Ashes in the Fruit

A Persephone Twist

The impostor came during the season of sleep and decay. A fallen chariot of death, scorned and seething against perceived shackles of a despised duty. It was a smart choice to move while the trees slept. While mother wept, and daughter fulfilled a promise below the soil. Armed with a guise of simpering servant and honeyed words that clogged the ears of the court, his plans flourished. The normally shrewd King was too lost in blissful reunion to notice how the rotted spell spread.

The daughter was in a cage now. The iron and steel holding her beyond the sights of any who searched for her. Mother would be waking by now, and make a demand for her. Though she worried for Father, she didn’t really know how much he would or even could think of her. Someone else flitted against her mind, and she knew they held an answer, but giving it any attention made her skin itch.

When she first woke in this cage she had bellowed at the steel walls, demanded her release with pounding fists. Now she no longer held any hope of being saved from this place, and she was done waiting.

He had left her only moments ago, the impostor, and she knew it must be day. He only ever visited at night, bringing a meal and his troubles with him. The food was always dry and seasoned with guilt. Leaving her with fog for brains and a singed wrist.

“If only you could see that bowing before me is all you need to do to end this suffering. Come to me willingly, and we will leave this misfortune in the past. Your father is desperate for your safety,” he would say.

Her nails split and bled from how she dug them into the grooves of the doors. Each word of his fueled her struggle. The doors screeched their refusal with each inch she earned. The running river of heat beneath her skin rejoiced when the wind at last brushed her face. Fruit, ash, and the scent of new blooms washed over her.

Mother, you found me at last, she thought, basking in the fleeting relief.

All too soon it was gone, and the sharp prick in her nailbeds returned. The stench of herself was now heightened in contrast to Spring’s wind. She clung to her mother’s strength and yanked apart the doors. The gap was now almost wide enough for her to slip through. She squeezed between the steel, placing one foot on one door while her back pressed into the sharp grooves of the other. She pushed until her joints popped, and her muscles’ cried to rest. She gritted her teeth and let out a guttural cry. She would be free from the dark, from the pain, and from this cage.

It’s now or never, she pleaded to her exhausted limbs. After an eternity of struggle and gasping breaths, the metal reluctantly forfeited. They made a horrible scraping sound that reverberated through the pitch of the chamber. She held her breath and listened to the dark. Heartbeats passed, and no sound answered. She searched the space. The light from her cell pooled from the open doors revealing an iron slab pathway.

Of course, she thought.

The impostor was not stupid, unfortunately. He would not risk her to have access to her magic so easily. When one is so connected to organic cycles such as she, smelted metal and polished rock were dead to her senses. They did not rejoice in her closeness like water, flame, and plants did. Instead she felt resentment muffled beneath its resistance.

Petty things, she thought, scowling at her feet.

There wasn’t time for her to stand and wait to be found. She wasn’t naive to think she was alone in the Pitt. If no other prisoners were near, a creature would be. If she had access to her magic all would be simpler, but between his gift and the iron that was a fruitless train of thought.

She looked down bitterly at her wrist. A bone carved with symbols of proclaimed loyalty, or so the impostor had said when latching it. Her father’s smile had made her stifle any reaction to the pain from the spellwork biting into her flesh.

“My daughter is finally free!” Her father had proclaimed, “Returned to us at long last. Never to return to the court of ghouls and disgrace,” his voice boomed through the gilded halls. All of this she could smile through. She had seen her father pretend before. Had seen him lure people in with a smile. Melting their guard away before he slipped a dagger between their ribs. It wasn’t until he looked up at the stranger lost in unbridled reverie and pledged undying loyalty, that her smile faltered.

It was only then she saw the twisting bone throttling her father. Its magic repelled the binding at her wrist making it impossible for her to free him from its charm.

“I beg you my King, take her down to the Forgotten Pitt. Only there can we rid her of all remnants of death.”

And now in the pitch of this cave she wondered if her father had enough of his mind left to care about her. If a kernel of concern remained buried beneath the influence and rot of the impostor.

