“Diary,” said Pandy, “please recount for us the day I turned thirteen and what Sabina made for my special evening meal.”
“My pleasure,” said the diary. “Oh, the horrors . . .”
As the two little boys listened closely, Pandy muttered under her breath.
“Rope, come to me.”
Instantly, she saw a faint rippling under the skin of Amri’s leg. Amri idly scratched at it but continued listening to the diary. There was a small movement in the dirt between Pandy and the boys, then suddenly the rope, no thicker than a hair, was coiled in her palm.
“A little thicker.”
The rope expanded to a nice portable size, and Pandy tucked it into her pouch. Then she realized there was something else that needed doing, something much more important.
Later that night, as everyone else slept comfortably around the dying embers (Alcie snoring peacefully with her head on Homer’s chest), Pandy and Iole transferred Misery into the larger box. They didn’t dare let the tiny woman out, but it was Iole’s assumption that the smaller box could simply go in whole, adamant shackles and all.
“Gods,” Pandy said, “you’re right about everything else, let’s hope you’re right about this. One, two . . . three!”
They flipped the clasp, opened the lid of the box, and slid the smaller box inside. Pandy felt a jolt of fear as the lid refused to close for a split second, then easily settled into place as the smaller box fizzled away inside.
“I don’t care what he looks like or who his favorite is,” Iole said. “Hephaestus is supremely . . . cool.”
“What are you two little satyrs whispering about back there?” Alcie asked, turning around.
“Nothing,” said Amri.
“Nothing, my big piece of orange rind! Spill it,” Alcie said, falling back to jostle the little boy playfully.
They had come to another fork leading to yet another distant mountain. At each of the previous forks, Ghida had stopped to question ex-slaves on the whereabouts of her husband. One woman had told her he’d last been seen working at a mixing pit on the mountain that now lay directly to their left. Moving off the main road, Ghida looked at Pandy, Iole, and Homer. She looked at Alcie roughhousing with her sons, knowing they all must part and not knowing what to say.
“We were just thinking that maybe Pandy could come live with us,” Ismailil said, grinning and looking at the ground.
“Pandy?” Alcie cried, tickling Ismailil. “What about me, huh? What am I, chopped chimera?”
“Okay, okay . . . you can come, too!” Ismailil fell over laughing.
“Boys, hush!” Ghida said at last. “It’s time to say farewell.”
“No!” Amri grabbed ahold of Pandy’s hand and Homer’s cloak.
“Hush now!” Ghida said softly.
“You’re sure you want to go up there?” Pandy asked.
“If my husband is alive, I will find him. I believe he is,” Ghida said, and pointed to her heart. “In here.”
“We know the feeling,” Iole said.
Alcie, Iole, and Homer gave the boys tight hugs, then Pandy knelt down and spoke to them both.
“Okay, guys, be good and help your mother,” she said.
“ ’Kay,” said Ismailil.
“Will you come back?” asked Amri.
“I don’t think I—”
“Will we ever see you again?” asked Ismailil, his lower lip quivering.
Pandy thought a moment.
“Yep. You’ll see me again,” she said.
“Promise?” asked Amri.
“Promise. I don’t know when, but somehow . . . I’ll do it.”
“Oh! Oh!” Amri suddenly squealed. “Ismailil tell her! Oh! We saw something, Pandy. Remember, Ismailil? The old man had the same thing . . . it was just like yours, Pandy.”
Suddenly a pinecone hit Pandy right between the eyes.
“Ow!”
“Mother, look!” cried Amri, instantly distracted.
Everyone turned to see nearly a hundred gray squirrels covering a patch of nearby rocks, with the largest of them standing on his haunches in the center, another pinecone in his little claw.
“That’s Dionysus’s attack squirrel?” Iole asked.
“Duh!” said Pandy.
All at once, the troop of squirrels gave Pandy a right-paw salute and began moving in formation alongside the path that Ghida was about to take. Pandy smiled.
“Guess what, guys? I think you’re going to have an escort! Maybe they’ll help you find food and keep you warm at night.”
