Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned

Persephone stood on the deck of the Boetheia and stared with baleful eyes at the island realm. There were limits to the amount of infidelity and humiliation one could be expected to bear. Hades had one more conquest to add to his list of infidelities. Admittedly, her husband was not as unfaithful a spouse as her father, but it was still too much. Her daughters were waiting to join their powers with hers, each on their own boat; Alecto in the north, Magaera in the west, and Tisiphone in the south. It was almost poetic; the Erinyes – endless anger, jealous rage, and vengeful destruction – each named for a member of the unholy trinity of retribution. They would lend her their strength, for they too had been offended by their father’s betrayal.

Hades slept, his arms around a beautiful young maiden – barely a woman. He had taught her the art of lovemaking, and she had been an adept student. They were lying on a bed of pillows, in a small house, not far from the temple of Poseidon.

Persephone imagined Hades’ hands upon his mistress’ flesh and her blood began to boil. She howled and the sea around the island city seethed and churned. It did not matter to her who had been seduced and who had done the seducing. She raised her arms and the wind rose, whipping the waves to greater heights. Each forbidden caress Persephone’s mind conjured up drove the water into a frenzied assault. With a shuddering wail, she hurled the rising sea at her husband’s love nest.

People screamed as tidal waves smashed into the city wall on all sides at once. They ran along the viaducts toward the city centre where they would find protection from the storm. As water washed over the outermost ring of the city, buildings and people were swept into the First Channel. The second wave was larger and more brutal than the first, crumbling the bridges over the spaces that permitted ingress from the ocean.

Persephone reveled in the chaos she had created, but it was not enough. She imagined Hades’ lips pressed against those of his mistress and her eyes rolled back into her head. When she focused again on the target of her rage, it was through a veil of red anger.

The heaving and frothing of the water in the First Channel intensified until it, too, was red – with the blood of those taken by the turbulent waves. The pummeling of the city wall continued relentlessly. It had broken in many places, and large gaps allowed the angry ocean to rush through. The viaducts over the First Channel, not built to withstand such violent waves, were also falling into the water. Men, women, and children stood on the Second Ring and watched as water continued to surge over the city wall. Storms had never before damaged any structure on the Second Ring, but the city wall was no longer an effective breakwater. Would they be safe here?

Persephone closed her eyes and thought of the moments of ecstasy Hades had shared with his mortal lover. The pounding of her heart quickened as the ocean crashed upon the island city, until she could no longer hear the remembered sighs of Hades’ secret pleasures for the crescendo of her own heartbeat. It became a beacon to the creatures of the deep, summoning them, drawn to her wrath. Shrieking, she commanded them to attack.

A woman picked her young son up and hugged him. The city wall would need to be rebuilt, but the storm could not reach them here. She heard a scream and looked up. The tentacles of a kraken held the ruins of a boat above the water, a man caught in its ropes and dangling. Carrying her son, she ran for the viaduct that led to the First Ring.

On the other side of the city a fisherman watched in horror as a cetus swam through the East Canal and into the Second Channel, destroying boats and feasting upon those thrust into the water. Soldiers poured from their barracks, the Second Ring primarily for military personnel, but their efforts were next to useless. Sea monsters had never plagued their paradise before, let alone breached the city wall. They were ill-prepared and ill equipped to fight this enemy.

Persephone moaned as she heard Hades’ voice in her mind, seducing her with pillow talk. Those honeyed words were never to be shared with other women. They were for her alone – or should have been. She keened as her heart succumbed to the deep betrayal she felt. She wept and the tumult of the sea subsided a little as the sky erupted in a deluge.

Rain soaked the priests’ robes as they dashed to the temple. Whatever had aroused the anger of the gods, Poseidon would hear their prayers, receive their sacrifices, and save them. This was his chosen city. He would not ignore their pleas for help.

The wind whipped Persephone’s hair into her face, stinging her cheek, and bringing her out of the oblivion that was drowning her anger. An image of the lambent delight that follows love’s blossom flashed though her mind. Hades was immortal, but there would be no rescue for his mistress. Had the earth moved for his lover when Hades shared his bed with her? If it hadn’t then, she would surely feel it moving now. Her anger aroused again; Persephone commanded the wind to resume its ruthless assault on the water. As pandemonium again erupted in the water around and within the island city, Persephone called to her daughters once more. Together, they reached deep into the earth.

Hades woke up as the ground shifted beneath him and the roof of their humble shelter collapsed. He saved himself and looked at the girl. Her face had been spared by the falling marble tiles. She was as beautiful in death as she had been in life, but only a passing dalliance. Had Persephone found out? Was she responsible for wreaking this havoc? Either way, it was time to go. He would have to make it up to Persephone somehow – the making up would be worth it.

Persephone could feel it. Hades had left. It was time to wrap things up. Tisiphone had suggested the inspired finale to her father’s retribution. According to her plan, Charybdis had been persuaded to abandon her rocky post on the Strait of Messina – just long enough to rid the ocean of one small island. Persephone probed the ocean depths until she found the monster, waiting for instruction. She spoke into her mind, commanded her, and then watched as the ocean swirled around the ruins of the realm that had sheltered her husband and his lover in their bucolic bliss. The rain stopped as the island slowly disappeared beneath the water, her revenge complete. And yet, her hurt and anger were not diminished.

A company of the dead rowed the Boetheia away from the disappearing maelstrom; Hades nodded to Charon as he carried his lover across the river Styx; Atlantis was no more.