She had been able to track time through meals and visits, and too many had passed for any real hope to thrive within her. Each visit the impostor would remain hidden behind the door not allowing her to see his face, and simply pass the tray of molded cheese and stiff bread through the door. Even before she was coated with the rank of confinement he would pour his voice between the cracks.

He would speak to her so casually, casting his grievances upon her like a life long confidant. Gleefully updating her on the fallen court. He was sure to share his worries for her future, telling her all would be easier as soon as she’d succumb. He would often emphasize his concern for her people if she would continue to delay her cleansing. His tone would be coated with sympathy and worry. A siren song of oblivion reaching a hand towards her.

Too close she had come to tumbling over that edge he tempted her with. The abyss yawned before her greedily with its shallow promise of warm welcome, of rest. Its whisper coiling around her feet winding higher with each affirmation.

Let go of this stubborn will of yours, that which only opens doors to pain. You can not defeat his gilded tongue. End the suffering before it can truly begin. Come, retreat into me.

The rising tide of his voice brought waves of visions to drown her. First in her father’s hollow eyes, and then in the court of bodies bending to the impostor. Over and over the waves crashed upon her mind. With each image she raged against another would find her. Exhausted, she would fall into the hands of despair.

And then her wrist would burn, scorching listlessness from her mind.

Somehow this gift had saved her.

She looked at the bits of bone and string surprised to see it so ragged and worn. There were only moments for her to decide. This cuff had been both her damnation and salvation. It acted as both a gag and a shield, and now clung to her with the faintest hum of defiance.

On the one hand if she tossed it aside her mother may find her more easily. She still could not reach her own power surrounded by all of this polished ore, but perhaps simply being free of its weight would be enough for these aches to heal. But if she tossed it and found herself face to face with the impostor in this darkness she had no doubt she would bend for him at last.

A chill ran through her as her imagination bled from pointed smiles and blank expressions. A home once warm now cold. A ghost greeting her in the mirror with empty eyes ignoring the pounding of her fists against her muddled mind. Let me out! Let me out! LET ME OUT!

A sharp cry blended with her nightmare. Her voice went from a wailing to a roar. The mirror shattered and she was back barefoot on cold iron in the dark with her wrist burning. A shrieking in the distance sounded. A creature’s annoyance in being disturbed from sleep.

She ran, the cuff bouncing lightly on her wrist.

Bare feet slapping against the iron slabs was the only sound for a long while. She could think of little else besides her father’s face. Void of worry. Welcoming a stranger to their table so easily. Refusing Mother’s visit. She must free him from whatever spell clung to his mind. Another warmth reached its hand to her as it often had in the cell. A scent of ash and fruit. As desperate as she was, no image beyond shadow and wind would form. Each time she moved to reach for it, the ache grew in her head.

No, she must first focus on finding the light before piecing together all she had missed. Before she could fulfill the bargain made she must cleanse her father. Even if no allies remained, an hour in the crystal pools would be enough for both of them to rid the impostor from their minds.

An eternity of iron behind her and she faced a wall of obsidian. With groping hands she finally felt a latch of a door, and to her surprise it flung open freely.

A hand gripped her arm before her eyes could adjust to the sun.

“This is a good sign my lord, she emerges in daylight! Our King will be pleased,” said a voice she vaguely recognized.

An image of a soldier came to mind. She tensed, sure their minds were addled by the impostor. She twisted in their grip trying to free herself of the cuff. The last barrier to her magic, as thin as it was stubborn.

“Easy, Princess, we are not here to hurt you. The King is waiting for you, has been for many seasons.”

She relaxed at the sound of Fritz’ voice, captain of the king’s guard.

“My father, he…he is okay?” she asked.

Her eyes strained to get her surroundings. She expected to be outside in the sands of the outskirts as to be easily forgotten, but the more she came to her senses the more she doubted it. The floor was smooth and cool on her bare feet. The air was warmer, but not as hot as it would be out in the sands surrounding the hilltop palace. Why would the impostor keep her so close to her father and court?

