Author's Notes:
Hello!
First, thank you for reading and for the support and kind words you gave for the first two chapters. I'd just like to clear, if anybody may have been confused with the timeline hop I employed in the prologue and first chapter as rosiekatira pointed out, that the first chapter is the start of the narrative. The prologue was more for setting the mood of the story. I apologize for any confusion that may have brought.
Second, this story will be dealing with mature themes. Just a little heads up for you guys.
Anyway, on with the story and the altering of Greek Mythology!
Chapter 2
The last words my grandmother told me, the night before she passed from this world to the next, on her aged cot that smelled of the bodily fluids she could not control, was to never expect too much of one's future. We would never know where it would bring us and to expect good fortune to embrace us and be faithful to our hopes would be like walking upstream on a bed of angled rocks with the furious undercurrent making every step perilous.
Then what are the gods for, I asked, if not to bless us with good fortune?
My grandmother smiled at me and it was the last time I would see her crinkly cheeks reach up to her eyes. She told me that if fortune flew with caprice, more so were the gods's whims and we had to be even more careful. The only safe anchor of our fate lay in our hands. She said that we were all alone, truly. We faced death and passed from this life alone. All our hopes and prayers were but a cloak we had to shed before life drained from us and the boatman received our souls.
I never expected to be bestowed with riches and fair fortune. And I also never felt more alone in my last moments.
As I stood there on the temple's steps, watching the fire return to its true color, clutching my crying, bewildered sister behind my back, my throat hurting from my desperate cries, I realized it was even more painful to be so acutely aware of how many more breaths I had to take. One danced through life blissfully unmindful of one's end, for no one lived with one's death in mind. But to be faced with my life's end before I even bloomed in all the happiness it can offer was cruel.
I closed my eyes and reminded myself that I did this for my sister, so that she may live and not suffer the brunt of a life cut too short.
And then my tears fell, slowly, like soft petals down the curve of my face.
I saw one of the priests, the oldest one, move forward and I fixed my sight on him. I grasped my sister tighter and tried to move her away from this man's view.
The crowd had been hushed into an entrancement.
There had never been a volunteer.
The priest took another step and held out a hand. I gave him mine and he pulled me forward, away from my sister. She let out a cry but I clasped her hand again to pull her to me.
Then the priest took a knife and slowly pierced my palm with its cold tip. The blood peeked out shyly then slowly trickled into a line as crooked as the one I painted on a broken vase when I first tried. The priest let the knife receive more of my blood before flicking it into the fire.
It burned blue again, and they took this as a sign of acceptance.
My sister screamed her anguish.
Before I could turn to comfort her, the priest led both of us up the stairs and then inside the temple where more priests awaited. The cool air inside awakened my sweating skin.
There was a table ahead with sheets of papyrus. The old priest led us there for the record keeping. He instructed another man to write his thoughts but I did not hear them until he turned to address me.
"Your name, child?"
"Katniss, daughter of Tycho." I was surprised at how clear my voice sounded.
"And you, child?" he asked my sister.
"Primenia, daughter of Tycho," my sister whispered sorrowfully.
I saw a wash of sadness pass by the old priest's eye. Perhaps they were not all heartless.
He beckoned us to move closer to the table so that we may press our forefinger with blood atop our names. I saw my sister wince when they pierced her delicate skin. I placed my arm around her shoulder. This would be the last time I comfort her.
We headed out towards the door after the signing and the crowd had not stirred. The drums had stopped. The other priests and soldiers and city officials had organized themselves already. My procession waited for me.
The old priest escorted me and the others pried Prim away from my side. My last memory of her would be her hunched form and her teary face. Past her, near the very edge of the temple's side, by a smooth column, stood the seer who foretold all this.
We walked down the steps, the other maidens already dispersed, and I was only aware of the priest's old hand holding my arm as we moved towards the main road flanked by citizens. The reactions they gave me reminded me of a time in my childhood. There was a boy then who smelled unpleasantly and the other children avoided him or looked at him with contempt. I saw those same reactions now. Perhaps they hated me for being different, or because I was the mirror that made them see that they had been so horrible to let their daughters die alone without so much as a dissenting cry.
I searched the unfamiliar faces for my parents. I heard my mother's loud lament and shifted my sight towards the sound. I found them, my mother in my father's arms, shaking like a flower on a stormy night. My father steadied her and I looked at him. I drew strength from his unwavering gaze and told him my fears through my eyes.
