Primavera, Part 1

The season wasn’t changing. Arid days kept passing by as the year grew older, slowly dragging into weeks. It had been four moons since the winter solstice; spring should’ve been decorating the fields and valleys in colour and life, but Persephone was failing at her task. There was no fresh rain, no new leaves and grass, no cheerful flowers and birds brightening the morning. Instead, the earth died a bit more with each sunrise.

Grass and crops were gradually drying out and turning to dust. The leaves on evergreen trees withered and fell to the barren ground, leaving their once proud perches bare and dreary. The sun blazed in a relentless attempt to wash the world in flames, and it was succeeding.

Lush lawns had become kindling for any spark to take root and sprout into fierce fires that engulfed anything that still tried to bloom. The once fertile and vibrant countryside was becoming a desolate plain of suffocating dirt, jagged rocks, and skeletal trees.

Primavera sat with her knees drawn to her chest beneath what had once been her favourite tree—a willow that stood beside what was supposed to be a bright, bubbling stream. Now, the stream was nothing more than a dark scar across the countryside, unable to feed the plants around it that were gasping for water. The willow, while considered a sorrowful tree, had always been her haven. She found comfort in the low-hanging branches that swayed about her in a gentle breeze. The life in its long, green leaves promised joy after despair, as one restored by watering tears. But without that life-giving water, the branches hung in naked whips that seemed ready to tear any weary traveller apart in a strong enough wind.

Primavera cringed at the thought of wind. The winter wind was brisk and cold as usual, contrasting with the extreme heat. However, it wasn’t the temperature that made her skin crawl; it was what the wind carried. Wailing and howling, Boreas announced the reason for the extended winter. A gentle breeze would bring a woman’s sighs to Primavera’s ears—sighs that turned into screeching as the wind picked up speed.

Covering her ears never helped. The sound penetrated her very flesh and bone. Someone was in mourning, someone with enough power to halt the seasons. The only problem was, Primavera had no idea who. She was a mere nymph of the valleys and fields: The troubles of the gods only reached her in echoes.

Like the other inhabitants of the world beyond Olympus, Primavera was used to getting caught in the ripples of the gods’ troubles. But this time, it was going too far. Spring was her favourite time of the year, and seeing the world around her slowly die in bursts of dust and flames tore Primavera’s heart apart.

Sighing, she gently took a thin, scraggly branch between her fingers and brought it to her lips. A single tear slipped down her cheek and fell on the bone-dry bark. The twig drank the tear eagerly, and a small, green bud appeared where the drop had fallen. Another tear watered the bud, and it sprouted. For a moment, a flash of green broke through the brown barrenness. Primavera smiled and softly traced her finger over the glossy surface. The leaf grew, rustling against her skin like a content little bird.

In the distance, a noise swept over the hills that made the breath catch in Primavera’s throat. Her head shot up, and she squinted, peering into the horizon. Dust clouds were whirling, gradually growing into a storm as the wind picked up. Primavera held the branch with its precious leaf closer to her chest, covering the sprout with her hands.

The wind hit them in a raging blast. The chill knocked the breath from Primavera’s lungs. It turned her skin to marble, on the verge of cracking as it shrunk, and she shivered. The branches around her shuddered in the gust’s might, twisting and flailing mercilessly in every direction. Their sharp, thin tips slashed at Primavera’s skin.

She closed her eyes and huddled, nestling her face in her knees and hunching over the little leaf for dear life. She felt the willowy whips cut across her back, and she hissed at the pain.

The wind grew louder, and an achingly familiar wailing filled the air. The despairing woman screeched, and the wind flared. Primavera winced as the sound pierced her ears, filling every pore and vein in her body. She felt gut-wrenching sorrow and gasped. Tears welled in her eyes; she wasn’t entirely sure whether they were for herself or the afflicted goddess. The screeching died down and faded into shuddering sobs. Primavera’s ears perked, and she lifted her gaze a bit, eyes wide.

‘Persephone! Persephone!’

The wind howled the name over and over again—the first words spoken since this hell had started. Primavera gaped, momentarily forgetting about the untamed branches slashing the air. A tip whizzed past her eye and grazed her cheek. She shoved her head back into her knees and stayed like that until the wind had finally moved on.

Once the noise had faded, Primavera lifted her head and breathed in deeply. It was too soon. The dust cloud was still settling, and she choked and coughed as it filled her lungs. Whimpering, she leaned back against the willow’s trunk, grimacing as the bark pressed against the open wounds. Her gaze travelled slowly down to the branch still in her hands, her heart racing and her muscles taut.