Fritz guided her gently down a dim hallway. She recognized the east wing of the palace, sending a shiver of memory through her. Her head began to pound from questions. Fabrications of what she had thought was her reality began to tear like wet paper. A different picture slowly taking shape.

“Where do you take me?”

“To the king, of course, we thought you’d…emerge sooner,” Fritz replied carefully.

Emerge. The word felt wrong, and by Fritz’s expression he agreed.

“Wait.” She stopped moving, suddenly aware of her state. “I must freshen up at least if I am to see my father.”

Fritz smiled at her with pity in his eyes.

“You are fresh enough, Princess,” he replied calmly, turning her towards a mirror.

Her eyes widened at her reflection. She had expected to see dark circles, streaks of sweat running through dirt, and tattered rags. She searched for the bruises and wounds on her hands. There was nothing. She looked just as she did when the impostor arrived. The floral green dress clung to her curves. Her dark curls carefully placed in a loose braid. Even rouge on her lips and cheeks replaced the bruises she had felt only moments ago.

Fritz smiled behind her before resuming his escort duties.

This must be some illusion. Remnants from the cuff. She reached for her wrist, relieved to feel the string of bone was still there. Her only connection to her time spent in the cell. Her only proof it was real.

They entered the throne room. Her father sat on his golden dais. His white hair slicked back beneath the ornate crown of pointed edges. Lightening was back in his eyes, sharp and warm.

She broke free from Fritz’s hold and flung herself at her father’s feet.

“You are well! Thank the nectar, you are safe,” she rejoiced.

He said nothing to her, only placed a comforting hand on her head before turning to Fritz.

“How is she, when did she-”

“Sire, we found her outside of the chamber in the east wing only moments ago,” Fritz cut in.

She looked at her father waiting for the normal reprimand he gave to those who dared to interrupt him. Instead he continued on without acknowledging her.

“Ah, it was good that you were there,” he paused to look at her then, “now my daughter let me see you are whole and well.”

His eyes pierced her own. After a long while he smiled at her the way a father does when you complete a task as he expected. It was warm and proud, and it confused her even further. She wondered why he was worried for her when it was him the impostor had tricked so easily.

“Come now, Daughter, I can see questions bubbling behind those eyes. Rather than us speaking on it, let me show you.

She didn’t respond, she knew better. She simply followed him down the dais into the anit-chamber. Her wrist burned, and she stiffened. How could it still hold any power with the impostor gone? She searched her father’s neck, the bones that hung there before were no longer there. Relief was short lived as questions attacked her mind.

Could it be that those nights trapped in her own filth and misery were all fabrications of her mind? Perhaps she had gone mad and this was a moment of lucidity. A more probable answer was she was still in the steel cage tucked under herself wishing for freedom.

She tried to remember more of that first day so long ago. Ash and fruit, bone and string, her mother’s voice saying something comforting. But that wasn’t right because then she had been in Mother’s home. Floors of jade and daffodil lamps rather than the smooth white marble and crimson drapes of this chamber. There was another throne room in a different memory too–

“Just in here Daughter,” her father’s voice interrupted whatever memory beckoned to her.

Her nostrils flared from the scent of ash and fruit, and she couldn’t tell if it was a part of this reality or that memory. Sconces illuminated the round space. It was obvious this room had not been used in quite some time with crimson and teal cushions pushed aside along with the long oak table shoved in a corner. Moments later she saw why. A small cage stood in the middle of the room. A dark shadow huddled within. The form refused to turn in acknowledgment of her father’s presence.

She saw irritation flash over Father’s features. He hates to be ignored, her mother’s warning whispered through her. Mother had told her many things that day, but all of the days before the steel cage were muddled mush now. The familiar pounding in her head worsened with each part of this new reality revealed.

“I have brought you a gift, do you not care to see it?” He turned to her then, “Come in closer, there is nothing to fear. Those bars are quite strong.”

She walked towards the cage and her father’s outstretched hand. The scent of ash and fruit persisted over the sickly sweet smell of rot. The bars were iron and steel, and suddenly she was behind them again scowling at the impostor’s voice.

