“What system do the rivers use to determine where to put a soul?”
“I’m afraid that even I am not privy to that information. The rivers have been in this domain even longer than I. I’m simply the power who guards the great cycle.”
She nodded, accepting the answer, but something still seemed just the slightest bit off. Persephone chalked it up to the nerves she’d felt about walking through the Underworld after weeks of staying inside his palace.
The further they walked, the closer they got to an ethereal light emanating at the end of the cavern. It wasn’t bright. Nothing in the Underworld was. The light shone like the bioluminescent foxfire that grew in damp areas surrounding Demeters estate. Her chaos was not capable of causing decay, but fungi was somewhere in between the living and dying. Persephone recalled her fascination with the fungus and how she’d worked countless hours nurturing it with her gift.
When they were mere steps from the entrance, the glow illuminated a vast field within the walls of a cavern.
“I’ve never shown anyone the wonder lying beyond this hall. But you, my beauty… You will thrive there. I want it to be all yours. My gift to you.”
Curiosity filled her chest as she looked from the black eyes staring softly down at her to the opening of the mystery that was all hers.
“Go to it.” He urged.
A smile spread across her face as she turned to run the last bit of distance between her and what little piece of himself he’d given willingly.
A secret place all her own.
When she reached the opening, she nearly fell to her knees. Persephone hiccupped a cry, the sound a mixture of joy and disbelief. She vaguely felt Hades stop at her side.
“This is the Asphodel Meadow. When the body dies, the soul and chaos fall here. The soul will soak into the dirt and rise to the River Styx where it begins its journey. The chaos, though, is a wonder all its own. No one knows how it works except Mother Gaia who placed it herself. Of course, some say that the great god of Chaos planted the first seed to bless us with this power. Either way, this is the reason chaos flows through us all.”
There had to be thousands of blooms growing from stalks covering every inch of space on the floor and walls. The white pointed petals grew in clusters, the orange center standing stark against the glow of the cave. The most wonderous part of the room, though, was the giant tree that reached from the floor and grew endlessly through a non-existent ceiling as if it disappeared from time and space.Petals dotted the room like stars in the night sky.
“How is this possible?” Persephone asked.
“The meadow?”
“Well, yes. That and the tree. We are underground are we not?”
“What kind of lies do they spread on Olympus?” Beneath the sarcasm was a fine line of incredulity. “We are not underground, Beauty. We are in a plane outside both Earthand Olympus. Zeus likes to think it’s below him because he cannot stand the idea of being under someone else. We exist out of time and space. Chaos embodies this place, and it shapes itself to fit the needs of the cycle. Just because you cannot see the tree from the palace does not mean it isn’t here in the Underworld.”
The concept threw her for a loop. Everything had an explanation. A reason for its mechanics. “So you’re telling me that because of the chaos, nothing makes sense down here. It does what it wants.”
“Something like that. This field is sacred and cannot be kept near the souls. It is the very center of the Underworld, yet it never touches it.”
“What about the tree?” Hades wrapped an arm around her from behind and pointed up toward the never ending ceiling. Persephone’s breath caught before she leaned into his embrace.
“It is the source of chaos. I imagine that the true form is incomprehensible.”
“How tall does the tree grow?”
“Interestingly enough, it grows to the home of the three Fates. Clotho gave herself to the great cycle and made the ultimate sacrifice to the tree. At the very top, her body is preserved in the trunk as she spins the thread of life. She is a servant to the chaos and weaves only what it whispers to her.”
Persephone knew of the Fates. One to spin the thread, one to measure the thread, and one to cut it. Birth, life, death. “Clotho uses chaos from the tree to create life. Lachesis measures the span of its life. Atropos cuts the thread.”
“Put simply, yes. The Fates have a field just like mine, but they serve two different purposes. The Fates nurture the asphodel until they bloom and, when it’s time, they cut the flower from the stalk. This is the birth, life, and death cycle. It then falls to my field and begins separating the soul from the chaos. Oncethe soul is taken, the bloom falls to the dirt and feeds the great tree its chaos. And so the great cycle continues.”
She had no words. To be in the presence of something so magnificent and meaningful was an honor beyond comparison. She hardly felt worthy to be in the same room as the great tree of life.
“What happens if you pluck a stalk before its time?” Persephone looked to him just in time to catch the last flashes of warning in his eyes.
“Never cut a stalk. We prune wilting blooms. Wenevertouch the stalks.” His voice was assertive, maybe even a little angry, and she flinched. He seemed to realize his mistake and took a few breaths before continuing. “The stalks never change. They have been in the same place since the beginning. It is only the blooms that change. If you were to cut a stalk, the flow of chaos that ran through it would be lost to the cycle.”
“Where would it go?”
His jaw flexed. “It would latch on to the closest source of chaos in order to get back to the well.”
