiling rain clouds thickening across the night sky. The first drop plunged and splashed against her forehead. She threw Ares a worried glance, knowing they were both thinking the same thing: Mt. Olympus was always bathed in radiant sunshine; if such black weather could reach them here, the mountain had truly fallen into darkness. “Quickly,” Pollux, shouted over the sound of the coming storm. He and his twin huddled together between the great pillars. “Zeus and the Olympians have been anxiously awaiting your return.” Aphrodite and Ares dashed towards the shelter of the hall, heads ducked against the onslaught of thickening raindrops. The sky’s opened overhead and the cascading rain pounded against the marble roof like the sound of a hundred galloping war horses. The halls were unusually dark because the wall sconces, always lit at this time of night, had been ignored in favor of more pressing matters. Aphrodite squinted ahead and followed the sound of the twins’ footsteps. The warmth of Ares by her side offered small comfort against the sadness encroaching upon her heart. Finally, the hallway opened up, and she heard the sound of angry voices melding with the clash of thunder and rain. Before them sat the fire pits of Zeus, a great amphitheater encircled by a covered marble walkway. The normally raging bonfires spat and sizzled, tamed beneath the rain drops, and the Gods had abandoned their thrones in favor of the sheltered path. Only Zeus, Lord of the Sky, remained in the open. He stood drenched in rain and shouting at the storm clouds, fists raised, as if he could somehow control the whims of nature with the mere sound of his voice. Now that his powers were gone, the Earth was making its own decisions. But as Ares and Aphrodite stepped into the Amphitheater, the rain died down to low a drizzle, the wrath of nature finally spent. Aphrodite clutched her hand to her heart and gave thanks for small favors. The panicked gods followed the rain’s lead and fell silent; the fire pits roared back to life, and slowly they wandered out from beneath shelter. Zeus looked up at Aphrodite and Ares, his chest heaving from the exertion of his fury. He opened his mouth to speak, but Athena’s voice echoed across the Amphitheater first. “And so the wayward son and daughter of Olympus finally return to the mountain and grace us with their presence.” Aphrodite looked over to where Athena stood with her arms folded across her chest and a hateful sneer twisting her face. She heard a soft growl of anger reverberate deep inside Ares’ chest. It seemed even the wise and reflective Athena had grown rash in the face of mortality. Murmuring whispers spread across the amphitheater at Athena’s words, some tinged with anger and disgust, some merely curious. Everyone had an opinion about why the two gods had been absent from the mountain so long. “Silence!” Zeus thundered, and the voices quieted once again. “Return to your seats. We have much to discuss.” The twelve Olympians found their thrones one by one. Aphrodite took her place between Athena and Artemis and glanced across the fire to where Ares sat stiffly, hands clenching the armrests of his throne. Next to him sat Hephaestus, and for the first time since her return, Aphrodite met her husband’s eyes. He sat hobbled, a crumpled and broken man. She expected to see anger in his features that she had returned with Ares, but his face showed only dour sadness and loss of hope. He quickly turned away from her gaze. The lesser gods crowded around, filling the empty spaces of the circle. Zeus spread his hands wide, calling for attention. When everyone’s eyes were upon him, he gestured to the empty pedestal that stood in the middle of the bonfires. The golden setting, where the Heart of Olympus normally rested, sat vacant like a gnarled hand grasping at thin air. The fires flickered and danced, taunting the gods’ eyes with its absence. Returned to its place, the Heart of Olympus would shine even brighter than the fires themselves. “Our Heart has been stolen from us,” Zeus declared. The gods shifted uneasily in their chairs. “It must be returned. Without it not only will we perish like mortal men, but the world of mortal men will perish without our guidance.” Painful silence rang out across the fire pits. “The question then remains: who dared steal the Heart? No mortal man could have taken it. Only a god could have entered the halls of Olympus and stolen it out from underneath us. There is only one I can think of who would desire to toy with the immortality of gods as if we were his play things.” Realization dawned in Aphrodite’s mind when the question was put so plainly. “Hades.” The name hissed like steam from between her lips. Zeus gave a solemn nod of his bearded chin. “But if Hades stole the Heart…” Athena murmured. Ares’ eyes locked with Aphrodite’s as he realized for the first time what their quest would entail. He finished his sister’s sentence, his voice as grim as death, “then someone will have to travel to the Underworld, find it, and return it.” A moment of silence passed, then shouting erupted throughout the fire pits. |
| The next few moments were not pleasant. The gods, by nature, had always been temperamental and argumentative. The absence of power, however, had only served to wreck further havoc on their meager abilities to reason and cooperate. They were now petty children, deprived of their powers, stubbornly waiting for the world to right itself. Ares tried to ignore the commotion. His mind was already set—he knew what had to be done. It was not until Apollo shot out of his throne, sending his quiver of arrows splaying out across the pavilion floor, that he started actually paying attention. Apollo pointed a trembling finger in his direction. His eyes were alight with a maddening blaze that reflected more than the struggling flames of the fire pits. “Of course Ares wants us to storm the depths of the Underworld,” Apollo sneered with a surprising amount of loathing. “The god of war seeks to make us his pawns now that the pitiful humans are out of his weak grasp!” “And what would you have us do then? Languish here like fools? A decision needs to be made!” Zeus snapped back. His arm was raised in a vain attempt to harness the lightening that once heeded his call. “You have no say here, old man. The powers that once made you lord over us are gone.” The multiple arguments and scuffles that had broken out around the fire pits collectively died. All eyes stared at Athena. “What did you say, daughter?” Zeus asked softly as he lowered his arm and stared across the flames. Athena was still lounging in her throne, mouth pursed together in concentration. She