Of Ambrosia and Stone: Pandora's Curse

1

Sunlight dances through the leaves and casts enchanting patterns on the ground. I feel a sense of fulfillment as I survey the thriving garden. Months of hard work and in a couple more months the harvest will come. This is my place of peace. Surrounded by my vibrant garden.

“Your garden has been coming along, Pandora.” My friend brushes back her wavy crimson hair out of her flushed face. Shooting me her dimpled grin, she sits a couple of feet away from me. “Most of these plants are far larger than where they typically are at this point in the year.”

Smiling proudly, I nod. “Labor of love.”

The garden contains a large variety of produce including celery, asparagus, lettuce, onions, cucumbers, garlic, leeks, and beans. All of which are helpful for the long winter months. Even the nearby fruit trees seem to be thriving.

Gardening is my passion and thank Gaia for that. My family and I would have starved a long time ago had it not been for my talent and craft.

I kneel in the garden behind my house, tending to my plants.

My best friend Arista focuses on the bean plants at her knees.

Ari has been in my life for as long as I remember. She and I are inseparable.

Stretching my back, I take a second to wipe the sweat off my brow and pull my chestnut hair into a hasty plait over my shoulder.

The muggy summer air pools at my skin. Lingering around us. Hardly a cloud crosses the sky. Instead, the earth bears the full burden of the sun.

Serves me right.

Had I gotten up on time, I wouldn’t be out in this blistering heat. My gardening would’ve been done well before noon.

But I hate mornings.

Always have and I suspect I always will.

My friend chuckles from across the patch.

“What?” I shoot her a challenging look.

Tipping her chin toward me, she laughs. “You missed a curl.”

Groaning, I pat my hair. Searching for the offending lock of hair. Once I find it, I weave the end into my plait. Not having the energy to restart my braid from scratch. “Better?” I ask as I wait for my friend”s approval.

“Better.” She grins.

Sighing, I return to the dirt with its creepy crawling insects amongst my plants. Even with the intense warmth, I love every minute of the outdoors.

Arista muses, “A touch of magic can transform the world. But when magic isn’t available, it takes hour upon hour of dedicated effort to make meaningful change.”

Contemplating her words, I reply, “I suppose you”re right. When did you become a philosopher?” Scrunching my nose, I grin mischievously at her.

“Oh, you know me, I”m a lady of many trades.” She winks at me before tipping her head back down to the garden. A mournful look crosses her face. “I wish there were more flowers,” Ari’s soft voice pressed.

Opening my mouth to speak, I mumble, “Flowers aren’t great sources of food.”

Whether Arista heard me or not, I couldn’t tell. Instead, she proceeds on, either ignoring me or from being so immersed in her thoughts. “Vegetables and fruits are nice and all, but flowers have their own uncanny beauty.”

She has got a point there. Even flowers have their value. Even if it’s for our kitchen table or a nice garland. Then of course, there are those healing properties found in some plants. The ones that Dad insisted that I learn like the back of my hand.

Though Dad is the better apothecarist compared to me. I’m more of a gardener who dabbles in tinctures.

But when life gets hard and food is scarce, then stocking our empty shelves becomes more of a priority. Tinctures don’t fill the stomach. Salves don’t hide the pains of hunger.

No, when times are tough, we don’t scour the earth to bolster our supplies of ingredients for remedies, ailments, and the like. Instead, we strive to fill up on the basics.

Our only exception to this comes down to florals. Flowers are scarce in this land. When we find them, we dry them.

But to focus heavily on growing time intensive flowers would be a folly. With limited time, energy, and water, I can’t help but feel guilty of diverting attention away from food to inedible pretty garden decorations.

Defensiveness sprouts inside me. Wanting nothing more than to change the subject, I deflect as I purse my lips. “Yeah? Well, we’ve dandelions. Those are flowers.” Crouching over the asparagus, I pull out the weeds from the garden.

Perhaps yanking them a tad more forcefully than strictly necessary. But it gets the job done all the same.

Arista groans, her hands making quick progress with the beans. “Dandelions are weeds.”

Furrowing my brow, I shoot her an indignant look.

Of all flowers, I can relate to them the most. Rejected from the masses with turned up noses due to no fault of their own.

I’m a dandelion.

A weed that the world wishes to cease to exist.

Yet, here I am. Regardless of what makes the world more comfortable.

