To simply say "Thank You" to the people who have stuck by this story for four years now would be so insufficient as to be insulting. But…I'll say it anyway! Thank you so much everyone for reading, and for you kind words. This chapter is short, but I'm going to try my damnedest to get at least a chapter or so a week up until this story is finally ended.
The Sisters, the Fates, felt the cosmic snap. Conspiratorially, they smiled to each other. Who ever would have expected?
Charon gazed over the water of the Styx, to the shore, perplexed. Where were all of these shades coming from? This was clearly not the aftermath of a war—most of these Shades had once been the very young or the very old. A plague? Famine? He couldn't explain it, but a sliver of cold worked its way down his spine.
Hermes gathered his robes around him, squinting into the darkness, gritting his teeth and wondering, furiously, why this was his responsibility.
Multitudes of shades moved around him, pulling him toward the shore like a bottle on the sea. So many of them.
It was Demeter. She had made good on her promise to the Olympians that day. The sun did not shine. The rain froze and paralyzed the new crops. Wheat wouldn't grow, trees would not bear fruit. Famine reigned and the beautiful Upperworld had become more lifeless and frozen than the Underworld had ever been capable of.
Then they reached the gravelly shore of the Styx. Mist hovered a few feet above its surface, and the slick stone walls of the realm distorted sound in bizarre and frightening ways. Still, from over the water, Hermes heard the sound of oars. Then, the mist parted, and the small craft appeared. And at its helm…
It was quite impossible to guess whether the Ferryman was surprised at his appearance. A scowl seemed etched into his ancient face.
With a crunch, the ferry landed. Charon only glared at him.
"You have business here, I presume?" His voice sounded like the creaking of an un-oiled hinge.
"You presume correctly. I must speak with your Master."
"Concerning…?"
"I fear that's no business of yours, Boatman."
Silence lapsed between them. The shades were completely still and silent, awaiting instruction from the Ferryman, perhaps. Hermes felt sure that Charon would simply sail off once again into the darkness.
Finally, he stretched out one gnarled hand, palm up.
"Tax Lord Hades at your own risk, Messenger. And you'll surrender your fare as all others must."
Hermes dropped two obols into his adversary's withered hand, and stepped aboard.
For once, it was Persephone leading him down dark passageways.
His bare feet fell on slick stone, and steam was beginning to cloud the air. When he'd first brought Persephone to his Palace, he suspected she'd enjoy the hot springs more than any other part of his home. Apparently, he hadn't been mistaken.
Her small hand pulled him forward, down winding stairs into the cavern.
Persephone sighed, and it echoed all around them. They were here. His wife faced him, her cheeks flushed, her long hair uncombed. She wore not a rich gown but only one of his tunics, which hang nearly to her knees. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
His. Forever. And he was hers.
Hades scooped her up effortlessly into an embrace, her feet leaving the ground. Passion was new to her yesterday, but she had unequivocally mastered it by today. She kissed him, her hands tangling in his hair, legs wrapping around him.
He laughed against her mouth. "At this rate, I'll never make it to my throne room at all."
She withdrew, eyes narrowed, smiling coyly. "And this…distresses you?"
"Not as much as it should."
They discarded what little clothing they wore and waded into the darkness together.