flicked her hand, a casual gesture that took in the circle of thrones. “This is the court of gods,” she answered back, voice calm. “Look around you. What claim do any of us have to that title? We are mortal, we are human, and we are powerless. One old man who once commanded the heavens is now nothing in this court. We are equals—useless, babbling children fighting to maintain power over ourselves. I tell you the truth, brothers and sisters, our power is gone. Forever. A thousand of us would not be a match for Hades. Not without the Heart. The gods of Olympus are finished.” The rain started up again, a steady torrent that grew to a thundering roar. The fire pits flickered and hissed. The yellow light that had bathed the circle of thrones faded and reseeded into murky darkness. Even amidst the rain, Ares swore he could hear the old god sigh. “We do nothing then,” Zeus finally said, each word dropping like gongs against the hearts of those assembled. Ares looked around, watching the dull silhouettes of the former gods sink wearily into their thrones. He could make out the hunched frame of Artemis and, next to him, Hera’s head lay despondently in her hands. They had all given up. He peered across the pavilion, eyes straining in the weak light of the dying embers and the pouring rain. He could just barely make out Aphrodite’s form, still sitting proud in her throne, staring straight at him. He smiled to himself. Not all the gods were done fighting. “So be it,” Ares shouted out, startling the gods who had become lost in their own despondency, “We do nothing. We, the gods of Olympus, will do nothing!” He was only repeating what Zeus himself had already said, what most of the gods had already accepted within their hopeless hearts and souls. But there was something different. Aphrodite moved forward, heart racing as she strained to see Ares’ large frame rise from his throne and move towards the dying fire pits. “Hades has taken the Heart of Olympus, so we shall now all grovel and moan till death relieves us of life’s burden! We are only human now,” he spat the word out. “We have no hope of salvation! We shall beg for mercy from Hades, pathetically bowing at the feet of he who stripped us of our might!” The rain was pounding down just as steadily as before, forcing Ares to continuing shouting his tirade. He bounded around the fire pits, shaking his fists and punctuating each word in order to be heard amidst the downpour. “The gods of Olympus surrender! Let this storm drown us all, for we are surely not worthy for life among the living! The gods are dead!” He fell silent, the last syllables ringing throughout the pavilion as the rain trickled to a halt. The fire pits crackled to life again. The gods shivered in their thrones. Every eye was on the angry god before them. Water dripped from Ares’ hair into his face, but nothing could distract from the intensified fury that shone out of his dark eyes. One by one, the gods turned aside, finding new interest in the armrests of their thrones, the stitching of their damp robes. All of them were unable to meet the eyes of the former god of war. All but one. “Stay and quake in your useless thrones. Hide in your empty palaces. Await death with Athena, our ever-inspiring goddess of wisdom and doom. But know this, there is still at least one god of Olympus who refuses to die. I will travel to the Underworld, and I will retrieve our stolen Heart.” He turned slowly, seeking eye contact with each god, weighing their responses as they squirmed in their thrones. “Will not one of you accompany me?” He had been avoiding Aphrodite’s gaze, fearing that her earlier declarations had melted away in the face of the danger of the Underworld and the coward of their fellow gods. He felt a strange jolt within his chest as he heard a rustle of silk behind him and a soft clearing of a feminine throat. “I, for one, am not willing to let our brother fight alone,” Aphrodite said, a coy expression on her face. “I will accompany you, Ares, to the depths of the Underworld.” Ares repressed his emotions, a terse nod the only sign of his acknowledgement. He looked around one final time, but still no other god would meet his eyes. Even Zeus, father of the gods, did not raise his head. He had sunk low into his throne, a truly defeated man unable to lead his children. “So be it,” Ares said, after several long, uncomfortable moments had passed. “Aphrodite and I will travel, alone, to the Underworld to retrieve the Heart of Olympus. Pray for our return, mourn our probable demise, or pity our courage. It does not matter to me.” |
Eerie silence hung heavily over the fire pits as the former gods slipped away from their thrones and rushed towards shelter. Now that a plan had been forged, they were eager to be freed from the challenging gaze of Ares and the strength of his confidence. Some felt warm relief in their chests now that they were void of responsibility. Others were swathed in guilt and shame that they were too cowardly to offer assistance. Only Aphrodite stood tall among the throng as she strode to where Ares stood in the middle of the circle. She found him staring down at the empty pedestal, brushing his fingers against the gold setting. His eyes were distant and glazed over with thoughts of their dark future, and he made no notice of Aphrodite’s presence until he spoke, “So it is settled then. Our path is decided.” She shivered, not only because the frigid rain had seeped straight through her robes. The finality of his statement chilled her to her core. “So it is,” she answered, unable to keep the fear from her voice. She tried in vain to scrounge up some of the bravery that had pulsed through her veins only moments before. Visions of the depths of the Underworld swirled around her, taunting her with memories of immortality. Her world was the realm of love and desire; she was not ready to confront the pale, icy face of death. “I am not afraid to die,” Ares declared, looking up at her as if for the first time. He clasped her hand inside his own, and the warmth of his touch recalled the power of life to her mind. “Without the Heart death will find us anyway. It may be months or years from now, but we will not escape. Better to confront it head on, choosing the matter and means ourselves, than to waste away afraid of the inevitable like quivering humans.” His steadfast courage mesmerized her. She felt the drive of purpose enter her mind once more, and she managed to bring a teasing smile to her lips. “I do not think the side effects of old-age would suit me. Besides, if the Heart is not returned, no one will live on to tell tales of my legendary beauty to future