of the earth”—
She shuddered. Oh, the Fields of Elysium were all right, but he would never allow an attractive girl like Kore to go there, populated as they were with all manner of the shades of the so-called “Heroes.” Most of those “Heroes” were as lascivious as Zeus, and most of them regarded women as disposable playthings—no, Hades wouldn’t allow his stolen bride anywhere near them. So Kore would find herself mewed up in Hades’s gloomy palace in the Asphodel Fields, without sun, without music or laughter, where nothing grew except the lilies of the dead, and nothing moved but the shades in their dull, bleak, never-changing afterlife, condemned to be bored in the netherworld because they had been boring in their mortal lives. Not that Demeter had ever been there herself, since only Hecate, Hermes, and the gods of the Underworld could journey there, but Hades had complained about it often enough in her hearing.
By now, surely, she was learning the truth of this; by now she must be weeping with fear and loneliness, and longing desperately for her mother and home!
Demeter’s throat closed, and her tears fell faster at the thought. How did mortals bear this dreadful emptiness, this aching sorrow? She was consumed with it, swallowed up, until grief was all that there was. And it was all the worse for being sure that Kore was wrapped in the same agony.
The Tradition held that a goddess was not bound by the restrictions of mortals or even Godmothers; she did not need a spell or magic sandals to make the miles speed beneath her feet. As Hecate did with or without her torch, Demeter only needed to desire to be somewhere—or away from somewhere—and it was so. So her feet took her, as only the feet of a goddess could, across the breadth of the Kingdom in moments; she rejected the fields of Olympia, and the gods that had been her companions, and her feet bore her swiftly away from their knowledge. The gods had not helped her, would not help her, and the fields that no longer would be the playground of her daughter could wither for all she cared. She suffered—so let all of Olympia suffer with her! She mourned—well, all of Olympia, if it would not mourn for her, let it mourn with her.
She knew, though, the moment when her path crossed the border. Behind her, the land was already showing the signs of her sorrow and neglect, as flowers faded and died, fruit dropped unripened and ripe fruit withered. But here…
Here there was something Olympia never saw.
Spring.
Confronted with this living exemplar of the renewal of life, Demeter sank to the ground beside a pure spring that welled up out of the greening earth, sobbing, grieving. As she grieved, she deliberately threw off her beauty and ripeness, transforming herself into the likeness of a barren old woman, withered without, as her heart and soul were withered within.
She cried until her eyes were sore, wept until her voice was no more than a hoarse croak, and thought, Let it be so. When she heard footsteps approaching, and the soft laughter and chatter of young women, she did not even look up.
The chattering suddenly stilled, and silence took its place. Finally, Demeter did look up, to see four pretty young maidens with bronze pitchers in their hands, clustered together and looking at her with faces full of pity. Their clothing was not unlike that of the mortals of Olympia, but they wore wool rather than linen, and were wrapped in the rectangular cloak as well, to keep off the chill in the spring air. They reminded her, in their grace and charm, of Kore, and she was about to burst into tears again, when one of them stepped forward.
“Old mother, we see that there is great sorrow in your heart,” the pretty thing said as the others filled their pitchers. “Why do you lament beside the spring, alone with your grief, when there are many houses in our town that would welcome you, and many who would help you with your burden of tears?”
Demeter listened to the maiden’s words with a faint sense of astonishment. Was this how mortals coped with loss? By sharing it? Was that even possible?
But her heart warmed a very little, because they were so young and pretty and so like Kore, and spoke out of hearts that were clearly kind. “I should not be welcome in your town, dear children,” she replied. “My people are far away, and there are none who would care to be near me in my loss.”
The maiden shook her head. “You are gentle of speech, old mother, showing a noble heart and birth, and clearly rich in experience. If your own people would not welcome you in their houses because you mourn, then the more shame to them. We honor the wisdom that comes with age, and cherish those who achieve it. There are Princes in this land who would be glad of one such as you as nurse to their child, and help you to temper your grief with the joy of an infant’s smile.” The maiden offered a shy smile of her own. “Indeed, my own father, Celeus, would gladly give you hearth-room for such a cause. My mother, Meitaneira, has given us a new brother, and she would rejoice to find such wise help with Demophoon. I feel sure that your heart would grow lighter with him in your arms.”
It took Demeter a moment to realize that the girl was, essentially, offering her a job, that of nursemaid to a young Prince. And rather than feel offended, as Hera might have, she actually did feel a little of her grief pass from her. They meant it kindly; the girl who had spoken had understood, instinctively perhaps, that having an infant in her arms again might well be the balm that Demeter needed to keep from going utterly mad with grief.
So Demeter bowed her head a little. “I am called Doso, maidens.”
The four girls named themselves to her: Callidice and Cleisidice, Demo and Callithoe, who had spoken to her first.
“I thank you for your kindness,” Demeter said gravely. “And I shall follow along behind, for I would have you ask your mother if she would indeed find me suitable as a nurse. Not that I doubt your honesty, but perhaps your hearts are a little more open to a stranger than hers.” She choked back her grief. “Mothers are wise to protect their children, for the world is not all a kindly place, and disaster can fall upon the trusting and unwary.”
But Callithoe only smiled. “We will run ahead, Mother Doso, but you will find that our mother will welcome you as warmly as ever you could wish.”
With that, the four girls ran back up the path they had taken to the spring, with Demeter following.
“I don’t know what to do,” Persephone cried into Hades’s shoulder as Hades comforted her. “I barely got the poor thing to get me half a dozen fruits, and now there are only three left, and they don’t look as if they’ll live to ripen! I’ve done everything I could think of, everything anyone in Elysium has suggested…I can’t think of anything else!” She buried her face in the shoulder of his tunic as panic rose in her chest. Unless she could get something she could eat to grow here, her love for Hades and his for her was doomed.
“If it were dead, I would be of more help, my love,” Hades replied, stroking her hair. “The asphodel might as well be weeds—nothing that happens to them ever seems to kill them, and they are the only plants I have any experience with. All I know is that you are doing your best.”
Persephone sobbed into the smooth, dark fabric. Hecate had borrowed Hades’s helmet, which granted invisibility, and followed Demeter to keep an eye on her. They both knew that things were getting rather dire in Olympia, because of the reports that Hecate brought them regularly. Demeter had left the realm entirely, and was playing nursemaid to a mortal king’s child under the name of “Doso,” which meant “to give,” which was certainly an accurate description of her now-neglected duties as the goddess of fertility. From what Hecate said, she was pouring all her thwarted maternal energy into this child. For a little while, Persephone had hoped this would solve their problem; Demeter would be willing to let Persephone go and lavish her attentions on this mortal Prince. But her hopes were soon dashed; Demeter did not return to her duties, and Olympia continued to fail. For once, all the other gods were working together to keep the realm alive, but it was clear that what was needed was for Demeter to return to her duties.
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