As we marched farther, the crowd lessened and the weight of the air became lighter. I saw the vendors and their stalls in the agora. I saw the one that sold my mother's perfumed oils in their tiny jars and remembered the time when I would pull my mother away so we could go to the one selling the colorful masks. I saw the vendor my father eagerly traded his vases with and that one time I ran into the vendor and he almost dropped his commodity. I saw all of my little selves in different ages as we passed and each stall I recognized added to the heavy weight in my chest.
We were soon on the rocky shore and the smell of salt was more pronounced. I looked at my feet as I walked, not wanting to look up to the vessel that would tear me away from my home.
But I remembered my grandmother's words, how my fate lay in my hands. And right then I chose the lonely road of bravery.
The ship with the black sails greeted me as I looked up and I choked back a cry.
The sun was at its most vicious position and I felt the top of my head grow hot. There was only the calming sea on my left, the jagged coastline to my right, and the grunts of the men as they rowed. Our city had faded from my view long ago. The wound on my palm ached.
I sat on the deck with the maiden, Amynta, who would accompany me, who I was sure would never have the same dreams at night again after she witnesses my death, just as it had done to me years ago.
She was much younger than me, slight, and with skin that had been touched by the sun. Some of the sea spray dewed her face. Her hunched shoulders reminded me of my sister at the temple.
I spoke to her, just as I had spoken to Iphigenia before, and asked her about her life. Her father was a fisherman, so she was accustomed to a life in the sea. She had one younger brother and a mother who bled to her end upon bringing her last child unto the world. I felt sorrow for this girl who had never felt the tenderness of a mother's love.
Amynta had a frayed ribbon tied to her wrist. I asked her if she wanted to have her hair braided, like mine, and we could tie her hair with the ribbon she had. I had caught her looking at my hair a few times during our conversation. She nodded shyly and I asked her to sit in front of me.
I combed her hair, which reminded me so much of my sister's, with my trembling fingers. Every second that passed brought me closer to the black volcano.
Then I slowly remembered how my mother gently took sections of my sister's hair and weaved it with her own touch of beauty. I did the same with Amynta's hair, but my work was not as refined as my mother. But still, it reminded me of how Prim first touched her braided hair, her eyes always shining in amazement. It was the same look Amynta had now as she turned back to me, hand reaching up to the braided crown on her head. I made it different from my simpler one that rested by my nape. Her chapped lips stretched to reveal her teeth as she smiled and I smiled back.
It faded when I looked over Amynta's shoulder and saw the gloom of the volcano taking shape in the distance.
She noticed my face fall and asked me what's wrong.
"Will you do something for me?" I asked her. She nodded.
"Promise me you will close your eyes later," I cupped her cheek just like I did to Prim when I comforted her when other children threw her callous words.
Amynta knew what I referred to. Her smile regressed into a sad pillow and her eyes lost the happiness it twinkled in earlier.
She nodded again and hugged me. And I knew the small enchantment I had when I relived my memories were over. I felt numb despite my heart thumping loudly. It became hard to breathe as I saw the island grow bigger. The dancing waves and the ship's motions made my head feel light.
Then the ship stopped and docked. I bowed my head and reached for Amynta's hand. She was seated beside me and I turned my head away from the sight of the volcano. My ears began to ring.
After the movement of preparation, of which I hardly heard because of the ringing in my ear, I noticed that we were alone on the ship along with the old priest, who was now walking towards us.
"Child, it is time," he spoke softly as he reached us.
My knees did not respond to my mind's command to stand and the priest had to gently help me. Amynta did not let go of my hand. The priest led me down the plank and into the shore.
I felt that heavy feeling of sadness pulling me down to the earth again.
I looked up and saw no cage for me and no animals to be sacrificed along with me, unlike with Iphigenia.
"No cage? No animals?" I asked the old priest.
He shook his head. "Not today, my child." But I can see with the other priests's sullen expressions that they were unhappy with this change. They lost their savage sport this year. I wondered if my actions were what brought the change but I was relieved I could die with a little dignity.
When the march up the volcano began, Amynta pressed closer to me. The old priest walked ahead of us and to our back were the soldiers.
The lunatic priestess of the god of the dead marched with us, at the front, but she did not wail a dirge this time. She looked shabbier this year.
Everyone was silent and only the footsteps against the dry soil were heard. The faint, familiar smell of decayed eggs permeated the air.
As we walked, I moved parts of my body and forced myself to be aware of it. I never wondered at how quickly my toes could curl the moment I thought of it, or how the short hairs at the base of my neck stood up when the wind passed. I tried to feel what it was like to have a body, to have something of mass that moved with my mind's will. It had been a good companion to me, sturdy and reliable.
We passed a small stream being choked by rocks and I remembered playing in the pond with Prim.
