One to die for
The Fields of Asphodel were filled with dust, and nothing else. Mounds and hills of grey, stifling dust. This is where you went after you had died, if you were not notably virtuous or damned. You handed Chiron, the ferryman, his coin, and he moved you to the shores of Hades, the Underworld. There, you drank from the river of Lethe, oblivion. You forgot everything, even your own name. This is where I had been placed. Hades was divided into three, but this was the largest area, for this was where most went. If you moved closer to the Fields of Punishment, you would hear the cries of the eternally damned. You could not see the Elysian fields, for the view of them was obstructed with darkness and the same, grey dust. To get to Elysium, one had to have been remarkable. This meant being a warrior and dying a glorious, bloody death in war. Dying for my husband would be remembered as a virtuous deed, something other wives should aspire to, but little appreciated by the war-loving gods. I spent three days in Hades, though I didn’t know that, for nothing ever changed there.
The Fields were also filled with spirits like mine, wandering aimlessly around, forever. They were garbed in wispy grey fabrics, with matted hair and empty eyes. Nobody talked. Nobody remembered how to. The Fields were supposed to be fully indifferent, as had been the lives of their inhabitants. Yet I hated it. I hated it, I hated it, I hated it. That is something I remember, vividly well. As if I was still there, in the dust, always.
I wandered the area, aware of nothing except for the dust and the vaguely familiar shapes of spirits moving around me. Nobody cried out in pain, as in the Fields of Punishment, yet everybody was being punished, for having lived unremarkable lives. People who had died of disease or old age or domestic accidents, cowards, women. For that crime, everybody was slowly being turned into beings resembling the suffocating grey dust that we were surrounded by.
Then, a change in the ever-continuing dullness. A force was gripping me. A voice, somehow familiar, calling out a word. My name, as I learned soon afterward. I felt as if the voice was dragging me through the dust. I offered no resistance, though I was barely even aware that I was moving. The landscape changed around me, the dust slowly dissipating. I was dragged upwards, through a tunnel, and light was quickly growing around me. Then, I felt different. I felt suddenly warm and uncomfortable and very tired. I felt alive. I looked around me, and I began to remember.
At first, I only recalled fragments. I recalled playing in a courtyard and being called inside by my mother. “Alcestis!” she had called out. That was my name, Alcestis. I recalled the image of a man and remembered loving him fiercely. Admetus, I thought, my husband, Admetus. I also remembered dying for him.
Lethe lost her effects when a spirit was taken from Hades. This happened nearly never. For a moment, I thought I had been saved by Admetus. I thought he had endangered his life, and gone into Hades, for me. He had not. I looked at the man who had saved me, and recognized him quickly: Heracles. He was a friend of my husband’s and had always been kind to me. He asked me how I felt, but I felt too weak to answer him. He began to explain what had happened. He had gone to visit Admetus and had heard of what had happened to me. And Heracles had entered my tomb, to bring me back. He had wrestled with Thanatos, god of death, and won. Then, he had called out my name, which had pulled me back to life. I had always liked Heracles. He was impulsive, yes, and stories of his moments of madness were terrifying, but he was kind and loyal and did everything he could to help his friends. Even if he had to confront Death himself, he would do it.
Upon returning to the world of the living, my wisps had been replaced by the clothes I had worn at the moment of my death. However, I now also had a veil of dark fabric over my face and found myself unable to speak. “It is because you haven’t been cleansed yet.” Heracles explained. “The air of death is about you, and before it is gone, you cannot fully return to life.” I accepted this quietly, though I was still feeling so dazed and overwhelmed that I probably couldn’t have spoken anyway.
The journey to the palace from the burial grounds was short, but it took long, for I kept slowing down and looking around at my surroundings, watching the houses, streets and marketplaces everywhere. They were all so full of life, of people and animals and carriages. The sounds and smells created an overwhelming atmosphere, which was particularly daunting after three days of silence and darkness. I was beginning to fully understand what had happened. I had died, but now I wasn’t dead anymore. I had been resurrected. I had died. I thought of Hades. The dust. I realized I would eventually return to it. This thought filled me with dread so overbearing that I shook it from my mind, forcing myself to watch the scenery. Houses, streets, people, sounds. Life. And yet, the thought lingered at the edges of my consciousness, like a shadow in the early evening, barely visible, but still undeniably present. The dust. I would return there. It was inevitable. I could not escape it.
