In the trenches of the underworld, Nyx prepares a pot of honey for her daughter. Consumed by darkness, Nyx assumes the honey is filled with bright amber patterns, but it would be impossible for her to tell in such murk. She gives the spoon a lick and wanders off into the steaming hot alleys of Tartarus.
When she reaches the edge of the underworld and enters Creation, her black-mist wings transform into a cloak, shielding her from the light spreading over the horizon. Her heart tugs when she sees her daughter Hemera approaching, blotting out Night, removing all of Nyx’s work and the trail of Darkness left behind by her lover, Erebus. Nyx pushes the pot of honey toward the approaching light and leaves it in the middle of a meadow.
A gift for Hemera. She does this every morning.
Nyx has not spoken to her daughter since Chaos gave her the role of Night and Hemera the duty of Day. But lately, she has been plotting how to visit her daughter despite grim warnings. Erebus is quick to remind her of Zeus’s commands, delivered by Chaos himself:
The Night may never meet the Day. You may never touch nor speak. You may only catch a glimpse of one another at dawn and dusk.
A glimpse is not enough. Not for Nyx.
Nyx retreats to a foxhole to escape the incoming light of Hemera. When she peeks out, Hemera’s light weaves trillions of golden threads across Creation. Nyx eyes the honey pot sitting in the meadow. How small. How dull. But oh, how Hemera adored honey as a child!
Besides honey, Nyx has made a habit of leaving messages of love for Hemera during the Night. She traps her darkness inside caves, boxes, barrels, foxholes, entrenchments of all kinds. She hides her love among the secret crevices of human homes. Beneath a sofa. Inside a kettle. Behind the tongue of a shoe. She always wonders if Hemera opens them. Does it bring her peace?
Ah, she will never know due to this terrible misfortune. She must know though. This tug. Oh, this tug aches and burns inside her.
While Hemera pulls the veil of light over the land, riding in her luminescent chariot, Nyx waits. Her agitation grows. She will not back away. She will embrace her daughter despite Zeus’s commands. Zeus fears her; she relishes this. A fool who got lucky with power, she reminds herself.
Ah. Hemera comes.
Nyx slips from the foxhole, her eyes squinting with pain from the incoming light. But at the moment of near collision, just when she can make out the solemn expression on Hemera’s face, Nyx fizzles into gray mist. She retreats to the underworld, replaying her daughter’s sorrow in her mind.
When she reenters the underworld, Erebus glides toward her in a mist of darkness. He morphs into the form of a man. He sidles close as they walk forward down a dark, craggy aisle. “It’s too early for dawn,” he purrs. “You left when I needed you.”
“You know I prefer you want me, not need me.” She gives him a cool look. “And either way, I wanted an early start. I was leaving honey out for Hemera.”
Erebus tries to keep up. “Of course I want you.”
“Well, perhaps you could join me next time. She’s your daughter too; act as though that means something.”
“It means everything.”
Nyx smiles but it fades. Her pace slows. “I was so close this time. She appeared sad, Erebus.”
Erebus breathes in slowly. “Oh, my love. Hemera is grown. There’s nothing we can do now. Besides, it’s our other children we must worry about.”
Nyx pauses as they reach the entrance of their cave. “Who now?”
“Same ones as always.”
Nyx shuts her eyes and imagines the faces of her troubled children. All of them so strange and misunderstood. The descendants of Nyx and Erebus, Night and Darkness, surely cannot all shine bright like Hemera. But at the very least, they can be understood. She wonders how she might ever relay this to Humanity.
Using her misty black wings, Nyx pulls away particles of fog and creates vaporous portraits of each grown child. She holds a smoke-like image of Eris in her palm, goddess of Strife. Then she takes a piece of mist from the portrait and creates the likeness of her youngest daughter, Oizys. Poor Oizys. Bringer of Misery, afflicted by her own poison.
Nyx dips into the black mist again and creates a silhouette of Thanatos, servant of Death. Thanatos has no easy job; Nyx frequently tells companions. He follows the Fates’ guidelines, obeying orders, traversing Night and Day, witnessing sadness, cruelty, and wickedness every solitary moment. He has no peace, Nyx says, as though she must defend his honor.
She pulls from the mist again and crystallizes an image of Charon, the ferryman of souls who carries the dead to their final resting spots.
“He’s just a chauffeur,” Nyx says to Erebus. “Who has fault with him?”