She felt as the impostor tip-toed across her mind. Her bracelet flared again, and an instinct told her to hide the bone beneath her sleeve.

The shadow grew in the cage now. No longer a hazy intangible thing, instead a man filled the tattered black cloth. His limbs thin with wiry muscles and exposed bones. He slowly lifted his head to look. He was so thin, and yet the look he gave her father held fury and a promise of pain.

The lights became too bright for a moment. Shards of it slicing into her mind, fracturing the gaunt face of her father’s prisoner. Showing only his mouth moving for long moments. His voice penetrated her panic and then she couldn’t breathe. The voice that had haunted her seeped from the shadow before her and filled her mind.

“What have you brought to torture me with this time? Will it at last be my end or simply more pain?”

She couldn’t focus on the impostor’s face. The lights were too bright and her dress too tight. She stood there in a stupor as the words fell upon her. More pain?

“Sadly nothing will truly end you, balance, creeds, and all that. We are just here to see if this little experiment has worked. Your influence was a tar upon her mind, but I think we at last scraped the final remnants free,” Father replied.

Her head continued to pound with new words. She closed her eyes and let the voices mingle and meld together. Her body covered in filth, the steel doors bent, that voice telling her to forget.

“Come, Daughter, see how we managed to catch the impostor? I will always avenge my blood,” her father beckoned her closer.

She could not move though. Too many things flew at her all at once. An image of dark hair swooping over black eyes, a shy promise within them. Ash and fruit were relentless against her senses and a quiet demand came. Remember. Remember. Remember. Remember.

“Remember, please!”

It came from the cage. The cracking voice. The demand that seemed to shoot her in the heart. She became unstable standing there with eyes still shut, drowning in all that had happened, or had not. Had not? Her gown was too tight, itchy, and hot. No. Not her gown. Her wrist. The flames were licking up her arm now. A demand for her to wake up. Was she asleep somewhere down below on a slab of iron too weak from neglect?

His words rushed from him as if he was running out of time.

“Seph, what has he done to you? Open your eyes, please. Let me see that you are all right,” the pleading of his voice, or maybe it was the clanging of his body against metal bars that had her opening her eyes.

“Yes, Daughter, you see how you are safe now. No need to shake, he can not get you any longer. You are free. Free of the bargain your foolish mother fell for. Free of her twisting demands,” his words were silk ropes around her limbs and neck. Coiling tighter, forcing her to look at the man.

His face was gaunt, his body covered in dirt, but his eyes were black, shining with fragile hope.

“This,” she began weakly, “this is the impostor?”

Her father looked at her then smiling warmly, “Of course it is my dear,” he said.

“But, how? How did you overcome his wit? All I remember is–”

“Do you think a shadow can beat a storm? Do you think wit can weasel its way through the fortress of ancient wisdom darling girl?”

He said this with a smile that she assumed was not meant to be as cruel as it looked. She looked at the man in the cage again. Took in his tattered robes and rotted mess in the corners. Looked into his hollow eyes one more time before dipping her eyes to his throat. Her mind was coming back to her now. The whispers of truth and lie at last separating. She froze her features and turned to her father.

“I think I just need some air, father, the stench in here is going to my head,” she said smiling at him.

The look of triumph that crossed his face sickened her, but still she kept smiling leaning onto Father’s arm. She was only a weak thing that needed his care and attention. Which he gave all too willingly.

They made their way through the double doors onto the balcony, and a new nightmare spread before her. The earth once lush with the sacred wood and beds of flowers was now bare and cracked from heat. A hot wind blew endlessly carrying the loose sand and scent of carrion with it. This new world beyond the palace clashed with her innate knowledge. She searched the horizon for any familiarity and found only dead wood stretching desperate for any relief. It was dying. Fitz’ words came back to her, the King is waiting for you, has been for many seasons.

Anger heated her blood and it took all of her will to leash her tongue. Instead she reached towards the only other who would understand her pain.