Swallowing, I turn back to my friend. Clamoring to think of anything to convince her that I’m not a weed. “But they still have a flower and taste great in salads and tea! They’re a useful flower.” I challenged with wide and pleading eyes.

Giving me a pointed look, Ari rolls her eyes.

So much for changing her mind.

It”s fine, I reassure myself.

Weeds like me are misunderstood.

I stand up from the ground and I stretch. Looking down at my friend, I furrow my brow. Eager to change the subject, I let out a loud groan. “Ari, really? Again? You left so many weeds behind. Didn’t you see these?” I point to the clusters of weeds directly in front of her knees.

“Sorry Pandy.” Her large eyes give me the sweetest of pouts. The very look in which she knows I can’t hold a grudge against her for long.

You sneaky little malaka.I sigh loudly. Dirty work wasn’t her style. Especially when it involved actual dirt. Giving in to her look, I reply in a huff,“It”s alright. Make sure to get those weeds this time and I promise that next time I”m in the woods, I”ll try to bring back some daffodils.”

Glancing down at my friend’s hands, I”m in awe of them. How she could always remain mess free when caring for the garden is something I”m jealous of. When my gardening time comes to a close, I look like I picked a fight with a charcoal pile… and lost.

Her green eyes light up as brightly as the sun. “I would like that. It may not be planting season for them, but I believe between the two of us, we will be able to get them blooming soon.”

Scrunching my nose, I grin at her. “I don’t know when Dad will have us move next.” It may not be worth the effort. I drop my voice down low as I state, “I think this may be the longest we’ve been in one place.”

Dad, Arista, and I aren’t meant to be fixed in one place. Long since before I could remember, we’ve wandered. Staying in one location for no more than a year. Karpathos was different. An anomaly as we’ve stayed now for nearly two.

Thinking back to our old homes, flashes of many pass through my memory. Far too many to even remember all the places, the faces of the villagers, and what memories belonged where. Sometimes, we chose to leave, other times we’re forced out. My favorite house was in Athens. But a fire prompted our move. After much journeying, we eventually found Karpathos.

…And unfortunately, we also found my now stepmom and aunt.

Though Celeste has turned out to be a wonderful friend and stepsister. With enough time, I foresee us becoming as close as Arista and me.

Sighing loudly, I reply, “On that note, I should probably find Dad and see if he wants to check the hunting traps with me.” Clapping my hands together, I shake off a crusted layer of dirt. Patting, my clothes, finer mud powder does the same. Puffing up in smoke before dissipating toward the ground.

“Pandy, I don’t think today is a good day to enter the forest.” Ari’s normally cheerful voice is grave. “The woods are too treacherous today.”

Her wide eyes cast a look of fear toward me. Large orbs pleading for me to take her words to heart.

Not every day do we’ve such a potent risk of the gods being out on the prowl.

Regardless, a bit of fear isn’t enough for us to risk not having any food to eat. Giving her a crooked grin, I shrug as I roll my eyes. “The forest is dangerous every day.” Opening her mouth to protest, I snapped my head toward our modest townhome. “See you later Arista.”

“This is a bad idea.” My friend”s soft voice echoes in my mind.

Frustrated, I turn back to the garden as I enter the doorway of my home. The beans where Arista sat are untouched and my friend is gone.

Of course, she left without finishing her portion of the chores, I think internally. Whenever she doesn’t get her way, she tends to pout and sulk rather pointedly.

Pausing at the entrance to our home, I slip off my mud speckled sandals at the door. Brushing off as much dust and grime as I could before crossing into the back entryway of our house in a futile attempt to not give my stepmom yet another reason to despise my presence.

My bare feet welcome the cool mosaic tiles. Thankful for the break from the heat.

Shutting the door behind me, I drag my fingers along the worn honey oak trim which lines the edges of the room.

Fresh herbs hang glowing and verdant from the walls like trophies from the woods. Wandering down the hallway, my eyes scan the small rooms for Dad.

When we first arrived, the home felt as luxurious as a palace. Old vases, portraits in golden frames, and wallpaper-covered walls.

Two years later, I recognize the facade. Most of the furnishings are threadbare from time. Meticulously cared for but one can only make items last for so long. Fading wallpaper is now patchy and occasionally replaced with plain plastered walls and hand painted murals. The rooms once seeming endlessly large, now feel small and cramped.

But outdated furniture is hardly our most pressing concern. Especially with all the tales of mortals being abducted by the gods.

