‘And what do you ask?’ I could already imagine what Hekate might demand: the heart of a young mortal, my firstborn child, an arrow from my quiver.
‘Only a pair of your feathers, from those lovely wings you like to keep hidden. Nothing more. Oh, what magics I can work with one of the desire god’s feathers! Maybe even get myself a lover. It’s been some time since I’ve had someone to warm my bed.’ Hekate laughed again, smacking her gums.
I summoned my wings from the folds between worlds, and they unfurled from my back, stretching out in two great arcs. I plucked out two of the feathers; it caused no more than amomentary pinch of pain, and then they were in my palms, white as marble and faintly iridescent. Hekate spirited one of them into the pockets of her robe and threw the other into the cauldron, where it sent up a column of thick smoke.
Answering my unspoken question, Hekate said, ‘It’s an elixir, one that will divide your soul from your body – temporarily, don’t fret – and allow you to make your way into the Underworld once your divinity is put aside. I’ll send a message to the mother, and you will go speak to the daughter. I’m not about to go to Persephone myself,’ she added with a sharp look. ‘But this, I can do.’
‘Will it work?’ I asked.
‘Of course it will work,’ Hekate snapped. She lifted the cauldron from the rack and drained its boiling contents through a sieve. The black liquid hissed and bubbled as it dribbled down. ‘Now choose a form, something that will travel well. You’ve got a long journey ahead of you.’
I hesitated. Once I had wished to taste death, and now I would follow those lightless roads that no god could tread. It was true that I would not be a god when I did it, but this fact did not make me feel better.
‘Will I survive?’ I asked.
‘That is entirely up to you, child.’ Hekate placed a steaming cup before me on the table, the steam rising from its contents like whirling spirits. ‘Now drink.’
36
Eros
How can I describe a soul separated from its body, a god without his immortality? The best analogue would be a golden butterfly, flapping its way through the dark roads of the Underworld.
When I emerged from those depths, I beat my wings against the windows of the chicken-footed hut. Hekate was working at her loom to pass the time, her dogs by her feet. Beside her was the shell of my immortal body, lying still on a chaise, appearing for all intents and purposes to be fast asleep. It was uncanny to see myself there, no different than an ordinary mortal at rest.
Hekate rose and opened a window. When the winged brightness of my soul made its way inside, she took me very gently in her hands and placed me back in my body. One of the dogs raised its head to sniff me.
I took a deep, ragged breath, pulling air into lungs starved of it. I opened my eyes and stretched my fingers and toes, laughing softly.
Hekate pressed a cup to my lips. ‘You’ve made it back. Well done,’ she remarked.
I swallowed. It was the same draught she had given me upon my arrival, and the brew restored my spent power. Cold firetravelled down my limbs, binding my soul to my body once again.
‘The dread queen keeps her word,’ I rasped weakly. ‘Persephone will help Psyche. She will even ask her mother to assist.’
Hekate nodded. ‘Good,’ she said, turning back to her weaving. I closed my eyes and was beginning to drift into sleep when she spoke again. ‘Do you understand yet?’
I looked at her, uncomprehending. ‘Understand what?’ I demanded.
‘The similarities between gods and mortals,’ Hekate replied. She did not look up from her weaving. The shuttle clicked against the loom, a steady beat. Why did she do this? I could not fathom why a great goddess felt the need to weave her own cloth.
‘Our souls are like their souls,’ she said, ‘once our immortality is set aside. That is how it was possible for you to descend into the Underworld once you set your body aside. Perhaps Prometheus added something of his divine nature when he shaped the first humans from clay, I don’t know. But that is the truth all the same.’ She chuckled, long and low.
I closed my eyes. Once I had wished for death, but now all I wanted was Psyche. ‘Tell me,’ I whispered through cracked lips. ‘Will she be victorious?’
‘That’s up to her,’ Hekate replied. ‘For you, it is time to rest. You may be immortal, but you’ll become no more sentient than a snail if you continue like this. Even gods must take time to restore their strength.’
I was unconscious before she finished speaking, the last of my strength sapped dry. Later I would learn that I slept for five entire days.
Psyche
The last rays of the sun were warm, and the breeze was fair, as Zephyrus had promised. The world was a dazzle of colour and wind. Gone was the persistent ache of loss that had haunted me since the destruction of the seaside house; a butterfly’s brain does not have the complexity for such matters. My only thought was to fly southwest, and my tiny wings beat ferociously.
Then the rain began. Zephyrus had failed to account for the sudden warmth brought by his brother Notus into the cool autumn air of mainland Greece, and a thunderstorm was the result.
I careened around the fat droplets that began to hurl down from the heavens. Raindrops could tear through my delicate wings like a spearpoint through papyrus. Then I was falling, buffeted by gales of wind.
Darkness and confusion. I could no longer tell the difference between earth and sky, tumbling down tail over antennae. I flapped my small wings desperately, knowing that the muddy earth would trap me like quicksand. But despite my efforts I was falling, falling, spiralling downwards …
