“Homer,” Pandy said, slowly and softly, fighting her tears. “That’s not the only reason you’ve stayed and we all know it. You are part of this. We’ve been . . . family . . . for a long time now. And we need your strength. You know that, Homer. There’re so many things we wouldn’t have gotten through without you. Alcie almost drowned, but you knew what to do. Iole couldn’t have made it to shore . . . what? . . . two, three days ago. No, we need you. This whole thing is my fault. Always has been. It has to be me.”
“No,” Iole said.
“Guys . . . ,” Alcie murmured.
“Iole,” Pandy continued, “I started this, but you can finish it. You know how to use the net just as well as I do. You know how to read the map. You don’t need me.”
“Like Hades,” Iole said. “It’s going to be me.”
“Iole, knock it off,” Pandy said. “You put something in the box all by yourself only days ago. You don’t need me anymore, and I’m going to do this.”
“Guys?” Alcie said.
“Pandy,” Iole rushed on. “I’m the one you don’t need. I’m little and frail and my stamina still isn’t a match for you all. And now, to make things really difficult, I’m lame. Yes, I’m smart, but you’re just as smart, only you don’t know it yet. You think of everything one second after I do . . . you always come up with the right answer. You have to stay. Zeus himself entrusted this whole journey to you. It’s always been in your hands. You are the leader, Pandy.”
“Iole . . .”
“Pandy . . .”
Alcie abruptly put her hands out in front of her. Then she choked back a tremendous sob.
“All of you,” she said with so much weight and authority that Pandy and Iole both stopped midsentence. “Just stop.”
After a moment, she began to speak.
“I don’t want anyone to interrupt me. You know, you guys never let me speak.” A small, sad smile of resignation crept over her face. “This is all very, very silly. Pandy, you’re not going anywhere. And Iole, you’re too important. And Homie . . . Homer, so are you. The only one you don’t need is . . . me.”
“Alce—”
“Let me finish.” She shrugged her shoulders and gave a tiny, pathetic laugh. Then she quickly reached into the red leather pouch at her waist and pulled out all the coins. Grabbing for Pandy’s hand, Alcie thrust the silver and gold into Pandy’s palm.
“Take them,” she said.
“Stop it,” Pandy began.
“Take them!”
Alcie paused.
“I’m dead weight, Pandy . . . and we all know it. Yes, I’m funny, but I’m not smart. Not like the two of you. I don’t think before I talk; I shoot off my mouth and you have to pinch me to keep me from really getting us into trouble. Someone always has to save me or save us from something I’ve done. I couldn’t walk straight for the longest time and that slowed us down . . . and now I’m blind. I can’t even move without one of you. I don’t have any special skills and I’m not particularly strong or very clever. The only thing I am is your best friend, Pandy . . . and you too, Iole. And even in death, I will always be your best friend. Forever. So will you just let me prove it?”
“Alcie, that’s ridiculous,” Pandy began urgently.
“It’s me!” Alcie shouted, instantly on the move, groping her way back out into the center of the aisle.
“No, it’s not!” Pandy screamed.
“Yes, it is!” Alcie said. “I said it first. We’ve decided. Take me.”
“Oh, goody,” said Aphrodite.
Homer tried to pull Alcie to him, but she slapped his hand away so hard that he jerked it back, stung.
Pandy rushed into the aisle and grabbed for Alcie with her good arm, but with amazing speed Alcie felt for Pandy’s shoulder and shoved her so hard that Pandy fell backward over an unfinished column base.
“Alcie!” Iole screamed.
“Shut up!” Alcie barked in Iole’s direction. Then her face and voice softened. “I have to.” She turned her head and shouted again, “It’s me! I’m the one. Oh, Gods, I can’t see where I’m going.”
“Don’t worry,” came Aphrodite’s voice from the altar. “I’ll guide you.”
Instantly, Alcie was transported to a spot directly in front of Aphrodite. She swayed for a moment, unsupported by anything, and stretched her arms out, mouthing silent prayers in the hope that, whatever was coming, it wouldn’t be painful.