My thoughts inevitably returned to my death. To where it had begun. Admetus had forgotten to sacrifice to the goddess Artemis on the night of our wedding. So, we had found our bedchamber filled with snakes. It was a clear omen: Admetus was to die soon. Then, a saving grace: the god Apollo. Admetus was dear to him, so he had found a way to save him. Admetus could live, if only he found somebody to die in his place. He found nobody. His parents, he felt, should have gladly volunteered their lives for that of their son, but they did not. Nobody did. Except: the virtuous wife, the loyal wife, the selfless wife. Alcestis. Me. I volunteered to die for him. I did die for him. Now I was alive again, but it felt somehow wrong.
We arrived at the palace in the evening. The sun was setting, casting ominous shadows on the ground. We were escorted into the courtroom, where Admetus was. I kept my gaze down, a vague feeling of expectation building in my mind. There was Admetus, my husband, my great love, one to die for. I would look up and feel my heart fill with joy. He was sitting on his throne with an air of easy, almost bored confidence, that suggested he had no doubt of his position. He was king of Pherae, after all. I would look up and fall even deeper in love with him. “Heracles, who have you brought with you?” he asked, in a nonchalant tone. “You know I've sworn not to take another wife. Alcestis begged me this, and I felt I couldn’t deny her this, as she had just sworn away her life for mine.” I could barely even hear the conversation, for I was becoming increasingly nervous. I would look up and feel happier than I'd ever been before. I looked up. I saw him through the fabric of the veil and felt...nothing.
Absolutely nothing. I did not have the time to process this, because the conversation continued. “Ah, but this here is Alcestis, Admetus.” Heracles said, in a joyful tone. “What do you mean?” Admetus asked. “She is dead, is she not?” I was sure I heard a note of alarm in his voice. “She was, but I have brought her back.” Explained Heracles. To this, Admetus reacted with joy. “Oh, Heracles, you magnificent man!” He shouted with joy. Then, he turned his attention to me. “Ah, Alcestis, thank the Fates, how I missed you.” The conversation continued, but I stopped listening and merely wondered at the momentary panic I had seen him experience. Heracles explained my veil and silence. Messengers were sent and it became apparent that a priestess could come in three days, to cleanse me. Until then, a stool was placed in the corner of our bedchamber, for me to sit on.
Admetus left me alone, to go feast with his friends. He told the servants to leave me alone, too. He thought I would like to be left alone. This was the last thing I wanted, but I couldn’t express it, so I accepted it and sat down on the stool. I was exhausted, yet I could not sleep, not until I’d been cleansed. Thoughts were swirling rapidly in my head. I could still barely understand the fact that I was here. I shouldn’t be here. I should be there. I would be there, soon enough. The dust. I found my thoughts too overwhelming and tried to think of something else. The alarm that had been his voice was something I couldn’t understand. My complete lack of emotion was another thing. I was sure I had loved him, before. I could still remember loving him, and yet, now, I no longer did. Both thoughts seemed like they could lead to disaster, so I tried to think of something small and simple. The stool I was sitting on. It was indeed simple, just a three-legged wooden stool, rarely used before. As I thought about it, I realized that I resented being put on it. I had died for Admetus, and he’d hidden me away, like a shameful secret. I had died, so he could live, and I'd been put away, until I'd be of use again.
Then, I understood the alarm. I had died, so he could live. I began to comprehend his thoughts. For the past three days, he had been alive, because I had been dead. Now, I was alive again. What did that mean for him? Had the exchange not worked, was Thanatos coming to fetch him at that very moment? He had panicked for fear for his life. I don’t blame him for not wanting to die. I didn’t either. Yet I had, for him. I was beginning to wish that I hadn’t.
Then, I turned my attention to the conversation that had happened, and to his reaction to Heracles telling him I was alive. What had he said to that? “Oh, Heracles, you magnificent man!” You magnificent man. Heracles had done a great deed; he deserved the praise. Yet he said nothing of the sort to me. I hadn’t died for him to earn praise, but anybody else would’ve said something. I was the reason he was even alive. But he said nothing. You magnificent man.
I also disliked the way he had talked of my last wish. I had asked him not to wed again. The way he had phrased it, though, bothered me. I had begged him. He’d felt he couldn’t do anything but agree. He’d felt obliged to grant me it and now talked of it like a chore.