Mother, I am here, I am out of whatever labyrinth I was placed in. Mother, what has happened?

The wind picked up, and she closed her eyes to the scent of Spring faint as it was.

“It feels so good to feel the wind, father,” she said.

He moved to stand next to her and placed his hands on the balcony’s ledge.

“I know things seem dire out there, but soon this bargain will be discarded and the world will grow green with ivy and fruit once more. When I saw you down below consorting with mortal souls and beasts, you reminded me so much of her, of your mother. Not in temperament,” he chuckled at this, and so did she, as if it was a shared secret.

“When I saw you there, beguiled by him, my own daughter trapped in servitude! Well that needed to be fixed. Your mother was useless claiming it was a love match of all things. Warning me not to tempt the fates, and even dared to instruct me on the balance of the realm as if I were a child. Obviously I care about this realm, but unlike your mother I would never place it above all else–above you!”

He was breathing heavy now, his grip on the balcony so tight small fissures spread in the stone. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It is okay father, I am here now, I am okay,” she said, keeping her tone steady, gentle, “thanks to you.”

She looked at the man she had met only once. His hair was white, face tanned with small etchings of time by his eyes and mouth. She saw how much he wanted to keep her here, with him, away from the world.

Just like mother had all that time ago.

“How long must we keep the impostor in the cage?” she dared to ask. At the severity of Father’s face she quickly went on, “Only because it is such a wretched sight to keep him as a hound. I just don’t know how I’ll sleep knowing someone is wasting away under the same roof,” she said, leaving the rest unspoken like I had been all these months.

His face softened.

“Why don’t we release him now, Daughter. We will bring him to the Forgotten Pitt together. I am sure he will find his way back to his dark lair from there.

Her chest tightened at the memory of iron slab and steel walls.

They stepped into the antichamber and faced the man once more. This time her head remained clear as she stared into the black eyes of her husband. She looked down at the collar of bone around his neck, skin pink from its magic.

Asher knelt before the cage searching desperately for a sign she was herself. Please, remember me, were the words pouring from him now. Each moment weakening her resolve. She imagined dropping before him and reaching her fingers between the bars. She clenched her hands into fists by her side to refrain from comforting him, and instead turned her face from his to meet her father’s eyes.

“Shall we?”

She led the way to the entrance hall to play the part of casual indifference. After all she was just a girl, new to her father’s court, and simply uncomfortable with how complicated it all seemed to be. That wasn’t her mate being treated so poorly. That was a shadow in rags.

This was the part she needed to play until they made it to the Pitt. It was simple now. All of it. The dream that was his, the steel that was hers, the flame that was mother’s, and the one that waited in the Forgotten Pitt. The one only she knew of.

Before

“Welcome to The Hells, my darling wife,” Asher said with arms raised.

She looked around the hall of obsidian and lapis-azul. It wasn’t huge like most palaces on the surface tended to be. It was large enough to host small gatherings, and share meals. Several bodies were moving swiftly to dust and tidy as they readied for the festivities to come. The servants wore smiles as they worked.

There was a warmth here she hadn’t expected from Ash. She watched as they greeted and fawned over their king. She took a few cautious steps forward with her head tilted to the ceiling. It was painted with intricate teal vines and thick leaves growing smaller until they met in the center where a glowing moon peaked between the branches. What she thought were stars, were actually eyes peering from dark silhouettes.

She gasped as the weight of his arm came around her waist, and he pulled her into him. His breath tickled her ear.

“Watch your step, sweetness, I do not feel like fishing you from Styx so soon before our guests arrive,” he chuckled into her hair.

Damn her heated cheeks! She pulled away from him and brushed off her skirts. He was smiling fully now, that same one that damned her in the meadow all those months ago. An act of rebellion, and now she was cursed to endure his attention for months on end.

She looked down at the floor to see a moat of glowing water rushing around the perimeter of the room.

“Does this seem a fitting place to host our reception? Are you not afraid we may lose a guest or two?”

“If only we were to be so lucky,” he said grimly.

