Seated around the hut’s tiny, smoking fire, the priestess, whom the natives called Mother Agnetha, stared us down with a calculating gaze, her back straight and head held high. Behind her, some of the villagers sat, watching on in curiosity as we all waited for her to speak.
Trying not to cough, I resisted the urge to wipe my watering eyes, feeling like doing so would somehow prove to her we were weak. The smoke hung in the air like a fog, swirling around the confined space, touching all in its presence. Mother Agnetha, after finishing her appraisal of us, followed the tendrils with rapt attention, her pupils turning every which way, mouth clamped shut. I didn’t know how she was doing it, or which line she was following, because it all seemed to meld into one giant cloud of suffocation to me.
Tristan, who only reeked of whiskey slightly, simply smiled, as if there were absolutely nothing happening and we were just sitting around for fun. He was leaning on his good arm, his sling resting against his shirt and jacket with ease and I suddenly wondered if he could feel the pain from his cut at all.
“The gods say you have come in search of wisdom,” Mother Agnetha suddenly rasped out, her smoke-reddened eyes closing in relief. Raising a hand, she motioned to one of the villagers sitting behind her, her form slumping as she rolled her head. “They wish to speak to you. Both of you.”
The villager, having retrieved a box of something, presented it to Mother Agnetha, making sure to keep his head low and his eyes on the ground as she took it.
Pulling a short pipe out of the container, she began stuffing a leafy substance into it, her fingers shaking some, a few red hives present on the back of her hand.
“What is that?” I whispered, leaning toward Tristan.
He shook his head, not answering, his eyes trained on the Mother, a shadow of distrust in them.
Having filled the pipe, Mother Agnetha set it in the fire, lighting it with ease, and then raised it to her lips, taking a long drag. The plant she was burning smelled odd and the smoke made me feel somewhat dizzy, but I remained where I was, uncertain that we were about to learn anything of importance.
Sucking in another generous dose of her drug, Mother Agnetha blew the smoke out into the air, swirling it around with her hand, murmuring to herself. This continued on for a good fifteen minutes, the lot of us watching her as she proceeded to ignore everything but the haze and the substance in her pipe.
Lightheaded, I blinked my eyes hard, suddenly feeling the urge to laugh. The odd notion made me panic and I glanced over at Tristan, whose eyelids kept flickering, a dazed expression on his face.
The Mother’s mumbling stopped abruptly and she looked straight at me, eyes wide. Shaking so badly that the pipe flew from her fingers, it hit the dirt floor before rolling up against the hut’s wall. The tremors moved through to the rest of her body, and kicking out from the force, she collapsed backward, seizing.
Horrified, I moved to help her, but found that I was frozen in place, not even able to open my mouth or blink. I could feel my breath bursting from my nose at a rapid speed, my heart racing as my muscles screamed in protest. It didn’t matter, though. I was held in place by some awful contraption I couldn’t see or understand.
It was then I abruptly realized the villagers were gone, leaving their priestess to writhe on the floor, her wide eyes somehow still locked on my face, mouth gaping open in a silent scream. Her necklaces were slapping against her, cutting into her skin, strangling her, as her foot fell into the coals and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Struggling, doing everything I could just to blink my eyes, I felt the panic trying to smother me. My body was attempting to shut down since it couldn’t do anything, threatening to black out if it wasn’t allowed to function as normal. The room was swimming, black dots dancing across my vision. I could feel the screech lodged in my throat, frozen in place like everything else.
And then, in less than a second, everything changed. Mother Agnetha fell still on the ground, her lips turning blue, her body stiff as if she were dead. Her foot was still in the fire, the flesh blackening under its touch.
Then, I blinked. Sweet relief flooded through me and I opened my mouth, a strangled gasp escaping as I fell backward, catching myself with my forearms. Sobs tore from me, more out of liberation than fear, and I closed my eyes, wishing away whatever was happening to me. Everything was silent and still, even the smoke from the fire having seemed to disappear. Slowly, I opened my eyes, shrieking as the face of Mother Agnetha, eyes wide and completely black, her lips still blue, swam into place. She was so close that our noses were almost touching, her body leaning over mine.
“I am Zeus.”
Her mouth hardly moved, but the declaration seemed to shake the walls, roaring in my ears with the strength of a freight train. It also sounded like a man’s voice, a low bass that permeated my very core.
She crawled away, scuttling in a spider-like fashion to the other side of the room before rising to her full height. She appeared so much taller now, as if her head could reach into the heavens.
“The vase,” she—he?—spoke, “was never meant to be opened more than once.”
Pushing myself up against the wall, I cowered in front of her, wondering how she had known about the vase if we hadn’t told her about it yet.
“I made the vase,” the oddly male voice continued, “to punish man. He stole from me, so I gave him a choice, knowing he would choose foolishly. He turned down the chance at being a god for a beautiful woman. Her name was Pandora.”
All I could do was nod, pressing myself into the earthen wall. Tristan was nowhere to be seen. Tears leaked from my eyes, the voice raining down on me, giving me no escape.
