Of Ambrosia and Stone: Pandora's Curse

36

Standing in front of the throne of death, I prepare for the next moments.

Mud.

I could become a mound of mud.

Painted and forgotten by everyone but the creepy satyr in the library.

Joining all the other maidens. Every ounce of the breath of life pulled from our chests. Returning to mud, as the gods created us from.

Anticipation prickles at my skin. Like I”m walking on a frozen lake only for the ice to give way. Letting me crash into its frigid black waters. My feet are frozen yet soaked in sweat as I think about what I’m planning to do.

Apollo lays on the ground covered in ichor. Artemis and Chiron watch the doors with a fear that’s difficult to explain as anything other than sheer terror.

“Arista,” I whisper.

She pulls at my hand. “Yes, I”m here.” Her soft voice whispers against my mind. Her hand is cool like the mist from the forest.

“Please,” I pleaded. “Don’t leave me.”

“Never,” she promised. “I never have left you and I don’t plan on starting now. You and I are one. Our souls inexplicably intertwined.”

Approaching me from behind, Artemis extends her hand to me, giving me a glass of ambrosia, “Here. Take this. Full strength. It helps with the nerves.”

I nod. Tossing the liquid back, I sigh loudly.

The pleasant liquid warms my insides but does nothing to quell my nerves. My heart pounds so loudly that the world becomes muted. leaving me and the sound of my ears. The more I stood staring, the more the fear bubbled in me.

Apollo lays silently on the floor at the foot of the dais.

I need to do this for him.

The doors thunder at the entrance of the room. Turning, I watch as those doors are cast open. Shattering from the great force.

There stands Zeus.

The centaur and the Moon Goddess don’t let grass grow under their feet. Springing into action.

Artemis and Chiron fling arrows at him. Both ready to switch to their swords at a moment”s notice. I bit my lip.

I need to sit on the throne.

“Persephone,” Zeus calls from behind me.

I pause, knowing he is talking to me.

“Don’t sit on that throne and I promise you’ll be greatly rewarded.” Zeus”s voice booms from behind me.

The fear of me turning into mud makes this a tempting offer. More tempting than it should’ve been.

“If you don’t sit on that throne, I”ll make you my queen,” He coos, growing louder.

The plucking of arrows seems to pick up. But there was no cry of pain. None have hit their mark.

“With me, you’ll rule, I would never force you to face the throne,” he promises. His voice grows yet louder.

Don’t listen to him,I chide myself.

“I would never rule beside the man who stole my father away from me,” I state as I close my eyes.

I hurl myself down onto the Dying Throne.

The ousted king bellows. The Moon Goddess and him are now locked in close combat.

Everything looked so bleak. Chiron and Artemis wouldn’t be able to hold him long.

I wait for my body to change to mud. Treasuring my last few moments.

And wait.

And wait.

I keep my eyes open. Wanting my last moments to see that Apollo is okay. That he is healed.

“The diadem!” shouts Chiron. “Put on the crown of flowers!”

My eyes snap to the pedestal at my side.

The throne and the crown.

Both were needed for the ritual.

I’m the source of the power, the crown is the conduit, and the throne is the sink.

Throwing myself up from the throne, I dash for the pedestal. Tossing the black veil off the pedestal, I grasp the diadem.

So much for a crown of flowers.

This crown seemed closer to a diadem of death.

Thorns crawl around the circlet. Threatening to cut my skin even now should I be less than careful.

As I force myself back down on the crown, I don the crown.

The electrifying sensation of magic surges through my skin. The hair on my arms stands on end.

Gritting my teeth, I slam my eyes shut. Quivering, my nails dig into the elaborate carved wood of the armrests.

No amount of energy can open my eyes.

The feeling was odd. Not painful but uncomfortable. Electrifying and exhausting. Exhilaration flows inside of me. I feel like I”m flying on the clouds but also dragging my feet in the depths of the underworld. Mucking along, pulling the dirt and rocks along with me.

Slowly my shuddering subsides. Apollo, Arista, and Artemis are as silent as death.

