Pandy stomped toward Homer. She stepped in front of him and spun to face him.
“What is going on?” she yelled. “What did you say about me being fast or quick or whatever? What’s with you?”
Sensing Pandy’s anger, Dido rushed in and was about to leap on Homer.
“Dido! Go! Go stay with Iole!”
Dido growled but trotted away.
“So?” Pandy hissed.
“I just meant,” he said, gritting his teeth, and Pandy saw that he was not calm at all; his whole body was shaking slightly, “that you can be fast when you want to be. You can move fast and think fast … and answer fast. When you want to.”
“What are you talking about?” Pandy cried.
“And hey,” he yelled back at her, “we didn’t, like, lose Iole, so I guess it doesn’t really matter which of us was fastest this time, right?”
Pandy felt like she was being slapped. But why? This was code. Homer was talking in some sort of code that she couldn’t decipher. She vaguely heard Dido bark in the background. Who cared who was fastest? He’d made a point of hammering the word “answer” as if it meant …
And suddenly the realization hit her so hard that she staggered backward and fell to the ground.
He blamed her for Alcie’s death.
Pandy just stared at Homer, tears filling her eyes, her lower lip beginning to quiver without her knowing.
In Aphrodite’s temple in the city of Aphrodisias, when Hera, disguised as Aphrodite, had demanded a life in return for the golden apple, Pandy, Alcie, Iole, and Homer had huddled together to try to think of a way out. There was nothing to be done, however, and Pandy, of course, had spoken first: she had to be the one to die; after all, this whole thing was her fault. Homer had spoken, and Iole—Pandy let them all have their say—but she knew that, in the end, as the leader, she would be the one to make the sacrifice. Then Alcie had demanded her turn to speak, and Pandy was fully prepared to hear her out, then gently tell Alcie there was no way and raise her own voice to volunteer. What she had not prepared for was Alcie suddenly calling loudly that she would give her life and Hera seizing the moment. Pandy tried to override Alcie, but Alcie was instantly transported to the steps where Hera stood and bitten by a huge snake, before Pandy could do anything of consequence. Worse still, the other three had been forced to watch, immobilized, as Alcie writhed in agony.
And now Homer was putting Alcie’s murder squarely on Pandy’s shoulders, insinuating that Pandy had deliberately been slow to call out her own name and had willingly let Alcie die. No, more terrible, that Pandy had, essentially, killed Alcie.
Pandy sat in the sand and sobbed. She covered her eyes with her hands, getting more tiny grains stuck underneath her lids. In the next few moments, she realized that she, herself, had never really grieved, never really come to terms with the loss of a best friend.
And then, in the blink of an eye, she became angry. Not quite as angry as she’d been with Hera, but very close.
“How dare you!” she screamed at Homer, startling him.
Dido was on the move.
“Stay back, boy!”
Dido backtracked and sat, tensed, over Iole. Pandy glared at Homer.
“You blame me? You think I let her do that? You think I wanted my best friend to die? It was always going to be me, Homer. Always! I was the one! I let the rest of you speak because that’s … that’s what a good leader does. And I was … I am trying to be a good—”
“Oh, yeah, you’re good, all right,” he started.
Pandy took a swing and landed a blow on his arm, which caused her hand a great deal of pain.
“SHUT UP!”
Homer did.
“You think you’re the only one who loved her? Huh? We—Iole and me—we loved her a long time before you even knew she was a living, breathing person. We had her first! And we had her best …”
She was breathing so hard that she was beginning to lose her air, and her head was getting light.
“Well, you didn’t have a whole future with her ahead of you!” Homer screamed back at her.
“Like Hades we didn’t!” she panted. “You think she was gonna give us up and run away with you when she got older? FAT LEMONS!”
“Stop it,” came Iole’s voice across the sand, too weak to even be acknowledged.
“As a matter of fact, I do!” Homer cried. “You think she wasn’t gonna grow up?”