“The furry blanket?” Ismailil asked.
“Maybe . . . hope so. Better hurry!” Pandy said, standing up.
“Good-bye, Pandora,” Ghida said. “Thank you for taking care of my children. All of you . . . thank you.”
“Good-bye,” Pandy replied with a last hug.
Pandy and her friends watched the trio head toward the mountain, waving until they were almost out of sight, then moved again into the line of traffic.
As night fell, Pandy realized that she recognized the particular stretch of road they were on as having been the exact spot where she and the boys had been captured. No shackles and no crawling meant they were now making decent time, but Pandy was still anxious.
“How much more walking until we reach the sea?” Alcie said, almost reading Pandy’s mind.
“We should reach the shore in two weeks,” said Homer quietly. “There’s nothing to slow us down.”
“Oh, Homie, you’re doing so well,” Alcie said sweetly, massaging his fingers. “You’re sure you’re not feeling any aftereffects?”
“I don’t know why not, but, like, no,” he said.
“Tuh-riffic!” Alcie said.
“So, where are we going next?” Iole asked after a moment.
“Yeah, ’bout time to find out.” Pandy sighed, taking the bowl map out of her pouch.
Two minutes later, after adding a few tears from her glass vial and waiting for the rings on the outside of the bowl to finally align, Pandy held the bowl aloft for all to see the brightly lit symbols.
“Mount Pelion,” said Iole. “That’s in Thessaly.”
“Lust,” said Alcie.
“And we have 129 days left,” said Pandy.
Two weeks later to the day, they all crested the same brown sand dune where Alcie, Iole, and Homer had been taken prisoner weeks before. Dozens of ships were either being loaded as they lay beached or waiting out in the water for their turn to pull in.
“What the—?” cried Alcie. “How did they know?”
“I surmise that when the heavens were restored to their proper place,” Iole said, “wealthier families, cities, and countries probably sent ships to carry their citizens back home.”
As they stared at the gangplanks and rope ladders teeming with people, they knew it was true.
“All aboard for Syria! Syria this way,” shouted one sailor, directing passengers.
“Decapolis by way of Samaria!”
“Asia Minor! Departing in five minutes for Asia Minor!”
“Germania Magna with one layover in Macedonia, right here!”
“Boarding now for Caphareus, Scyros, Thessaly, Samothrace, and points north!”
“That’s us,” said Pandy, looking at the massive ship a short way down the beach. “Let’s go.”
But as they walked up the rickety wooden gangplank, Pandy heard another cry farther down.
“Crete, Delos, and Athens! Crete, Delos, and Athens! All aboard for Southern Greece! Board!”
Pandy stopped, standing stock-still halfway up the gangplank, blocking Alcie, Iole, and Homer from moving forward, staring at the beautiful Grecian ship with spotless white sails. As the people behind them began to shove and shout, Pandy looked at Iole, a wave of homesickness pouring over her.
“I want to go home,” she whispered to Iole, tears beginning to course down her cheeks. “I want to go home.”
“I know,” Iole whispered in return. “I know, Pandy.
And we will.”
She grabbed Pandy’s hand and nudged her up onto the ship bound for Thessaly and Mount Pelion. Pandy stood on the deck with Iole and Alcie while Homer found them cots below and men around them made ready to put out to sea.
“You know, if we looked at the map right now, the day counter would read 115,” Pandy said softly, watching the sailors on the ship bound for Greece pulling up her ropes, her oarsmen guiding her out into the straight and the wind filling her sails.
“Plenty of time,” Iole said.
“Really?” Pandy said, a touch of alarm in her voice. “Really?”
“Really,” Iole said, slipping her arm around Pandy’s waist, only to find that Alcie’s arm was already there.
“We’re good, Pandy,” said Alcie, the three friends gazing back at the bleak land they’d just left as the ship pulled away from the shore. “We’re good.”
EPILOGUE . . . THE FIRST
Prometheus slumped down into the giant floor pillow, trying to avoid Hermes’ eyes without actually looking like he was avoiding them.