Or maybe I”m mud? Now that would be cruel. Unable to talk or unable to move but still being. Listening to everything going on around me.

My breath quickens. Flashes of people, of towns and the kingdom fly by my mind’s eyes. Artemis, Athena, Chiron, Apollo, people who work in the palace and strangers. Nymphs, satyrs, centaurs, and others. All turning to the elements. To stone, to flowers, to trees, to marble statues and more.

The faces of the girls who came before me. All terrified to sit on the throne and don the crown. None fully knowing what exactly to expect. Especially the early ones. Blood drips from the thorns of the diadem. Sitting on the throne. Mud spreading through them like jumping into water. Starting low with their feet. Crawling up their legs, midsections, their clothes turning to clay too. Until they take their last breaths. Eyes glasses from tears.

Sometimes two are taken at the same time. The second maiden stands terrified at their friend’s fate and their own. Fighting the guards was useless. Their fate was already cast. Either Athena, Apollo or the guards would push them down onto the throne while the other forced the diadem on their heads.

Some were more frightened than the others. Less willing to accept. Apollo and Athena would stand, each dragging a girl to the throne. Each beside them. Forcing them down. Holding them to the throne. Shifting to clay right under their fingertips.

“This is for the good of the kingdom,” Apollo would tell the other maidens. “You”re brave. Thank you for your service to my court.” Comfortless words to those who are utterly terrified.

No matter the fighting.

No matter their pleas.

No matter their tears.

Flashes of each maiden and their fate. Becoming a clay statue. Being placed in a kiln to set their form. Brush strokes painting them into their former likeness. Set in the library on a sculpted throne to be revered. At their feet lies their name. Thrown in the library like all the previous maiden’s taken from the mortal realm.

Some with names I recognize. Lines of people whose descendants still live in town.

Laying forgotten. Dust coated their forms in the library. Each sitting on her throne. All with different expressions. Some are in fear, some are stony calm, others smiling bravely.

Golem Thalia.

Golem Callista.

Golem Althea.

And so on. Each girl, each maiden I walk in their footsteps, following the same path.

Mud.

Forged.

Painted.

Placed.

Forgotten.

And there sits one empty throne in the deepest crevasses of the library.

Golem Pandora.

The thought catches in my throat.

Opening my eyes, I”m no longer in the throne.

Blinking my eyes, everything felt fuzzy.

Am I in a garden?

This was no garden that I remember even though I feel that I should. With each blink, my vision seems to clear. It looks like one that could be in the palace. From the stonework to the plants, to the statues. Everything looks to be of the Caelum.

Entering the garden, I sigh as I look over the familiar sights and smells. Following the winding path, I stray through the grasses and flowers to the bench. As I sit, I overlook the small pond.

“Ari,” I whisper. Twirling around, I stared into my sanctuary. Ears yearning for my friend.

But only whispers of wind ripple across the grass.

It all felt so odd. Like I”m in a vision. A dreamworld but I don’t understand what I”m meant to be looking for.

Swallowing hard, my throat feels like it’s closing on itself. My chest aches as I look over the garden.

“Arista,” I state a bit louder. “This isn’t funny. Please come out and talk with me.”

Not even a sound from her.

“Arista!” My shouts become more frantic. “You said you wouldn’t leave me!”

Where could she be?

“Yes?” Turning to my side, I see her. Her body is fainter than normal. But I assume it’s because of exhaustion. Rolling her head to me, she can hardly hold herself up. Slouched against the bench. Her face is hollow. Dark circles under her eyes. Her form is faded like the mist. Like she was not fully here.

Around her head is a crown of blooming flowers. Vibrant and bright. Strung together like the ones she and I’d make every summer.

“What’s wrong Ari? Are you okay?” I questioned my friend.

Sighing loudly, she replies, “Not so great.”

Why is she being so secretive?

“Where are we? Where’s the throne?” I asked. Searching for Apollo. “Our friends are in danger. Zeus is attacking the palace.” She looked weak. Like a shade of my friend that I have long considered to be a sister.