“Of course she was gonna grow up, you clod! We all are, but just because you love somebody else doesn’t mean you give up your friends!” Pandy spat back.
“Why don’t you just do the only thing you do really well and set me on fire! Then I can join her!” Homer yelled.
“Stop it!” Iole shrieked.
“Maybe I will!” Pandy said, the energy leaving her voice. Then her lightheadedness turned into dizziness, and she pitched forward as Homer caught her.
Then Iole mustered every ounce of strength she still had and let out a long, pitiful scream as Dido, panicked, spun in a circle.
“Oh Gods,” Pandy mumbled as Homer carried her quickly to Iole.
Iole lay with a line of sweat beaded across her forehead, her hands absently clawing at the sand.
“I’m okay. Put me down. Put me down,” Pandy said, her head clearing a bit as Homer stood her upright.
“For Hermes’ sake,” Iole whispered, her eyes still closed. “For anyone’s sake. For Alcie’s sake. Both of you, stop.”
“Iole, don’t try to—,” Homer began.
“Be silent, Homer,” she said. Each word was a struggle, and only every third or fourth was audible. “You too, Pandy. Gods, Alcie … spitting at the two of … she were here now.… loved her and we all … miss her. No one … monopoly. Homer … not Pandy’s fault. You know … because … knew Alcie.… enough to know … was a perfect Alcie thing … she did. Desist …”
She fell into a cough that lasted several seconds.
“Can’t you appreciate? … comprehend? If … at each other like this … no point in going on. And we promised Alcie … Don’t … both understand? We’re all we’ve got!”
Homer and Pandy were silent. Then Homer turned away, pounding one fist into the other hand, again and again. Pandy saw his shoulders heave and when he began to turn around, she was certain that it would be to blast her again with another reproach. But his big, beautiful face was scrunched tight and overrun with tears. His mouth was open and slack.
“I’m … I’m sorry,” he said, staring at the sand, shaking his head back and forth.
“It’s okay, Homer,” Pandy said. “I get it. I do.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
Then he reached down and grabbed Pandy into a hug that brought the dizziness back with a rush. Dido jumped up and put his forepaws on Homer’s hips.
“Homer. Homer,” she wheezed, patting Dido’s head and Homer’s back. “We’re good. We’re good.”
He set her down.
“We’re a team, remember? And everything we do now, we do in part for Alcie, okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed.
“Right, Iole?” Pandy asked.
But Iole had passed out.
“Gods,” Pandy said. “We have to get her to a physician.”
“We have another problem,” Homer said.
“What?” Pandy asked.
“Look,” he said, pointing.
Two camels, already on their feet, were pawing at the sand over and around the third; Homer’s camel lay on the ground, a mountain of sand piled high against her back, quite dead.
“Oh, no,” Pandy said, following Homer as he went to make certain.
“Hermes said the camel was known as ‘The Ship of the Desert,’ ” he said softly. He patted the camel’s neck, feeling her body growing cold.
“They’re supposed to be able to withstand anything,” Pandy said.
“Maybe,” Homer said, “it was just her time.”
Pandy was silent for moment.
“Li
ke Alcie,” she said, putting her hand on Homer’s.
“Like Alcie,” said Homer, rising and glancing down at the animal, her fur moving faintly in the lessening breeze.
“She was a good ship.”
He wasn’t aware that Pandy was staring at the crest of a newly created sand dune.
“We need another camel,” he said.
Then he followed Pandy’s arm as she raised it to point off into the distance.
“Maybe we could use one of theirs.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Unwanted Epithet
It had been amusing for a while, watching the other deities laugh, poke, pinch, and prod Hera as they stepped around the sleeping goddess, still slumped at the front of the line, her hip thrust sideways at an awkward angle. Each immortal chided her after their own fashion, spitting unintelligible curses or whispering snide remarks.
But now it had become tiresome to everyone. Finally, one official whose place at the counter had just opened up, held his hand high and halted Cloacina, the Roman Goddess of the Sewers, just as she was crossing the yellow line. With a glare at the official, she stepped back but not before waving the sleeves of her stinking cloak underneath Hera’s nose, which caused the goddess to cough in her sleep.