It is a constant fear hanging over our heads and hearts. Not knowing who’ll be here and who’ll be snatched by the gods. Even though we know that gods don’t cross the Veil all year round, it was still a fear that was never far from our thoughts.

Some speculate that gods take suitors outside of the immortal realm. But being a mortal lover of a god or goddess is more dangerous than being a soldier on the front. A deadly role. Any mortal who sees a god or goddess in their true form is said to combust.

There was once a woman from Thebes who once begged that Zeus himself reveal his true form to her. The King of the Gods refused, knowing it would be her death. But Hera, the wife of Zeus, eventually conned the mistress into tricking Zeus. Binding the king by the River Styx to make love to her like his wife.

The maiden burned.

Thebes burned.

Mortals aren’t meant to play immortal games, especially when it comes to games of the heart.

Days like today are when non-believers pull out any protection they can think of. Weaving imaginary spells or praying to whatever patron god your family associates with. Completing duties and tasks for them in the temples which have been all but neglected for six months.

But it’s all useless.

No talisman or herb on the door or offerings will keep the gods and goddesses away from whatever brought them to the mortal lands. Though some in our village swear by them, Dad says that it would be more effective to roll in cattle shit. The stench is a far better deterrent than a useless piece of junk.

But desperate people do desperate things for those they love. The divine are like real-life boogeymen. Far spookier than any mythical monster the minds of mankind could even dream up. They can hide anywhere, be anything, and use magic to get what they desire.

Some gods are rumored to disguise themselves as animals, friends, and family to get close to who they want. Plucking them away and stealing them from the sun.

Passing each room, I peek my head in for Dad. So far, the sitting room, the kitchen, the library, and he’s nowhere to be seen. Entering my Dad’s study, I find him reading a book, his gold spectacles are low on his nose. Messy brown curls peep over the book. Old and leather bound. The title long since faded to time.

“Dad?” Tentatively, I wait for him to acknowledge. Sometimes I find him fully immersed in his books. Off in an entirely different world.

Dark eyes peek over his spectacles. “Yes Dora?”

“Pandy.” I flashed him a smile as I gently corrected him.

Recently, I have been trying something new.

After all, who would name their daughter Pandora other than my dad? An ancient name from before the Veil separated us so distinctly from the immortals. A name which means ‘the universal gift.’

Gag.

Also known as a name which gets you bullied ruthlessly by neighborhood children.

Perhaps it was best that we moved around frequently when I was a kid.

I would have been doomed from the first introduction… That’s if they could get past my damned eyes. Something that truly wasn’t a guarantee.

Dad scoffs as he stifles his laughter. “Pandora,” he chides as the name lazily rolls off his tongue.

Narrowing my eyes, I shoot him a challenging look. Which so happens to be the very same glare that he swears makes me the spitting image of my mother. One of the rare times he’d even refer to her.

According to him, my mom and him were like oil and fire. Great when you need a bit of light during a dark night but horrendous when it gets out of hand.

Something which happened too frequently according to him.

Dad sighs loudly. I watch as his resistance gives way to a softer look. “Pandy.” He corrects. “Now what was it you came down here for?”

Rocking from my front heel to my back, my mind begins to spin. Thinking of everything I should’ve done first before involving Dad.

I wish I had time to sneak those traps from the deeper part of the forest and move them closer. This has been my game for some time. The closest bits of the forest have been over hunted.

Well, according to everyone but Dad. No matter what, we were to exclusively hunt there. Even though we rarely if ever have a catch. “Are you up to checking the traps with me?”

Worry crawls across his face as he knits his brows. “I”m not so sure about the forest today, my little amethyst.”

Internally, I groan. My cursed eyes are forever a sore spot, hinting of the Veil.

The mark of the River Lethe. Located deep in Hades’s Court of Erebus. A memory of my past. A reminder of my death. “Dad, you speak like my eyes are a blessing. You’ve seen how other villagers act when they see my eyes.”

I”m fully convinced that I could be the best person there is, but it does not matter. Everyone always gets caught up in my eyes.

I’m the dandelion that they would like to weed and dispose of.

