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There was once a great poet and her name was Orpheus. When she sang, the whole of time stopped to listen. The birds stopped singing, the rivers stopped flowing, even the Gods turned their ears towards Earth to listen to Orpheus’ poems. Orpheus sang of love, of hope, of joy. She was known all across Greece for her songs. For all knew of Orpheus, the lonely poet, the woman who did not seek out love and, instead, spent her days wondering.
There was one a dryad daughter of Apollo and her name was Eurydice. Eurydice was known for her love was of music. It was said that Eurydice would chase no person as long as she could remain isolated in her forest with the songs of nature. The birds and the rivers created by Mother Gaia in all her beauty. It was also said that Eurydice would die for her music.
Perhaps the rest of the story should come as no surprise.
Spring had only just begun, something Fair Eurydice delighted in as her branches unfrosted. Spring meant the revival of nature, the revival of music. Eurydice strolled through her forest, taking delight in the chirps of birds, the babbles of rivers, the snuffling of animals. Eurydice thrust out her arms and spun, taking in the joy of long awaited sunlight. Everything was perfect.
Snap.
Eurydice darted away from the sound, freezing, taking root in the soil beneath her, planting herself in her father’s father’s mother’s mother. A voice began to sail through the trees, calling for her, begging for her. Eurydice tried to force herself back but the silken voice was too compelling. As though enchanted, Eurydice followed the voice, followed it all the way to a clearing on the edge of the woods. Inside the clearing sat a woman, the most beautiful woman Eurydice had ever laid her eyes upon. No. Not beautiful. Handsome.
Her skin was lightly bronzed by sun, stark in contrast to her tousled hair, a deep gold colour, as though the Lord Hades himself had plucked gold from the Earth and placed it upon this woman’s head. Her lips were parted as she sang, eyes closed. Eurydice’s own eyes trailed down the woman’s body. Her tunic was cut off just above the knee. The pure white fabric was dirtied in spots, providing unwelcome bursts of colour compared to the embroidery as red as blood. A woven leather belt was tied around her waist, a few pouches hanging from it, animal skin Eurydice suspected, though this woman was no hunter. Her arms did not seem muscular enough to be those of one. Only a faint line of muscle was evident on her forearms, leading to calloused hands and fingers picking delicately at a lyre.
Eurydice had never heard a lyre before. As she listened to the woman’s song, she thought the instrument godly. Surely it must be, as the instrument of her father, and this woman, Eurydice added. For Eurydice was not the only one victim to this woman’s song. Eurydice watched as lions and snakes stole out of the forest towards the woman. Gods Eurydice hated snakes. Eurydice remained motionless, watching the woman, watching those fingers. And then, without any warning, the song stopped.
The animals fled and the chatter of the forest resumed, not that Eurydice had even noticed its halt. The woman’s eyes were open. A deep green, as green as the forest surrounding her. And those eyes were locked onto Eurydice.
“Come.” The woman said, her voice velvety and smooth, much like her song. “Come. I am Orpheus.” Orpheus. Orpheus smiled at Eurydice as she sat down, her lips looked soft and full. Without thinking, Eurydice pressed her mouth to the woman’s. The poet’s mouth tasted of the berries of the forest Eurydice was oh so familiar with.
“And I am Eurydice.” Eurydice whispered after their lips had parted. Orpheus smiled once more, reaching for Eurydice’s hand, her soft fingers warm and tender.
The next week, they were married. Bound as lovers forever, till death do them part. Three weeks passed and Eurydice thought them the best of her life. They would stroll together in the forest and Orpheus would sing and Eurydice would listen. Eurydice had thought her life perfect before but she had been wrong. This was perfect. Orpheus was perfect.
Of course, nothing is ever truly perfect.
Eurydice felt the bite before she saw it. It felt like a dizziness, overtaking her as powerfully as Orpheus’ songs. Oh Orpheus. Orpheus tried to fight off the snake but there could be no world where she would win. Orpheus was a lover, not a fighter. Eurydice watched the tears form in Orpheus’ earthly eyes. Eurydice wished to call to her beloved, to take her hand, but Eurydice was nothing but motionless. Motionless as she had been the first she’d laid her eyes upon Orpheus. Orpheus whispered to Eurydice, in that sweet, smooth voice.
“I will come for you my love. Wait for me.”
*
“They say the daughter of Calliope weeps for you daughter of Apollo.” Lady Persephone said, appearing next to Eurydice. The goddess’ golden skin and pink dress stood out against the dull grey silence of the Fields of Asphodel. Eurydice missed colour, missed sound, missed Orpheus. The gold of the goddess’ skin reminded Eurydice so painfully of her Orpheus. How she longed to feel her poet’s touch, hear her poet’s voice. Even just the sight of Orpheus would’ve been enough to satisfy Eurydice.
“They say Orpheus wanders the overworld in a daze, her clothes tattered, her songs muted.” Eurydice just nodded, there was no feeling here. Eurydice may have longed for her poet but that was far more than a feeling. It was a need. A list. A mind-consuming desire. Persephone noticed Eurydice’s silence. The goddess was not supposed to commune with the souls but her and Eurydice were kindred spirits. Spirits of Spring.
