‘That’s not much wool,’ said the goddess. ‘Also, I can’t imagine you were smart enough to figure out how to gather it without some god helping you. Who was it this time?’
‘Well, there was this bunch of reeds –’
‘It doesn’t matter!’ Aphrodite cried. ‘You’re a vile creature. Just talking to you makes me want to take a shower.’
She picked up a water pitcher and dumped out the contents. ‘A good wife should be able to provide fresh water for her household’s bathing needs. Your third quest: A mile north of here is a tall mountain with a waterfall crashing down the side of the cliffs. At the very top is a sacred spring – one of the headwaters for the River Styx, which eventually flows into the Underworld. Fill this pitcher from the spring. Not the bottom of the falls! I will know if you cheat. Bring back the water while it is still ice cold. Otherwise –’
‘You’ll kill me,’ Psyche said wearily. ‘And, no, I won’t give up. I still love your son. I will do anything to win his forgiveness. I’ll be right back with your Styx water.’
Little did either woman know, Eros had been eavesdropping. From his bedroom down the hall, he’d heard voices in the dining room. Somehow he knew that one of them belonged to Psyche. Despite the excruciating pain in his shoulder, he dragged himself out of bed and limped down the hall, then peeked out from behind the door to see what was happening. The sight of Psyche immediately lifted his spirits. His shoulder wound felt a little better. This annoyed Eros, but he couldn’t help it. He still loved her.
When he heard his mother giving Psyche the waterfall quest, he felt horrible. The waterfall quest was impossible! Aphrodite could be such a … well, such a lot of things a son shouldn’t call his own mother.
Eros was also impressed by Psyche’s determination to win back his love.
He wanted to march into the dining hall and demand that his mother stop with the stupid Iron Housewife quests, but he couldn’t because 1) he was still so weak he would fall on his face and pass out, and 2) he looked awful and didn’t want Psyche to see him like this.
(Psyche looked pretty bad herself, but Eros didn’t think so. Funny how love will do that. Once I saw my girlfriend with the cutest case of rat’s-nest hair and … Sorry. I got distracted.)
Eros stumbled back to his bedroom. He went to the window and called out to the heavens, ‘Lord Zeus, listen up! I’ve done you a few favours over the years. Now I need a favour from you!’
Meanwhile, Psyche found her way to the foot of the mountain. She gazed up at the slick vertical cliffs and realized that her loving mother-in-law had once again given her a job no mortal could do. Hooray!
From the top of the falls, about half a mile up, sheets of water cascaded down, roaring in a voice that sounded almost human: TURN BACK! DON’T THINK ABOUT IT! THIS WATER IS SO COLD YOU DON’T EVEN WANNA KNOW!
Aphrodite hadn’t lied; this place was one of the earthly headwaters for the River Styx, and that made it deadly to any mortal. Just being near the falls filled Psyche with despair. Maybe she could’ve forced herself to fill the pitcher from the bottom of the waterfall … but making it to the top? No way.
Aphrodite had specifically asked for water from the top, and Psyche wasn’t tempted to cheat. Not because she might get caught, but because it wasn’t in her nature. (Again, I know – weird concept. But that’s a hero for you. Crazy bunch, those heroes.)
As she stood looking at the falls, a huge bird spiralled out of the clouds. Psyche realized it was a golden eagle – the sacred animal of Zeus.
The eagle landed on a nearby rock. ‘ ’Sup?’ it said.
‘Uh, hi,’ said Psyche. ‘Are you from Zeus? I’m pretty sure I didn’t fix up any of his shrines lately.’
‘Relax,’ said the eagle. ‘You have a powerful friend who pulled in a favour from the big guy. I admire your spirit, but unless you’ve got wings, you’ll never get that water on your own. Gimme your pitcher.’
The eagle snatched it up and soared to the top of the waterfall. He filled the pitcher with ice-cold supernatural Styx water – fresh from the source! – and flew it back to Psyche.
‘There ya go,’ said the eagle. ‘I’d give you a lift back to the palace, but it’s best if Aphrodite doesn’t see me. Peace out.’
The eagle flew away.
When Psyche returned to Aphrodite’s dining table with a pitcher of ultra-frosty refreshing death water, the goddess was stunned.