“No, no. Few have a soul so blessed that they’ve the honor of passing through the River Lethe. Your eyes are a mark of pride, and you should wear them as such. People who see your eyes not for the heroism of your previous life, but the death that came after it shows their short-sighted nature.” Taking a breath, he continues, “Pandy, with that said, as brave and true as your soul may be, today isn’t a good day for anyone to encroach on the Veil.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare at him. “Fine. If you don’t want to go with me, I”ll go alone.” Storming off toward the door of Dad’s study, a hand snatches my wrist.

How does he manage to move that fast? One moment he was sitting at his desk and now he’s across the room.

Turning slightly, I watch his frantic eyes as they silently plead with me to heed his warning. Standing tall, I don’t back down. Just because the entire town is terrified to go into the woods today, doesn’t mean that I should have any fear.

After all, the God of the Sun would never want someone with my eyes. Especially with all the maidens in the towns surrounding us.

“Pandora, I have a bad feeling about the woods today. Perhaps we should wait for the solstice to pass. Come here and look out the window with me,” he chides. Pulling me alongside him, Dad doesn’t give me a minute to think. Instead, I’m drug along beside him. Crossing the room, Dad tugs me along with him, and points through the paned glass. “What do you see?”

Staring into the woods, I try to see what he is seeing. When nothing was readily obvious, I joked, “You mean, other than the forest?”

Dry humor has always been my coping mechanism. When I”m stressed or scared, it’s what I turn to.

The lack of laughter from Dad is alarming. Normally, the man is so jovial. Now, everything feels gloomy. “Look at the woodland creatures.”

Scanning the edges, I can’t even see bees buzzing around the bulbous hive that we all avoid. Everything felt silent. Nothing scampering around. As though even the nimblest of creatures dared not risk being seen.

But what was he seeing that I’m missing?

“I don’t see anything.” Squinting my eyes, I huff in frustration.

“Exactly,” he says darkly as he watches the woods. “The Veil is open. I can feel the gods in the woods. So can the animals.”

That’s impossible.

Us mortals can’t feel magic.

“But Dad, if we do that, we can kiss whatever we’ve snared goodbye.” Frantically scanning the room, I searched for the others. I drop my voice down low when I spot no one. “You know as well as I that we do not have the luxury of being able to wait.”

It was a low blow but is painfully accurate.

Our stored food is running thin. Summer may be warm, but until the harvests come in, it’s often a hungrier time than winter. We can only do our best to supplement food supplies until the fall harvest makes options more accessible and affordable.

What we reap now, takes away from our final harvest.

Hunting this close to the Veil is a risky game, but the meat makes the meager greens of late spring and early summer stretch.

Even so, the mist of the Veil is a chilling sight.

In the days of old, some villages would throw out their most evil of criminals to the mist. An exile worse than death itself. Some who venture close enough still claim to see them walking. Like shades. Not fully corporal, not fully in our plane, all wearing clothes of eons past.

The Veil is the Underworld of our plane.

“Yes, I know hun.” Dad sighs. “But today isn’t a good day to go. There’s bound to be trouble in the woods.”

“Dad,” I chide. “Are you coming with me or are you making me go to the woods alone.”

Biting his lips, he shifts uncomfortably. “No, Pandy. I”m coming.”

A serious look is etched onto his face.

I gesture down to his house clothes and state, “Ready when you are.”

Raising his hands, he rushes to his room. “Fine, fine. I get it. I”m a slow poke. You don’t need to rub it in. We’ve had quite a role reversal. Typically, you”re the one who takes so long to get ready for the woods, one would think that you were preparing for a gala hosted by the Lord of Erebus himself.”

Whatever, I sighed. I would never go to a gala with Hades in attendance or mess around with the gods. Gaia, from Dad’s words, one would think that I”m dancing with death himself.

I mutter under my breath, “At least I”m interested in going to the posh court. Come on. We’re losing light.”

Groaning, I pushed my way past him.

I retrace my steps. Down the hallway and out the door into the warm wind that kissed my cheeks. The foreboding forest encircles our town as though it were a noose.

The forest is always in sight but even with its vivid beauty, darkness lurks in its depths.

“Hold on, Pandy.” Dad pulls me to a stop as I groan. “Is Arista planning on coming to the woods with us?”

Subtle my dad is not.

“I don’t know Dad. It’s hard to predict when she”ll show up.” I answer awkwardly.

Raising an eyebrow, he presses me for more information. “Have you been seeing your imaginary friend recently?”

Flinching at the directness of the question, I wince. “Yes.” Perhaps I could live a normal life even with the visions. But between Arista and my eyes, Dad knows the odds are stacked against me.