I tried to move on from thinking about him. Yet a thought kept becoming clearer and clearer in my mind: I hated Admetus. I realized it was true. Three days ago, I had loved him more than anything. Now, it was as if I saw him in a completely different way. It appeared that Lethe had permanently erased my emotions, for I no longer loved him. I now saw my life as though I wasn’t myself. I was merely observing somebody else, through their eyes. Everything was familiar, but impersonal, meaningless. I had started off with a clean slate regarding Admetus, though it was soon covered with all the things that irked me about him. His confident, self-satisfied manner. His tone of voice. The stool. The alarm in his voice. Letting me die for him. I hated Admetus, almost as much as I hated Asphodel. He felt quite as suffocating, too.
I was surprised at how quickly and aggressively I'd spiraled. It was now midnight. In half a day I had gone from being dead to hating my husband. I was trying to recall all of my memories of him. When had I fallen in love with him? When he’d completed a task my father had set for my suitors? When my father had given him my dowry? At our wedding, a month after I had first met him? I wondered at how differently I now saw, not only Admetus, but my memories of him too. I wondered whether my mind was twisting my memories of him, to fit my newfound hatred of him, or whether I finally saw clearly memories, that had been twisted for years. Both possibilities frightened me, but one thing remained the same: I still despised Admetus.
Just then, he entered the room. He smelled strongly of wine and spices. He started at the sight of me, as though he had forgotten I was here. I was sure he had. “Ah, my love, how are you doing?” he asked me, in a slightly slurred voice. “Oh, of course, you cannot speak, my love, now.” He lay down on the bed and continued speaking with an increasingly drowsy voice, enunciating words at random. “You know, I had to feast with people who still insist on saying they’re my friends. They’re not, they didn’t die for me. Simply wicked, isn’t it, darling?” Then, he fell asleep.
I looked around the room, trying to see if there was something I hadn't looked at yet, for I was getting increasingly bored. Then, I noticed the blade on the table next to me. A decorative blade, probably a gift from some lord. Admetus didn’t fight much, but he liked the look of it, and sometimes he’d take it in his hand and jab the air with it. A true warrior. Still, it was undeniably a very pretty thing. Its hilt was leather, decorated with gems of some sort. The bronze blade glinted in the early sun. It has never been used, so it was still sharp. And close. So close I could easily grab it.
Three days passed, and my hatred for him grew. Admetus spent little time with me. He spent all days in the courtroom and all nights feasting. I felt myself spiraling, my feelings boiling over, my thoughts overwhelming me. I did not try to stop them. I still wondered at what he had said, the first night. He had complained of his friends, who hadn’t sacrificed themselves for him. He seemed to assume that everybody he knew should have been only too happy to die for him. I wondered whether he was an idiot or just very arrogant.
I knew he wasn’t willing to die for anybody. He could have merely told Thanatos that he would die as he was meant to, and I would’ve lived. Yet he didn’t. He watched me die and I hate him for that. I didn’t think I would. I willingly died for him; it was my choice; I didn’t blame him for it. I hated him for the way he saw my sacrifice, that it was only right. He hadn’t thanked me, for he thought it my duty to give my life for his. The virtuous wife, the loyal wife, the selfless wife. Alcestis. Me.
We could’ve both probably lived happily, if I'd just pretended that I still loved him. I didn’t want that, though. I wanted him to die.
I knew this was wrong, so I’d tried to think about other things, distract myself with memories of my childhood and the sounds of life outside. I thought of Asphodel again. This is where my thoughts always returned to, eventually. The dust. I would do anything to not go back there, I thought. Anywhere would be better than there. Anywhere. My gaze kept going to the blade. So, so close.
It is midday now. Exactly three days since I was brought back. My thoughts had been overwhelming, out-of-control, yet they are clear now. The priestess enters the chamber. She showers me with water and burns herbs, which fill the room with their bitter scent. It is quick, and it is soon over. She leaves, Admetus comes in. “Now, my love, I can finally remove your veil!” He moves towards me. “This has all been so complicated, but now, finally, we are both safe and alive. We shall live happily, shan’t we?” Complicated. This is how he sees everything, a mere complication between him and a happy life. Me, dying for him, a complication. This, this one word, This is what finally convinces me. The one step too far. He lifts my veil. I reach for the blade.