“This has gone on long enough,” the official said for the benefit of everyone in the large room.
Slowly, he began to make small circles in the air with his right forefinger. Out on the floor, Hera lifted a few centimeters off the ground and began to spin lazily. Faster and faster the official twirled and faster Hera spun; just as she was becoming a blue blur, the official clenched his hand and Hera dropped to the floor, the energy of her spinning sending her sprawling across the tiny, intricate mosaic tiles.
“Ohp!” she cried as her eyes flew open. She lay motionless for a second, not realizing where she was.
“Next!” called the official.
All eyes went to the large mass of blue robes on the floor. Hera lifted her head, still partially covered by the hood of her cloak, and stared back, dazed.
“Is that me?”
“Yes!”
“It’s you, lady.”
“Has been for a while now.”
Hera tried to pick herself up off the floor gracefully but instead stepped on a corner of her robe and everyone within earshot heard a soft riiiiiiip.
“All right, then,” Hera said nonchalantly, lifting her robe and walking, as stately as she could, up to the counter.
The official didn’t even glance up.
“I would like to—,” Hera began.
“Name?” the official cut in.
“Oh, yes, of course. Hera. Wife of—”
“Excuse me?” the official said, now gazing up at her. “What was that?”
Hera was caught off guard and did what she normally did when caught off guard: she became impatient and even more imperious.
“I said, ‘Hera, wife of—’ ”
“Zeus?” asked the official. “King of the Gods of Greece?”
“Naturally you heard of him—and me.”
The official began to chuckle softly.
“Oh, we’ve heard of you,” the official said, then he called off to his left. “Haven’t we, Saad?”
“Haven’t we what?” Saad called back.
“Haven’t we heard of Hera, wife of Zeus?”
“You’re kidding?” Saad said, ignoring his own visa petitioner for a moment. “Don’t tell me she’s …”
“Standing right in front of me, big as life. Bigger!” said the official.
“I find it impolite to talk about—,” Hera said.
“First of all, you’re gonna lose the attitude. Let’s not forget why you’re here, Hera. Do we know you? I should say we do, wife of Zeus. Queen of Heaven.”
The official left his stool and walked back a few paces to a wall with several portraits drawn on papyrus sheets hanging on it. Never taking his eyes off of her, he tapped at a decidedly unflattering charcoal sketch of Hera hanging in between a sketch of Loki, the Norse trickster, and the Hindu goddess Kali, the murderous destroyer.
“Chosen One,” he continued as he moved back to the counter, rattling off Hera’s other nicknames in a voice that sounded as if he had crushed, dried leaves in the back of his throat. “Cow-eyed, Big-eyed, Peacock Lady, Pea-brain, Bird-brain.”
“No one would venture to call me that! How do you dare … ,” Hera cried.
“No attitude! Now, around here, we have another name for you. Can you read what it says underneath your picture? No? I’ll tell you. It says: ‘WARNING! Hera aka Queen of the Gods, wanted in Egypt for questioning in connection with misuse of immortal powers regarding the setting of traps, deadfalls, pits, and other assorted schemes without permission from the local deistic authorities.’ ”
“What?” asked Hera, trying her best to act innocent.
“Oh, you’re fun, you are, Sandtrap. That’s what we call you around here. And now you’re actually applying for a permit? Well, this is gonna take some time. Lots of paperwork. We have a special room for difficult customers. Follow me.”
CHAPTER SIX
The Caravan
“What are they doing?” Pandy asked softly, staring at the crest of the large dune as she untied the length of rope from her waist and slipped it into her pouch.
“They’re studying us,” Homer said. “Seeing if we’re dangerous.”
“As if,” Pandy said, echoing one of Alcie’s favorite phrases.
The five men, three on camels, two on horseback, had not moved for a long time. Snippets of conversation had been carried on a light wind down the dune, but neither Pandy nor Homer could understand what was being said. Suddenly, the three men on camelback and one on a horse broke away and began galloping toward them down the dune.