She knew he thought of her father.

“What is so..awful about him?” She asked.

Asher paused for a long moment. She could see he debated telling her the whole truth.

“It is not my story to share, though many souls have unburdened their hardships upon me before passing through the final gate. You must trust your heart when you meet him,” he moved to her then and took her hands in his, “just as you trusted it when you first saw me.”

She was so tired of people hiding things from her, of being forced to hide herself, but when she looked at Asher, open and earnest, a wall melted between them. She leaned into his touch and smiled at the blush creeping up his neck.

“Are you so surprised to hold such power over me, Seph?” he asked so severely she lost all words.

He kissed her then, chastely on the lips before trailing the length of her arm until he grazed her wrist. A bone bracelet sat there, the sigils glowing faintly.

“Bone and twine, stars align, you are mine,” he whispered.

“Rose and thorn, love is born, I am torn,” she replied.

With their vows spoken the sigils around his collar flared to match the cuff on her wrist.

The Forgotten Pitt

The iron slabs were not the same as her nightmare. These were thinner and less polished. She could feel the heat of the earth thrumming within them. They did not call to her, but they would carry a message to him for her.

Ash led the way with stumbling steps. An aura of lightning surrounded him, stifling his magic.

It wasn’t as dark here either, not like the dream, though Ash would see more clearly than her or her father. This Forgotten Pitt was actually very nice during springtime, but it was obvious from their first meeting that her father rarely left his mountain top to visit his neighbors. He preferred playing in mortal games. She almost chuckled at the sudden revelation. Of course he would rather torment the mortals below them rather than play his game amongst his brethren. How easy it had been to bring him here, away from his clouds and guards. How easy it had been to convince him he had won.

The sound of talons scraping against stone caused Ash to stop suddenly. He cocked his head to the side.

Father gave an annoyed flick of the wrist sending a bolt of electricity into Ash.

“Don’t be so afraid, heathen, you are supposed to like the dark and its creatures, remember?”

They made it to the cliff’s edge. There was no cage here waiting for her.

Instead the sound of flapping wings roared like thunder, and at last her father’s careful expression faltered.

She stood on her own now, and began untying the green woolen dress.

“It is much too hot for such material, father, forgive me,” she said.

The dress pooled onto the floor leaving her in a cream shift. She moved towards the cliff’s edge, and peered into the glowing yellow eyes.

“I have remembered now. The day we met. My wedding day, or so you thought. Asher and I had been married for a few weeks before you entered Hells Hall. Our vows repeated many times over. My duty placed upon me with every word shared as well as his undying devotion in each kiss. Devotion to me. The Lord of Hells Hall has many worshipers, creatures and men alike, did you know?”

Her father’s mask was cracking now. The fury that always rested beneath his skin churned. He did not move though, either from wisdom or ill conceived hope, she would never know, because at the moment the ground shook from Selkie’s landing.

The creature’s leather wings held wide. Its muzzle stuck in a snarl of disgust directed toward her father. Selkie let out a screech that echoed in the stone chamber. A screech that had found her in the labyrinth. A screech that woke her from that nightmare. Her father fell to his knees holding his ears.

She looked into the creature’s eyes and saw wrath and grief for all that was lost. With a gentle hand and hushed assurances the beast relented. With one hand upon Selkie’s thick neck, she turned to face her father.

“I am not a creature for a cage, father. I was not made to simper by your side and beg for guidance. I am a queen. I have feasted upon the fruit of every realm, and I am torn between them all. My husband does not keep me. My mother does not confine me. My father,” she paused to look down at him, to make sure he was listening, “My father will certainly not trap me with silken words and rotted promises.”

The charged aura thinned and fizzled out around Asher. There was no time for an embrace. No time to wait for an apology that would never come. She climbed onto Selkie’s back pulling Asher with her. With a whisper of gratitude to the beast they plummeted down the narrow cavern leaving her father cowering on an iron slab.

“Bone and twine,”Asher mumbled into her hair, tightening his grip on her waist.

“Rose and Thorn,” she replied.