‘No!’

The sprout hadn’t survived the onslaught. It lay in her lap, already turning brown as it shrivelled in the heat. Primavera picked it up gently, but at her touch, the leaf dissolved and drifted off in the remaining breeze. The tension in Primavera’s muscles eased, quickly replaced with a heaviness that made her want to sink to the ground and turn dust into mud. Instead, she clenched her jaw and dragged herself to her feet.

‘Enough,’ she hissed and wove her way through the willow’s branches. Whatever had happened to Persephone did not give Demeter the right to drain the land of all life and beauty. Now that she knew who to look for, Primavera was adamant about putting an end to this winter before they all turned to dust.

Once she was out from beneath the tousled branches, she paused. It was a big world, and Demeter could be anywhere. Searching would take much longer than her home had. But, luckily, some saw and knew everything, like the deity who carried Demeter’s woes on his breath.

With a satisfied smile, Primavera set off to the northernmost peak of her valley. It was a tall hill that rose above the plains, allowing for a perfect view of the trees, streams, and meadows below. It was a pitiful sight.

Primavera closed her eyes and turned to face north. The sun burned her skin, replacing any lingering cold from the wind with blistering heat. She shook her head and focused her thoughts on the energy in her veins, letting it pour into the earth beneath her bare feet. Gradually, she felt the dirt crack as small blue and purple flowers forced their way through. Primavera opened one eye and peeked down, smiling at the small blooms before she shut her eyelid again and took a deep breath.

‘Boreas!’ she called at the top of her lungs, keeping the image of the deity in her mind’s eye. ‘Boreas, Lord of the frigid north wind, of the fiercest storms, and of the harshest winters, I summon you! Come to this valley and heed my call. I have little more to give than these tiny blooms, but they are yours, in your majestic colours, to bring life and joy to your home. Let them be enough and answer me!’

Eyes still closed, Primavera could feel the air begin to move and cool down. The wind gradually picked up again, but this time, no wails and sobs were drifting with it. Instead, she heard a low, voiceless howling and felt little drops of ice brush against her skin.

She opened her eyes to find a cluster of snowflakes spinning in the gust. It teased the dust, picking it up and pushing it back down. The cluster grew bit by bit until it took on the shape of a large man with vast wings spread out far behind his back. The snowflakes froze into an icy statue and then shattered to reveal the God of the North Wind towering over her.

‘Did you summon?’ Boreas howled, his voice slicing through the air like an icy gale.

‘Yes, I did. Please accept these flowers as a demonstration of my gratitude for answering,’ Primavera said, nodding to the blossoms at her feet. It took almost all her concentration and energy to keep them alive in the infertile ground.

Boreas looked down and nodded. The flowers began to frost over, and Primavera could feel the tether that bound her to them being broken. They rose from the ground and flurried away to the north.

‘Speak quickly, nymph. The winds are restless, and I cannot waste time on trivialities,’ the North Wind wailed when the frozen blooms had drifted out of sight.

‘I need to find Demeter; I want to put an end to this winter.’ Boreas lifted an eyebrow, and Primavera gave him a small smile. ‘You know this is wrong, Boreas. It’s time for the seasons to move on. Winter has had its glory, but now it’s being corrupted by this drought. Surely even you must feel offended?’

Boreas’s hefty purple wings rustled, and he sighed, a deep moaning sound. ‘Yes,’ he said with a nod. ‘This is a corruption of the winter’s majesty; even I will not stand for such perversion —I will aid you.’

‘Then, please, tell me where Demeter is so that I may speak with her.’

Boreas lifted his head towards the horizon, his thick beard rustling in the steady gust that always flowed around him. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. When he opened his eyes, he faced Primavera with a mischievous glint.

‘I know where the grieving goddess broods; I shall take you to her on the currents that carry her cries.’

Before Primavera could answer, Boreas was beside her, sweeping her off her feet. He spread his wings, and Primavera’s eyes grew wide.

‘Wait! I can walk there; just tell me where…’

Primavera screeched the last word as Boreas flapped his wings and lifted them into the air. Gasping, Primavera reached out and wrapped her arms around the deity’s neck. She clung to him tightly with her eyes closed, barely breathing. Her cheek and arms felt the coarse scratch of the icicles in Boreas’s beard and hair. It melted whenever it touched her skin, but was quickly replaced by another frozen droplet. Primavera longed to brush the frigid water away, but she had no intention of letting go when they were who knows how high above the safety of the ground.

