Authors: Emily Whitman

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Girls & Women, #Legends; Myths; Fables, #Greek & Roman, #Love & Romance

Radiant Darkness (23 page)

BOOK: Radiant Darkness

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"No statue?" she says.

"No statue."

She asks if I'm coming with her to the fields, but I smile and say I need some time by myself. I watch her walking away, so graceful, her palms turning up to soak in the sun. There will be plenty of time to join her next year.

Right now, I only want to think of the underworld and the one who waits for me there. Five more days! How will I live until then?

Home

O
live trees and waving fields become a blur of green below us. I've waited all these months; I can't wait any longer.

"Faster, Hermes," I say. "Faster."

Hermes shrugs, but Abastor hears me and twitches his ears—beautiful Abastor, eager to bring me home—and then his muscular neck is stretching out farther; his wings picking up their pace. The other horses immediately follow suit. Wind sings past my cheeks, strokes my bare arms.

Hermes' knuckles tighten around the reins. He throws me a look, but a quick one; the surging horses take all his attention.

Now rocky land, now beach, now ocean spreading out below, blue beneath the bright blue sky. Near shore, boats ply the waves, but soon we're beyond where even the bravest mortals go. There's nothing now but endless blue, ocean and sky merging into one seamless whole. I strain my eyes over the infinite sameness, searching.

Then suddenly, there it is: a thin line splitting the universe in two.

We fly lower and the line thickens, takes on the weight and form of land. That's the Styx below us now, and Charon, a tiny figure in a sailor's cap, waving up from its banks.

I've almost stopped breathing. Where is Hades? In the palace? The stables? And then I see him, pacing by the oak tree on the hill below my garden, his purple cloak whipping with each turn—

"There!" I cry, but I didn't need to say anything; Abastor already knows, and we're slowing, circling, landing in a flap of wings and clatter of hooves.

Hades strides toward the chariot, but I can't wait. I leap out, into his arms, and home.

Author's Note

L
ike many before me, I've taken the bones of a myth and made it my own. The story Demeter tells in front of Zeus's throne, the story the bard overhears and spreads to mankind, is based on a Greek myth often called "The Rape of Persephone."

Persephone, it says, was picking flowers in the Vale of Enna when a fragrant narcissus tempted her close. The moment she snapped the flower's stem, the earth split open. Hades appeared and carried her off, screaming and struggling. When Demeter learned her daughter was trapped in the underworld, she withdrew from gods and mankind, vowing that no crops would grow until she saw Persephone again. Famine devastated the earth. Finally, Zeus commanded Hermes to bring the girl home. But Hades had already fed her pomegranate seeds, binding her to his side forever. Each winter, when she lives below, the earth shivers and nothing grows. Each spring she returns to her mother, and the earth bursts into bloom.

What would it look like, I wondered, if Persephone wasn't carried back and forth against her will but made her own choices?

I used research for inspiration rather than historical exactitude, drawing details from across hundreds of years and miles and using them as jumping-off places. The real Thesmophoria referred to Persephone's abduction, but in the sixth chapter I have the festival preceding her departure from the vale. And while the Styx and Lethe come from Greek myth, the land I've placed them in is my own creation. The Greeks themselves were opportunists when it came to depicting the underworld in art and poetry. I've followed their lead in using whatever served my story.

Myths are retold for thousands of years because they speak to something deep in our hearts. This is what the myth of Persephone said to mine.

Thank You

S
o many people have walked with me on this journey. For insightful readings, inspiration, and endless encouragement, I especially want to thank Elisabeth Benfey, Eileen Pettycrew, Susan Blackaby, Linda Zuckerman, and Kelly Lenox—this book would not exist without you. I am lucky to have such a remarkable and supportive family: my parents, Warren and Gerda Rovetch, and my sisters, Lissa Rovetch and Jennifer Rovetch. Thank you to the amazing Greenwillow team; to Steve Geck, my editor, for understanding Persephone from the start and leading this book deeper; and to Nancy Gallt, my agent, for helping it fledge into the world. And thank you, thank you, thank you, Richard, Sam, and Kate.

About the Author

EMILY WHITMAN
lives on a tree-lined street in Portland, Oregon, with her husband, two children, and a gray cat. Her earliest career goal was to be a professional whistler. In a more practical vein, she has worked in library reference, led storytimes, and written for educational publishers. This is her first novel.

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This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and
dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be
construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

RADIANT DARKNESS. Copyright © 2009 by Emily Whitman.
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Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader April 2009
ISBN 978-0-06-185830-7

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