I moved on to think of my memories, all of the moments that made me happy and angry and alive so that I may feel that rush of life once more. I remembered the first painting on a vase I was confident enough to show my father and how he smiled widely at my work. I wished I drew it on the sand when we docked just so I can see it in actuality one more time.
We were halfway to the summit already and I felt numb again. But I willed my mind to think of more memories to fight the resigned coldness threatening to settle in my belly.
I thought of the first time I made Prim cry when I hid her doll. I remembered the first song my mother taught me while she ground the herbs together into a paste for the big wound on my knee. The song soothed out my cries because my mother's voice fascinated me.
I realized, looking out into the sea in its bluest I have ever seen, that it was perhaps more difficult to be aware of when and how one dies as opposed to not knowing at all.
We neared the top and I can already see the temple. Amynta pressed into my hand tighter and I put my arm around her instead to offer comfort.
A morbid strength filled me. I told myself I would go through the final steps of my life and not think of that one moment where everything goes black. At least that was how I thought death would be, a sudden emptiness.
There was that odd moment one passed through as we went from the time when the moment we dread had yet to pass and then the moment when it presented itself. Once my foot stepped onto the flattened peak of the volcano, when the sulfur assaulted my senses again with such fury, I was in my moment of dread and everything gravitated to that singularity I could not escape from. I felt the heat from the gaping hole but my insides were icy. I moved like I pulled great slabs of marble behind me. My tongue felt dry; a poor, beached sea creature in my mouth.
I saw the priestess walk toward me. She held in her hands the rough rope that would bind mine. The decaying temple was on our right and I saw the way to the back where the crater stood, the same path I walked before.
I took my arm from Amynta's shoulder and I heard her sniffle. I looked only at her as the priestess wound the rope around my wrist.
"Remember what you promised," I whispered to Amynta as the rope chafed my skin.
When it was complete the priestess dragged me from the other end of the rope, like one would do to an animal. They had not forgotten how to disgrace a person during the last moments of her life. The other priests followed us and I looked one more time to Amynta, who was now standing by the temple where I once stood to witness Iphigenia's death. The old priest was beside her.
I was halfway between the temple's columns and the crater. The priestess and the other priests stood near its edge, chanting and praying.
My ritual slaughter was beginning.
I willed my ears not to hear their chants but my mother's lullabies instead.
The heat was unbearable but I told my skin to remember how soft my first silken chiton was as it glided down from my shoulders.
I saw the people praying for my death and I tricked my eyes into seeing my family again, my father's proud stance, my mother's kind face, and my sister's spritely figure.
I bowed my head and allowed myself one moment of grief as I closed my eyes.
Then the earth shook so violently that I found myself suddenly lying on my back, eyes whipping open as a sharp rock became my pillow, ears splitting from the screams of agony that sounded farther and farther by the second, much like the dog's howl before as it descended into the volcano.
I felt something warm behind my head and when I drew my hand back from reaching it, I saw blood.
The earth had not stopped shaking in anger and I felt a blackness pull me.
The delicate dandelion seeds of the Asphodel Meadows had begun their sweep of the realm, he noticed from looking out from one of the many doors that lined the cavernous adamantine hall of his palace.
The white dandelion seeds floated in the meadow, swayed without care, and dropped themselves anywhere the wind stopped carrying their spindly beings. Far beyond into the horizon, he saw, stood the mountain ridges that bore the road to the dark mountain, where the pit of Tartarus resided in its underbelly.
He was about to step into the frame to go out into the meadow when the whisper of a shadow hissed to his right, and he faced the vapors that materialized into one of the Erinyes, informing him, god of the dead and host of the many, that the council for the souls's judgment was ready to convene.
The shadow dismantled itself once more and he was left alone, standing by the door that led to the dandelion rain of Asphodel. Perhaps he would go in another time, when his duties had been attended to.
He turned and walked towards another door, a hundred steps from the Asphodel door, one of many that lined the endless hall whose doors led to endless realms, to wherever he pleased. He stopped by the Trivium door, where the council assigned the dwelling of the souls the boatman brought.
He saw a long line now, for another battle had just ended and the slain ones needed to be separated.
The white flames, which burned without end, lined the Trivium hall's walls and responded to his presence. They flared to announce his arrival and settled to an imposing height, frightening the new dwellers of the underworld.
He sat on his adamantine throne, high behind the seats of his three councilmen.
He remained silent as the middle councilman stood and recited the proclamation agreed upon by him and his brother, god of the sky, the supreme deity.
