The Eleusinian Gate

           “Well?” asked Ariadne anxiously. She had been waiting for me when I arrived at the Threshold and now we were walking up the slope to the city of the Olympians. The True Sun blazed above us in its perpetual noon: if you surrendered to its power you would feel nothing but serene joy. But there were times when it was necessary not to give in to that peace, times you had to plan and even to worry, when those you loved in the Low World are in danger. Otherwise you became too remote from human concerns, like some of the older Olympians. Sometimes I thought that Ariadne worried too much but perhaps that was only because she was more loving than I.       

“Oh Alceme will be all right,” I said making my voice more casual than I really felt. “By the time I left, she was almost her old self. I told her I wanted her to help us with something concerning the Olympians. It was a good idea, it got her looking forward instead of back. And she wouldn’t have responded to just an ordinary challenge.”

Ariadne stared at me. “Something concerning the Olympians?” she said. “But what. . .”

I grinned at her. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” I said, “but I’ll think of something. I have a little time; she’s going to visit her parents’ graves. Not a very cheerful plan but it will get her out of that house where everything reminds her of N’suto, and just the travelling will do her good.”      

Ariadne laughed and gave my arm a little squeeze. “Oh Chrys,” she said, “you’re incorrigible. I wouldn’t put it past you to get the whole Council of Olympus in some sort of uproar, just to help our friend.”

I shrugged. “Why not?” I said. “The Council probably has too few worries, and Alceme has too many at the moment.” Ariadne gave a little wince and I knew that I had reminded her of Alceme’s bitter words just after the death of N’suto. It was no use dodging that bull: I might as well leap it.    “Alceme was right in a way in what she said to you,” I told Ariadne bluntly. “We Olympians have no need to fear death or sickness or sorrow, except when they affect mortals we love. And here in the Bright Land it’s easy to forget their problems. I don’t mean you: Alceme was unfair to you and she’s sorry she hurt you. But most of the other Olympians could do with a little shaking up.”           

Just then, as if to give the lie to my words about the Olympians’ lack of trouble, Demeter came striding up to us, looking as worried as I had ever seen her. She broke into our conversation without apology. “Have either of you seen Persephone?” she asked sharply. Ariadne and I both shook our heads, but the golden-haired goddess did not seem satisfied: her brilliant blue eyes searched our faces as if to read some secret in them.        

I met her gaze as blandly as I could, feeling a little guilty. I like Persephone and thought that the shy young Olympian was too much under the thumb of her powerful and dominating mother. Demeter was one of the Great Olympians, one of the children of Kronos, and she was inclined to act as if this gave her an authority which could not be challenged by anyone, certainly not by any younger Olympian and most certainly not by her daughter Persephone. Demeter seemed to rather despise the Olympians who, like Ariadne and me, had one mortal parent, and she had discouraged Persephone from making friends with us. 

Being myself, I had taken this as a challenge, and had managed to overcome Persephone’s shyness and make friends with her a little. I had let her see that I thought she should be more independent of her mother, and I wondered if her prolonged absence from Olympus was part of an attempt to assert her independence.