“Humanity does,” Erebus sighs. “They have a scheme to end their alleged chaos.”
Nyx enters the cave with an eye roll, remembering other schemes attempted by Humanity. Human schemes are mere blips in the span of time and laughable at best, she thinks. Nyx releases the portraits of her children. They fuse together and cling to her spine as shadowy wings once again.
She retreats to her den, where she gazes into an iridescent sphere, reciting an incantation to keep the witches of Creation safe.
“I should get back to work,” she says. “Humanity has become infuriated over witches again. Death and murder are on the rise. So of course, the witches are to blame. Witches. Not the sewage pipes!” She groans. “I’m keeping them safe in the shadows I left behind. Barns, closets, beneath floorboards. Just until things calm down. I have to focus on them now, Erebus.”
Erebus glides toward Nyx, almost knocking her sphere to the ground. Nyx rescues it, holding it tight against her chest. Her dark wings push a cloud of fog against Erebus, keeping his clumsy self away from the delicate sphere. She places the sphere delicately upon its floating black fog, dusting its surface with her cloaked sleeve.
“I’m sorry,” Erebus says, rising to his feet. “I know the witches are important to you. But humanity’s scheme is significant this time. They plan to block out Night and Darkness, my love. Entirely.”
“Entirely?”
“Entirely. They say our children cause mayhem in the Night, in Darkness.”
Nyx laughs. “But not in the Day? They’re bound only to our shift, Erebus?!”
Erebus breathes. “I know. I know. Humanity is not always as perceptive as you.”
She huffs. “Let them have their fun. I’m sure this scheme will be fruitful.” She glances into her sphere.
A young witch idling in her cabin appears inside the smoky lens. Hemera’s lightwork shines through the witch’s cottage. It’s beautiful Light, but much too dangerous for the witch. With a whisper, Nyx brings darkness into the witch’s home through shadows. She smiles, relieved, but then gravity hits.
“Wait.” A heavy pause. “If there is no Night, then I’m physically bound to the underworld forever, save for the shadows I’ve left behind. I’d not catch a glimpse of my Hemera or her Light ever again. I wouldn’t be able to hide any new messages for her.”
She holds onto Erebus as the sphere powers down and the cave of Tartarus grows darker than it’s ever been.
At dusk, Nyx summons her four-horse chariot from the depths of Tartarus and moves toward the sky. Erebus trails behind her as a shadowy curtain. Nyx paints the firmament black and midnight blue as she watches Hemera retreat over the skyline, her back turned. Honey is salient in the air. Chariot sailing, the eventide comes as Nyx covers the edges of Creation with Night. Erebus follows, scattering his dark glaze throughout.
Below, a cottage sits among the treetops. Nyx senses the spirit of the young witch from her sphere. She pulls her chariot down to the soil. Erebus follows dutifully.
The cottage, framed by pines, is cold as she enters. A whisper comes from a narrow closet. Nyx recognizes the soft voice of Hecate—a humble witch who speaks soft prayers to ward selfish spirits from the village. A thankless job, Nyx thinks.
“I’ll hide messages for Hemera while you shroud the cottage in Darkness,” Nyx instructs Erebus. “Hecate will be safe for the time being, lest these witch hunters grow stupidly valiant in the dead of my Night.”
Nyx drifts to the ground and kneels, placing a shadow from the pit of her heart. From there, she shifts to the settee, where she gently tucks darkness between cushions and arranges the bundle behind crooks of pillows, should Hemera decide to visit Hecate’s cottage in the morning. She places a thick coating of Night behind a golden mirror hanging on the wall.
When she stands, light streaks across her face. Her eyes sizzle with pain from the sudden glow. She calls out for Erebus, but he does not answer. Where is he? She could curse him.
How could Light be so bright at this hour? This must be the scheme Erebus warned about. Witch hunters storm the cottage bearing torches, bearing…something else. A different type of light, affixed to rods with built-in light. But there is no fire coming from these strange instruments. Whatever they are, they shine brightly on their own and Nyx feels her strength fizzle in such terrible presence.
She assumes these light rods are some invention from Hephaestus, god of Manufacturing. Did humanity steal this light source? Or did Hephaestus provide it intentionally? Didn’t he know it would bring harm to witch folk? To her??? Does one not test such experimental novelties first?
