“No,” Artemis replied.
“No way!” Prometheus said, his chest beginning to heave. “So here’s what I need. You don’t like this disguise, fine! Find me another. Anything you want. Just get me on top of that mountain without Zeus seeing. Because she’s going to meet Atlas, and my brother will, quite probably, tear his only niece to pieces!”
“Pro . . . my friend . . . I want to help, but . . .”
“He will kill her, Hermes. And then where will we all be, huh? Where will the world be? He doesn’t know who she is and we don’t know what condition he’s in! When I last spoke to her, Pandora told me about a big black wall or something. I can’t even guess what’s going on. My point is, even with whatever power she’s got, she’s no match for him. I’m the only one he ever listened to growing up. I was his favorite brother. I’m the only one who can save her!”
“Prometheus,” Artemis began.
“No! Listen . . . a disguise. Change me! Zeus won’t know. And then you can just zap me there.”
“Oh, yeah, zap you,” Hermes said.
“You know, Hermes”—Artemis shifted slightly, clearing her throat—“with the right touches, we might be able to—”
“Oh, don’t start with me, you!” Hermes cried. “Do you know what Dad would do?”
“But Prometheus does have one salient point: if Pandora is killed, then what becomes of the world?”
“Right! Right!” Prometheus stepped forward, shaking his index finger at Artemis. “What she said! Listen to her!”
“Do you know what you’re asking? Both of you?” Hermes dropped his voice. “Pal, your kid is fine. She had a brief moment just now where we thought we were gonna lose her, but nothing happened; she just changed the constellation Gemini from triplets to twins . . . Who’s gonna care, am I right?”
He gave a nervous little laugh, but Prometheus stared him down.
“Pro . . . I . . . I just can’t,” Hermes began.
Then Prometheus did something he’d never done before, to neither man nor god. Not when Zeus had captured him and chained him to the rock, not when he was brought before Zeus to receive the box, not even when he’d asked Sybilline to be his wife.
He got down on his knees.
“I’m begging you.”
“Aw, sheesh, Pro.” Hermes shuffled his feet.
“I’m begging you. My daughter will be killed and I’m the only one who can stop it. Nobody needs to know. I’ll just be some old beggar who kept a Titan from slaughtering a little girl. Not even a smudge in the history scrolls.”
There was a long, long silence as Hermes looked at the ceiling.
“Please?” Prometheus whispered.
Hermes looked at Artemis, who arched her eyebrows and smiled ever so slightly.
Then he looked down at Prometheus and began to speak.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Out and Up
When Pandy fell asleep the following night, she had noticed that the air around her, while still filthy and thick, was just slightly easier to breathe. But she was too exhausted to wonder why. Since their near-death experience the previous morning, she had worked feverishly to keep the boys in good spirits as they crawled forward, recounting the entire history of Greece (as much as she knew), telling about each of the gods, her beautiful white shepherd dog, and finally divulging almost all of her tale, except the really scary parts. After much humoring and prodding, she managed to get them to agree that they had both done something not terrifying, but wonderful, which no other human being would ever, ever do. They had actually seen the inside of the heavens. They had floated with the stars! Not even the gods did that. How special they were!
As the boys shifted their outlook from horrified to enchanted, they each seemed to find new strength and crawled without so much as a whimper.
Now, as Pandy awoke two days after that experience, she saw that the black void was suspended farther off the ground . . . at least a full meter. And the farther the line crawled, the higher the bottom lifted and the easier it was to breathe. At last, the entire line of captives was able to stand. But there was no time to stretch; everyone was forced onward, marching on bruised knees and feet. They passed the captain of the guards, standing alongside the road.
“Excellent job!” he yelled to his men at the front and rear. “We didn’t have to kill anybody and we lost only one. And it was just a woman. No matter.”
No matter? This was not the first time that Pandy had listened to a man say a woman didn’t matter: she flashed on the caliphs, the Channels of Earthly Displeasure, riding atop the slug tent at Wang Chun Lo’s Caravan of Wonders, telling her they would not speak to her because she was female. What kind of a dummy would think that way? “Gods,” she thought, staring at the captain’s sandals as she trudged by, “would they treat their mothers that way?” She wondered what Athena or Artemis or Aphrodite or even Hera would say about that.
A yank on her shackles from Ismailil told her that she was moving too slowly. Lifting her eyes, she was suddenly confronted with a view of the tallest mountain she’d ever seen (except for Olympus) directly in front of her.
Jbel Toubkal.
She couldn’t possibly guess how high it was.
Even through the dense air she could see the base of the mountain, covered with brush, rise into barren slopes that were covered with snow. But the highest peak, almost covered by the bottom of the heavens, was distinguished with a faint orange haze.
She realized they were now in a huge bell-shaped dome, surrounded on all sides by a circle of the black heavens. Pandy caught a faint whiff of smoke from an unseen source. The morning sun could barely penetrate into the dome, and everything was dull, almost colorless. Only the orange haze, reflecting off the snow on the mountaintops, was obvious.