Ari answers softly, “We’re between worlds. Caught for now but no worries. You’ll return soon. We don’t have much time.” She looks me up and is done. “I can see you”re holding back something. Ask your question.”

“I have been doing a lot of thinking recently,” plucking a nearby red amaranth, I fidget with the stem of the plant.

“Always a dangerous pastime for you,” she quips. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Her voice croaks. Scratchy and echoing.

“I know,” I grin slightly before turning more serious.

“Seriously though, what’s going on?” My voice was frantic. Nothing was how it should be. Everything felt off.

Gripping my hand, she laces her cool fingers in mine. Ari watches me with curious eyes, “I have known you for years, Pandy. It has always been you, me and Prometheus against the world.”

Prometheus.

There that name comes up once more.

Though I didn’t expect it from her lips. Instead of questioning her, I wait for an explanation. One that I know is coming. An explanation that’s long overdue.

We aren’t related by blood, but we’re family. How we found each other, I don’t remember. No matter how much I want to. I want others to see her. Know Arista as I do.

When dad found out that I was speaking with Ari, he was scared. Terrified to have others find out. That’s when I knew, nobody else sees or hears her.

But Arista was no imaginary friend. She was rational and alive. Projecting life and words of hope in my hardest moments.

Arista wasn’t fake. She couldn’t be. too real for me to ever consider her something like that.

She isn’t a figment of my imagination.

But what’s she?

Grimly, I watch the ducks swimming in the pond. Casting ringlets out with each movement. “Why can’t anyone else see or hear you?” Turning toward her, I set my hands on my lap. Lacing them with the other.

Her hands feel so cold. Goosebumps prickle up my arms.

Ari slowly stands as her legs wobbly beneath her like blades straining to hold itself up in a gusting breeze. Extending a hand in my direction, she offers me her arm. “Help me garden while I explain.”

Slowly, I took my friend”s hand. My hand falls through her grasp. Mournfully, she stares down at her hand. Eyes full of sadness, she slowly retracts her hand, placing it instead in the folds of her billowing skirts. Watching every little movement of hers, I try to understand what’s changed. Trying to find my answers in her unreadable form.

We start with a plot of daffodils, like the ones we’ve been growing in my garden. Sitting, we face each other. As I pull each tiny weed, I watch her. Her hands are to the dirt, but never does she pull anything out of the ground.

“Arista, answer my question,” I replied. A pleading tone is etched into my words. Everything feels overwhelming and I need some answers.

I need her answers.

Sitting cross legged, I watch her toy with her ginger locks. Bright green eyes watching me. Taking me in, “Daffodils haven’t grown since the disappearance of the spring almost entirely from this realm.”

“Yeah?” Increasingly, I grow more and more frustrated. “Would you pull that weed for me?” Gesturing to a weed near her.

“I wish I could,” she whispers. Her eyes locked on the patch of plants underneath her. “I miss the dirt.”

Arista looks from her hand to the weed then to me. Feeling my watchful eyes, her fingers grip the plant. I watch as they pass through.

“When Persephone left, much of the flora and fauna died with her absence.” Ari stares at her hand. She sighs, “Things like daffodils were some of the first to die off. Like they couldn’t bear being in a world that she wasn’t in.”

Reaching down, I began plucking the weeds. Piling the discarded clippings off to one side.

I hear Ari sigh loudly as she watches my work in the garden. “The court was bound to her and she was tied to the land. Each spring she sat on the throne to renew the connection to this world.”

“But why would Apollo need maidens to sit on the throne?” I asked. Exhaustion leaking into my tone. “Why didn’t they bring Persephone back? Track her down and drag her back.”

That seems like the only logical option.

Arista sits silently. Contemplating her next words carefully, “They did.”

Her fingertips were vaguely see through.

Intently, I watch her. look at her. My hands each holding a weed each.

And I can see through her, “Arista… Are you a shade?”

“Passing through the River Lethe is a fickle thing,” she adds, lost in thought. “Even those who have died don’t come out the same.”