‘No way,’ said Aphrodite. She washed her hands with the water, which is something only gods can do without a whole lot of pain. (Trust me on that.) Aphrodite tried to find something wrong with the water, but she couldn’t. She sensed it had come from the top of the falls, just as she had requested.
‘What is this sorcery?’ The goddess narrowed her eyes. ‘How have you passed all my tests, Psyche?’
‘Oh … you know. Persistence. Clean living. Can I have my husband back now?’
Psyche figured three tests were enough. I mean, that’s the usual deal, right? Do these three things. Answer these three questions. Defeat these three Gorgons. Eat these Three Little Pigs. Important stuff comes in threes.
But Aphrodite didn’t know that. Or maybe she just wanted to make this story extra hard for demigods who might be trying to tell it in the future. (Thanks, lady.)
‘Fourth quest!’ she shrieked.
‘What?’ Psyche demanded. ‘Come on!’
‘Do this last thing for me,’ the goddess said, ‘and you will prove yourself a worthy wife for my son. Or, if you want to give up –’
‘You are so annoying,’ Psyche muttered.
‘What was that?’
‘I said I’d better get going,’ Psyche said. ‘What’s the quest?’
‘Obviously, the most important quality for a wife is beauty,’ said Aphrodite, in her obviously stupid way. ‘I’ve been so busy caring for my wounded son –’
‘Eros?’ Psyche interrupted, because she had no idea he was in the palace. ‘He’s wounded? He’s in trouble?’
The goddess arched an eyebrow. ‘Thanks to you. That drop of oil you spilled on his shoulder has been burning away his essence, just like your betrayal did! It’s almost like a limerick.’
Psyche blinked. ‘I think you mean a metaphor.’
‘Whatever.’
‘I must see him!’ Psyche insisted. ‘I must help him!’
‘Oh, now you want to help him. I’m his mother and I have it under control, thank you very much. As I was saying, the most important quality for a woman is beauty. I’ve been so busy caring for my son that I’ve run out of my famous magical beauty cream. I’ve used it all up, and I need some more.’
‘Wait … you tried to cure Eros with beauty cream?’
‘Duh!’ Aphrodite rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, I need more, but it’s out of stock at, like, every store, so I need a proper substitute. The only goddess who has cosmetics I can use without my face breaking out is Persephone.’
‘The queen of the Underworld?’ Psyche’s knees shook. ‘You – you want me to –’
‘Yes.’ Aphrodite savoured the fear in Psyche’s eyes. ‘Pop down to the Underworld and ask Persephone if I can borrow a little of her beauty cream. You can put it in this.’
The goddess snapped her fingers. A polished rosewood box with golden filigree appeared in Psyche’s hands. ‘Last chance to give up and go into exile.’
Psyche did her best to hide her misery. ‘No. I’d rather die trying to win back Eros’s love than give up. I’ll get you your beauty cream.’
‘Make sure it’s the unscented kind,’ Aphrodite said. ‘Hypoallergenic. And hurry. There’s a new play on Mount Olympus tonight. I need to get ready.’
Psyche trudged out of the palace on her final quest.
Meanwhile, Eros had been listening behind the door again. He was still too weak to do much, but he couldn’t believe how horrible his mother was being. He had to help Psyche. After all she’d been through trying to apologize to him, trying to win him back … He’d been
such a fool. He should’ve confronted his mother in the first place and demanded the right to marry the mortal princess. He couldn’t let Psyche face this last challenge alone.
Since he lacked physical strength, he sent his spirit out into the world, hoping he could at least find a way to communicate with his beloved.
Psyche drifted around with no real destination in mind. It’s not like the entrance to the Underworld showed up on GPS. Finally, at the edge of a dark plain, she came across an old crumbling watchtower and decided to climb it. Maybe she’d be able to see something from the top.
Standing at the edge of the parapet, she remembered the rock spire from which Zephyrus had picked her up and spirited her away. That seemed like so long ago. (Girl’s right, too. That was, like, forty pages back or something.)
Psyche thought how easy it would be to step off into nothingness and end her suffering. That would be one way to the Underworld – probably the only way she could manage. But she had her unborn baby to think about. And she hadn’t come this far only to give up. Plus, her last half dozen suicide attempts hadn’t worked out so well.