The witch hunters storm the cottage, knocking over drawers and mirrors, displacing her carefully placed shadows. Nyx tumbles into the closet where Hecate hides, but the witch girl is already gone. The hunters barge into the closet with their lights, drilling into the essence of Nyx. She dissolves before they can do further damage.
Outside, Hecate is running toward the woods, following Erebus’s trail of Darkness.
“Keep going. Do not turn around,” Nyx whispers in the direction of the girl.
A witch hunter speeds after the witch with his rod of light; Nyx feels the girl’s pulse as if it were her own. The witch girl fades into the wood just as Erebus arrives and stands firm with his sheet of Darkness. The hunter’s light cannot penetrate his black veil. Nyx exhales, as the entirety of the forest is covered black. Erebus comes near.
“Here I thought you fled. You were protecting the little witch.”
“Yes,” Erebus says, fighting off the pain of light.
The hunter drops his rod and retreats, but not before Nyx’s heart shrinks to a prune.
“They removed my messages,” she rasps.
Erebus glides his hand along her silken arm. “Hemera knows you love her.”
She looks at him, speaking slow. “She may know, but you can’t ever tell them enough.”
The two move to the firmament to finish their solemn work. All the while, they speak hurriedly about Humanity and its obtuse fears.
“They believe Thanatos roams only during your Night,” Erebus says. “And only through my Darkness. That’s why they want to eliminate us both.”
She speaks quickly. “And they believe he’s connected to the witches somehow too I bet. Get rid of the witches, get rid of Thanatos. How stupid.”
“Our poor son.”
Nyx sighs. “Sometimes I think witches are misunderstood like our children.”
“Sometimes I think that too.”
The lovers are lost in banter when light floods from below, striking them both down. Nyx’s chariot clunks to the soil and fizzles to pieces. Nyx evaporates and reappears in the woods. Her chariot and all its horses reassemble and gallop toward her. Erebus, panting, joins her. They peer from the brush.
Humanity has lined the cobblestone streets with tall poles holding more and more orbs of this odd, synthetic light. This invention mimics the Light of Hemera in such cruel fashion Nyx swears she could keep her Night from Humanity forever; let them never rest. Soaring up through the trees, Nyx rises above Creation. The land is speckled with lights of white and orange, and yellow, blue, and green.
She squints, wondering how she can perform through such obstacles. But more than anything, she wonders if this will block her from dawn.
Hemera.
A roar rises inside her; she screams, creating a gust of wind. Nyx roams the perimeter of the woods where she’s safe, observing the synthetic lights from the trees.
She pauses when she spies her daughter Eris, goddess of Strife, fleeing the village. Eris runs from Humanity’s light, looking to unleash Discord elsewhere. Nyx calls out for her other daughter, Oizys, goddess of Misery, and spots her sitting on a wooden bench beside an exhausted-looking man who appears too withered to find food or shelter. Oizys wraps an arm around him; she does not look up when her mother calls. She appears quite content, and so Nyx does not bother her.
Nyx intends to seek out her other children when something cold tickles her neck. Thanatos brushes a finger across her shoulder. She turns to him. His fibrous cloak is matted with nails and teeth. His wings appear torn. His eye sockets are deeper than usual and without any sign of rest inside them. Nyx feels her heart shatter for her son.
Thanatos drops to his knees and holds onto her, weeping into her waist. She feels a familiar tug. Nyx recalls the last time Thanatos came to her this way—during war. The responsibility was too much, too heavy, and Thanatos did not see eye to eye with the Fates.
“I’m sorry,” Nyx breathed, “that I can’t fix everything for you.”
She brushes human hair and crisp leaves off his cloak. “Except maybe this robe. After Night, come to Tartarus for something new.”
Thanatos grips her hand. His gray face bunches. His voice is nothing more than a deep whisper. “Mother, it’s the witches.”
His eyes illuminate. Inside them: witches burning, fire blazing from the hollows of his eyes; pain spills from them, freezing the barks of trees.
“They’re burning and dying,” he says straight. “A fire is scheduled tonight. I can’t take another. I cannot bring my curse to another witch. Take my duty, Mother. Give it to Eris. She has no concern for fairness. Death would suit her better.”
Nyx quite agrees. But she doesn’t say. When she looks at her son, some part of her curses Chaos and Zeus giving this disastrous weight to such a sweet, impressionable child. It is unforgivable. This is an impossible situation, she thinks; she’d never say it aloud though. She strokes her son’s matted hair. There’s a silent void after his cry melts into her hip, and she knows there is only one thing she can do to shield him from his pain.