What’s she talking about? Why is she acting so odd right now?

It”s like she’s speaking in riddles.

“Everyone who crosses the river has already died before they touch those dark waters,” I remind her. Still holding those weeds. “I was dead,” I state as my eyes brimmed with tears. “Hades gave me a second chance. No, I”m not the same person as the one who entered the river, but I made it. I have a good life. How could I complain?”

Everyone, both here and in the mortal lands, sees Hades as this malevolent figure. Cold, harsh and uncaring. One to be feared. But I feel grateful to him.

Indebted even.

Have I always had good feelings about him, well no. But now I get it. He gave me a chance to live once more. Make a life that I”m proud to have lived.

Back in the village even, life was not terrible. I had Agatha, Celeste, and a blossoming career. Freedom to enter the woods when and where I pleased. That’s where I had Dad. Life wasn’t easy. It was constant work. Constant effort to make sure our family was going to be okay.

Here, I don’t have to worry about where my next meal will be coming from. Here it feels like I have a chance to find out who I”m while living comfortably. I may even be head over heels for someone that I would never have met otherwise.

“What if you weren’t dead when you passed through those black waters,” she countered, pulling me back to our conversation.

“That’s impossible,” I whisper. “And you know it.”

Mortals can only be reborn when they’ve died. Once they stand before Hades, only he decides their fate. Someone who is alive, doesn’t stand before Hades and is offered the river.

Arista crosses her arms across her chest. “And being reborn through the River Lethe isn’t?”

“Well, I suppose you”ve got a point there.” I don’t have memories from the river. Well not exactly. They feel like my visions. When I”m looking through someone else’s eyes. When I was younger, I would have nightmares. Vivid ones. Where I would wake up drenched. Choking on water. Seconds away from throwing up if dad hadn’t gotten to me so quickly.

My hands feel clammy at the thought of those waters.

The feeling of being drug down into the dark deep depths.

Being thrown around in a current.

Staring upwards in those unrevealing black inky waters. Fingernails breaking as I scraped them along the smooth rocks. Clawing for my way out. Scrambling for any hand hold to push me out. Any traction to save me from this.

Water pressing against my chest. Smothering my mouth. Forcing its way into my lungs.

My head thumping against a rock, I float prone in the water. Neither sinking or rising. Water rushes into my lungs.

Long red locks floating around me.

Red locks.

“Arista… who are you?” Staring at my friend, I lose my grip on the weeds. Which fall limply to the ground.

The air seems to be sucked from my lungs. Like no matter how much I try to breathe, my lungs are frozen. Having fully forgotten their purpose.

“You”re asking the wrong question.” Ari replies quietly, “Try asking yourself instead ‘Who are we?’”

A name hangs in my wind. One that’s impossible. One that’s beyond all possibility.

I need her to tell me what’s going on right now.

Pleading with her, I beg, “Please answer me. Give it to me straight. What do you mean? Stop speaking in riddles.”

“Every coin has the side you see.” She gestures to me. Her eyes were tired. Full of strain. Looking like she’s preparing to sleep for three months straight. “And the side hidden away from the world,” Arista points to herself. “I”m you and you”re me. We’re two halves of the same spirit. Caught in different times. Glimpses of who we’re and once were. We’re the light in the shadows. We’re Persephone.”

My vision of dad on the mountain top, instructing me to find Persephone. A goddess lost to time.

Just as Zeus was saying earlier.

This is why he was trying to find me after I was thrown through the wall and Apollo was incapacitated.

“Persephone? I”m Persephone?” My wide eyes stare at my friend. Waiting for her to say that she was kidding and that I”m being too gullible. “Like what Zeus was saying? He was right?”

“Yes.” The garden fades around us. Ari’s voice is growing weaker by the second. “Pandy, promise me that you won’t sit on this throne again. Not until you”re ready. No matter who pleads. Sitting on the throne will only cause darkness, pain, and destruction.”

“Promise,” I whisper. My eyes flutter shut. Exhaustion filling my every essence.