‘Don’t do it,’ said a voice, rumbling from the stones at her feet. ‘Jumping off towers is never the answer.’
Psyche stepped back from the edge. ‘Hello? Is – is that the tower speaking?’
‘Yes,’ said the tower, resonating like a giant stone tuning fork. ‘I am the tower.’
Something about the voice sounded familiar, though …
Psyche’s heart leaped with joy. ‘Eros? Is that you?’
A moment’s pause.
‘No,’ said the voice, now in falsetto. ‘I don’t know any Eros. Just listen …’ The tower cleared its throat (or whatever towers have instead of throats. Stairwells?).
In a deeper tone, it continued. ‘Head towards the city of Sparta and find Mount Taenarus. At the base of the mountain, you’ll see a volcanic fissure that’s a breathing vent for the Underworld. It won’t be easy, but you can climb down that way to Hades’s domain.’
‘Oh … okay.’
‘Before you climb down, be sure you pick up two honey-flavoured rice cakes and two drachma coins. You can get the rice cakes in Sparta, or I think there’s a convenience store off the highway around Exit Forty-three.’
‘Um, all right. What do I do with that stuff?’
‘You’ll know when the time comes. But listen, don’t let anything stop you until you reach Persephone. My mom will put up all sorts of distractions.’
‘Your mom?’
Another hesitation. The voice went falsetto again. ‘Obviously, towers don’t have moms. I meant your mother-in-law, Aphrodite.’
Psyche was sure now that her estranged husband was trying to help her. She loved him for that. Even his falsetto voice was kind of cute. But she decided to play along. ‘I’m listening, O Great Tower, who in no way resembles my wonderful husband.’
‘Okay, then,’ said the voice. ‘As I was saying, Aphrodite will create distractions to test your resolve. She knows you are kind and helpful. She will try to use that against you. No matter who asks you for help on your journey, don’t listen to them! Don’t stop!’
‘Thank you, Tower. If you were my husband, Eros, which of course you aren’t, I would tell you I love you deeply and I’m very sorry. Also, how’s the shoulder?’
‘It hurts pretty bad,’ said the tower. ‘But I think …’ Falsetto: ‘Towers don’t have shoulders, silly.’
The tower went silent. Psyche kissed the parapet. Then she started off on her super-fun journey to Mount Taenarus and the Underworld.
Can we talk about this for a second?
A lot of heroes have journeyed to the Underworld. I’ll tell you about some of them later. Most were dudes with swords and big attitudes. Heck, I’ve journeyed to the Underworld with a sword and a big attitude.
But Psyche made the journey with nothing but two rice cakes and a couple of drachmas. And she did it while she was seven months pregnant.
Respect.
As she was climbing down the narrow ledges inside the volcanic fissure, she happened to pass a lame ass-driver.
(Don’t look at me funny. That’s exactly what the old stories called him: a lame ass-driver. The dude was lame, like crippled. He was leading an ass, like a donkey. What did you think I meant?)
Anyway, Psyche thought it was weird to see a crippled dude in a volcanic vent, just hanging out with his ass. (I’m not going to laugh. Nope. Not even a little.)
The guy called out to her, ‘Hello there, girl! You look kind and helpful. My ass has dropped some of its load … by which, of course, I mean that my donkey has dropped some of the firewood it was carrying. Could you help me gather up these sticks and put them back on my ass?’
I guess Aphrodite was testing Psyche to see if she would get distracted helping the dude. Either that or she was trying to make Psyche laugh so hard she would fall into the chasm.
But Psyche didn’t respond to the guy. She remembered Eros’s warning and kept climbing.
The ass-driver disappeared like a mirage, which was a relief to Psyche and all the parents reading this book, because things were getting a little inappropriate there.
Moving along …
Psyche reached the bottom of the chasm and trudged through the dark wastelands of the Underworld until she came to the banks of the River Styx – a gloomy black expanse shrouded in icy mist.
At the shore, the daimon boatman Charon was loading the souls of the dead into his ferry. He glanced at Psyche. ‘Living, eh? Sorry, love. Too much red tape required to get you across.’