At least for tonight. She must protect the witches.
“The woods,” she says. “They’ll be safe in the woods.”
Thanatos nods but grows suddenly transfixed, staring ahead. Nyx knows why; he’s been called forth to end a life tonight. Thanatos explains quietly that it’s a troubled boy who has drunk too much of his father’s ale, alone in his cottage.
“Your father and I will stop the fire tonight,” she promises before he goes. “No witches will die. Only a boy who drank too much. Lest that be a lesson to his brothers.”
Thanatos smiles a pinch then breathes a heavy sigh. When he leaves, she clutches her heart.
Nyx and Erebus find each other in the woods and glide through the village on chariot, weaving in and out of the sporadic light. When they accidentally steer into a column of buzzing light, Nyx dissolves into black vapor. She reappears in a tree’s shadow, shaking off the bite. The woods, she reminds herself. If I can just get the witches to the woods.
With each puncture of light, Nyx knows she grows weaker and frailer. She realizes she must form a plan before the light takes her out completely. She turns to Erebus. “Coat the woods in extra Darkness? I’ll go where they lead the witches. I’ll take the poor girls to the woods with me. Ensure Darkness, Erebus. Complete, impenetrable Darkness.”
“I will, my heart.”
“My heart,” she echoes back, “thanks you.”
Though she never calls upon gods or goddesses for help, Nyx wonders who might be of service tonight. She thinks of the elements ahead. Heat. Fire. Smoke. There is only one god who can stop such things: Zeus. She’d rather lose her wings than ask for his help though.
Later, Nyx finds Humanity crowded near a massive pile of logs. Witches are transported over cobblestones in jail-like chariots. Behind bars, they call out for their mothers, their fathers. They shout, “Innocence!” Time spirals on, and the witches are led from the chariots toward the logs, where a thick pole awaits them.
Nyx watches Humanity laugh and spit as the witches are dragged with ropes around their wrists and necks. Guards yank them forward. Hecate is among them. Above, synthetic lights power on. Nyx fades to gray, crawling toward the shadows to resume her full form.
As the girls are led to the log pit, she sees Thanatos dragging his feet toward the scene. Nyx runs to him, trying to push him back. Thanatos weeps as he pushes against his mother, onward toward the witches.
In mere seconds, Nyx flees to the village where she first spotted Oizys. Desperation churns like a rattle inside her. Oizys is still with the emaciated man on the wooden bench. Nyx crawls toward her daughter, ill from the rods of light lining the streets even here. When she reaches her, Nyx is no more than fog.
Weakly, she whispers, “I need you at the town square. Please bring Misery to those who wish harm on the witches.”
“I am with someone right now,” Oizys says slowly. “For once I’m happy.”
“Your brother needs you. He cannot take the life of one more innocent witch.”
“I cannot leave this man, Mother.”
Oizys places a hand on the man’s shoulder, causing him to weep heavily in silence.
“Bring him with you. He will see the terrible thing humanity tries to do, and then he will need you even more.”
Oizys looks into the distance, inspired by this. She picks herself up sluggishly and leads the troubled man toward the town square.
On their way, Nyx spots Eris laughing between two men caught up in a drunken quarrel. Eris holds them both by the collars, reveling in her power as they launch insults and spit fury back and forth.
“Eris,” Nyx calls, weak as twigs, but her daughter seems to hear. A miracle.
Eris releases the men. Without her ruthless grip, they back off from one another and stumble off in separate directions, unbothered.
“Mother!” Eris cries. “Why did you distract me? It took me all day to get those two riled up.”
Nyx sighs, secretly wishing her daughter had a more reputable role than Strife and Discord.
“Sorry,” she says. “But might you bring that energy toward the town square? There is a murder of many I must stop. I’m useless with Humanity’s new lights.”
“Sounds dull. There’s no fun in witch burnings anymore. It’s become too habitual.”
Every word hurts; she’s barely there. “There are new crowds tonight,” she attempts. “Many of them have drunk ale. You’ll have the opportunity to be extremely creative. Besides, I’ve not seen your work up close lately.”
Eris bunches her lips. “Well I have been coming up with some new moves. Spit and new curse words. No one appreciates them.”
“I want to see,” Nyx whispers.