It was only then that Pandy saw the long black snake slithering past them, fast, up the main aisle. As they watched, the snake approached Alcie’s right ankle, reared back, and opened its mouth wide, exposing long white fangs. Homer tried to run but found he was rooted to his spot. Pandy and Iole, too, were immobilized, kept by Aphrodite from helping Alcie in any way. Pandy tried to yell but found her voice was gone. They watched in horror as, with a speed almost too quick for the human eye, the snake buried its fangs in Alcie’s lower leg. She cried out in agony and clawed at the air around her as she fell to her knees. She lay on her stomach for a minute, then she flipped onto her back, her body convulsing in small spasms.
Pandy thought she was going to lose her mind. There was only one other time when she’d felt so helpless, angry, and lost: when she was watching Iole dangling over the white-hot fire in the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. And then, just like now, Pandy knew it should have been her. She should have been the one over that fire, and she should have been the one now to give up her life. Alcie, Iole, and Homer should never have been brought into this in the first place. If she’d only been stronger when they wanted to join her, if she’d turned them away, Alcie would never have been able to make this terrible sacrifice.
Iole was on her knees, weeping soundlessly and hitting the side of the column with her fist. Homer, still powerless, was standing rigid, his chest heaving, his breath coming in short bursts, sounding like an animal wailing with its throat cut.
It was several seconds after Alcie fell, as the snake was leisurely weaving its way back down the aisle and Alcie’s convulsions were growing ever smaller and further apart, that any of them found they were able to move. Instantly they were by Alcie’s side. Homer cradled her head, brushing her hair, damp with sweat, from her eyes, as Iole laid her own head lightly on Alcie’s arm, sobbing inconsolably. Pandy held Alcie’s hand, while Alcie’s eyes seemed to be focused on something far away. Each breath was labored.
“Alcie,” Pandy choked. “You . . . you . . . dummy!”
“See?” she gasped, trying to joke. “That’s why it had to be me.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be you. You beat me to it,” Pandy said, wiping a little trickle of blood that was starting to seep from Alcie’s mouth. “I was a split second too late.”
“First time I win,” Alcie said, her words growing softer, “and it was this. Go figure.”
She tried to laugh, but it just came out as a tragic wheeze.
“Iole?”
“Right here, Alcie.”
“Keep her on track.”
“I . . . I promise.”
“Homie?”
He bent his head and whispered in her ear.
“Here.”
“Don’t forget me.”
Inside, Homer completely lost it, but he closed his eyes and fought to regain his composure.
“As if,” he said, and kissed her forehead.
“Pandy?”
“I’m right here.”
“Get ’em back. Get ’em all back. You can do it. You’re the one . . . Gods, what’s the light? There’s a light. Pandy, take care of Homer. Iole . . . you take care of them both, okay?”
Her words were starting to slur, and her breath, already so faint, was almost indiscernible.
“I love you, Alcie,” Pandy said.
“Love you, Alce,” Iole echoed.
“Love you . . . ,” Homer whispered.
“Love . . . you . . . ,” Alcie murmured, her head rolling to one side in Homer’s lap.
Then she was gone.
<
br /> CHAPTER TWENTY
The Apple
Pandy was shaking so violently that she had trouble standing up. Racked with grief, she turned to face Aphrodite. Pandy’s mind couldn’t piece it together, couldn’t make sense out of what just happened. If it had been Hades, it would have been logical: still terrible, still devastating, but logical that the God of the Underworld would require death. Even if it had been Ares, bloody, fierce, and cruel, she might have understood why he should exact such a terrible tribute. A human life would be a fitting payment to the God of War. But Aphrodite was all about love and beauty and delight. There was no reconciling her desire for death.
Pandy looked into the goddess’s smiling face with new horror and curiosity.
Aphrodite held out the golden apple.
“A deal is a deal!” she chirped.
Pandy stepped up onto the rubble and was about to take the apple in her right hand.
“P-Pandy,” Iole hiccuped, still crying. “The net.”
