Demeter's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Demeter still knelt in the cold mud at the river's edge. Steam curled off the black water. Red embers drifted past her knees. Her pig pressed close, his vines brown, his fruit going soft. Across the water the bronze and obsidian gate glowed dull red. No handle. No seam. Only the word shut, written in fire. She lifted her twin torches. Their gold light reached across the river and touched the stone. The doors did not move. An old force held them, older than her grief, older than her name. She felt it push back against her flame like a hand against her chest. So she did the only thing left. She closed her eyes and called her daughter's face into the dark behind them. Bare feet on warm grass. A crown of pink roses. A black dress trailing in spring wind. Demeter spoke softly to the picture. "I am here. I am at the door. I cannot reach you yet." The picture smiled. The picture did not answer. Her daughter's eyes stayed on the other side of the gate, kind and far away. Demeter pressed both torches into the mud and bent over them. A small sob shook her shoulders. The pig nosed her hand. Then she stood. She wiped her face with the back of her wrist. The gate would not open for a mother's tears, and it would not open for her fire. She needed a key that lived in another god's hand. She turned her back on the red glow and faced the long road up. "Up," she told the pig. "To the mountain. To his brother's throne." The pig grunted and trotted ahead. Behind them the river hissed. The grass blackened under her steps again, but now her steps had a direction. The gate stayed shut. Demeter walked toward Olympus.