generations!” She let out a sultry giggle, and Ares rolled his eyes but chuckled in spite of himself. “That would, indeed, be tragic,” he joked, offering her a warm smile. The power of his gaze filled her with fire even now that he was human; his strength was not the gift of immortality, but the gift of life itself. To keep that strength alive was reason enough to fight in her mind. Even if they had to storm the very gates of the Underworld. They turned from the pedestal to head back inside but were surprised to find Hephaestus blocking their path. Aphrodite gave Ares a meaningful look and stepped forward to speak with her husband. She could feel the tension coiled inside Ares as he hovered behind her like a snake ready to strike. But Hephaestus held his hands up in a gesture of submission. “I did not come to fight,” he said, looking over Aphrodite’s shoulder at the god of war. “These are dark times - too dark for meaningless squabbles over love and jealousy.” He glanced down at his gnarled hands as the rain streamed through the curls of his graying beard. When he looked back up, it was into the depths of Aphrodite’s eyes. “Perhaps it is mortality that has granted me the clarity to see what I never could before,” he continued. “We were never meant to be. I coveted your beauty like a child covets candy, mesmerized by the sweetness until it gives them a stomach ache.” He grimaced and shook his head, “Your nature was always more suited to loving a god of war. And now we all rely on that union for our salvation.” He bent down to the ground and removed the leather wrapping from a bundle that Aphrodite had not noticed until that moment. Inside lay a small oilskin tent, a spear, a sword, a bow, and a quiver full of arrows. The weapons’ were of simple design: handles of sleek wood and silver attached to sharp blades of steel. They were adorned with none of the usual embellishments of jewels and intricate carvings. “During my exile, I spent time in the mortal world.” Hephaestus explained, “These weapons, designed for function and speed, will serve you well, far better than the gaudy weapons of gods ever could. Use them for protection and to gather food so that you might care for your human forms. Coupled with keen instinct and cunning, they might help to keep you alive.” Ares stepped forward and lifted the spear from the ground, testing out its weight and balance. He raised his arm as if to hurl the weapon, and Aphrodite could see the hint of a smile glimmer in his eyes. “It is remarkably light,” he conceded turning to Hephaestus. An awkward moment passed between them, and then the god of war offered his hand to the god of the forge. “Thank you for this gift, brother.” Hephaestus clasped his hand, they shook, and the tension of the past was eased between them. Aphrodite gathered up the bow and arrows, admiring their sleek build as she hung them over her shoulder, and Ares buckled the sword belt around his waist before scooping up the tent. “There is one other who wishes to speak to you before you begin your journey,” Hephaestus said. “She awaits you inside the hall.” Aphrodite gave Ares a slight nod, and he stepped aside for a moment. She turned to her husband, and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He hesitated then wrapped his arms around her waist. The warmth of their embrace held none of the animosity of their past. “Thank you, husband,” Aphrodite whispered. He gave a nod of his head and looked down at his fire-worn hands again. “Be safe, Aphrodite. May the light of love guide you.” As she and Ares headed into the hall, she glanced over her shoulder and saw her husband staring up into the storm clouds, rain streaming down his face. There was a lightness, a beauty, to his misshapen features that she had never been able to recognize before that night. Inside the hall, Eros and Psyche awaited their entrance. Aphrodite gave a little gasp at the sight of her son. His wings were folded against his back and weighed him down like a beggar’s sac; now that his power’s had left him, they had lost their grace and power of flight and clung to his body like a tumor. The anguish in his eyes renewed her determination. Psyche stepped proudly forward, and Aphrodite felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Memories seeped to the forefront of her mind: how she had hated the human Psyche for her beauty, how she had wrapped Eros into her schemes, and how she had tortured them both when they fell in love. Only after she had forced Psyche to travel into the Underworld to speak with Persephone, and the girl returned alive, had the gods granted Psyche immortality. That immortality was leeched from her beautiful form now, but she still stood tall, proof that a human could travel to the Underworld and return alive. Her graceful face was exactly what Aphrodite needed to see at that moment. Her daughter-in-law held out a small velvet bag, and Aphrodite reached out to catch it. She looked up at Psyche with questioning eyes. “Obols,” she explained, “four of them. You will need the coins to pay the ferryman of the underworld, Charon, for passage across the Acheron river. One for the way in and one for the way out. You will still need to find a way to appease Cerberus, however. That I can not help you with.” Aphrodite tucked the bag inside her robes, stashing it close to her heart. She bowed her head and whispered, “Thank you, daughter.” The shame must have been etched in her face because Psyche reached out and took Aphrodite’s hand, pulling her close. “Go to the Underworld. Return the Heart of Olympus. Allow your son and I to live together forever, and all will be forgotten,” Psyche whispered into her ear. The declaration sent an unpleasant shiver down Aphrodite’s spine, and she quickly pulled away from the other woman. As Ares exchanged polite goodbyes with Psyche, Eros pulled his mother into a hug. “You know you don’t have to do this?” he murmured. “Why? Are you offering to take my place?” Aphrodite asked with a wry smile. Her son bowed his head and shuffled his feet. “Psyche needs me now.” Aphrodite smiled and lifted her son’s chin with her finger. “So she does. And Ares needs me. Perhaps this is the penance I deserve for what I put the two of you through.” Eros’ mouth gaped open as if he wanted to absolve her of such duties, but could not. She hugged her son close once more. “I will return with the Heart, and all will be as it should.” Her son gave her a hopeful smile and then stepped back. Aphrodite and Ares said their last goodbyes to the couple, and then wandered through the halls in silence. “We should change into dry clothes and get some sleep before we begin our journey,” Ares said. “We should, yet I do not think I could sleep inside these halls,” Aphrodite replied. Ares nodded his head in understanding. They agreed to separate for a short while, made their way to their rooms, changed into clean robes, and gathered what few belongings might be useful for their travels. When they met up again, they didn’t speak, too overwhelmed by what lay before them. They slipped back out through the gates of Olympus. The rain had stopped, and over head the clouds were dissolving, allowing the bright light of the stars to glisten through. The couple carefully climbed down the slippery rocks and pitched their tent, Aphrodite stifling her yawns all the way. Together, they crawled inside and curled up against the cold. Bone-weary exhaustion overpowered their anxieties about the coming journey, and both quickly fell asleep. |