“Homer?” Pandy’s whispered voice shot up in pitch. “Homer?”
“Don’t move,” Homer said firmly. “Stand still.”
Dido barked ferociously.
“Dido! Sit!” Pandy ordered. “Not another sound!”
He looked at her, panting, but remained silent.
“Why aren’t they all coming?” Pandy asked.
“They’re leaving one as a marker,” Homer said. “So they’ll know where they came from.”
There was absolute silence from the men, all dressed alike, with neatly trimmed black beards, each one alert and scowling. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the animals.
“Their weapons are drawn, but not raised,” Homer said, his voice still even.
Pandy noticed the scimitars flashing in the sunlight, almost as bright as the single giant rubies studding each man’s turban.
Two men stopped their mounts only a meter away from Homer and Pandy, the other two circled behind.
“Yeah, right,” thought Pandy, “as if we could escape.”
“Your names?” said the man on horseback to Homer.
“I am Homer of Crisa. This is Pandora of Athens. We have a friend with us who is very sick.”
“They are but children,” said another man to the horse rider. “They are harmless, certainly.”
“They are old enough to cause trouble,” replied the man on the horse, clearly the one in charge. “They might be spies. They might be a decoy. Who knows what tricks the Physician might use?”
“But,” said one of the men behind Pandy, “we would never have found them if not for losing our way in the storm. As guards, we would not have been sent to scout. We should not have seen them.”
“They might have been on their way to us. To free the Physician,” said the man in charge. “You say someone is sick?”
“Very sick,” answered Homer, pointing to Iole. “She’s there.”
“She might be dying!” Pandy cried.
One of the men on camels dismounted and knelt over Iole.
“They do not lie,” he said, looking up.
“How convenient,” said the horse rider. “When we have the Physician with us.”
“This child’s illness is not a ruse,” said the man, feeling Iole’s forehead. “Her fever is great. She does not have much longer.”
“How would you want your child treated in a foreign land?” another man asked quietly of the one in charge.
“Is not the generosity and hospitality of Persia known everywhere, even if we are, at present, stuck in this terrible Arabian desert?” questioned a third. “As representatives of that gracious country, are we to let these children die in such a place?”
The man spun his horse around in a circle, thinking a long moment.
“Please!” Pandy cried out at last, not caring what would happen to her, as long as they could help Iole.
The man in charge, looking from Iole’s prone form to Homer, then to Pandy, finally sheathed his scimitar.
“Bring them,” he said, turning his horse.
The man standing over Iole quickly remounted, then called to Homer.
“Hand her to me.”
Homer gently lifted Iole into the man’s arms, and he cradled her, unconscious, in front of himself. Pandy saw the magic rope, still around Iole’s waist, now dragging in the sand.
“Rope,” she mouthed, hoping the severed section was still enchanted, and more importantly, that it would do as she asked. “Circle Iole’s waist only.”
In less than the blink of an eye, the rope shrunk itself to the point where Pandy thought it was going to slice Iole in two. Pandy nearly shrieked as Iole moaned. Then the rope expanded to just the right size and actually took on a decorative sheen, as if it were part of Iole’s clothing.
“Please, I don’t know what’s going on,” Pandy thought to the rope. “But please don’t kill Iole.”
Pandy and Homer, quickly checking their belongings, mounted the two remaining camels and, surrounded by the rest of the guards, galloped up the dune as Dido ran easily alongside. Reaching the crest, Pandy peered down into a deep valley that she would have sworn had not been there before the storm. Now, instead of a view of the endless desert, she saw a camp of many differently sized tents in various stages of assembly, some undergoing repair from the effects of the storm. Each was constructed of multicolored stripes of brightly dyed canvas. She could also see a long line of camels tethered together, and columns of smoke from several fires as people scurried about, shaking sand from carpets, cooking pots, and clothing.
Pandora Gets Angry Page 3