Pandy tripped on a rock, nearly toppling herself as she stared up. Jbel Toubkal was holding up the canvas of the heavens at the highest point. Then the canvas spread out, like the top of Wang Chun Lo’s tangerine tent, over the taller of the surrounding mountains, which held the heavens like tent poles.
An hour later, as the slaves arrived at the very base of the mountain, the line was stopped for only a few minutes as the captives were tossed a few pieces of flatbread and a water-skin was passed down the line. Pandy managed to sneak an apricot to Amri and a fig to Ismailil while gulping down two slices of dried apple herself.
Then the line was moving again. Within the next five minutes, the road began to incline more steeply and narrowed to a slim, rocky path. Looking over her shoulder to check on Amri, Pandy saw another group of prisoners just emerging from underneath the void of the heavens many kilometers back.
For the rest of the day, they climbed. And climbed. Toward the evening, Pandy felt a sharp tug behind her and was convinced that Amri had somehow fallen off the path and was hanging off the side of the mountain.
But he had simply sat down, too tired to move any farther. Immediately, Pandy picked him up, determined to carry him to the top if necessary. It was then she realized that she herself was just not going to make it. She stumbled once and Amri clung to her neck. Then she stumbled again and just stayed on the road, every one of her muscles on fire, knowing she was about to be killed and tossed over the side. And not caring a bit as she fell asleep where she had fallen. She was done.
She snapped back into consciousness, not because Ismailil was shaking her, loudly crying that the rear guard was making his way up the hill, his sword drawn, but because there was something funny going on with her sandals.
All of a sudden, Pandy was jerked back upright. In fact, it was only her sandals that straightened out; her legs (and the rest of her) just followed. On their own, her sandals began to move forward up the hill. Her leg muscles weren’t being taxed at all. Yet she was “walking.” She turned back to Amri; from the look on his face, he was experiencing the same phenomenon. Pandy gazed downward; his sandals were raised slightly off the ground, as were hers and Ismailil’s. And then she noticed a small, bushy gra
y tail sticking out from under Ismailil’s left heel. As she stifled a gasp, a small pinecone bounced sharply off her forehead. She looked around and finally spotted Dionysus’s attack squirrel on a rock high above the path. She probably would have missed him if not for the fact that he was actually waving at her.
They were being carried on the backs of squirrels. Squirrels with the strength of Hercules.
The entire episode happened so fast that everyone was moving forward by the time the guard reached Amri.
“What happened?” he snarled.
“I just fainted . . . for a moment,” Pandy said, trying to at least look like she was walking. “I’m sorry.”
“Should have left you three in the darkness when we had the chance,” the guard muttered as he tromped away. “Nothing but trouble.”
As true darkness fell, the prisoners were herded off the path and onto a flat area halfway up the mountain. The top of Jbel Toubkal was much closer, and the orange haze was now a glow. At this higher elevation, the cold descended quickly. The captain and his guards gathered underneath a small rocky overhang, built a fire, and roasted their evening meal, staying warm as they passed a wineskin.
The prisoners, exposed to freezing air, huddled together for warmth after eating their meager rations. Pandy gathered the boys underneath her mother’s cloak, pulling it over all their heads, but it was still insufficient, and in minutes both Amri and Ismailil were shivering violently. She thought her furry wolfskin diary might help and was just undoing the pouch strap when she felt dozens of soft little paws crawling all over the top of the cloak.
“Uhhhh,” Amri started up.
“No!” Pandy whispered. “Just wait.”
The next instant, they felt a soft, warm weight completely covering the cloak. Pandy slowly poked her head out from underneath. In the light of the distant fire, she saw hundreds of small squirrels, curled into little balls, each one holding tight to another’s tail, creating a thick fur blanket. And standing on top was the attack squirrel, blinking rather forcefully, as if telling her to go to sleep.
She managed a smile, snug and warm, and let herself drift off like the boys, who were already snoring softly.
The next morning, awakened by the thwack of a sword on her leg, Pandy flung off her cloak, which jolted the boys, and quickly got to her feet. The rest of the prisoners had already finished their morning scraps and were ready to march. Eating quickly and lining up, Pandy had no idea whether to expect the squirrels’ help or not. But as the line moved back onto the path and her feet were solidly hitting the ground, she knew it had been a one-time-only occurrence. She looked at the boys. Their strides seemed strong and confident.
“Thank you, Dionysus,” she said softly.
Slowly, the line made its way steadily up the mountain. In the early afternoon, they hit the first scattered patches of snow, and Pandy covered Amri with her cloak as best she could. The air was much thinner now; everyone was breathing in great heaving gulps. Soon there was nothing but a steep drop to one side and a solid wall of ice and snow to the other.
As night fell again, the path began to wind around the far, dark side of the mountain, snaking its way back and forth. The warm orange glow was not only lighting the path but also causing the snow to melt, making the last fifty meters slushy and desperately cold. With the bottom of the heavens once again fairly close above their heads, the line of freezing prisoners crested the final ridge and gazed down into what appeared to be a village or city of some sort nestled in a shallow crater on top of the mountain. The orange glow came from many fires burning bright, illuminating various structures and people bustling about.