| By the time the two former gods awoke, the foothills of the mountain were awash with a gray, sickly light that had done little to banish the bone-chilling frost of the night. The exterior of their oilskin tent was damp and icy, but it had kept them dry, if not warm or entirely comfortable, throughout the late hours. Ares and Aphrodite shivered against the brisk morning breeze as they silently packed up their belongings. As a god, Ares had largely been unencumbered by the fear and anxiety that plagued other men’s souls. He had lived by impulse, concerned with present action rather than future consequence. The Underworld had been different, though, It had always lurked at the edges of his consciousness, a dark unexplored and unpredictable corner of his map of reality. That was how he felt before Hades had snatched the Heart of Olympus, depriving him of his immortality and might. Now the Underworld loomed large and heavy on his soul, a black cavern of uncertainty that threatened to swallow up everything in existence. For the first time in his life, Ares, god of war, was truly afraid. “Did you hear what I said?” Ares turned to see Aphrodite looking at him expectantly, a weary expression on her face. He noticed that her once proud shoulders were now slumped and dark circles lay sadly beneath her eyes. He shook his head. “No, my mind was…elsewhere.” “As is mine,” Aphrodite replied, “but perhaps on more concrete details involving our path ahead. Do you have a plan for once we reach the Underworld? Some strategy or weapon that you have been keeping from me, perhaps?” “We enter with my strength and your persuasion—nothing else. It is not too late to return to the shelter of Olympus.” She gave him a wry smile. “Are you trying to rid yourself of my presence? Do not forget who it was that lifted your pathetic form from the sidelines of battle. This is as much my quest as yours. I will not turn back until this thing is done.” Ares smiled at her and took the oilskin tent from her arms. They passed most of the day lost in their own thoughts, aware of the comforting presence of the other without experiencing the need for words. They headed towards the western horizon, waiting for the mortal world to bleed into the realm of the afterlife. Each knew the way; the location tugged at their souls, a possible remnant of their days as gods. Mortal man would have had trouble seeking a river of sorrow amidst the endless expanse of sea and sky. Ares and Aphrodite found it just as the sun reached its zenith. Even before they had caught sight of the river Acheron, Ares had sensed the change in the landscape. The air became muskier, scented with ash and incense. He could feel a strange tugging at his soul that defied explanation. Every step was a struggle, each breath a disappointment. He shared a look with Aphrodite—they both knew. Charon, the ferryman of the Acheron, watched Aphrodite and Ares approach with arms crossed against his expansive chest, head tilted at an appraising angle. His beard drooped low upon his body, a wild mess of unkempt hair and assorted debris. Ares could not escape the fact that this man, who possessed the solemn duty of ushering souls to the afterlife, looked no better than any of the slovenly ferrymen who littered the mortal world with their drunken presence. As they drew up close, Charon unfolded his arms. His right hand moved behind him to clutch the ferry pole that had been standing upright in the river. He swept his left arm out in an expansive arc that Ares initially believed was a gesture of welcome. He did not realize his mistake until he noticed Aphrodite fumbling in her bags. The palm of Charon’s hand was faced upwards, waiting. “Obuls,” she said as she produced the coins. “Two obuls to obtain passage to the Underworld.” Ares could see the anxiety on Aphrodite’s face as she handed over the two coins to the ferryman. Her slender arm shook, almost as if the weight of the tiny obuls was too much to bear. He instinctively moved his hand out to rest on her shoulder. He had meant it to be a calming gesture, something that could reassure both of them. Instead, Aphrodite flinched but then immediately looked relieved. She smiled back at Ares, resting her own hand on his. A strange moment passed between them. A few seconds ticked by before Ares realized that Charon was observing their unspoken transaction with an obscene smirk. “Do not get much of your kind,” he finally said. “Takes brave men or sorry fools to make this journey without the aid of death’s embrace. Which are you?” “Maybe both,” Aphrodite replied tartly before Ares could open his mouth. “It does not concern you.” “Aye, what you say may be true. Or it may not be. You think I do not know your true identity, son and daughter of Olympus? The whole Underworld trembles with the might of Hades’ conquest. There are those who have been, how shall I say it, expecting you.” “Are you one of them?” Ares asked, hand visibly moving to clutch the sword of Hephaestus. “Do not confuse immortality with potency, old man. If your blood spills here, who shall ferry you to the other side? We will leave you to rot here, alone and despised, a denizen of neither the world of the living or the dead.” Charon pocketed the two obuls and gestured towards the ferry with his left hand. “Far be it from me to meddle in the affairs of gods and mortals.” He chuckled nastily to himself as Ares and Aphrodite moved to step onto the ferry. The river churned underneath the wooden planks of the ferry. Its surface was a dark and swirling mixture greens and browns. There was a stench of burnt flesh. Without real reason, Ares found himself loath to gaze too long into the shadowy depths. He chose instead to look ahead, to the far side of the river. “And that would be…” “Cerberus,” Aphrodite finished for Ares, swallowing