Pandora Gets Lazy (23 page)

“Atlas?” he said again to the Titan. “Hey, it's me, Brother! It's Prometheus.”

“Heeeeyyyy, Prometheus!” Atlas said, still groggy. “What's up? My head hurts!”

“Listen, I don't have time to fill you in on all the details, but you have to pick up the heavens again.”

“Huh?” Atlas opened his eyes wide and stared straight up. “Oh, wow! Look at that! There they are! And there are tiny people holding them up. That's cute! Really, really nice!”

“Atlas,” Prometheus said, “it's your job. Not theirs. You have to do this.”

“No way,” Atlas said, closing his eyes. “My head hurts, but my back hasn't felt this good in eons. If they wanna do it, let 'em!”

“They
don't
want to do it and they can't do it. Only you. You forced them and they're being crushed. They're carrying out your punishment!”

“I haaaaaate Zeus,” Atlas whined.

“Atlas, pay attention!” Prometheus cried. “You took an oath! You promised. The Titans lost the battle with the Olympians and this is your fate!”

“Fuggedaboutit,” Atlas whispered.

Prometheus hung his head, absolutely lost as to what to say. If his brother didn't want to carry the heavens, there was no way he was going to force him. Only Zeus could intervene, and then Zeus would find out that Prometheus had been on Jbel Toubkal in the first place and that would spell big trouble.

Suddenly, Prometheus was struck with an idea.

“Fine,” he said at last. “I could talk about honor . . . and . . . your responsibility, your word, and what you're doing to the world. But I won't.”

“Good,” Atlas sighed.

“Instead, I'll just say this . . .”

He bent down and whispered into his brother's ear. Atlas began to whimper. Then his eyes shot wide open. Still Prometheus continued to whisper. Finally, Atlas gave a tremendous cry, which Pandy heard as she was picking her way through the column rubble.

“No!” Atlas yelled, sitting up, staring at Prometheus.

Prometheus only nodded solemnly at his brother.

Atlas got to his feet.

“Fine!” he cried, and stomped back into the village just as Pandy rounded a pile of column sections. Prometheus looked at Hermes and instantly felt himself back in the disguise of the old man.

“What happened?” Pandy asked the two old men. “Where is Atlas going?”

“He's off to take up his burden once more,” said the one without teeth.

“You're kidding!” Pandy said. “I mean, that was easy. Or was it? What did you say to him?”

“I simply reminded him of his oath to bear the heavens . . . and that if his word meant nothing, his nobility as a great Titan was also worth nothing, and mankind would perish.”

“And that worked?” Pandy said, incredulous. “Well, obviously it worked.”

“Well, that's what anyone would have said,” the old man answered. “That's what
you
would have said, right?”

“Uh . . . yeah,” Pandy replied. “Yes, that's exactly what I would have said.”

“You'd better hurry if you want to see him do it,” said the old man. “You probably won't get another chance, hopefully, and it's rather spectacular. Uh, at least, I think it
must
be. Hurry now.”

“Yeah,” Pandy said, staring at the old man, something familiar in his . . . voice? . . . eyes? What? Stupid, she thought, couldn't be anything. She'd never met him before that morning.

“Thank you,” she said, taking off toward Atlas's hut. “Thanks again!”

Prometheus watched his daughter until she was out of sight, unaware that Hermes had moved beside him.

“Our work here is done,” said the god.

“Right,” said Prometheus, “let's go home.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lift and Separate

Pandy saw Atlas towering over the village, standing close to his shattered hut and staring up at the heavens. Trying to keep him in sight as she picked her way through a confused, scattering crowd, she was aware of many fights breaking out between gangs of ex-slaves and near-naked ex-guards. Some people were trying to load the more brutish guards into ovens as others blocked their way, claiming they could not be so harsh in kind. She caused any fire or lit oven she saw to die instantly. She dodged falling chunks of hardened clay as people drove LPLDs into columns willy-nilly, and she stopped to help one elderly woman out of a mixing pit into which she'd been pushed by the rioting crowd.

As Pandy searched the throng for Alcie, Iole, and Homer, she glanced at the narrow pathway leading up and out of the village, now jammed with people hurrying to escape the chaos, most unaware of what was about to happen.

Keeping her uncle in view, she saw Atlas bend down to do something out of sight on the ground. Seconds later, clouds of dust filled the air. As he rose to full height again, Pandy suddenly saw him begin to shake his arms and head wildly from side to side, the way she'd seen members of the Apollo Youth Academy wrestling team warm up before a match, as if he was loosening his muscles. The crowd, however, took these actions as a sign of increasing anger and violence and became more frenzied.

