A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing - Chapter 3

 Artemis spotted Hermes a ways off from the meadow where she stood, sharpening her spear. His winged shoes propelled him effortlessly through the air. She smiled.

“Did the plan work?” asked Artemis.

“Yes,” said Hermes, hovering above her. “He swore on the River Styx, too.”

“Good,” she said, taking her spear for a twirl. Hermes pulled out his dagger and countered it in as he landed on the ground. Their sparring collided in a myriad of sparks. Artemis side-stepped his slice. Her spear whirled behind her back and caught Hermes off-guard. The tip was pointing in his face. 

“Surprise surprise, Artemis, goddess of the moon, beats me,” he said.

Artemis laughed, sheathing her spear behind her back. 

“You sure you want to go about it like this?” asked Hermes. “I can think of a number of ways this could go very badly. Even if you convince her, I don’t know how an endless winter will appease anyone.”

“I’m sure,” she said. “And I have a plan.”

“I’m tired,” he said. “And not up for another Artemis plan.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” she said. Hermes sighed and let her hold on to him as his shoe-wings warmed up. Artemis gasped as they took flight. “You must really want to do this if you’re facing your fear of heights for him.”

“This is nothing. I killed a deer for him,” she said, clutching his chest tighter. After a few hours, Hermes dropped her off at the base of a scraggy cliff. Snow patches dotted the landscape, and very little vegetation lived here, aside from a pitiful fig tree.

Demeter was sitting on a rock beneath the tree, sucking on a fig. Her gold-fringed himation was draped heavily over her shoulders, the hood was pulled over her head. A pendant with Persephone’s face carved on the front hung from her necklace. She was picking her teeth with a sharp twig, and her wrinkled brow studied her surroundings with placid indifference.

“Artemis,” she said, in a tone that showed she was bitter but happy to see her. Artemis hugged her from the side, and Demeter touched her shoulder in acknowledgement. “There is only one season when I don’t like to be bothered, and this is it.”

“I know, I know,” said Artemis, taking a knee under the shade of the tree. She kept looking up to the sky, as if afraid of being watched. Artemis took Demeter’s hand, and Demeter wept. 

“I grow the plants, the plants feed the earth, the earth feeds man, and man makes sacrifices to the gods,” Demeter looked up towards the sky. “And Zeus is ungrateful.”

“He never should have let Hades have your daughter,” said Artemis. 

“Oh, Artemis,” said Demeter, “I know Persephone loved him. I’m not blind. Hades does have a certain charm, or lack thereof, that drew her away from this cliffside with me. Persephone used to ask me questions about where the dead go, how their souls detach from their bodies. Her fascination with the dead became her undoing. And now she tells me how she hates it down there. It’s ironic how that worked out.”

For a moment, they stopped and listened to ice cold waves smashing into the cliffs. The dismal sky gave no love to the kind, old mother. 

“I don’t trust Hades, though he is not the worst of his brothers,” said Demeter. “I still remember Persephone’s cries as the king of the skies had his way with my daughter—our daughter.” Demeter shook in disgust, weeping more. “I failed her as a mother. At least you will never have to deal with this.”

“There was only one who I could say I wanted to mother his children,” said Artemis. “And he is trapped in a different form now.”

“But at least you have him with you,” said Demeter. “I would do anything to have my daughter with me in any form.”

“Demeter, have you heard of Iphigenia?” asked Artemis.

“I have,” Demeter replied, wiping her tears. “But only rumors.”

“Agamemnon was about to sacrifice his daughter, Iphigenia, in reparation for killing one of my sacred deer,” said Artemis. “I would not let the Achean fleet leave for Troy until they made amends.”

“Right, so you put a deer in place of Iphigenia so that Iphigenia could go free to serve as your priestess,” said Demeter. 

“See that’s where the rumors aren’t right,” said Artemis. “Why would I have substituted a deer after I had punished Agamemnon for killing a deer?” Artemis stood up, embraced by rage, “As Agammemnon swung his sword, eyes blurry from grief, I snatched Iphigenia from the altar and put an Achaean rapist in her place. The Greeks have softened their story, but they haven’t softened me.”

Demeter seemed to look at her with a new respect, and Artemis pressed her advantage, “I think I know a way to keep Persephone free from all harm. Forever.”

Demeter scoffed, “Believe me, Artemis, I’ve considered everything. The underworld is the most rule-bound realm there is.”

“I can see that what you want most of all is Persephone’s protection,” Artemis began. “I’ll make her my priestess as I did Iphigenia. She would always be under my protection, and, as an added bonus for all your grief, Hades would never be allowed to make love to her again.”

Demeter seemed to consider for a moment, “And why would Hades ever agree to this?”

“Because she would be bound to him in the underworld. As my priestess,” said Artemis. 

“So I’d never be able to see her again,” said Demeter. “She would always be close to Hades.”

“Yes, but she would be protected. Isn’t that what you want? Her protection? No harm ever comes to my handmaidens,” said Artemis. 

“Why would you do this for me?” asked Demeter. Then her expression darkened, “What do you get in return?”

Artemis shuffled her feet, unable to meet Demeter’s eyes, “Hades has agreed to unite my lover to his body.”

“Ah of course. You never just do something, seeking nothing in return, do you?”

“Does anyone?” asked Artemis. “Isn’t everything a wager, a tradeoff? And aren’t we all just pawns in the hands of the fates? I’m making you a solid offer.”

“A mother does act that selflessly, yes. You may learn that someday. And your lover for my daughter? Sounds like a lose lose for me. Though I’m used to this by now.”

“Your daughter will never be harmed again. She’s already bound to the underworld now, and you barely see her. At every moment you’re afraid if Hades will harm her or send her to some dark corner of the underworld if she says the wrong thing. I know your grief.”

“You know nothing.”

Artemis remained silent while Demeter pondered.

“Are you certain you could protect her?” asked Demeter.

“I am certain,” said Artemis, gritting her teeth. “When I heard he had taken your daughter, I was furious, notching my golden bow and gearing myself for battle. It took all the strength of my father and the lord of the sea to hold me back. They would not be able to hold back my wrath a second time. In fact, they would be on my side if Hades ever harmed one of my priestesses.”

Demeter looked less angry, “Young love,” she mused, “He’s the only one you’ve ever loved, and he’s so foolish too.”

“Yes, he is,” laughed Artemis. They were both in tears now. 

“I know you love him,” said Demeter. “But he didn’t get where he is now through wisdom or virtue. You watch yourself,” she warned. Demeter rose, “I will let Persephone stay with Hades under your protection. And I will keep the seasons as they have been so no one suspects a thing.”

They both looked to the sky, fearful for a moment. Then Artemis turned and saw that Hermes had left. 

“Go child, go,” said Demeter. And Artemis turned and walked away.