“Some people claim that your poet is on her way to the underworld.” The goddess chuckled to herself. “Though I doubt that.” Before the words had even died on Persephone’s tongue, there was an uproar towards the ‘entrance’ to the Fields of Asphodel. A bronze-bodied, golden-haired woman was stalking towards Persephone. Tears streamed from her earth coloured eyes. And she had a lyre.
“Where is she?” She asked the goddess. Her tone was not harsh, not angry as many would have been in her situation. Instead her voice was full of emotion, much like her songs, broken up by sobs, every word dripping with her misery.
“Please Lady Persephone. I know you are fairer than Lord Hades. I know you will allow me to see her.”
“My dear daughter of Calliope, she is beside you.”
Orpheus turned. A small gasp escaped her as she saw how dull and lifeless her lover appeared. Her once sparkling features eroded to a grey. Almost at once, Orpheus collapsed into Eurydice’s arms.
“You waited.” Her voice was a barely audible whisper, crushing Eurydice down to her soul. Eurydice longed to comfort her Orpheus, and to reassure her lover that she would always wait. For, without her lover, what was there to wait for.
Orpheus turned to Persephone.
“Please, you must let her return to me.” The gold of the goddess’ face seemed to dim at Orpheus’ words.
“That is not my call to make, daughter of Calliope. For He knows you are in His land and, by saying His name, He knows where.”
As if on cue, the Lord Hades appeared, face as grey as Asohodel and robes as black as the dead he oversaw. A crown of bone sat atop the greasy hair draped over his shoulders like wet cloth. He could not have been more different from his wife.
“Orpheus. Do you wish to die?” His voice was scratchy and rough, harsh as stone.
“No your Lord.” Orpheus responded, sinking to one knee. “Lord Hades, I’ve come to bargain.” The god stared down at her, gaze unbroken and unimpressed. “In exchange for my wife, your Lord, I offer-I offer my lyre.”
The whole of time seemed to stop, the weight of Orpheus’ words heavier than that carried by Atlas.
“This lyre was a gift from my mother Calliope, Muse of epic poetry and eloquence. I have not parted with it once since the time of my birth. But, giving it up, it is worth it for her.” Orpheus cast a desperate look towards Eurydice before turning her green eyes back to the unwavering gaze of the god. “Surely you understand that Lord Hades? Love got a wife?”
Hades’ gaze remained unchanged, black eyes boring into Orpheus’ head. Persephone turned to him and took his skeletal hands in her own. A silent agreement passed through the mismatched pair.
“Fine.” The god relented. Orpheus leapt up at once.
“But there is one condition, Mortal. You must walk one abreast. Orpheus in front. Eurydice in back. And, if you turn to look at her, even just a glimpse, she returns to me.” Orpheus nodded solemnly in response, placing her lyre carefully at the pale, sandled feet of the god.
*
The tunnel they were to travel up was dark, dark enough that they could not identify the creatures scuttling around beneath their feet. Orpheus bent over and picked up one of the creatures. In the dim light, Eurydice saw a smile form on Orpheus’ face.
“Kārabos!” Orpheus exclaimed, holding the small lobster towards Eurydice’s face. Eurydice hardly viewed this as cause for celebration. Orpheus bent again, groping blindly around for a rock. Upon finding one, she brought it down upon the head of the squirming creature. It stopped squirming. Orpheus stripped the creature of its arms.
She’s from Thrace.
Eurydice remembered. She must have learnt to do this there, for Thrace was known for its coastline. Eurydice watched her poet’s fingers as they removed lyre string from a pouch on their belt, making the lobster’s claws into something odd. How Orpheus did this in the blackness of the tunnel was beyond Eurydice. After a few moments more of tinkering, Orpheus turned back to Eurydice.
“Kārabos.” She repeated. Her poet had created some form of clip, linking the two claws together. She flipped one onto the back of her belt, instructing Eurydice to clip the other to the front of her meager grey dress, tied round the waist with a loop of rope. As they began to walk, Eurydice understood Orpheus’ plan. It may not rival those of Daedalus and Odysseus, but Eurydice could not deny it was clever.
They seemed to walk forever. Eurydice wished she could talk to Orpheus, reassure her she was following. She could not. The kārabos would have to be enough. Eurydice began to count her steps. It happened shortly after five thousand. A splintering crack echoed through the tunnel. The kārabos had snapped. Orpheus turned. When she saw Eurydice stood there, her soft lips parted and her green eyes glittered with tears. Orpheus ran to her Eurydice, embracing her.
“Wait for me.” Orpheus whispered as her love faded into light.
As the years passed, Eurydice’s memory began to fade, another decade and the name Orpheus would mean nothing to her.
Eurydice wandered Asphodel for decades, devoid of all meaning without memory of her love. One day, she passed by another soul. The soul smelled familiar. Berries.