They travelled like a whirlwind, and soon Primavera felt them descending. She released the breath she had been holding and dared to open her eyes on a squint. The earth was rapidly coming closer, as dry and dead as the valley they had come from. Boreas landed and set Primavera down, grinning broadly at her wild hair and glowering expression.

‘Thank you, Boreas,’ she grumbled, ‘but next time, I’d prefer to use my own means of transportation. Nymphs were not made to fly.’

Boreas shrugged and chased a snowflake with his finger. ‘You want to end this winter promptly; I saved you many days of travel. Look.’

He pointed to something behind her, and she turned. A figure sat huddled on a boulder in a meadow at the edge of a skeletal forest. Her face was buried in her hands, and her shoulders were trembling. Primavera felt a burst of wind shoot by her. She spun around to see Boreas’ vast figure disappearing into the horizon. Shaking her head and taking another deep breath to ease the last of her racing nerves, Primavera walked closer to the weeping goddess.

‘Demeter?’ she asked slowly, taking a few steps forward.

Demeter’s head shot up, and she frowned at the nymph. ‘Yes? What do you want?’ she snapped through shuddering breaths.

Primavera gulped. Even with puffy, red eyes and her golden hair hanging in rags, Demeter still had an air of power and poise about her. Primavera hesitated, and Demeter rose to her full length, towering over the nymph with a piercing gaze. Steeling herself, Primavera held her head high and met Demeter’s gaze.

‘I heard your cries on the wind, Goddess of the Harvest. I wanted to offer my help in any way I can to ease your grief.’

Demeter frowned and crossed her arms with a supple grace. ‘You want to help?’ she asked slowly, her eyes flicking up and down Primavera’s figure.

Primavera felt the hairs on her neck bristle, and she straightened her spine. ‘Yes. I wish to end this winter, and that means helping you. I’m tired of the world around me dying while I sit helplessly on the side, watching.’

Demeter’s expression softened. She uncrossed her arms and let them fall to her sides. A small tear pooled at the base of her eye and slid down her cheek as she gave Primavera a small smile. ‘You are very much like her.’

‘Like who?’

Sighing, Demeter sank back onto the rock. ‘My daughter, Persephone. She also loves spring. She loves giving the earth new life and beauty after the dead of winter.’

The tension in Primavera’s shoulders eased as her heart began to ache for the goddess before her. She took a seat on the ground by Demeter’s feet and asked gently, ‘What happened to her?’

‘She disappeared!’ Demeter wailed, dropping her face into her hands again. ‘I spent weeks searching for her when Hecate finally suggested I ask the all-seeing Helios if he knew anything.’

Demeter took a deep breath and lifted her gaze, her face hard and cold again. ‘He did, of course. The sun’s light penetrates everything on the surface of this earth. He saw Hades take my poor, precious child and drag her to the Underworld. He saw it and did nothing, all out of the fear of getting involved in the squabbles of the Three. I pleaded with Zeus to order Hades to bring her back, but he refused.’

She shot up from the rock and began pacing, her face drawn in a hard scowl that somehow did nothing to diminish her beauty. ‘He dares to claim it will be good for my sweet daughter to have a husband and has declared Hades worthy. He deems it fitting for my sweet flower to wither in the darkness.’

Demeter scoffed and turned to face Primavera, her robes flowing elegantly around her. ‘He’s just afraid of starting another quarrel with his brother.’

Lifting her head, Demeter stared out at the horizon that was hidden behind the mountains surrounding the valley they were in. ‘Well, if he refuses to return my daughter, then I shall keep the seeds dormant and the fields barren until the earth itself mourns with me.’

Primavera’s heart sank. Demeter stood perfectly still, her conviction and resilience evident in her stone-like features. How was one small nymph supposed to convince three of the biggest Olympian deities to stop their fighting and let the seasons change?

With a soft groan, Primavera got up and stepped closer to the goddess. The movement reminded Demeter of her audience, and she relaxed a bit, holding her hand out to Primavera. Primavera took it and braced herself for her next question.

‘Is there absolutely no way you’ll release this drought? The earth can’t take much more of this.’

Demeter sighed and let Primavera’s hand go again. ‘Not until I have my daughter back in my arms.’