Eris smiles strangely. “You’ll love it, Mother.” Nyx wishes her daughter would come and hug her, but no. Her wild one runs off like a mad storm instead.
Nyx travels in the shadows with Oizys, trying to catch up to Eris’s pace. When they arrive at the square, logs are arranged to be lit. Thanatos waits in the shadows. Nyx’s son Charon has arrived, standing dutifully beside Thanatos. As much as she has missed her other son, Nyx trembles at the sight of him. She stands in shadows opposite and releases her daughters into the madness before her, hoping she is making the right decision.
The witches are bound by rope to a large pole in the center of the woodpile while Humanity commands the gates of Hell to open. Hecate is bound by a thick rope around her neck. A man among the group draws a matchbox from his trousers and prepares to make fire. Nyx holds her breath, frantically waiting for her daughters to do something.
Anything.
She spots Oizys standing ill-postured and sleepy. Then there’s Eris, arms crossed, plotting. Nyx catches Erie’s conspiratorial look right before she approaches the man with the match. When the man strikes it, Eris plucks it from his fingers and drops it onto the pant leg of the man nearest him. Eris cackles as the man rolls onto the grass to calm the fire traveling the length of his body.
The man with the matches attempts another try. This time, Eris takes the lit match and tosses it onto a frail woman’s dress, causing the old woman to go up in flames. Eris rolls to the ground with laughter. Boos and hisses arise from the crowd, and soon men are shouting and pushing one another in their attempts to get the fire started. Nyx watches Oizys grab onto bystanders, drawing them closer into the brawl with her.
Meanwhile, Nyx waits nervously in a pool of shadows. The man who was once in charge of the fire now has two teeth missing. Nyx feels suddenly light. There is moaning and groaning and doubt weaving through the crowd; Thanatos and Charon begin to back away. Eris and Oizys continue their work as the crowd grows more unsettled. Meanwhile, the witches wait in ropes, still shouting their innocence.
Eventually, Eris starts the fire herself. She lights the nearest bushes, creating a circle of flames around the town square. She parades around the townsfolk, laughing and skipping as she goes. Nyx squints, trying to see past the sudden blaze. Her chest warms, impressed by her daughter’s trickery.
The crowd studies the encircling flames, seemingly unsure whether to stay or leave. Oizys has let go of the troubled man she spent so much time with, and he sways, unsure what to do with himself. Eris seems to notice him. Quickly, she dashes off to pilfer silver coins from the trousers of the man with two missing teeth, the tyrant who attempted to burn the witches. She returns to Oizys and her troubled man, stuffing coins into his palm.
Eris cries with laughter as the once-penniless man smiles and runs off with haste. Oizys tries to follow him, this man she’s come to favor and adore, but Eris holds her back. Nyx watches as Oizys seems to sink further into suffering because of this great loss.
However, Oizys soon discovers new victims to befoul and hangs onto them like a sticky seed. Before long, those infected by Misery appear too distraught to stay, and the only remedy for such anguish is to simply leave the town square.
Eris is caught up in a fight between two men when the man with missing teeth grabs a torch from the sidelines and dips it into a burning bush. He brings the torch toward the witches. Eris tries to stop him, but the man is quick. He lights the logs. A sharp, burning scent reaches Nyx, and the sound of witches screaming is worse than anything she has heard from the furthest pits of Tartarus.
Humanity crows. The town square burns. She calls for Erebus, but he is too far off. She calls for Eris next, but she is completely unreachable, mad with power. Oizys leads more townsfolk away from the fire and weeps alongside them. Nyx can barely see through the flames. But she does see Thanatos walking toward the witches.
Nyx looks up at the stars, realizing she has spent far too much time among Creation. Soon, Hemera will arrive, and Nyx must retreat to Tartarus. But how can she leave the witches? How can she leave her son with such insurmountable pain? And Hecate. The pressure in her chest is intolerable.
For a moment, Nyx considers making the journey to Zeus. A simple bolt of lightning would send the crowd fleeing. She mulls over the possibilities. But it will take too long. And she will not grant him the satisfaction.
Hecate screams. The high-pitched howl penetrates Nyx. She crawls along the ground, pulling herself forward, flickering in and out. She finds Eris and grabs hold of her ankle. Eris turns. Nyx gestures toward the witches. For once, her daughter seems to understand.