‘I have a coin.’ Psyche pulled out one of her drachmas.
‘Hmm.’ Charon loved shiny money. The dead usually gave him coins they’d been buried with under their tongues. By the time Charon collected them, the coins were nasty and corroded and had dead-person spit all over them. ‘Right, then. Let’s just keep this trip on the quiet, shall we?’
When the ferry was in the middle of the river, Psyche made the mistake of looking over the side. From the depths of the water, an old man surfaced, flailing his arms. ‘Help me!’ he cried. ‘I can’t swim!’ Psyche’s gentle heart made her want to pull him out, but she figured this was another test.
Eyes on the prize, she told herself. Eros needs me.
The old guy made a few gurgling noises and disappeared under the surface, which served him right. Everybody should know better than to go swimming in the Styx without inflatable armbands.
On the other side of the river, the black walls of Erebus rose in the gloom. Psyche disembarked from the ferry and immediately noticed an old woman on the beach, weaving a tapestry on a loom.
That’s pretty random, Psyche thought. This must be another test.
‘Oh, please, dearie,’ said the woman, ‘help me weave for just a little while. My fingers are sore. My eyes are tired. Surely you can spare a little time for an old lady?’
It hurt Psyche, because the woman’s voice reminded her of her own mother, but she kept walking.
‘Well, fine!’ the old woman cried. ‘Be that way!’
She disappeared in a puff of smoke.
At last, Psyche reached the iron gates of the Underworld, where the souls of the dead streamed through like cars on the Jersey Turnpike. Sitting in the middle of the gateway was Hades’s pet, the three-headed monster Rottweiler named Cerberus.
Cerberus snarled and snapped at Psyche, knowing she was human and would make a tasty meal.
A tasty meal, Psyche thought. When she was a little girl, back at the palace, she would always sneak table scraps to the dogs. They had loved her for that.
‘Hey, boy,’ she said, trying to hide her fear. ‘Want a treat-treat?’
Cerberus’s three heads all tilted sideways. He liked treat-treats.
Psyche tossed one of her honey rice cakes. While the three heads were fighting over it, she slipped inside the gates.
Getting through the Fields of Asphodel took her a while – what with the chatter
ing shades of the dead, the Furies and the zombie border patrol – but finally Psyche reached the palace of Hades. She found the goddess Persephone in her garden, having tea in the gazebo in a grove of skeletal silver trees.
The goddess of springtime was in ‘winter mode’. Her dress was pale grey and green – the colour of frost on grass. Her eyes were watery gold like the December sun. She didn’t seem surprised to see a seven-months-pregnant mortal lady stumbling into her garden.
‘Please, sit,’ said Persephone. ‘Have some tea and scones.’
Tea and scones sounded great to Psyche since she’d been living off Aphrodite’s stale bread crusts, but she’d heard too many stories about eating food in the Underworld.
‘Thank you, no,’ she said. ‘My lady Persephone, I have an unusual request. I hope you can help me. Aphrodite wonders if she can borrow some of your beauty cream.’
Behind Persephone, a patch of purple flowers wilted. ‘Excuse me?’ said the goddess.
Psyche explained her problem with Eros. She did her best not to cry, but she couldn’t disguise the pain in her voice.
Persephone sized up this mortal woman. The queen was fascinated. Persephone had had her own marriage problems. She’d had her share of run-ins with Aphrodite, too. She guessed that the love goddess had sent Psyche here, hoping Persephone would get mad enough to kill her.
Well … Persephone wasn’t going to do Aphrodite’s dirty work for her. If the love goddess wanted to borrow some magic, though, Persephone had just the thing.
‘Open the box,’ Persephone said.
The goddess breathed into her own hand. Light collected in her palm like quicksilver. Persephone poured it into the rosewood box and closed the lid.
‘There you are,’ said Persephone. ‘But this is important, child: do not open the box. What is inside is only for Aphrodite. Do you understand?’
‘I understand,’ said Psyche. ‘Thank you, my lady.’
Psyche felt elated. Finally! She retraced her steps through the Underworld, using her second rice cake to distract Cerberus and her second drachma to pay Charon for passage across the river. She climbed back to the mortal world and began the long journey to Aphrodite’s palace.