"For thou have passed on from the living and thou shall be judged by thy actions. If thou have part from a just and blessed life, thou shall dwell in all happiness apart from ill in the Elysian Fields. If thou have lived an unjust and wicked life, the god of the dead, host of the many, shall mete out thy penance in the pit of Tartarus. If thou have lived in neutrality, the Asphodel Meadows await thy soul."
Then the judgment began.
Alone, a soul would step into the blue flame before the councilmen. The flame would recount all his actions and misdeeds so the council may make a fair decision.
He had seen before how the souls looked at him, regarded him in both awe and fear, not any different from how they viewed him while they were in the mortal realm.
Through the separation of souls he had come to know all the colors of humankind: the depths of their depravity, their hushed desire for riches, the unending prayers to thwart their demise, as well as their tender wishes for those they hold dear, the unconditional kindness abundant in children, and the gratitude of some who remember whence their fortune flowed.
Once the humans were born, they learned to love, learned to sin, learned to implore and worship the gods they needed assistance from and give a token in return. Nothing went unpaid. He and his brothers divided the realms of the sky, the sea, and the underworld and the other deities divided the other duties that needed to be done. This was the delicate order of the world as ordained by fate.
So when the souls had been divided, the wicked had pleaded, the neutral ones had sighed their relief, the blessed had murmured more prayers, the councilmen took their leave and he was once more alone, it was time to watch the sacrifice offered to him.
Mortals seldom worshipped him. Many preferred not to acknowledge the presence of his necessity to the world. Indeed, many abhorred yet feared all that he stood for. Men clung to their lives and their borrowed power and would sooner send their brother to the boatman than part with their earthly lives.
The blue flame where the souls stepped earlier now roared higher and wider that it claimed the space of the hall before him. It showed him the reaping.
Then he saw the mortals.
The maidens were ready. Their city looked on.
He watched the ceremony begin.
He read the familiar fear in their eyes, the tremble of the hands, that telltale miniscule rise of their chest from their furiously beating hearts, and he searched for the most unstained of them.
It was his gift to their souls for them to never know the evils of mortals. It was his gift to send them to the Elysian Fields for being the price that had to be paid to appease the necessity required by fate for the transaction between mortals and deities.
And he had found the girl he would bestow his gift to.
She was young, as they often were, and had a righteous heart. Yes, she would enjoy the eternal beauty of the Elysian Fields.
But there was a commotion after he had chosen.
He heard a piercing cry, and such an anguished one as well. Another maiden had rushed to the side of his anointed one.
She proffered her own life for the other girl. He saw the way this maiden clutched the younger girl frantically behind her as one of the priests advanced.
How odd.
He stood from his throne and walked to the fire.
His head tilted a bit and he felt his eyes squint as he regarded the scene.
This had never been an occurrence, as these mortals preferred to be very miserly when it came to the length of their lives.
It was the most befuddling thing in his existence, for the order of things to be upended. He had considered sending for one of his brothers, the god of the sea, heir of the trident. Perhaps he had had a similar experience with his extensive dealings with mortal women.
And then he felt something different from this girl.
He was about to summon one of the Fates when one of the sisters, the spinner, materialized beside him, and in her wheezing voice spoke.
"What troubles the god of the dead, host of the many, that we should hear his thoughts call to my sisters and I?"
He wasted no second.
"Who is this mortal?"
The spinner regarded the fire with half a smile on her lips.
"Ah yes. She is half mortal my liege. I spun her with an immortal thread plaited with her mortal one upon coming into being."
"Who bestowed her an immortal thread?"
"The god of the harvest."
He turned to regard the spinner who still had the small smile.
How curious.
Then the spinner spoke again, "This is her fate, my liege. She has chosen. It is the way of the world we cannot escape from," before retreating back to her shadowy home with her other sisters.
He watched the last of the wisps disappear out the door.
The fire in the mortal realm burned blue once more when he made his decision.
He let out a small sigh, such an unfamiliar gesture that he only watched his other brothers do.
He summoned the messenger, the herald of the gods, bid him to take his chariot with the deathless horses to fetch this, this half mortal, so that he may have a better look at her.
I choked out the first deep breath I inhaled and moved to my side.
The sulfur swam heavily in my chest and I heaved to expel its horrid grasp.
I ran a hand at the back of my head, my mother's braid beginning to ruin, and felt relieved at the absence of the sticky blood. I felt its rough flakes instead.
My legs felt the needles inside, waking it up.
I slowly opened my eyes to see my surroundings lacking the movement of life. Kneeling, I looked around to see the decaying temple to be in even more ruin than before. The columns were scarred with cracks and the grayed marbles tumbled down one another in an ungraceful heap.