Hades, I know what the odds are and none of them are in my favor.

“Did you take your potion this morning?” Raising an eyebrow at me, I squirm under his gaze.

Pursing my lips, Dad gives me a knowing look. He knows that I”m terrible at remembering it.

Plus, the putrid potion tastes like poison.

I’m not sure how a concoction made from honey could be so foul.

“Why do I need to take that stupid medicine.” I sulk.

The medicine was so foul and acrid that it was like swallowing burning charcoal. The embers scorching my throat as it sinks deep into my core.

“You know why.” Giving me a stern look, I watch as my dad crosses his arms from above me. Towering tall over my head.

We’re both frustrated. The tension was palpable in the air.

“Do I? You”re so secretive about its purpose,” I murmur. I don’t know how long I have taken my medicine, but he sure does not like to say why I take it.

Internally, I have my suspicions on the purpose of the medicine. It was a gradual understanding after conveniently forgetting to take my required dose countless times.

…Or as it were me trying to avoid taking it. The occasional dropped vial, spitting out the liquid or conveniently forgetting to take the liquid. Each time, Dad would get very frustrated. But with my conveniently forgotten doses, I have noticed that Ari is around more. She became stronger with each missed dose. Even fully corporeal to the point that she could interact with the world around her.

She’d push books over, poke me, or do a variety of other annoying things.

Well, that’s except for talking to anyone but me.

“A lot of people have imaginary friends, why should I have to take medicine to make Arista go away?” I furrow my brows. “I swear that she’s nice.”

“Pandy, do not speak of her like that. She’s not real. Arista isn’t here,” he chides sternly. But a hint of something flecks in his warm eyes. Fear perhaps? “It would be dangerous for you to see it any other way. Don’t you remember Corfu?”

I gulp and nod.

Corfu was one of our old homes. Dad always warned me about talking to Ari with others around, which always felt so rude. But in Corfu, someone heard me talking to her. The whole town was set ablaze with the cursed girl talking to people who no one else could see. When he heard of the town’s plans for me, he and I had to leave in the dead of night.

“You”re right,” I whisper, dropping my chin to watch my feet. Embarrassment consumes me. What happened in Corfu was something that I never want to experience again.

“Do you want us to have to leave Karpathos? Leaving behind Celeste? Your stepmom?” Dad presses me.

To be honest, I would prefer to leave my stepmom.

I held my tongue knowing that he’d not be pleased by my back talk. Today I have pushed my luck too far. Life is all about knowing when you’ve to take your hits.

“It protects you from your body.” The warm wind licks my face as Dad stands from his hunched-over position.

Narrowing my eyes, my dad is so freaking hard to read at times. Especially when his back is turned. “I”ll be out of medicine by the Winter Solstice.”

“Yes. you know how we make it every year on the Winter Solstice.” Dad raises his eyebrow at me. “Do you need me to watch you take it?”

“No, I”ll go take it.” I make a pouting face. Hanging my head low and head to Dad’s office.

He reminds me, eyes fixed along the forest line. “Three drops under the tongue, every single day, Pandy. You know you need the serum. I don’t want to lose you like I lost your mother. This will help you stay strong.”

Pressing my lips into a straight line. I state, “Next time can you make it taste a little less vile?” If it wasn’t so putrid, I wouldn’t need as much prompting to take the silver liquid.

Dad gives me a look. “Really Pandora? With all your knowledge of herbs and tinctures, you should know that adding something to make it taste better could change all the properties of the mixture. Even rendering it completely useless.”

Narrowly resisting the urge to stick out my tongue at him, I make my way back through the house. When I was younger, I would often stomp and shout when it came to this time of the day. But nothing ever worked.

I trudged up the stairs. Turning toward his study, I enter the room and walk over to the worn wooden desk. Unlatching the drawer, I find the container.

Rolling the silver vial, I spot a couple of ingredients that are instantly recognizable to me like a small honeycomb and lavender petals. The other plants are completely unknown to me.

Taking the dropper, I fill up the pipette before lifting my tongue. Preparing myself internally for the vile potion.

Tucking my tongue back, I brace for those three tiny drops.

One.

Two.

Three

Coughing, I splutter. My eyes water. The familiar sensation of spicy prickling rolls down my throat. Akin to swallowing a cocklebur, I shudder at imagining the hooked prongs scraping down the inside of my throat.