hard. “The three headed hound of Hades.” The dog, if it could even really be called that, rose from the banks of the Acheron like a monster of inconceivable girth and proportion. The muscles of its legs snapped to attention as the beast caught sight of the ferry and its passengers. Three separate jaws, all capable of snapping a human form in half, bit the air with glee. Saliva dripped down the length of fangs the size of Ares’ forearm. “The Argonaut Orpheus managed to pass Cerberus by charming it with his kithara,” Aphrodite said as the ferryman used his pole to push them from the shore and closer to the waiting jaws of the beast. “A kithara?” Ares murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from the fearsome animal. “It is like a lyre—quite nice,” Charon added helpfully, though his eyes gleamed with a sinister light. Ares attempted to shake himself from the terrifyingly mesmerizing sight before him. He looked down at his weapons. They seemed like the playthings of children now. He could not imagine how sword and spear, no matter how well crafted by Hephaestus, would stand against this devilish brute. “So, do we, by any allowance of fate, happen to possess a kithara?” he asked. Aphrodite winced. “No, we do not.” The ferry plodded steadily through the muck of the Acheron. The hound loomed larger now. Ares imagined that he could now see the wild glint of blood lust exploding within the animal’s eyes. “Then I guess we will be doing this the hard way.” |
Charon’s ferry scraped against the bottom of the river when it reached the other side. Aphrodite clung to the boat as she stared up at the great beast, Cerberus, that waited no more than a hundred yards distant. Six monstrous eyes the size of dinner plates glowed, unblinking, through the darkness. Saliva oozed from three sets of jaws and pooled at the beast’s feet. The sleek midnight pelt of the dog blended into the shadowy mountain side, but Aphrodite could just make out the sheen of the adamantine gates that Cerberus guarded - the gates of Hades. “Your ride ends here,” Charon murmured. “Unless of course you would prefer to turn back now. I could spin the ferry around and set you safely back on the far side of the river - for a price of course.” He gave a sinister chortle. “Two more obols will buy you your lives.” Aphrodite glanced up at Ares, searching out his eyes through the gloom. His face was ghostly pale and she could see a trickle of sweat glistening beneath his hairline. She reached out and grabbed his hand and was surprised to discover that his skin was cold as death. Despite all his brave talk back in the fire pits of Zeus, she could tell that he was truly afraid. She moved close to him, looked up into his eyes, and whispered, “We don’t have to do this. We could turn back, and live out the rest of our lives as mortals. Perhaps we could build a small cabin in the valley and live together in solitude.” Somewhere in her heart the idea did not sound so bad. Was being mortal such a tragedy? And yet she knew she didn’t believe her own words. She would never be content living the simple life of a human when her calling was the creation of love and beauty throughout the world. Her immortality and power gave her purpose; without it she was lost. Ares stirred beneath her gaze, and she knew that her words were having the desired effect. “No,” he growled, and grasped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. “I will not leave until our goal has been met, or my soul goes to join the dead beyond those gates!” A small smile reached Aphrodite’s eyes as she saw the fire rekindle within the god of war. “That’s the spirit,” she murmured, and leaped from the ferry onto the river’s bank. Ares followed close behind. “It’s a shame,” they heard Charon say as he spun the boat around. “Bravery is a pretty thing, but useless against such a beast.” Aphrodite glanced over her shoulder as the ferry, their last connection to the land of the living, disappeared into the mist. A rumbling growl brought her attention back to the danger at hand. Cerberus sat back on his haunches, fangs bared and lips quivering with suppressed rage. She got the feeling that if she took one step closer to the hound, its coiled muscles would spring and lunge. “Music may calm the beast, yet neither of us can sing,” Ares muttered, giving Aphrodite a sideways glance. “Any other wise ideas?” “It is said that Aeneas put Cerberus to sleep with a drugged honey cake.” Ares sighed, “We have naught but some deer meat left over from our hunt during our journey. Still, it is worth a try.” Aphrodite tugged a piece of the meat from her sac and tossed it so that it landed ten feet in front of the beast. The dog lumbered forward and sniffed at the offering before sweeping it aside with his paw. Cerberus crouched low to the ground and snarled. “It looks as though we will have to try and fight our way through,” Aphrodite murmured, pulling an arrow from her quiver and nocking it. “There are two of us. Perhaps that will give us the advantage we need.” As the final word left her mouth the beast lunged at Ares, out of patience. Ares rolled deftly to the side, barely escaping the deadly snap of the hound’s jaws. Saliva splattered across Aphrodite’s robes, and she let her arrow fly. It lodged itself deep in the eye of the beast’s left head, and it let out a pained whimper. She reached for a second arrow, but noticed that the left head was quivering as it gazed at her out of its one good eye. It bent low to the ground in deference. A memory flashed through her mind. “Wait!” she cried out as she saw Ares about to hurl his spear. He paused and barely dodged death from another vicious snap. He did not escape completely, however; she heard him give a cry of pain and saw bright blood spurt from his bicep. She winced, dismayed that she had caused his distraction, but the brilliance of her idea was glowing before her. “The heads! They do not see as normal beasts. Left head sees only past, middle head sees present, and right head sees the future.” Ares lifted his spear from the ground, his eyes focused on the lunging right head. “That is a titillating fact, Aphrodite, yet how does it help with the fight at hand?” She smirked at his ever present sarcasm even in the face of death. “The past head sees us a gods!” she cried and then raised her hands high above her head. “We are a son and daughter of Olympus,” she bellowed at the head of the past, “masters of all mortals and kin to your master Hades. If you wish to leave this battle with your life, then you will fight for us!” The great hound’s head lifted from the ground, fire blazing in it’s one good eye. “Attack!” Aphrodite screamed, pointing