For the Love of Hades (Loves of Olympus 2)

“This place… It unsettles me.” Crysanthe’s voice quavered.

Her companions were discomfited. She understood. All around them lay evidence of man’s worst abilities. The vineyard, once well tended and abundant, had been annihilated. Such destruction was wasteful and thoughtless.

“Go back.” She raised her hand when they both began to argue. “I must do what I can here, to help those still living, those I can save. Listen closely. Gather whatever seedlings have long roots. I’ve at least six ready for planting, but leave the rest. And bring soil from my pot; it might be needed to repair such devastation.”

Such an errand was necessary for the repairs these grapes would need. And it would give her the time to seek out Hades.

“Crysanthe should go,” Myrinne said. “It’s not safe for you to be alone.”

“No, no, Myrinne, you go,” Crysanthe shook her head as she spoke.

Persephone shook her head. “Both of you go. One of you cannot carry the seedlings and soil without damaging one or both. Besides, rain is coming. I would have the planting done before it leaves. Go now, hurry.”

They’d scarce left when Persephone sensed the hound’s return, the dark edges of his shadow moving through the grey-black tangle of the scorched vineyards. She sat back, waiting.

The hound came to her, with drooping ears and tucked tail.

She held out her hands to the animal. “Hello, friend.” He crept closer, nervously circling her before rushing forward with a slight whimper. He rested his head on her lap, sighing deeply as he relaxed against her.

She laughed, running her hands over his head. “Are you seeking shades for your master? A hard and heavy task, I’m sure.”

What kind of life was lived seeking death? How could joy be found in such employment?

The hound stared up at her, his tail thumping slightly in the blackened earth. Each thump dislodged a cloud of black and grit, making her cough. The hound sat up, cocking his head at the sound, whimpering.

“The dust,” she explained. She paused then, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve no notion whether you can understand me or not. I can speak to the trees, the grasses, and all manner of growing things. But you’ve no roots.” She caught one silken ear between her fingers, rubbing it softly.

The golden eyes drooped, his mouth lolling open in a canine grin. She laughed in return, the sound carrying on the wind.

The faintest plea reached her, silencing her. She waited, rigid. Her laughter… she’d woken the roots and the vine cried out, in sadness and pain. She felt it and called out, “I am here, I am here…” She withdrew her touch from the hound and moved down the vines until she’d found it. She set to clearing the debris from the base of the vine stalk. Only then did she dig into the dirt, pulling and turning the earth with her long fingers.

The sweet sound of the vine was louder then, more reassuring. The roots ran deep, securely anchored below the topsoil. She pressed her hands flat, letting the warmth of her power seep into the earth and the roots. The roots pulled it in, drinking deep of her energy and sighing with pleasure.

She listened, moving along the vine stalks. She was deliberate, clearing the area, digging deep and pressing her energy deep. The hound, she noted, went with her.

“There now,” she said to the hound. “See how it plumps?” She pointed a dirt-encrusted finger at the stalk she’d just heale

d.

The dog whimpered, staring at the stalk.

“You’re right.” She nodded. “It’s still a sad sight. But it’s a start.” She sounded hesitant. The hound came to her side, pressing his nose to her cheek. “I won’t give up on them, don’t worry.”

She moved on, ignoring the discomfort of her nails tearing free in the earth. It made no difference that her chiton grew heavy from soot and dirty ash. She had to answer the call of the vines. But the pleas grew faint, then silent, as she reached the end of the row. She stood, covering her mouth to stifle the cry. The vines had disappeared.

No vines, no grass, no shrubs or trees. Only the smoldering remnants of half of the vineyard remained. The destruction ran the entire hillside. Even the great house atop the hill had suffered.

“Why is such a thing necessary?” she asked the hound. She reached out, comforted by the feel of his head under her palm.

She turned back to the vines, crouching by the silent stalks to weep. “I am sorry,” she murmured, sifting through the dirt. She dug in vain, scooping the dirt away and pressing her hands to the plant.

“Take my strength… Let it reach you,” she whispered even as the stalk cracked and splintered from her touch. She winced, pulling her hands away as a sob choked her.

The hound whimpered, pressing his nose against her cheek. She wrapped her arms about the animal, accepting the comfort he offered.

“Persephone?” Hades’ voice startled her.

She turned, wiping the tears from her face with grubby fingers. How could she feel such sadness… and such joy at his mere presence?