“Okay, my friend,” he said casually, “many thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” said Hermes calmly, standing with his arms folded, the wings on his golden helmet once again brushing the ceiling.
“So, I’m gonna go check on Xander. See if Sabina’s all right.”
“Good idea.”
“I don’t want to, you know, keep you.”
Hermes was silent.
“From whatever you might need . . . to . . . do.”
“You honestly think I’m leaving?” Hermes said.
“Uh, well . . .”
“You actually think I’d leave this house without you telling me?”
“Tell you what?” Prometheus stood and tried to gaze nonchalantly out the window.
“You start getting all coy on me now, pal, and I’ll turn you into an old man, permanento!”
“Uh . . .”
“What did you say to your brother to get him to pick up the heavens?”
“Oh, that.”
“Sheesh! Okay, I know all your blather about responsibility, honor, and integrity didn’t do any good, soooo . . . was it gory and bloody? Did you tell him you’d fight him until he was senseless?”
“No.”
“Did you tell him that Zeus would chain him up with the rest of your family in Tartarus?”
“Not exactly.”
“Hack off his arms?”
“Hermes!”
“Then what?”
“I just told him . . .”
“Yes?” Hermes said eagerly.
“. . . that our mother, Clymene . . .”
“Yes, yes?”
“. . . and Atlas was always her favorite, mind you . . .”
“Yes, right . . .”
“. . . would be very disappointed in him, and . . .”
“And?”
“. . . wouldn’t like him best anymore.”
Hermes’ jaw fell open. After a good minute in which the two friends just stared at each other, Hermes started laughing first, followed by Prometheus. The two quickly became hysterical.
“Okay, okay . . . the best part?” Prometheus choked.
“Lay it on me!”
“The part about our mother?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s true! He’s her favorite!”
“Oh, stop . . . stop!”
The two were laughing so hard Hermes thought he’d pulled a muscle somewhere and Prometheus collapsed over his wooden table.
“Oh, you Titans!” Hermes wheezed. “Man! Your whole family is a trip!”
EPILOGUE . . . THE SECOND
Hera lumbered along the path through the beautiful garden that led to Aeolus’s workshop, the swinging folds of her blue robes knocking the blooms off of rare roses, irises, and lilies. As she turned a corner quickly, her right sleeve took out a whole row of stunning white hydrangeas.
She didn’t even notice.
She approached the massive wooden door and walked right through it without so much as a knock.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” she called furiously to the lone, white-haired figure staring out the enormous windows on the opposite side of the room. “This time I need a wind that will—”
“Will what, dearest?” said the figure, turning.
Hera stopped dead in her tracks.
“Zeus! I mean . . . Zeus. Husband. Love of my life . . . why are you . . . ?”
“Here, my dovelet?”
“Yes, light of my mornings. And why dressed like that?”
Zeus, indeed, sported a strange, short sleeveless garment over his toga, which seemed to have many pouches on the outside. The pouches were stuffed with small metal hooks of varying shapes and tiny fish, causing an unpleasant odor. He also held two long poles, each with an even longer string of leather attached to one end.
“You see, my precious little calf, I have decided to take a small vacation, and who better to bring along on my holiday than my dear friend Aeolus?”
At that moment, Aeolus stepped into the workroom, dressed almost exactly like Zeus, carrying two straw hats and an oversized wineskin.
“Now this should work . . . I filled the outer skin with ice so the wine should stay nice and cold.”
He saw Hera standing by the worktables.
“Ohhh, hi.” His voice dropped almost two octaves.
“Aeolus,” Hera greeted him coolly.
“Ah, good! A hat! Pardon me, my dangerously overfed lamby-kins,” Zeus said, stepping around Hera, taking a hat from Aeolus, and cocking it jauntily on his head. “And here is your pole, my friend, and . . . well, I think that’s it, isn’t it? Oh, except Hera wanted something of you . . . what was it, darling one? Oh, yes . . . a wind! You wanted a wind. Well, you came to the right place. What kind of wind and why?”