I felt unease as I pulled my last moments before the blackness pulled me.
My eyes traveled from the frayed hem of my soiled chiton to the dusty soil to the small hand that peeked out from the temple ruins.
My tears and my feet rushed to her, like water poured from a bucket. I touched the cold hand and gave it a reassurance Amynta would never feel.
Then a whistling sound reached me.
On stormy nights, when it felt like the waves with their unrelenting mass would move the cliff our house stood on, the wind howled in a high-pitched tone and I would not be able to sleep. I would look out the small window where my sister and I shared a bed and watch the black sky convulse with lightning.
It sounded like that now, a furious whistle growing stronger every second.
I stood up and looked around. The ruined temple was behind me and I can see the fumes coming out of the crater.
I feared what would become of me, all alone in the summit of a volcano.
I heard the cry of horses nearing, their loud snorts of air as they summoned their strength. I saw them, four towering, black, beastly horses pulling a fearsome golden chariot, coming from the horizon where the sun sets.
I took a step back as the horses stopped in front of me.
A man emerged from the chariot. He was radiant, and I knew he was unlike me and the others who had just perished. He had a crimson cloak around his shoulders, fastened by a snake brooch. From the straps of his sandals came wings of flame, like the ones that adorned his golden helmet.
As a child, I once saw a play in our city's amphitheater, where the lone actor wore his colorful masks to convey his different characters as he told us his tale. It was the only play that allowed children in the amphitheater's steps and the tale he regaled us with was the most popular one. It was about the gods we worshipped. And the man before me I knew from the stories was the messenger, the herald of the gods.
He took a step toward me and I lay rooted at the dusty soil.
He spoke and his voice was deep,
"I have come at the bidding of the god of the dead, host of the many, to bring you to his realm."
He walked a few more steps and held his hand out for mine.
My tongue felt heavy and I could not respond. As I placed my hand in his I wondered if this was only an illusion conjured by the fumes. But he felt real, and warm, as he guided me to the chariot.
I stood beside him and he took the reigns.
I ran my hand on the golden chariot, the cold sensation informing my mind that this was not an illusion.
Then the horses whinnied and we were on our way towards the horizon where they came from.
I was on my way to the underworld without having died.
But all my anguish at dying was replaced by a new fear, a new dread settling on my belly. I had unanswered questions in my mind.
I looked at the messenger beside me. His eyes were trained forward. I saw the horses's mighty limbs gallop as we moved through the sky. I gathered my courage and willed my voice to be more than a squeak.
"May I speak freely?"
The messenger looked down at me with a piercing stare and curtly nodded.
"What does the god of the dead, host of the many, want with me that I be brought there without having died first?"
His voice was soft when he replied and I could hear it despite the gust of the wind.
"I am not in a position to answer. The god of the dead, host of the many, has kept his reasons to his self."
I tore my eyes away from his chiseled profile after he uttered his unhelpful answer and looked below. The sea was calm and the dying sun had cast its shadow as it sank in the horizon.
I remembered the seer's words, about the god of the dead, host of the many, welcoming me before the sun has set. It seemed as though a long time had passed when it was only this morning that he uttered those words that changed my fate.
I looked down again, to my dirty chiton, my torn sandals, and I felt a change in the air. I was about to look back when I heard a soft reproach from the god beside me to turn my head away from the mortal realm, for it was no more now that we had entered the underworld.
The air heightened each sensation I felt as the wind still flew past me. I looked below and the messenger god told me we were now above the sea of Erebus that separated the mortal and immortal realms.
Then a mountain loomed and I felt the chariot inclining. Past the pinnacle, I looked below and saw the five rivers of the underworld descending in majesty from the peak and snaking through the vast realm. One was fire and the other four glimmered differently from one another. I remembered the masked performer telling his audience about the underworld's rivers of sorrow, lamentation, fire, forgetfulness, and hate.
I shivered. My eyes were still unbelieving.
Up ahead, after the expanse of field, stood more mountains and another ominous one that towered afar. The field below, where we were descending, was separated into two by one of the rivers, the one that glinted like the dew on flowers at daybreak.
The messenger god assisted me as I took the step down from the chariot. Before I could ask another question, he had already returned to the reigns and I was left behind in this field.
My heart beat furiously again as I looked around.
The light enveloped the realm softly, muting the colors of my surroundings. It was not bright here, and the mists bathed the seemingly endless land in an aching charm, but it was unlike the dark portrayals of the poets and their words.
I knew not where to go, so I sat in the rough grass. They bent under my weight. Around me were stalks of pale green where clusters of small, lavender buds drooped to the ground. They were smooth against the tips of my fingers.