at the center head. The beast lunged at her words, digging its fangs deep into the cheek of it’s brother. The present head yelped in agony and turned to fight the past. Only when the two were locked in deadly battle, did the head of the future realize the truth - the fight was lost. It bowed its head in submission to Ares, god of war, and turned to battle the present. In the world of time, only the middle head, the head that saw the here and now, could see Aphrodite and Ares as mortals. The other heads saw them shining with the power and brilliance of immortality. They saw them as gods. Slowly, as the head of present was battered and bitten by its fellows, it succumbed to their attack and bowed its head with a whimper. The great beast, Cerberus, moved aside, and all three heads bowed low to the ground, eyes closed, honoring the winners of the battle. Aphrodite gathered her breath and turned to see Ares striding to her side. They did not speak as they walked forward to the Gates of Hades, too overwhelmed by how close they had come to losing everything. The great black gates glistened with flecks of diamond, and seemed to stretch for a mile above their heads. Aphrodite reached out and touched the cold stone with her fingertips. The gates swung inwards, allowing them entrance into the Underworld. |
| The Asphodel Meadows stretched out before them, an endless sea of fading flowers stretching upwards from gray-green stalks. The air here was dead and silent. A river curled lazily through the meadows, its water oozing rather than flowing between its banks. Wisps of fog rose from the earth like pale ghosts yearning to reach the heavens. “What is this place?” Aphrodite murmured. “This is not what I expected.” In the distance, Ares and Aphrodite could make out figures moving listlessly through the meadow. Each figure remained alone; no two bodies ever stopped their meandering circles long enough to interact with those around them. “This is where the men who lived empty lives come to spend eternity. In life, they found value in neither vice or virtue, and now they will wander the after-life without soul, purpose, or identity.” The two former gods watched the figures roam the fields for several more minutes in silence. “We should not have seen this,” Aphrodite finally said. “This is not a sight for the living.” Ares reached out and enclosed Aphrodite’s hand in his. He led the two of them down a small footpath that weaved its way up and out of sight over a small hill. The flowers around the path turned darker the farther they proceeded. Petals wilted and the leaves turned a sickly shade of brown. Soon the pale meadow had become a decaying waste land. Ares bent his head down towards Aphrodite’s so his mouth was mere centimeters from her ear.” Do you know where we are going?” he whispered with an unexpectedly playful tone. Aphrodite started in mild shock. “You do not?” Ares turned back to face the path, but smiled broadly. He squeezed her hand. “Not a clue,” he said. “If those were the Asphodel Meadows, than I expect the pits of Tartarus will reveal themselves shortly. But other than that, I am as lost as you are.” “Than why do your spirits appear so high?” “That beast, the Cerberus, it knew us. You know what that means.” Aphrodite shook her head. “We can not think like that, Ares. The future is never certain. As a god, you were brash and consumed with your own immortality. Those are not characteristics a mortal man, has the luxury of possessing. The incident with Cerberus was…encouraging, but it means little. We must act now as if that had never happened.” “Mortality hangs unpleasantly upon your slender shoulders, my love,” Ares said, laughing in the face of Aphrodite’s stern warning. “You do not feel the change? The head of the Cerberus saw what will come to pass. I can nearly taste the power that will once be ours again. The fire of immortality will soon flow through our veins again.” Ares could sense Aphrodite’s disapproval, but he ignored it. Clasping her hand even tighter in his, he led them briskly down a set of steps that had been carved into the path. The rolling meadows of dying flowers gave way to a sharp drop-off. Ahead, the sky glowed red upon the distant horizon, tendrils of the light bleeding into the gray clouds above them. Wooden stairs, supported by stilts that vanished from sight as they descended into the dark abyss, clung to the rocky walls. “Tartarus, the pit of suffering and torment,” Aphrodite said softly. “I have sent my share of men hurtling and screaming into its depths,” Ares replied, temporarily sobered. “Now I shall see for myself what fate I condemned them to.” They approached the rickety stairs with some trepidation, their hands still entwined. Just as Ares moved to place a trembling foot upon the first step, a sudden sound of harsh, echoing laughter made him freeze. He whipped around to see a man, pale as the moon and enveloped in robes as black as night, stepping from the shadows. “Do you know who I am, son and daughter of Olympus?” He sneered at them, gray mouth revealing yellow teeth as it spit out each word. Ares moved to yank his sword from its scabbard, but Aphrodite stopped him, her fingers resting gently on his until she felt his grasp soften. “You are Thanatos, a daemon of the Underworld.” “Yes, mortal goddess, you are correct,” Thanatos said, voice dry and raspy as he eyed the two with a predatory gleam in his eye. “We have been waiting for you, here in the walls of Tartarus. It is only fitting that it is I who have discovered you.” “Fitting? Why so?” The daemon let out a fearsome cackle. Ares noticed Thanatos’ pale skin stretching taunt over dark blue veins that bulged against the flesh. The cackle finally subsided, and the daemon took a moment to wipe away the spittle that had splayed out across his face. “I am the daemon son of Nyx and Erebos! Night and darkness have formed me, and it is night and darkness that awaits you in the pits of Tartarus, oh blessed children of Zeus!” Ares ignored the daemon’s tirade. He removed his hand from his scabbard. “You said you have been waiting for us here, waiting for us to arrive,” Ares said, observing the disappointed looked that flashed across the daemon’s face. “Well, what are your orders, child of night and darkness? We have traveled a long way and do not wish to waste time.” Thanatos squirmed, looking less the harbinger of terror than the unhappy bearer of unpleasant news. “Hades has…requested a meeting with the visitors of Olympus,” Thanatos said, speaking as if he were reciting words that were not his own. “Denizens of the Underworld are to be on the lookout for their arrival.” “And? Once you find us?” Aphrodite prompted, sensing the daemon’s unwillingness to continue. “I am to escort you to an audience with Hades himself, if you are so inclined.” Ares grinned. “Well, my daemon friend, I can assure you – the goddess and I are more than inclined to accept your master’s kind invitation. Lead the way!” |
