Asphodel (The Underworld Trilogy)

Marisol pulls a sheet of paper out of the back of her text book. She kisses it and I laugh. “Thank the Gods,” she jokes. After she lays the paper flat on her desk, she turns toward me. “Hey! I almost forgot. Happy Birthday, P!”

The bell rings and Mrs. Kirk’s head snaps to her left. Her beady grey eyes zoom in on Marisol. “Miss Nicholls, is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”

Marisol drops her head and slinks down in her seat. “No,” Marisol answers quietly.

Her eyes flash over to mine as Mrs. Kirk faces the class. “Thank you,” I mouth with a smile.

“Okay, class!” Mrs. Kirk announces as she reaches over her shoulder to grab a wicker basket. “Take a piece of paper from the basket and pass it to the person behind you. And do not open your paper until everyone has one.” She walks over to me and hands me the basket. I take a piece of folded up paper and pass it to the person behind me.

Once everyone has a paper, Mrs. Kirk takes the basket back and sets it on the edge of her desk. “Alright.” She clasps her hands together excitedly. “Open your papers.”

The rustling of paper echoes throughout the classroom. I stare down at my paper as a smug grin crawls across my lips. Marisol hangs out of her desk, straining to see the name on my paper. “Who did you get?”

I hold up the paper so she can get a clear look. “Demeter, you?” Inside an explosion of glee travels through me. I will definitely get an A on this assignment. Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest is my mom. It’s not that I really need to focus on getting good grades; it’s that it makes me feel more normal if I do.

Marisol falls back into her seat, slumping. “Hades,” she grumbles. “How come everyone else always gets the good ones?”

A soft laugh leaves my t

hroat at the sight of Marisol sulking like a child. “I’m sure the God of the Dead could be interesting.”

She rolls her eyes. “More like the God of Dread.

“I’ll help you if you want,” I offer.

Marisol perks up, her eyes glistening with hope. “Would you trade me?”

“You cannot trade!” Mrs. Kirk pipes up.

Marisol exhales and winces. “Bummer.”

“This will be your final essay assignment,” Mrs. Kirk announces as she walks around to sit down at her desk. “It’s going to make up eighty percent of your grade.”

I hiss softly, trying to get Marisol’s attention. I lower my hand with the paper in it, and her eyes meet mine. She drops her head slowly, finally catching on to what I’m doing. A bright smile curls on her lips and she snatches the paper from my hand and replaces it with hers. Mrs. Kirk won’t know we switched. She didn’t ask us who we’d selected. Plus she’s not paying attention at the moment.

The small crumpled up piece of paper with Hades in black permanent marker fills my vision. Surprisingly, Hades is a God I don’t know much about. I’ve never asked about him and on top of that, mom refuses to talk about the commander of the Underworld.

I recall one story she told me about him centuries ago.

“Hades is the master of deception and trickery,” she’d told me. “When Zeus had problems with the mortals, Hades summoned a beast from the depths of Tartarus to teach humanity a lesson. You see he envied Zeus for giving him command of the realm of the dead. So in return he pretended to use his beast to do Zeus’s bidding, but he’d really only intended to use the Kraken for his own selfish reasons.”

“The Kraken?” I’d questioned.

“A monstrous beast over one hundred feet tall, with fangs as long as spears, and slimy skin with scales.” Mom lowered her voice, a frightening look on her face. “The Kraken could eat a hundred mortals with a snap of its’ jaw.”

“That’s terrifying,” I’d gasped. “What did Zeus do?” I remember that she’d told me that story right before bed time.

“Never you mind.” She’d kissed the top of my head. “You just go to sleep and try to dream of pleasant things.” Trying to dream of pleasant things after hearing a story like that was like asking for snow in the desert. I laid awake for half of the night, eyes wide, glued to the ceiling.

During lunch exhaustion creeps over me and I struggle to keep my eyes open. I lay my head on the cool, hard table and close my eyes. All I want to do is sleep away my fears. Sleep right through my birthday and forget about the voice. The voice that I know will pop up randomly at any given moment throughout the rest of the day.

As my slumber deepens, my mind slips away from me. I’m dreaming, lost in a world that I haven’t been to in five thousand years. I am outdoors. I am running and a gust of wind whips through my hair tossing up the scent of freesia. I suck in lungfuls of the smell of wildflowers, and pluck a bouquet from the earth. Shifting, I peek over my shoulder. I know where I am. I’m in one of the most cherished places of my past, in the field at Enna on the outskirts of Mount Olympus.

Marching forward, a garden of yellow daffodils draws me closer to edge of the field. I bend over, reaching for a daffodil to add to my heaping bouquet when I hear it—the voice.

“Persephone,” he hisses. “Come to me.” I’m perplexed and curious, but at the same time fear swallows me, digesting me like a mammal in an anaconda’s stomach. My spine stiffens. A strangled gasp sticks in my throat. My lungs clench and refuse to expand. Straightening up, my attention averts to a willow tree at the edge of the field.

A man with dark hair stands underneath the tree watching me.