‘What if you went to get her?’

Demeter burst into a soft, ringing laughter, shaking her head. ‘You’re a very naïve nymph. Of course, I tried that the moment I learned where Persephone was, but Hades has sealed the realm shut from me.’

Primavera huffed, her shoulders slumping. ‘He couldn’t have sealed it shut from everyone.’

She lightly bit the inside of her cheek and stared at a brittle sapling in the distance, an idea sprouting. She really didn’t like it, but there were limited options. She turned back to Demeter, tense and barely breathing. ‘I could go….’

Demeter raised an elegant eyebrow, amusement written plainly on her face. ‘You want to go to the Underworld?’

‘Not particularly, no,’ Primavera answered with a small, nervous smile. ‘But the world above is rapidly turning into an underworld, and if I can prevent that by going and finding Persephone, then I’m willing, yes.’ She paused. ‘But is it even possible for a nymph to get into the Underworld?’

Demeter inspected her for a second. Seemingly convinced that Primavera was serious, she nodded. ‘It is. Anyone can enter the Underworld. Or at least, anyone can go through one of the entrances if they know where it is. It’s getting past the rivers into Hades’ palace that’s difficult.’

‘Do you know where the nearest entrance is? And how to get to the palace?’

‘The nearest entrance is right there,’ Demeter said, pointing to a spot between the trees. Primavera squinted; she could just make out the sun’s reflection on a pool of very dark water. Demeter continued, ‘That’s the Alcyonian Lake. I wouldn’t recommend going through there, though, not unless you’re secretly a water nymph capable of breathing underwater.’

Primavera frowned. ‘Why are you by one of the entrances if you can’t enter?’

‘Because this is the meadow where my daughter was abducted. It’s the last place she walked before she was stolen from our beautiful earth to that wretched hellhole.’ Demeter sneered, glaring in the direction of the lake. Then, her expression softened, and she sighed again. ‘I feel closest to her here.’ She shook her head and looked back at Primavera. ‘As for how to get to the palace, I can help with that as well.

‘You’ll need to find Hecate. She’s the Goddess of Witchcraft, Crossroads, and Night; she’s also a guardian of the dead and knows the Underworld well. If anyone can get you into the palace unseen, it is she. You’ll find her at Cape Malea in a cavern hidden within the cliffs. Go to her when the moon is neither full nor empty, but perfectly balanced. Tell her that I sent you for help to get into the Underworld unnoticed. She has already helped me find my daughter once; I’m sure she’ll help again.’

Primavera felt her skin crawl. She had set out to find Demeter, but now it would seem her journey was turning into something longer and far more complicated than she had anticipated. Not to mention dangerous. With a knot in her stomach, Primavera gazed up at the goddess. ‘Will you travel with me?’

Demeter gave her an apologetic smile and shook her head. ‘I can’t. Zeus is watching my actions. I may be able to conceal my conversations from him for a while, but if I start travelling to other deities in search of aid, he’ll suspect treason and intervene. You’ll have to go alone. Don’t tell anyone what the purpose of your journey is. You can’t trust anyone other than Hecate. Once you leave Cape Malea, she’ll direct you to another entrance to the Underworld, a cave near Cape Tenaerum.’

Seeing Primavera’s wide eyes and pale face as she gazed absently at the ground, Demeter took the nymph’s hands in her own and coaxed her to look up. ‘I know this isn’t what you expected to find here, but I’m grateful for your offer to help.

‘You’re strong, Primavera. After weeks of drought and decay, you’re the only one who has been brave enough to seek me out and confront me about it. I have no doubt that you’ll be able to return my daughter. Hecate will ensure safe passage for both of you in and out of the Underworld. Once you’ve rescued her, take her back to Hecate. She’ll summon me, and I’ll come to you.’

Unsure of what to say, Primavera just nodded. Demeter’s faith stunned her, and she wasn’t entirely convinced that it was justified. Primavera may have been the only one to approach Demeter about the drought, but she had hoped to talk sense into the goddess. She never considered the possibility of going on a quest to defy not one, but two of the Three Great Gods.

Primavera turned away from Demeter and looked at the meadow around her. It wasn’t much of a meadow anymore; it looked more like a desert. She closed her eyes and let the dry air fill her lungs. There was no life in it, nothing to soothe her.

She gritted her teeth, opened her eyes, and turned back to Demeter. ‘Point me in the right direction.’

Written: October 2024