Eris pushes into a crowd of bystanders, knocking them over, before leaping toward the witches. She grabs a burning torch from someone and brings it to the pole. Fire climbs onto their garments. The girls squeal as the fire draws close and the flames rise. Eris takes the tip of her torch and lights the rope binding the girls to the pole. In mere moments, it crackles and snaps, uncoiling its fibers.
The girls are free.
Eris leads them off the logs and pushes them to the ground to snuff out the flames.
“Now you all see! They used sorcery to escape. Don’t let them get away!” the man with missing teeth yells.
The town square is completely alight with fire, but a few remaining townsfolk stand among the flames, determined to ensure the witches’ deaths. Nyx gasps and swallows for air beneath a rod of light. She is fading. On the ground, she squints. She sees witches pinned beneath men; a few of them have drawn knives.
Hardly breathing, Nyx calls out for another child. The only one she thinks might be able to help now. Eris is too struck with power, and Oizys has trailed off in search of the troubled man she loved again.
“Hypnos,” Nyx whispers into the void. “HYPNOS!”
She screams with her last remaining breath. Some of Humanity carry buckets of water, but it is not enough to tame the wildfire. The whole village is awake with fear. Not ideal for Hypnos, god of Sleep, her eldest son. Nyx cries out for him nonetheless.
She wonders if he is lounging on the island of Lemnos, surrounded by his sons, floating down the river of oblivion known as Lethe. Oh, to be there now. Every time she visits, she always feels so relaxed. Hypnos treats her so well, as though he is the responsible parent and not she. The way he carries himself with such assuredness, such measure, she sometimes wonders how he learned to be so independent when her other children have not.
On the ground, withering and pressed by blinding light, she ponders the peculiarity of Motherhood. How can Night come so easily to her, but Motherhood remain a mystery?
Eyes cold and fading, Nyx watches from the ground as best she can. Eris strikes the men who attempt harm on the witches, provoking internal senseless Chaos among them. They don’t even seem to remember why they’re there; they’ve turned on one another so predictably. Nyx calls out for Hypnos once again.
Before she can utter the final syllable of his name, he appears beside her and he kisses her cheek. She looks up at her grown son and strokes the soft white wings sprouting from his temples. Hypnos surveys the scene before him, inhales deep, then breathes out long. Nyx does not need to give him instructions. He understands what needs to be done.
Moonlight pushes through the clouds as Hypnos steps through flames. He lassos puffs of smoke into his palms and slides columns of fog into the throats of the angry. Nyx watches as the inhalation sends them crashing to the ground in slumber. Meanwhile, Eris helps the witches rise to their feet and gives two lit torches to Hecate.
Nyx peers at the golden moon. Soon she must retreat to Tartarus. The men in the square sleep, but it is only a matter of time before authorities arrive and blame their slumber on the witches. The witches still need protection, Nyx thinks.
Eris and Hypnos help Nyx to her feet, leading her and the witches toward the woods. Hecate pioneers the way with her torches. Nyx is but a feather of her flickering self; yet, as she exits the light, with her children beside her, her energy is renewed. She discovers Erebus shielding the forest in Darkness. She utters an exhausted greeting to him before retreating into the dark wood with the band of witches.
“I must return to Lemnos,” Hypnos whispers at her side as they crunch through wooded leaves.
Her stomach plunges. “Please stay. Just a bit longer,” she pleads.
“Only a bit,” Hypnos acquiesces.
Nyx releases her breath, wishing she could hold onto all of her children forever. Then comes the cackle of Eris. Nyx thought her daughter was right beside her, but now she discovers Eris prancing among the trees, hollering at crows who echo back her laughter. Eris returns to her mother’s side. Nyx grabs hold of her and keeps her still as the others continue onward.
“Thank you,” Nyx says. “I beam with pride at the work you have done tonight…”
Eris crosses her arms in the darkness. “But…?”
Nyx looks into her daughter’s fiery eyes. She is grown and yet still so naive. Nyx speaks softly to her, remembering a time she once cradled her daughter at the breast. “Eris, my love,” Nyx pauses. “We need peace in the woods tonight. Not Discord.”
Eris’s face bunches in the shadows, shooting pain into Nyx’s heart. Not another word. Eris dissipates without notice, unleashing Discord elsewhere.
In an open field in the forest, the witches collect wood and Hecate makes a pacifying fire using her torches. Nyx and Erebus keep a comfortable distance from the flames. Soon, Hypnos brushes a hand over each witch, sending them into restful, warm slumbers beside the fire.