The former gods followed the daemon of death, Thanatos, down the rickety stairwell. Aphrodite did her best to focus on Ares’ back before her and not to look down into the unfathomable blackness below. The stairs protested their journey, squeaking and quivering with each step they took. Even though they were traveling deeper and deeper into the earth, there was an eerie breeze that tickled the hairs on the back of Aphrodite’s neck. She imagined she could hear distant moans and weeping carried upon its cold caress. After what seemed like a thousand stairs, they stepped off onto a small stone landing that protruded from the damp cavern wall. Thanatos bowed and swept his hands towards a long rope bridge floored with wooden planks that hung across the cavern. “After you,” he cackled. On the other side, Aphrodite could just make out a faint golden light gleaming through the rough cut door in the cavern wall. She inched towards the bridge and, with a deep breath, stepped out onto the first wooden board. The bridge swung and creaked, irritated by the weight of a living soul. Aphrodite clung to the ropes until they dug into the flesh of her hands and tried to stop her knees from shaking. It was the warmth of Ares hand on her shoulder that gave her the strength to continue. “We will make it through this,” he murmured into her ear, his voice ringing with confidence. She knew that their defeat of Cerberus was still on his mind, and for that moment, she allowed his certainty to rub off on her. Inch by inch they made their way across the deathtrap of a bridge. Aphrodite glanced down into the blackness below only once. Unearthly mist swelled from the depths, swirling in a mesmerizing dance that entranced her. She found herself leaning towards it as the calls of the tormented souls grew louder in her ears like the roar of the ocean. Again it was the warmth of Ares hand that recalled her back to her right mind - back to life. After that she made sure to focus on the warm glow of the doorway on the other side. A smile twitched her lips as she realized that was the second time he had saved her life. Of course, she had discovered how to defeat Hades’ hound. Perhaps that was repayment enough? She shook her head and realized the truth: there was no need to keep track. They were equals on this journey, working together in a way neither of them was used to. They were not in a competition, but a partnership. They reached the stone platform on the other side, and Aphrodite allowed herself to fall into Ares' arms. It took a moment for her knees to stop shaking, but the steady sound of Ares’ heart dissipated her fear. Thanatos looked sour as he led them through the stone arch as if he was hoping the bridge would have caused them more trouble. Aphrodite gasped as she slipped through the door; before her lay a vast green field swathed in golden light. The meadow was dotted with a rainbow of wild flowers and the grasses waved in a warm breeze. Merry music wafted towards them, and she caught sight of the lucky souls who called this place home. Vast tables were overflowing with delectable foods, and the valiant heroes - the truly good souls of Earth - basked in the glow of the sun. Some kicked up their heels in merry dance, and others lounged in each other’s arms, chatting and playing music. All were smiling, and laughter carried on the wind. “Elysium,” she murmured, overcome by the beauty. Even more amazing than the sight before her was the sensation of peace that entered her heart. It was as an overwhelming wave of goodness, a blanket of rightness. She could not keep the smile from her lips, and when she turned to Ares, she found him grinning too. “It is…” His words trailed to nothing, for he could not find the right words to describe it. Thanatos had disappeared; his dark presence was not allowed in this place, but the former gods knew where to go without him. They wandered across the fields, following the peaceful trickle of a sparkling stream, and the residents of Elysium greeted them with warm smiles. “Welcome travelers,” the souls called, not caring that they were speaking to former gods, for all were equal in this place. “Have you come to stay?” Aphrodite and Ares gave reluctant shakes of their heads and replied, “We can not.” “Good luck on your quest,” the heroes called in return. “May all that you wish come to pass, or may we see you return to us shortly!” On the far side of the fields, the former gods came upon another gate of thick adamantine, the entrance into the palace of Hades. Suddenly endless night was upon them. Carved black spires curled towards the starry sky, daring them to confront the darkness within. When they stepped up to the gleaming surface of the gate, the blessed peace of Elysium fell away from their beings. Aphrodite shivered and clutched her arms to her chest, trying to force the empty ache from her heart. To taste such bliss and have it tugged away left her feeling black and angry. “I want to go back,” she murmured. Ares looked down upon her, and his words were steeped in depression. “That place is not for us.” “But why not?” she cried, and slumped to her knees, hands tearing at the cold earth. “We could have stayed there. We could have joined them.” “Hades would not have let us.” She knew his words were true, but she did not want to hear them. She slammed her hands against the ground and whimpered, “I can not go on after feeling that warmth. What is the point?” Ares whirled on her, eyes ablaze with fires of anger and hate. “The point, Aphrodite? The point? Those souls were the remains of heroes! Good, moral, brave men and women who earned their place in the fields. Do you think that if we died right now, that is where our souls would travel? Do you think the actions of our lives have earned us such unending happiness? We would be cast into the pits of Tartarus!” He paused before adding in a whisper, “And we would deserve it.” His words slapped cold reality back into her mind. She wiped the tears from her face, heaved herself to her feet, and dusted off her robes. Stubborn determination reentered her being, and she jutted out her chin in defiance. “Then we will go to Hades, find the Heart, and regain our immortality,” she said, her voice shaky at first but strengthening with each word. “Even if it takes me a million more years of living to right the wrongs I have committed, I will try. We have squandered our powers like useless children. No more. If I can create even a touch of the joy and goodness of Elysium on Earth…” She could see the glimmer of hope, of a future, in Ares eyes, but her words were cut off by the creak of the gates as they swung open. A tall, dark figure stood radiant before them, swathed in the gleam of power and immortality. Aphrodite could barely look upon him with her mortal eyes, even though she was certain he was toning down his brilliance on their behalf. She needed no introduction to recognize Hades, king of the Underworld. “Welcome son and daughter of Olympus. I have been expecting you.” |