“Pandora came with the vase, as a gift from me. Man knew not to open the jar. Pandora did not. Left alone, she happily took the lid off, releasing every evil man has ever known.”
My skin began itching madly and I scratched without care, digging my nails into the flesh, watching in horror as hives surfaced, blood leaking slowly from the gouges.
“Now empty, it would seem the vase’s purpose was finished. History would make it into a box of legend, the story of how sickness and toil arrived on the earth. But I never intended for it to have just one function.”
My sobs were now accompanied by small screams, my breath moving so fast that it felt as if my lungs would burst from the effort they were exerting. Still, the voice grew louder, filling me, twisting me in on myself, no matter how hard I pushed away from it. There were scratch marks in the mud wall, where I’d tried to dig my way out. All of my senses told me to flee, and yet, I could go nowhere.
“Man still needed to be punished for his wrongdoings, for believing he was better than the gods.” The voice growled, Mother Agnetha standing straight as a rod. Looking at her, her body seemed to quiver, transforming into the shape of a man, but before I could comprehend what was happening, it returned to normal.
My panic and fear were so strong now it felt like I might black out again, my eyes rolling backward of their own volition. Hyperventilating didn’t help the situation, either, my chest practically bouncing on itself as I struggled to regain control.
“The empty vase, free from holding all evil, learned to recognize the good in the world, and with that knowledge came its power.” Stepping forward, Mother Agnetha’s feet shook the earth, the sound of thunder booming outside. “Samantha Greene, you opened Pandora’s Box and were found worthy. Knowledge was granted unto you. But beware—the vase has saved Death for those who seek to use it poorly.”
My eyes had rolled back into my head, my body jerking strangely as I sucked in one long, painful breath.
“Use this gift wisely.”
A sweeping sound wrapped around me and I froze again, feeling as if I were being hurtled through time and space, a massive wind blowing my hair in every direction. With an agonizing bump, my head smashed into the ground and my eyes flew open, a cry of help finally leaving my lips.
&nbs
p; The smoke was back, hanging above me like a blanket, and the smell made my insides churn. Suddenly, I was stumbling to my feet, rushing toward the door. Tristan groaned from behind me and I caught a glance of Mother Agnetha lying beside the fire in a peaceful sleep. All of the villagers had gone, which was just as well.
Barely making it outside, I collapsed against the house and rid my stomach of all its contents, heaving painfully as tears streamed down my face. Even after there was nothing left to vomit, I continued to heave, sobbing in hysterics, my ears ringing.
Eventually, I became aware of hands on my back, fingers working through my hair, holding it away from the mess. The sun had set while I was inside, startling me into the realization that I’d been there for several hours, at least six. It had felt like minutes!
Shakily, I turned, expecting to see Tristan, but one of the native women greeted me instead. She said something in her foreign tongue, smiling, but I didn’t understand one word of it.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked, my throat sore from my experience. “I don’t understand.”
“She says ye’ve honored their village with a visit from the gods and she wishes to thank ye.” Tristan’s voice was muffled and coming from the other side of the hut. Moving slowly, my entire body feeling like it would collapse at any minute, I inched around, finding him in the same position I’d just occupied, all of the whiskey he’d had throughout the day purged onto the ground in front of him.
He looked pale, his blood-smeared shirt not helping to ease my mind. “I think my stitches ripped,” he laughed without humor. “Ach, my head!” Raising a hand to his brow, he grimaced, both from aggravating his wound and his massive hangover.
“What happened?” I asked, inching closer, wanting to see how badly he’d been reinjured.
“The drug she was using must have caused a hallucination,” he said, pausing for a moment to dry heave again.
“Opium,” the village woman said behind me, having followed for some reason.
Jumping, I turned to stare at her and she nodded, motioning to the two of us and the hut we’d just left. “Opium.”
“That would do it,” I sighed, raising a shaky hand to his shoulder and inspecting the damage.
The woman spouted off another phrase I didn’t understand and Tristan laughed, a sour look on his face.
“They want to fix me up,” he explained. “And put us in a hut for the night, as thanks.” Exchanging more words together, the woman ran off, yelling something to the others.
Staggering away, I slumped against the hut again, feeling as if the world had fallen off its axis and was spinning uncontrollably. “Did you see? I mean, what—”
“Aye,” Tristan answered, wearily scrubbing his hand across his chin. “I think we did see.”
“How is that even possible? I mean, really, what did you see?”
In astonishing detail, he recounted a tale that was exactly the same as mine. “It was like I was ye,” he said uncomfortably. “I wasn’t myself. I was allowed to see and hear, but the message wasn’t for me.”
“Could we have somehow had identical hallucinations?” I didn’t want to believe what had just happened. There was no such thing as Zeus, or Pandora’s Box. It didn’t matter that I’d come through time myself, there had to be an explanation besides this one.
Tristan, studying my face through one, half opened eye, smiled knowingly. “Truth in all things, eh, lassie?”
Swallowing hard, I nodded, still not sure I completely believed or understood what had occurred. “Truth in all things.”
Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One) Page 47