Pandy had completely forgotten that touching the pure source of Lust could, probably would, infect her. She blindly fumbled in her leather pouch, still in an almost surreal emotional place, at last pulling out the adamant net. Laying it across her right palm, she watched as Aphrodite slowly lowered the apple into her hand.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Pandy saw a flash of color. Her head turned and she saw the last few centimeters of the murderous snake just as it was disappearing into the darkness. The light from the oil lamps glinted off its body and Pandy saw that the snake wasn’t black at all; the scales in the dim light reflected blue . . . and green . . . and gold.
Pandy didn’t have time to compute exactly what this meant before she felt something drop into her hand. Turning back, she saw the apple sitting on top of the net.
“There you go,” Aphrodite said. “Just for you. Hold it tight now, don’t want to let it fall.”
As if on command, Pandy’s fingers closed the net around the apple. It felt far lighter than a solid gold apple should have been. Involuntarily, her fingers kept squeezing. Aphrodite began to laugh. Pandy stared up at the goddess, whose face had begun to change drastically. The next instant, the apple exploded into dust, crumbling and releasing hundreds of tiny spiders in her palm. Dropping the net and shaking her hand free of the blue, green, and gold spiders, she looked again at Aphrodite and saw that the simple night-sheath was changing into a brilliant blue robe. The golden hair was turning a deep red, and the soft, round mouth was becoming a vicious, malevolent grin.
The façade of Aphrodite was gone, and Hera stood in her place, hands on her hips, her head thrown back, laughing loudly.
“That’s right, precious child,” Hera said, reading her thoughts. “Me. Only me. All along.”
At that moment, there was a huge silver flash off to Pandy’s right. Hermes and Aphrodite, the real Aphrodite, with her golden hair and her enchanted girdle, stood surveying the scene. Hermes, clutching in his fist the two small, dead snakes Apollo had pulled from his stomach, was simply and utterly furious. But Aphrodite had a look of abject despair on her face as she gazed at Alcie’s body, then at Pandy. Turning toward Hera, Aphrodite’s brow furrowed and a look of anger crossed her face the likes of which Pandy had never seen.
In that moment, something in Pandy snapped— shredding any sense of protocol, decorum, or respect. And with it, some of her sense of self-preservation. All Pandy felt was the most intense anger she’d ever known. Hera had not only deceived her with a clay apple, but her best friend had died a hideous, tortured death for no reason other than that Hera was a spiteful, petty, evil goddess who delighted in seeing Pandy and her friends suffering in pain.
Then, as if the words had actually been spoken out loud, Pandy heard Aphrodite’s voice in her head as clear as a temple bell.
“Do it.”
At once, she realized that Aphrodite had read her thoughts, knew what she wanted to do, and was— impossibly, incredibly—giving her permission. Since she was in Aphrodite’s temple and the goddess herself, the true goddess, was standing right there, Pandy felt she might have some protection. But all of this went through her mind at the same time her right hand was rearing back.
Without thinking of the consequences to herself or her remaining friends, without thinking of the wrath it certainly could and probably would arouse in other immortals, without thinking that this single act would cause her to become a mythical figure in her own right, Pandy stepped forward . . .
. . . and slapped Hera right across the face.
Iole screamed and Homer choked. Hermes snorted, while Aphrodite remained silent, concentrating on Hera’s next movements.
In the two seconds that followed, as she watched Hera, twisted from the force of Pandy’s blow, bring a hand up and touch her red, stinging cheek, Pandy did not for a moment contemplate her own death. She didn’t wonder what it would be like or how it would happen. And when Hera slowly brought herself again to her full height, time, for Pandy, began to slow down. As Hera’s eyes flashed and she slowly raised her arms above her head, Pandy heard the words, “Filthy brat! Now you die!” as if they were being stretched out like a long piece of chewing sap. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Aphrodite raising her hands to deflect or lessen whatever Hera was going to do and heard her cry, “Not in my temple!”
None of it mattered.
In the next moment, the world became soundless, and Pandy’s mind was controlled and focused like a razor-thin shaft of light. She wanted only one thing and she made it happen so fast that none of the immortals had any time at all to read her thoughts.