“To find Dad, you need Hades. He is the only one who can help you find him,” Ari whispers in a raspy voice, “Now, stand up! Take off the crown!”

“Hades?” My throat tightens. I want to listen to my friend, but my body has other ideas.

“Stand!” Commands Arista. “Drop the diadem!”

“I can’t,” I plead to my friend. “Help me.”

“Pandora, look at me,” Artemis shakes my shoulders. “Pandora!”

Her shouts felt distant. My eyes still closed. I was somewhere else. Feeling worlds away from where my body is. Like I”m tethered to where the earth meets my body, but my mind is soaring in the stars of the evening sky.

Opening my eyes, I look right into the gleaming eyes of the Moon Goddess.

But I can’t move.

I can’t speak.

Like I’m bound to this damn throne and crown.

Artemis yanks me from the throne. The diadem clattering on the stone ground.

Apollo stands towering over Zeus. It was obvious that he now had the upper hand. With each strike, his dad’s blocks become shakier.

Attempting to parry the strike, Zeus misses Apollo’s blow. The sword slices down the length of his forearm. Ichor spills out onto the floor of the Throne Room. The striking pale color of bone peeking out from under gold liquid.

Zeus staggers backwards. His eyes are full of venom. Staring between me and Apollo. “This isn’t over!” Zeus shouts.

Artemis recognized what he was doing before I did or maybe anyone else. Notching an arrow, she loosens it. Aiming for her father.

With a flash, a shower of iridescent rainbow flutters over him and with a pop, he is gone. The Goddess of the Moon’s arrow flies across the room. Embedding itself in a stone column.

Artemis, Apollo and Chiron stood. Ready for the next strike of the former King of the Gods. The Sun God hurls insults at the shower of light. He shouts, “Coward!”

Shouting at the empty space, I can feel his disappointment.

Apollo was ready to be done with his dad. No longer having to constantly worry about him.

Turning slowly in my direction, I watch the dejected looking god. Grimly Apollo smiles at me, strained from the effects of whatever happened.

Slumped onto the floor, I looked up. Rolling over, I let out a sigh of relief.

Everything felt odd. Tired.

My body is filled with sand.

Apollo slides down next to me. “You did good. I knew you could do it.”

Smiling weakly, I reply, “And I”m not mud.”

“That too.” Apollo grins, “Though forgive me if I was focusing on the curse that’s been wreaking havoc through my kingdom.”

Bobbing my head softly, I feel guilty instantly for being selfish.

“Ignore him,” Artemis snaps. “The lack of ability to express gratitude is a byproduct of being an Olympian raised as dad’s favorite... We’re both happy you aren’t mud, first and foremost.”

Staring between the two, I watch them both in confusion. They were so entirely different from one another. Though they’re twins, sometimes they feel no more related than normal siblings.

Leaning down on top of me, I welcome the warmth the God of the Sun brings me. Wrapping his arms around me like a blanket, I close my eyes. Remember the sensation of him around me. “Pandy,” he says, tracing the curve of my jaw. Caressing my cheek with his tanned knuckle, “How will I ever repay you?”

Smiling softly, I crack my eyes open. Two sun-like orbs focused on me. “You don’t need to. What I did, I did for those I loved and the kingdom.”

Guilt stings my heart. Seeing Apollo hunched over onto the ground. Ichor covering the area. A whole gaping in his chest. All caused by me. If I would have listened to him, I would never have needed to sit on the throne.

Apollo would never have been hurt.

Artemis and Chiron could’ve died too. Instead, they hang around me, babysitting both Apollo and I because I couldn’t listen to me.

Tears spill down my cheeks as my body shakes. Arista, where are you? I call deep into my mind.

Her cheerful voice is gone. Only the void remains.

Kissing my teary cheeks, Apollo whispers against my skin, “Don’t fret my love. You did what you thought was best.”

“I”m sorry,” I stammer out. Fully given away to tears.

“For what?” Slowly running his fingers through my hair. “I owe you my gratitude. My love has returned home, Lady Persephone.”