He stared at the ax in his hands.
He had no patience for games. He knew only this: Demeter had deserted him, deserted her daughter to some… some barbarian.
“Persephone,” his voice twisted, his grief choking him. She’d taken the breath from his lungs and the strength of his heart. He felt nothing but agony at the loss of her.
And anger.
This man, whoever he was, had no knowledge of the reckoning Erysichthon would deliver upon him. He would learn who his foe was, he would hunt the man down, and he would see his vengeance appeased. He would bring Persephone home.
And Demeter, Olympus, would learn that a mortal’s wrath could rival even Zeus’ temper. His face twisted. He had no interest in the Gods, save one. If Demeter would not think of her daughter, then she must have a hand in this. And he would see her suffer as he suffered.
“Hear me,” Erysichthon cried out. “You faithless harpy, hear me!” He lifted the ax. “If you no longer feel the need to protect sweet Persephone, if you would take her from me, I no longer feel the need to protect your precious trees.”
His arms trembled under the weight of the ax, angering him all the more. There would be no weakness in him. He would not rest until justice was done.
He swung the ax, gritting his teeth as metal met wood. The trees were old, hard, and hearty. This would be no easy feat. The tree shook, the sudden snap and crackle of its breaking trunk pleasing him. He turned to the next tree, his purpose restoring his drive. He would fell the whole grove and build a feasting hall for his wedding.
When Persephone was found, their wedding would be celebrated across all of Thessaly. And she would smile at him, in awe of his daring.
His arms burned, his back cramped, but he set a steady rhythm. Nothing existed but the sound of his ax against Demeter’s trees.
The ax struck, piercing the tree’s bark with a strange sound. Unlike the hard crack of metal on wood, this was akin to metal on flesh. And when Erysichthon pulled the ax free, the trunk spurted blood. A keening, wailing cry began, sharp and stabbing to his ears. He lifted the ax, striking hard. The blood continued, flowing down the trunk to soak the ground. On the fourth strike the sound stopped. It took longer to see the tree break and fall.
“You kill a wood nymph?” a woman’s voice, old and rasping, reached him.
“Do I?” he shrugged. “I’d not meant to.” He looked closer, spying the lifeless limbs of the woman hidden inside the tree. He felt a twinge of regret… Did it matter? This wood nymph would be one of Demeter’s faithful. His anger rose within him and he swung the ax again.
“What is the purpose of such destruction, sir?” the old woman asked.
Erysichthon barely glanced at her as he hacked away at the tree. “These trees will appease my lady wife, the Goddess Persephone. I shall build the finest feasting hall in all of Greece, to celebrate our union.”
“She asked this of you?” the old crone wheezed.
He turned, raising the bloodied ax. “It is a surprise, woman. A gift.”
The old woman regarded him with clear brown eyes. “A gift, you say? What of Demeter? Will she give you her daughter after such a deed?”
“Give me? I am king here.” He smiled, shaking his head. “And Persephone is mine.”
The old woman stepped closer to him, her knobby hand resting upon the ax handle. “Careful, my lord, I entreat you. You’ve had the favor of Olympus. Such a course, such blasphemy, will see you lose it. And, perhaps, your Persephone too…”
His chest tightened as he bellowed, “You think I fear the Gods? When I have pleaded for their aid and they have offered none? I have lost her! Persephone, she is gone from me… Taken… And still they do nothing…”
The old woman stood still, her hands trembling and fisted. “She is gone?”
“But I will bring her back. I will wed her. The Gods cannot stop me.” He shrugged her hand from his ax and returned to the trees. “And we will celebrate in a hall the likes of which the Olympians will envy. We will dine on the finest foods, my lady and I.”
“Your soul is trapped in a dark place, my lord. Where are your wits? What has happened to you?” her voice sounded strange to him, familiar. “You say you are king? But I’ve heard of Erysichthon’s unwavering loyalty to Demeter…”
He glanced at her, laughing. “I am loyal to none who turns from her daughter. Be gone, woman. Your prattling slows my work.”
“Stop this desecration, my lord. I beseech you.”
He snorted, cutting through the tree with powerful strokes.
“You bring about your own downfall, oh King.” The woman pointed one gnarled finger at him, “You shall never satisfy the hunger in your blood, Erysichthon of Thessaly. No matter what you eat or drink, your hunger will demand more and more. Until you’ve nothing left to feast upon but your own greedy flesh.”
He felt a chill down his spine, a queer uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.