I drew my knees in and looked to my right. There loomed the mountain with the five rivers in the distance. But to its front, but still very far away, I saw an imposing structure surrounded by mists. It stood like a temple without the columns at the forefront. It was closed and I saw no dark shapes to indicate windows or doors. It must be the dwelling of the god of the dead.
To my back, when I turned my head, were the woods, but with brittle barks and dry, white leaves that added to the melancholy of the realm. The bushes and shrubs with their shriveled leaves were tremulous in the gentle wind that blew. The field, to my relief, held more colors from the tiny flowers. Their soft reds and violets reminded me of the flowers in the mortal realm.
I bowed my head and as the mists settled around me, I drew my knees closer. I tried to remember my sister's laugh or my father's smile. I painted the way my mother's hair fell down slowly like the rain when she bent to pick me up as a child. Here, in the savage beauty of the underworld, it was too quiet and I had never felt more solitary.
My memories were my only company, and I had never felt more thankful for the ability to remember, even if my heart broke at the harsh truth of not being able to make new ones with my family.
I knew not how many moments had passed when I felt another being nearing me. I lifted my head.
The mists have cleared.
I craned my neck towards the sound and saw a man coming from the woods.
How strange.
I followed him with my eyes as he neared.
He stopped by my side, and as he sat, I saw the waves in his golden hair move.
He spoke first, for I was too dazed by the day's events to initiate a conversation and too surprised at the sudden addition of another being after being alone.
"You must be new here."
I looked at him. My arms still wrapped my knees.
"Do you live here?" I asked.
"Live? Have you any knowledge where we are?" He asked with a smirk.
That small expression made me realize how starved I had been of an interaction that did not revolve around farewells and my demise.
He had a boyish, gentle face but with probing eyes the shade of the cornflower I used to give my mother when I happened upon it in the woods near my home.
The memory of my mother forced my nose to prickle again and I looked away from this stranger and stared at the field ahead.
"By what name do you go?" He asked curiously.
"Katniss."
I did not ask him his name because I suddenly wanted to be alone in my grief and I wished he would go away.
But he rambled on about the underworld instead.
"Well, Katniss. Welcome! We're in the Elysian Fields, if you would care to know. You are fortunate to have been chosen to be here, rather than be in the Asphodel Meadows or dare I say in dreadful Tartarus."
His leisurely words pierced a sac of anger in me I did not know was full. But perhaps I should not be surprised that it was, after all that happened to me.
"Fortunate?" I asked, rounding on him. I stood up and faced him, this poor man who I've barely even met, was about to be at the receiving end of my temper.
"How am I fortunate? I am not even dead and yet I am here! All thanks to the greedy city that conquered mine and the damned god who wanted maidens to be sacrificed to him and die in the most cruel way!"
He was startled by my outburst and his expression hardened.
"You need to be careful. The god of the dead may hear you and he is not one to be trifled with and your careless words will not be of any good to you."
I let out a bitter laugh as my anger poured out. I was past caring and it was savagely liberating. "What else can he do to me? I am already here. He had already taken me from my family, from what life I had above."
I had a desire to leave this man here and run to the woods to see where it would lead me. I breathed heavily. The anger I carried was heavy. Every emotion I felt today burdened me.
"I hate them," I whispered.
The man looked to me, puzzled.
"I hate them all. The war, the sacrifice, the gods and their demands. Everything."
I felt deflated and I sat beside him again. My tongue pushed the words out of my mouth easily.
"I never prayed to the gods anymore, not even when the seer told me I was going to die."
He was silent and let me talk, and I was thankful because the words would not stop.
"Ever since the time I witnessed a sacrifice and how they defiled that innocent girl to gain the favor of a god, I stopped praying. How could the gods permit such a cruelty? How could I ask them for anything? They demand so much in return when they were already gods and we were just mortals who were chained to their caprice."
I realized, in my rambling, that perhaps this man did not understand the context of my anger or what it was I was even talking about. I ventured to tell him more, now that my outburst was over and since he was my only company. But first, I owed him something.
"I apologize for my behavior."
"Well you are new, and the new ones have still not accepted the final fate handed to them. But what do you mean by not being dead? Again, do you know where we are?" he asked.
I sighed.
"My city's defeat in the wars led to the sacrifice of our maidens to the god of the dead. Earlier today was the ceremony to reap the maiden to be sacrificed, but before that, the seer told me I was going here. Then the reaping proceeded but it was my sister who was chosen. I could not let it be her, so I volunteered. Before I was to be sacrificed the earth shook, I fell, and when I when awoke, the messenger of the gods came for me and brought me here."