Hera’s lips wiggled slightly, her teeth gnashing together in her mouth as she fought to think of something to say.
“I just found a lovely perfume from Thrace . . . yes, Thrace, and . . . and I want a gentle wind constantly about my neck to blow it about and please those around me.”
“Well, my enormous oatie-cake, much as I would love to put something around your neck, your request doesn’t sound too urgent and I’m sure it can wait until our return. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, my one and only love,” Hera said, low.
“Excellent!” Zeus cried, ushering Aeolus out the big wooden workroom door. “Coming, my tall, frothy glass of nectar?”
Hera hurried to catch up to the two immortals already waiting on the path outside.
“Ooops, almost forgot . . . don’t want to tempt thieves,” Zeus said. With a blink of his eye, a giant bar of adamant slid into place neatly across the door, barring entrance from the outside.
“Loved one,” Zeus said, kissing his wife on her cheek, “I shall see you when I see you. Have fun and try not to get into trouble. Love you! Aeolus, come!”
Without so much as a backward glance at Hera, Zeus and Aeolus strode away down the path.
It was only when Hera, in a state of utter confusion and defeat, turned to check the door did she see the sign: blue indigo ink on a large piece of white parchment.
GONE FISHING!
EPILOGUE . . . THE THIRD
“You’re sure you don’t want us to wait here? We’d be happy to, you know.”
“No. Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
Prometheus turned away from Bellerophon and stared past Pegasus, who was sticking his pink nose into a cold oven, and out over the ruins of the village on top of Jbel Toubkal.
“Go fly around for a bit, get Pegasus some oats, find a pretty girl to chat up.”
“Highly unlikely around here. When do you want us back?” Bellerophon asked.
“Well, he deserves some answers,” Prometheus said, nodding to Atlas in the distance behind them. “There’s a lot he needs to know. And I have to proceed delicately. I’d give it a couple of hours.”
&nbs
p; “Right. We’ll be back in two.”
“Thanks again for the lift, my friend,” Prometheus said.
“No problem. It was a slow day anyway, right Pegasus?” Bellerophon called.
Pegasus nodded his head in assent and half flew, half pranced over to his master. Bellerophon quickly grabbed the jewel-encrusted bridle and swung himself up onto the horse’s back, ever mindful not to bump his wings.
“See you!” Bellerophon said.
“See you,” Prometheus replied, giving Pegasus a quick pat on the cheek before the horse shot into the sky and over the rim of the mountain.
Prometheus picked his way over the immense amount of rubble. The freed slaves had destroyed nearly everything in a raging, violent exodus from the village. Finally, he stood at his brother’s feet.
“Hey, Brother!” he called. “It’s me, Prometheus. I’m coming up. Don’t get nervous when I start talking in your ear. I am not a nesting bird. Do not swat me! I repeat, do not swat me!”
With the tip of his finger, Prometheus began to heat the air directly under his backside. Slowly, as the air became lighter, Prometheus began to rise on an invisible, superheated column.
“Getting closer,” he called to Atlas, halfway up.
“Almost there . . . almost . . . and . . .” He leveled off right next to his brother’s ear. “Hi.”
Atlas let out a huge breath through his teeth.
“Okay, I’ll talk, you just listen,” Prometheus said.
Atlas gave the tiniest grunt imaginable.
“First of all, Mom wants me to tell you that she loves you and is very proud of you. She understands . . . we all do . . . that you had absolutely no control over your actions and are truly blameless. Okay? Okay. Now . . .”
Prometheus took a deep breath, suddenly realizing he didn’t know where to start. He focused on reheating the column of air while he tried to find the right words.
“So . . . so you’re probably wondering what in Hades has been happening around here for the past few weeks, right? Right. Well, Brother, it actually all started a while back, with your niece, Pandora. Pandy, she likes to be called. And you’ve met her already. You . . . you just didn’t know it was her at the time. Okay, let me go back to the beginning. So, you remember my theft of fire and the big eagle that ate my liver? Well, there was also this box . . . and . . . and now there’s a quest . . .”
Pandora Gets Lazy Page 18