She reached frantically, pulling at the tree roots, the grass, the thorny vines beneath her, begging for help. They could do nothing, she knew. She turned, twisting her body.
Erysichthon’s hold did not ease as he skewered a running Persian with his dagger. Once the man fell, he pulled her along. Screams and grunts, the clash of metal, the break in the air as a spear flew true; these sounds surrounded her.
She was trapped, truly trapped now.
How had this happened? She’d left Erysichthon because she feared him, but surrounded by such horror, her fear seemed foolish.
Another Persian attacked, swinging his serrated blade at Erysichthon. Erysichthon did not release her foot. With one hand, he pierced the foe with his spear, pulling it free as the man went limp. The body fell by her, the man’s blood pouring onto the sand at her side. She shuddered, unable to stop her tears.
Erysichthon moved on, pulling her towards his chariot without a backward glance.
He was forced to stop again, cleaving the head from this new attacker without hesitation. Persephone screamed as the Persian’s body fell, barely missing her. The sand beneath her grew sticky with blood, and still Erysichthon held her.
When he was next set upon he had no choice but to release her. Three men, armed and wary, smiled expectantly. Their smiles chilled her. Erysichthon smiled in return. His arms rippled, flexing and tightening as he blocked and jabbed.
She tried to stand, but the sand was slick, causing her to slip back to her knees in the muck. She drew in breath, sobbing uncontrollably as she fell forward, her hands seeking purchase in the sand.
A man’s voice, biting and hard, brushed her ear. A hand gripped her hair, pulling her head back and forcing her upright, onto her knees. It was sudden. So sudden she felt the jerk of her body before she felt the pain. She was shoved forward by some unseen force, her head pinioned back. Pain, swift and sharp, skewered her stomach, spreading with excruciating speed.
The hand released her hair, freeing her to stare down, in shock. A blade protruded from her abdomen, its serrated edges split her from back to front.
The man said something again, but she could not think or feel anything but the pain. She felt his foot against her hip, bracing himself as he pulled the blade free. The blade tore, rending her flesh wider as it went.
She screamed. Bright red blood, her blood, spilled onto the sand, taking her warmth with it. Agony wracked her frame, and coldness… a coldness that chilled her very bones. She shivered, forcing the wound to contract and pull. She cried out again. The wound seemed a living, throbbing thing, intent on her suffering. She clutched at her stomach, pressing against the hole with trembling hands. The pressure from her own hand was too much. She fell to her side, staring blindly as sheer agony pulsed with her every heartbeat.
All about her the ground was red. So much blood – hers, Erysichthon’s men and the enemies they fought.
And still the fighting continued. Her ears echoed with the sounds of it, grunts, groans, metal, and death.
She closed her eyes, searching for strength. She must rise, she must flee.
###
Hades heard her scream, and felt the pain in it. He saw her, saw her fall forward. When the Persian tore his sword free of her, Hades’ fury knew no bounds.
He whipped his horses, threatening them. He did not slow, but rode his chariot through the melee. Whether Persian or Thessalian that fell beneath the hooves of his horses as he went, he cared not. He would not slow.
When he was close enough to reach her, he leapt from the chariot and knelt at her side. “Persephone?” he murmured, reaching for her.
A blade grazed his shoulder, but he did not turn. His hounds were on the man in an instant, freeing Hades to concentrate on Persephone.
She lay so still. He could scarce control the terror that threatened to weaken him. He lifted her, ignoring all else about them. “Persephone?”
Her head lolled back against his arm, her eyes blinking weakly. She looked at him with dilated eyes. Confusion lined her blood-smeared face. Her voice was frail, yet she smiled as she asked, “Hades? I am in your realm, then? And you’ve come to welcome me… How nice.”
Her humor rallied him, yet her pathetic attempt at a smile filled him with anguish. He pulled her close. “You cannot die, Persephone.”
Her eyes widened then, staring about her in horror. She shivered, turning her face into his chest as she whispered, “You will keep me safe.”
He felt her breath upon his skin, unsteady and weak. He would keep her safe. “Yes.”
“She is mine,” Erysichthon screamed at him, mindlessly battling the men before him. “Leave her to me.”
Hades did not look at the king as he climbed into his chariot.
“She is mine,” Erysichthon insisted. “If you take her, there will be no safe place to hide from me.”
Hades cradled Persephone, holding her gently as his eyes sought safe passage. All about them were men, caught in the grip of battle. He saw no easy route to her home, a long and arduous journey.