He stared at me with those piercing eyes and I looked away to the river ahead.
"Do you not fear death then?"
I turned to him and smiled sadly, "I thought I did, but I did not even consider much of it when I saw my sister get chosen."
"You do not value your life then?"
That stoked the embers left and I rounded on him once again.
"I do! But there are some things that I cannot allow no matter what it may cost me and my sister being murdered for the whim of a god is one of them!"
My angry voice bounced off the dry barks. I closed my eyes to let my anger wash away before I spoke. No, this stranger did not deserve my temper. I tried small talk.
"Have you been here long?"
He nodded, still probing me with his stare. It was uncomfortable and his expression was unreadable.
"Where are the other souls?"
"They are around. The underworld is a vast place," he replied quite curtly. I could not blame the poor man for being brusque, not when my own behavior had been appalling.
I felt tired. The last of my energy was consumed by my vexation.
And then I noticed them.
Cloaked figures in two lines headed towards us from the direction of the mountain and my breath hitched.
"Who are they?" I asked the man.
He turned to look to the right.
"They are the servants of the god of the dead. Perhaps your presence is wanted."
I clutched at the grass and felt the flower petals wither inside my fist.
The cloaked figures were women, their cloak as dark as the night and fastened by a horn-shaped brooch. They had a jeweled mask that covered their mouth and they did not speak upon approaching us.
I looked to the man but before I could ask his name, or thank him and apologize for listening to my tirade, one of the women stood by me and bid me to get up. I had no choice but to obey.
I walked in the field, between the two lines, and I felt drained. I wanted this day to be over.
Insolent girl, he thought.
Foolish, insolent, ignorant girl.
As soon as the line of servants and the girl disappeared from view, he walked back to the woods to another door that led to the adamantine hall he was walking on now.
He had her brought here so he could see her for himself and perhaps satiate his curiosity, but all the girl did was anger him with her sacrilegious words. She was fortunate that he did not have her chained to the gates of Tartarus yet.
He entered one of the doors that led to the empty Trivium and paced by his throne. A goblet of Ambrosia was on the table nearby. He took it and drank deeply, letting the thick, syrupy liquid glide down and nourish his immortality.
Then he hurled the goblet and it clanged loudly against the smooth floor.
How dare that foolish girl accuse him of murdering in caprice? What did she know of the ways of the world, of the necessity ordained by fate? She knew nothing.
He was seething and the flames responded to him, flaring up the walls as anger coursed through him faster than the Ambrosia.
He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes. She was a puzzle to him.
He had extended a kindness to the sacrificed maidens by having them sent to the Elysian Fields and for this slip of a girl to slap back the purpose of the sacrifice to him with contempt was a slight he could not forgive.
The flames where he watched the sacrifice earlier rose again and he saw the ungrateful girl, this Katniss, being cleansed by the servants. He saw her standing sideways, her nubile body bare as the waters glided down from the arch of her neck to the swell of curves on her chest, to the side of her hips, her thighs, then to her trim ankles. She was unaware that his eyes traced her body now.
He felt empowered looking at her, for she may never have consented to be looked at while naked and relished being able to do so because he could. He stepped closer to the fire.
Yes, as a god, he can take what he wanted.
It felt good after being rendered powerless by this girl who did not fear death. Her statements and her thoughts she so brazenly spewed forth unsettled him. She was the first one he encountered who would willingly give her life away. And what dominance did he have over her as the god of the dead if she did not fear that which empowered him and weakened the mortals and allowed them to be subjugated?
He summoned one of the servants and as soon as her shadow formed, ordered that the girl be taken to his room when she finished being cleansed.
He watched the girl as she walked down the steps into the milky bath. His hot fury flowed through him more at the sight of her body.
He thought of his brothers and their dalliances with mortal women. He knew what her punishment for her insolence would be.
I passed through another door again from this hallway of endless doors.
I would have thought that as a god, the god of the dead would have a grand palace. All I had seen was this massive hall that contained only doors. We entered one from the field. I thought it odd that there was a lavish door by a small pond in the middle of a field. But when we entered, the wall of doors, an abrupt change from the trees and grass, astonished me. There was nothing else. No columns, no other beings, no windows, and only two walls facing one another filled with doors. Soft light, like the one from the field, poured from above.
The servants seemed able to distinguish them from another. Their memory was impressive, and comforting, for I would not want to be lost here.
We walked to our left and entered another unmarked one. There, I was stripped bare.
The cleansing had been unbearably uncomfortable.
What modesty I had swirled with the water that went down my body as the servants cleaned my bare form.