As she neared her uncle, rounding the back of the barbers' hut, the crowd became so thick and riotous that she grabbed the ladder leaning against the hut and clambered up onto the roof. Looking down she saw Ghida, Amri, and Ismailil being swept along with the crowd like leaves in a wild river: Ghida was having trouble keeping the two little boys upright. Frantically, Pandy screamed down at them. It was Ismailil who heard her and saw her gesturing for them to climb the ladder. After all three had joined her on the roof, Pandy and Ghida hauled the ladder up so no one else could use it. There was no sign of Homer, Alcie, and Iole. Pandy scanned the area in front of her uncle: apparently he'd completely cleared the two large platforms where his hut and the cooking hut had once stood. Particles of dust and debris still clouded the air.

Suddenly, Atlas let out a fearful yell, which halted and silenced the entire village. All eyes turned upward.

Amri began to whimper, but Ghida put her arm around him and Pandy whispered in his ear.

“Just watch, okay?”

He stifled a cry, his eyes huge, and nodded to her.

As everyone gaped, Atlas slowly grew another ten meters, hunching his back and shoulders against the bottom of the heavens. He raised his right foot and brought it down squarely on one platform, then brought his left foot down on the other, causing the mountain to tremble. He vigorously rubbed his enormous palms together, turned them upward, and placed them against the heavens. He looked about for a long time and sighed. Then Atlas closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Involuntarily, Pandy squeezed Ghida's arm, watching as every muscle in Atlas's body grew taut.

With a tremendous yell, Atlas, in one slow motion, lifted the entire vault of the heavens onto his back. As he straightened his legs, his body growing another several meters, there were horrifying cracks heard echoing off the farthest mountains as the heavens were lifted out of their unnatural bends and curves and raised back into the smooth dome that covered the earth. Those who had already reached the rim of the mountain trying to escape began to shriek as, before their eyes, the black void that circled Jbel Toubkal and its brother mountains began to lift and expose the terrain below.

In only a few seconds, men on the columns, those who had not fainted, were yelling joyously, begging to be let down.

“Cover your eyes,” Pandy said to Ghida, Ismailil, and Amri as the heavens settled into place overhead.

“Why?” Ismailil asked.

“Wait for it,” Pandy answered, throwing her arm over her eyes for good measure.

“Do it,” Ghida said, her eyes closed tight.

Both boys snapped their lids shut just as the sunlight, with nothing to obscure it, hit the village in full force. Many people, their eyes accustomed only to dim, filtered light, gasped in pain.

“When can we open them?” Amri asked.

“Just give it a second and open them slowly,” Pandy answered. Moments later, they were blinking at each other. Looking down, Pandy saw people of every size and color jumping with glee, knocking down columns, wriggling and prying their way out of shackles, and running to embrace each other. Without warning, Ghida threw her arms around Pandy.

Pandy hugged her tightly, turning her head a bit to gaze up at her uncle.

His eyes were shut and there was no movement behind them, only a deep furrow in his brow and a measured breathing through gritted teeth.

“That's why he looked around so long before he lifted,” Pandy thought, her heart suddenly aching for her uncle. “For his memory. The heavens are so heavy, he can't even open his eyes.”

“Hey!” came a shout from below. “Either you come down or we're gonna come up!”

Pandy broke from Ghida and looked over the edge. Alcie was standing with her hands on her hips. Homer was shielding both her and Iole from the crush of people hurrying to collect their things before racing off the mountain.

“You're free!” Pandy cried.

“Homer's got his strength back!” Alcie yelled. “Hurry up, before people start stealing our stuff!”

“Keep your cloak on.” Pandy grinned. “We're coming.”

When they were all on the ground, Pandy found herself in the middle of a large group hug. Without warning, she found herself sobbing uncontrollably onto Alcie's shoulder.

“Hey . . . hey. Tangerines,” Alcie said softly, looking Pandy right in the eye. “You did good.”

“Yeah. Yeah. We all did.” Pandy snuffled, smiling.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
On the Road

For two days they walked the road through the mountains with thousands of other ex-slaves now journeying homeward; two days of talking freely, telling stories, making occasional stops for Homer (although his strength and stamina were replenishing by the hour), sharing provisions, and not a little laughter.

Sitting around a great fire on the second night, fighting back tears as she thought of how much Dido loved the warmth of her fire grate back home, hoping that Hera was keeping him warm, fed, and not leashed with a chain or a rope, Pandy suddenly remembered the magic rope still embedded in Amri's leg. As Alcie held everyone captive, recounting for the umpteenth time how Hephaestus had impulsively hugged her in the
Syracusa
's armory, telling her she was his favorite, Pandy pulled out her wolfskin diary.

“Watch this,” she said, handing it to Ismailil and Amri. “Dear diary . . .”

At once, the eyes began to glow and the large ears pricked up.

“Good evening, Pandora. Long time no talk. What have you to tell?” the diary began, then it saw the gaping faces of Ismailil and Amri. “Oh! Hello, um, and who are you two?”

“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.