“It will be a grand sleep,” Hypnos says. “They will awaken with wisdom and intuitiveness.”
“How can I thank you, my son?” Nyx asks, holding his hands in hers.
Hypnos appears to reflect upon the question with great sincerity.
“Be content,” he whispers. “Whatever may cause delight, find it. Find the missing piece, whatever it may be. Then the Night, your Night, Mother, will be respite for us all. A place we can arrive unmasked and comfortable. We will feel your joy in the darkest shadows of Night.”
A tear drips as a flame crackles. “Thank you, my wise son. I will.”
Erebus interrupts unsanctimoniously. “Night is almost complete.”
Hypnos walks off into the Darkness. Now Nyx is left alone with her worrying lover.
“Dawn is coming,” he says. “Summon the chariot. Let us go.”
Nyx watches over the sleeping witches. She wonders if they have mothers, or if they are mothers themselves. This hurts for some reason. Then she thinks of Hypnos and his request. She would do anything for her children.
“They are all loved, but Hemera is the one banished from. She is missing piece,” Nyx says. “I need to see her. I need to touch her. I need to know her. Let me be the mother my children need me to be.”
“You already are,” Erebus says as he begins to fade.
He takes Darkness with him, leaving Nyx and the witches in a gray haze. A rumble comes from beyond the pines. The burning sun rises from the depths. Nyx feels the presence of Hemera moving over the horizon. She cannot see her yet, but she feels an intrinsic urge to leave. An unseen force—placed by Chaos—remains inside her, commanding her to retreat to the underworld.
Every particle of her being instructs her to go. It manifests as pain. Her heart and bones cry out in despair. Her gaseous wings thicken to protect her from the incoming light. Everything inside her screams:
Leave. Dissolve. Retreat.
But she does not.
Hemera appears far off through the trees. Nyx shields her eyes, but she does not back down. The light is overpowering and hurts her. She digs her heels into the soil and waits for her daughter’s Light. Black mist coils around her, protecting her as best it can.
Hemera and her chariot pause in the glade beside the sleeping witches. A look of confusion is etched across her face as she meets the border of Darkness left by Erebus. Nyx remains unmoving as she waits for Hemera to interpret this glitch. From above, it might appear that Light and Dark are facing one another, two walls meeting.
Nyx raises her chin, witnessing her daughter through a dark veil. Hemera speaks, but her rays overpower any sound. Nyx makes out one word.
Mother.
She walks forward.
“Fear of disobeying orders,” Nyx mumbles to herself, “is far more frightening than the act itself.”
Nyx inches closer to her daughter. The light is white and blinding. Hemera seems to mute her vibrance to a pale pink. With this sudden change, Nyx can see better. And the last thing she witnesses before Hemera melts into her arms is her daughter’s smile.
The world around them explodes into color.
Leaves blow throughout the forest as Night and Day blend into gray, pink, periwinkle, rose, gold, straw, cobalt. Their colors scrape through the village, Light and Dark commingling to create an entirely new appearance of air. Mother and daughter hold onto each other, no matter how strange it might appear to the Gods, to Humanity.
“I didn’t know we were allowed to break the rules,” Hemera says.
Nyx turns to face her daughter.
“Keeping a mother from her child is a rule to be broken. I think Creation will like these new colors, don’t you?”
“Can you feel the change in the atmosphere?”
“Yes,” Nyx says. “I can.”
Nyx and Hemera spend the morning together, experimenting with colors and wind and temperature and mood. They are enraptured by conversation when the witches begin to stir. Nyx quickly scoops the mist of dawn into her palms and ladles it into the mouths of the witches before they rise, adding onto Hynos’s gift.
A piece of herself. A piece of Hemera.
“For when they wake, they will have the love of Mother and Child inside them,” Nyx whispers. “Day and Night. Light and Dark. Beginning and End. Love eternal.”
Nyx holds onto her daughter for a long time. For a short while, everything is as it should be.
Bio
Elizabeth Anne Martins is a writer and musician from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. A graduate of Rosemont College’s MA in Publishing program, she works in book publishing. Her short stories and feature articles have appeared in Apiary Magazine, The Rathalla Review, and The Philadelphia Inquirer. Her short story “The Room Where Bo Was the Devil” was selected by Philadelphia’s Head & the Hand Press for its Science Leadership Academy chapbook program. Her novels include Dry Lands and Opposite World.