| Silence stretched out, cold and taunt, blighting out any remaining memory of the pleasures and comforts of Elysium. Ares felt his skin crawl with anxiety and his muscles tense. He knew, almost instinctually, that he could not best the god that stood before him. Hephaestus’ weapons felt useless in his hands, mere playthings designed by those delusional enough to confront the king of the underworld. He turned slightly to catch a glimpse of Aphrodite, desperate to see if she managed to grasp some resolve that had yet alluded him. Her clenched jaw and unblinking eyes mirrored his own. Together they had made it to the underworld. For what? Only to die as mortals? A booming laugh erupted suddenly across the dark expanse. It took Ares a moment to realize that the source of the sound originated from Hades himself. “Is this how you greet family?” the god of the underworld asked, laughter finally giving way to a mocking smile. “I had not thought the children of Olympus so meek, so silent! Speak up, young ones. I do not often receive visitors from the land above.” Ares looked to Aphrodite. He could feel the blood pumping through every inch of his body, his heart thundering inside his chest. She gave his hand a comforting squeeze, even managing a small smile. He wondered, not for the first time, how she could remain calm in such a situation, while he, the god of war, glory, and courage could be so struck with paralysis. “Hades,” Aphrodite began simply, purring his name with a sensuality and confidence that stunned Ares, “we are honored to be in your presense.” Hades gave her a shrewd look. Ares tightened his grip on his sword’s hilt. “I have not laid eyes upon you in many years, Aphrodite, but I can see little has changed.” “Yet I fear everything does not remain as it once was,” she retorted quickly. Hades nodded, chuckling after a few moments had gone by. He seemed lost in his own musings. Ares stepped forward suddenly, propelled by instinct rather than thought. He hardly knew what he was doing. He heard Aphrodite’s sharp intake of breath as he drew his sword. “You have taken something that does belong to you, god of the underworld. We are here to see it returned to its rightful place.” Ares noted how Hades’ stare remained fixed on his sword rather than his face. “You brandish weapons in my home? After the hospitality that I have shown you both?” “Hospitality?” Ares barely managed to scoff as his fingernails dug into the leather hilt of his sword. “What is hospitable about the den of the dead? You are many things, Hades, but there are those on Olympus who did not think you completely deprived of all honor.” Aphrodite squeezed Ares’ hand tightly, shooting him a warning look when his gaze met hers. Ares took a deep breath to calm his rattled nerves. Hades watched the quick interchange thoughtfully. A hint of a smile began to flirt across the edges of his mouth before he dispelled it with a wave of his hand. “No time for pleasantries, I see,” he said briskly, “You are here about the Heart then?” Ares felt his anger boiling up again, but Aphrodite answered first. “Yes, we are here about the Heart of the Olympus,” she said with calm control. “We understand that is has somehow fallen into your possession.” “I took it, if that’s what you mean. I do not deny it. And do not snear at me so, god of war. Your swords and infuriated stares will get you nowhere. Look around you. We are in the underworld. You may have sent thousands of men into its depths, but the levels of the underworld pay no respect to such trivialities.” Ares’ grip on his sword loosened. He could feel the chill of the underworld creeping back underneath his skin, threatening to steal whatever resolve and courage remained. His lost immortality felt tangible now. He could feel death stalking his every move, waiting in the shadows to claim his soul. “And you, goddess of love,” Hades continued, turning to face Aphrodite, “do not think you any better than the brute that stands beside you. With all your charm, your beauty, your alluring appeal, you are still nothing without your beloved morality. Have you noticed how the glow of your skin and the light in your eyes has faded since the Heart was taken? Do you think men will still flock to you? Do you think even this one will stay to protect or to accompany you if a more advantageous solution should present itself?” “If you question my honor-“ Ares began before being hastily silenced with another wave of Hades’ hand. “I do no such thing. Calm yourself. I simply suggest that your immortality defined your selfish existences. I meant no evil by stealing it away. I only meant it as a . . . demonstration of sorts.” “Then, pray tell, reveal your demonstration. We lesser mortals fail to grasp your meaning.” Aphrodite sighed as she spoke. Ares noticed the droop of her shoulders, the weary pallor that now hung upon her features. Hades noticed it as well. “You have come a long way, son and daughter of Olympus. I would have you rest and be fed before we discuss matters of such importance.” “No,” Aphrodite answered for them both, with more strength and determination than Ares himself could have mustered. “We will hear your purpose now. Speak.” Hades looked back and forth between the two former gods. He finally nodded. “Fine, I will do as commanded. It is surely a pity two of you came knocking on my gates. If it had only been one, certain . . . unpleasantness could have been avoided. As it stands, I may only let one of you leave my domain. I may be god of this place, but the underworld operates upon laws older than even myself.” He paused to remove his helmet. “This is my Helm of Darkness. The wearer, if he or she so desires, will be cloaked in invisibility powerful enough to fool even the craftier guards of this realm. You are forced with a choice, son and daughter—one that I must confess quite intrigues me. One of you shall leave with Helm and Heart, the other must remain here forever.” |
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