Destroyer of Light by Rachel Alexander Page B

allowed the maelstrom of his thoughts to collect again. “No, it wasn’t. The hieros gamos is performed deliberately, steeped in ceremony. There was none such tonight.”
    She carefully lifted herself from him, and they each felt a momentary pang of longing as he slipped from her. They both needed to breathe, needed to collapse beside one another.
    We’re gods. We need no ceremony . To whom would we swear ourselves?
    Persephone remembered him saying those words a month ago. “Ceremony…”
    “I want that for us,” he whispered. “I want to wed you in the sight of all.”
    “Gods have none to swear by…”
    “I don’t care. We’ll swear by the Fates. We’ll swear by the cosmos itself. And I want more than that— so much more…” He swept her hair away from her face. “I want to perform the Rite with you, Persephone. I want to bind us as one…”
    “On the full moon?” She said, gleaning from his thoughts what little he knew of it. “That’s nearly here. Tomorrow. We’ll never learn it in time. And I still must go…”
    “Not tomorrow. The very next one we’re together…”
    “I am no one’s acolyte, and never was. I know nothing. To fulfill my role—” She reached for him in the dark, the fire playing against his skin.
    “I will guide you. As your consort, I will learn… and I will guide you. It is one of the last things Hecate has left to teach me. I will go to her while you are in the world above. I want to seal myself to you.”
    Persephone ran a hand over his forehead, playing with one of his wayward curls, feeling affection and a hint of impatience course through him. She didn’t need to hear him ask, and she gave no answer. Persephone reached for Aidoneus as he moved over her, then within her. She wanted the same thing he sought— to spend the rest of the night exploring this new connection, this newfound pleasure, for as long as their intertwining bodies would allow.

5.
    The day before the full moon, the Telesterion opened its doors to all the people of Eleusis. Those who had patiently waited for their womenfolk to bring back food each day could now bask in the warmth and sustenance provided by the Corn Mother.
    The gardens outside yielded enough, but the steady flow of new arrivals had not wavered, and the stores were wearing thin. Demeter contemplated the idea of extending fertility to Athens’ fields, enough to feed the people traveling in on the sea road. She clenched her jaw. The patroness of that city had betrayed her: Athena had all but handed Kore over to the Lord of the Dead to curry favor with her father. It would do the supposed Goddess of Wisdom no good. Demeter knew from bitter experience that Zeus cared nothing for his offspring. Athens would go hungry. Its temples would stand empty. Let its people come to her instead.
    Eumolpus and Diocles stood below on the first step of the dais, one holding a bundle of wheat, the other a sickle. They watched over the men, women and children filing silently forward, each placing a sheaf of millet or barley on the steps, muttering their blessings with eyes averted. Cups of kykeon were passed to the congregants as they took their seats.
    Triptolemus stepped forward from his place next to the Queen of the Earth, glancing back at veiled Demeter, who smiled at him from beneath the linen. The hall was silent as he picked up a single sheaf of wheat and raised a short iron knife. He split a single grain from the end and held it up.
    “A single corn, reaped in silence, for the Maiden’s return from the halls of the Unseen One.”
    The room stayed silent, watching. He placed the grain into a kylix of olive oil. Taking a red-hot coal with iron tongs from a brazier, he set it aflame, holding the offering above his head.
    “For the Maiden’s return!” he said louder as it blazed brightly and produced a plume of dark smoke.
    “For the Maiden’s return,” the room echoed as one, raising their cups.
    “To the end of winter!” he said as