At first glance, Pandy thought the village was rather ordinary. But the longer she looked, the faster she realized that there was nothing ordinary about it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
On Top
The narrow path that had sloped upward for the past two days now descended, gently but quickly, along the inside rim of the mountaintop crater. The line was heading down.
All except one person.
“Go, Pandy! Go,” Amri pleaded.
The rear guard was almost upon them and Amri was pushing on her arm while Ismailil was yanking the chain that held them together. But Pandy was nearly paralyzed.
There was so much activity Pandy didn’t know what to focus on first. She saw women and children rushing about, dragging heavy sacks of . . . something, or packing what looked like mud into circular shapes, or carrying huge jars of water. Other women were huddled around strange glowing domes. There were old men tending fires. There was smoke everywhere. She noticed dozens of guards and hundreds of reddish creatures posted around the entire circumference of the top ridge— as much as she could see of it in the darkness and smoke. Then she saw two enormous huts built on low platforms. Outside of one hut, a long line of prisoners waited to enter through a cloth-covered opening.
These sights made some sense to Pandy, as she was now being shoved down along the path.
What she could not comprehend, what she had willed herself to mentally ignore . . .
. . . were the columns.
Hundreds and hundreds of them everywhere—thick and brown, rising up at least twenty meters into the air, well above the highest point on the surrounding ridge.
And on top of each column was a man.
“No,” Pandy thought. “No, that isn’t quite right.”
It was, to be precise, half a man.
Only the upper torso of each was visible, sticking out of the top, arms raised high, back muscles straining. Some of the men were yelling in short bursts at the top of their lungs, others were silent and red faced. Still others were hunched over, their arms hanging limply at their sides, backs crunched and misshapen. But all of them together were really doing only one thing.
Each of these men was holding up the heavens.
Pandy suddenly thought she might be quite sick.
She tried to turn away, but her curiosity got the better of her. She and the boys had been sucked through the bottom of the heavens and into the void—why weren’t these men being sucked through as well? There was an answer, and she knew she’d find it . . . eventually.
Her group moved into the village. Pandy saw there were more columns under construction; column sections were strewn all over as groups of boys and girls, attached to ropes and pulleys, lifted ridiculously heavy column pieces onto one another. Snaking their way through the commotion, the captives passed by huge mixing pits where women stirred mud with long wooden poles while others skirted wide wells that went straight into the heart of the mountain. They crisscrossed paths with men, weeping or begging or cursing, being led in chains. They passed the strange domes, which, Pandy now saw, were actually crude ovens, slowly baking column sections over low fires. And they passed by columns everywhere. Pandy forced herself not to look up.
As their group joined the end of the long line of other prisoners, they stopped just to the side of one of the two low platforms. Although the building on it was obviously very makeshift, stones and mortar hastily slapped together, the smell gave its purpose away. This building housed the food cupboards, drainage boards, and cooking area for the village.
“Lemon rinds!” a young female voice yelled in Greek, and Pandy’s heart flipped over.
“Gods!” she muttered softly. Alcie? Was Alcie alive, here, just a single stone wall away?
She was about to call out when the speaker, a brown-skinned girl, perhaps twenty years old, left the preparation hut and hurried to a nearby well.
“He wants lemon rinds in his water!” she called back over her shoulder. “Find them!” She saw Pandy gaping at her.
“What are you looking at?” the girl asked.
Pandy quickly looked down as the girl went on her way.
No, not Alcie . . . of course not. Pandy cursed her own stupidity: they were dead, all of them . . . her two best friends, her beloved dog, and the youth who was only meant to be their guard on a short voyage. Apollo’s
chariot had crashed, she was certain. How lame to think she would ever see them again.
As she began to sob, biting hard on her lip to keep the boys from seeing, the line moved forward a few meters, and another group was herded into the hut on the second platform and whatever lay beyond the cloth-covered door.
The sunlight had vanished hours before: it was easily after the middle of the night. There was no letup, however, in the noise and pace of the work around them. While some workers slept in clusters on the open ground, others took their place until yet another shift change. There was never a quiet moment, Pandy saw.
None of the captives were allowed to sit down; everyone stood in place until the line moved again. The scent wafting from the food preparation hut, while not the most appetizing thing Pandy had smelled, still reminded them all how hungry they were. Soon two gray-haired women emerged from the food hut, one carrying a large wooden tray from which she tossed the prisoners scraps of meat, the other passing a water-skin down the line. Biting into her meat, Pandy realized it was mainly gristle, fat, and joint. She secretly spit it out and motioned to Amri and Ismailil to do the same (although Ismailil refused until he almost cracked a tooth on a piece of bone). Then she slyly snuck the boys handfuls of dried fruit.
Slowly the line inched forward.
An hour later, they were within three meters of the covered door and Pandy was trying to see if she could sleep standing up.
“Morpheus?” she called inside her mind. “Morpheus . . . are you there?”
“No,” came the reply.
“Oh, good. Hi. Can I just have a little dream?”
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“Stop asking. I’m not coming. Hermes told me not to help you right now,” Morpheus answered.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not supposed to be sleeping now, Pandora. You’ve got to be alert.”
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