Then I was soaked in this creamy liquid in a very large bath. They left me there for some time before returning with my dress of flowing silk and linen.
When I had been dressed, combed, swathed in perfume, and made to drink this thick, syrupy liquid that energized me, they led me out the door and we began another walk.
They stopped by another door, flanked it with two lines, and waited for me to stand by it.
Then one of them whispered, "The god of the dead, host of the many, shall be with you here."
Then they disintegrated into dark mists before my eyes. I had never seen anything more frightful.
Gathering my courage and sweeping my distress aside, I pushed the door. Silver steps that led up to where I cannot see greeted me. The room was bathed in a soft light, like everything else in this surprising realm.
I took a step. It was cold on my bare feet.
I climbed, gathering my dress in one hand to keep myself from tripping.
At the top, I was breathless. The climb was higher than the one leading to my home from the shore.
My breath hitched when I caught sight of a massive bed. Its iron legs touched the grass in a garden and instead of walls, high, dense shrubs of deep green provided the enclosure.
I wanted to run and turn back but I found the stairs to be gone. Only a wall of leaves faced me.
Then a deep voice strummed the air.
"Move to the bed."
I felt dread again, the one that carved my belly when I heard the grim vision of the seer. I knew what would happen to me. There had been too many stories of unwanted children begotten by women during the sacking of our city.
I walked slowly, each step sending my heart jumping. I wished the bed was farther. I wished for anything that would prolong my walk.
But I reached the edge, and I was shivering.
Then suddenly, my sight was taken from me. I gasped. I only saw the blackness, like the absence in my sleep when I did not dream of Iphigenia.
A coldness crept up from the tips of fingers and spread itself. I did not stop shivering.
I heard the heavy footsteps of someone. It would be the god of the dead, my captor. I did not know why he wanted this from me. Is this what I get for saving my sister and not resisting my destiny?
My sister. My father. My mother. Would their memory of me would be lost in the vastness of their lives.
The footsteps grew louder, nearer.
I tried everything to distract my frantic mind from my sudden loss of sight. I thought of my home, my city, the woods, the sand, and the cliffs.
I had been torn from my home by the overpowering tides of fate and brought here. I had no one to help me in the underworld.
Based on the sound, the god of the dead was near.
I faintly remembered my grandmother's words, how we were all alone, and how true her words were.
I faced the imminence of my death in that volcano alone, and I would face my horrors alone, with only my anguish as my comfort.
Then when he was behind me, when I felt the energy between two bodies that did not touch, when I felt the air he exhaled by my nape, I bid my soul to be torn away from my body when I felt his deft fingers unclasp the brooches on my shoulders that held my dress. I wished that a part of me could pull away, drift away, and find myself anywhere but here.
Author's Notes:
Thank you for reading again! I do beg for your patience and please keep in mind that one of the disadvantages of reading fanfiction is that unlike a book where you can proceed without delay, the chapters are posted individually and it takes a while to know what happens next. I know I am treading really delicate grounds here, especially with the mature themes of the story, so I do beg for your forbearance.
That said, thank you so much to my lovely readers, reviewers, followers, and those who placed this in their favorites. I cannot thank you enough for your support. It's always difficult to write a new story and I waited with baited breath for the reception of Elysian Fields and I'm very happy with the result.
Some side notes on Greek Mythology and other stuff:
The Greeks created their gods in their image, meaning they had the same temperaments as humans. For example, they quarreled, they wanted prestige, and they pursued the lovers of their philandering husbands with a vengeance. Sounds so familiar.
I had to adjust Prim's name. At least Katniss's, thankfully, was odd enough to be able to fit in with the Callistos, Helens, and Sapphos of Ancient Greece.
Based on the Ancient Greek poets, the underworld has realms where the souls went, just as the story mentioned. The place where the three realms met was the Trivium. It also had five rivers called Acheron (sorrow), Cocytus (lamentation), Phlegethon (fire), Lethe (forgetfulness), and Styx (hate). I took liberties with the geography and the structures.
The Fates, who controlled the thread of mortal life, also made sure that the fate assigned to every being, as dictated by eternal laws, were followed by both men and gods. They were Clotho (the spinner), Lachesis (the apportioner), and Atropos (the inevitable).
The Erinyes were known as the Furies in Roman Mythology. They were spirits of vengeance who pursued mortals who wrongly shed blood.
Sorry for that long Author's Note! Lastly, I have a tumblr already but I haven't super fixed it yet, being the web-inept person that I am. The username is on my profile. It'll be the second home of my fics and a place for my moodboards so I can share with you guys my inspirations for all the crazy places I take you to in my fics.
See you soon! :D