Before Hera’s condemnation of Pandy was fully out of her mouth, Pandy stared at the wife of Zeus, Queen of Heaven, and the most powerful goddess in the pantheon.
And set her on fire.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Whole New Level
The flames were everywhere; not quite burning her immortal flesh, but her eyebrows were gone in seconds and her eyelashes sparked with white heat before each one was incinerated, the charred lashes falling into her eyes and making her wince. Hera was at the very center of the conflagration. She wasn’t screaming—that was something Hera refused to do under any circumstances; fear was for mortals. But she was gasping in surprise, another emotion that Hera was unused to, just as she was unused to being set alight. Some sections of her beautiful red hair were turning crispy and black, while other hunks of it were igniting and flying away as ash. Her nose hairs were singed to their roots, causing her to sneeze and shriek like a peacock. The putrid smell of burnt hair filled the air between Hera and Pandy.
But it was only when she saw the hem of her robe and the edges of her sleeves ablaze that she actually comprehended that, not only had Pandy done this to her, but it was severe, lasting, and it wasn’t going out. Hera began to stamp at the bottom of her robe and flail her sleeves wildly. Suddenly, the flames reached her skull as all of her hair burned away and the thin skin around her brain heated up. She began to slap the top of her head.
Hermes walked over to the inferno. He pulled Pandy, nearly catatonic, down off the rubble and casually tossed the two dead snakes into the flames. Without being able to see clearly what they were, Hera batted them away blindly. Then Hermes turned, very slowly, and gazed at Pandy, her eyes clear white, her fists clenched. He sighed a very long sigh.
“Okay, kiddo. Enough.”
Pandy didn’t move.
Hermes bent down and put his lips to her ear.
“Pandora . . . stop!”
Pandy gave a tremendous shudder, so big that Hermes had to steady her by the shoulders to keep her from toppling over. The flames she had created died instantly, but Hera’s garments were still on fire and Hera whirled around, fighting to put them out. Pandy closed her eyes and buried her face in Hermes’ robes, convulsing with grief.
As she extinguished the small fires on her garments, exterminating Pandy was not Hera’s primary concern, and those few moments gave Aphrodite a chanc
e to step forward, placing herself between Hera and everyone else.
When the last flames were out, Hera instantly turned on Pandy, her chest heaving and her arms raised again, and found Aphrodite standing in her way.
“Move!” she commanded.
“I’m sorry,” Aphrodite said sweetly to the smoldering, hairless goddess with the blackened robes. “Come again? I didn’t quite catch that. Certainly you would not be giving me any orders in my temple, would you?”
“Aphrodite, get out of my way!”
“Why? One little girl a day isn’t enough for you?”
Hera balled up her meaty, blackened hands as they were poised over her head.
“You would protect her? After what she just did?”
“What are you talking about?” Aphrodite asked, a tone of incredulity in her voice. “Except for the fact that you impersonated me and killed a child, we didn’t see anything, did we Hermes?”
“Nope,” Hermes replied, his hand on Pandy’s head, trying to calm her because she was now shaking ferociously.
“All I see is you having a rather bad hair day,” Aphrodite sang out. The sound of Aphrodite’s voice, as it always did, made Pandy happy somewhere deep inside. And this time Pandy knew there was no reason at all.
“You know, I could fashion a wig for you,” Aphrodite went on. “Would you like that? Borrow some of Demeter’s leaves . . . or I could just put a sheep on top of your head?”
Hera, her hands still raised, trained her soot-ringed eyes on Aphrodite.
“Have you forgotten what happened that last time we were on opposite sides? A little thing called the Trojan War? Your side didn’t fare so well. You want to put yourself in that place?”
“Oh, by Ares’ sword, are you going to try roasting that old chestnut again?” Aphrodite laughed. “First of all, the sides were split pretty evenly on that one, and you had Athena on your side.”
Then she took a step forward and waved away the gray wisps rising from Hera’s smoking head.
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