Persephone's Arc

Chapter 2 of 7

Persephone walked back from the gates with the burned note crushed in her fist. At the edge of the black river, she found frost. Thin white lace crept along the stones. Tiny ice crystals clung to the red leaves of the pomegranate tree. Her mother's winter was leaking down through the cracks. She would not stop. If the gates were closed, she would find a higher door. She went to the black river and called for the ferryman. He came through the fog in his dark skiff, the bronze prow cutting the steam. "I need to send a message up," she said. "Not across. Up." The old man studied her with pale eyes. He tapped his long oar on the deck. "This boat carries the dead, child. Not letters." But he tilted the skiff toward the bank. "Build your launch here. The current rises near the cliff. An owl loosed from my mast climbs faster than from any altar." She worked through the long red hours. She lashed a small platform to the prow. She wove a cage of poplar twigs. She wrote a new letter, plain and short. *Mother. The cold is reaching me now. Speak to me, even in anger.* She tied it to a fresh owl and set it on the mast. The bird climbed straight up into the dark. Hades found her there at dusk. He stood on the bank in his black robe and watched the skiff rock on the steaming water. "You will wait again," he said. It was not a question. "I will wait," she answered. He nodded once. "Then I will wait with you." The owl returned at the next bell. It landed on her wrist with the letter still tied to its leg. This time the paper was wet. Not burned. Soaked through with cold water, the ink running down like tears. Beneath her words, in a shaking hand, three new lines. *I read it. I am still angry. Do not send the bird. Come yourself.*