Pandora Gets Frightened

by Carolyn Hennesy

  “There what is?” asked Pandy, stopping her jog and bringing the group to a halt.

  “The border.”

  “I didn’t see a sign,” said Alcie.

  “How’s this, doubting Alcestis?”

  Persephone waved her hand, and immediately two large stones appeared on the side of the road. The stone on the left bore the words, NOW LEAVING THE FIELDS OF ASPHODEL. COME BACK SOON! Into the stone on the right was cut, NOW ENTERING EREBUS. POPULATION: YOU CAN’T COUNT THAT HIGH. ENJOY YOUR STAY … FOREVER.

  “What’s the difference?” Pandy said, feeling the temperature drop just slightly.

  “Not much, really,” Persephone answered. “It’s like the Fields, only darker, a little cooler. This is stop number one for the dead; they come here before they’re judged on their lives and then sent to their final destinations. Almost no one resides here. Only a few despicables that Buster didn’t want to torment in Tartarus; some very clever tortures those. But it’s pretty desolate. C’mon, feet up and we’re off!”

  They had only jogged perhaps another fifty meters when Pandy saw the tail end of a line of shades that paralleled the main road and stretched far off into the dimness. The spirits, in single file, looked to be very much alive, only now somewhat transparent. Some were talking animatedly, some were weeping, some were greeting comrades up or down the line, some were dabbing at wounds. None of them had the glassy, uncomprehending look of the spirits they’d passed in the Fields.

  “They have to line up?” Alcie asked.

  “If they want to drink, you betcha.”

  “Drink?” Homer piped up. “I could use a drink.”

  “Not for you, you supremely buffed-up youth,” Persephone replied. “This is a good sign, though. It means we’re getting close.”

  As they jogged by, Pandy saw the line move the tiniest bit, but the next instant another shade of someone who had just “passed on” materialized at the end, so the line never shortened at all.

  “That’s a lot of dead people,” she mused.

  “Disease, famine, neglect, abuse, someone steps in a chariot rut and lands the wrong way, someone strays off the path in the forest and gets eaten by a lion, someone doesn’t like the way his best friend looked at his sister.” Persephone sighed. “A thousand and one wrong turns, mistakes small and large, and we add to our happy little family. And, of course, there’s always a war raging somewhere. And old age, can’t count that out.”

  Suddenly, the line stopped just short of a large pool surrounded by black stones.

  “Stop here,” Persephone said. “Watch.”

  As they stared, the spirit at the head of the line, a young woman of twenty or so who’d been chatting brightly with an elderly soldier standing behind her, walked up to rim of the pool and knelt, dipping her hand in the water and bringing a small taste up to her mouth. Instantly, her smile faded, her mouth became slack, and her body went loose.

  “Wait for it …,” said Persephone very softly.

  Then the woman’s chest heaved up sharply and a long, heavy sigh—almost a moan—passed over her lips. Pandy’s blood turned to ice water. In her entire life, she thought she’d never heard anything so heartbreaking, desperate, and agonized. Without warning or knowing quite why, tears welled in her eyes.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “That, my sweet fig tartlets,” Persephone said, wiping a small tear off her own cheek, “is the sound of loss.”

  “Loss,” echoed Iole.

  “But what just happened?” Alcie demanded … in a tiny voice.

  “The pool is the stopping point of the river Lethe—also fondly known in these parts as Oblivion—where almost all the newly dead souls drink to erase their memories of living. What you just saw was the vanishing of every single memory in the woman’s mind. If she has children, she doesn’t know it. First love? Gone. The alpha she got that one time on her algebra test? Not there. Not one single memory of her life resides in her head. And her mind watched everything leave, before it shut down. That was the sigh.”

  “Gods,” Pandy whispered.

  “I know,” Persephone whispered slowly in return. Then she shuddered as if to shake off the bitterness of the moment. “Yeah, well, it’s why I don’t get out this way much.”

  “Then why does everyone drink from the pool?” Alcie questioned. “Don’t they know what’s going to happen? Aren’t they watching?”

  “Because most people want to forget, sweetie,” Persephone said, smiling—rather sadly. “You—any of you four—won’t look back on your lives with regret, thinking about adventures you could have had, how exciting it might have been. And, if I were a gambling goddess, I’d say that P here won’t even regret taking the box to school when all is said and over. Look at the lives you’ve lived thus far. Look at what you’ve all done. Sure, you’ve had a rough go of it along the way—and you might be killed at any moment in any of several gooey, gory ways that I can think of. But you’ve accomplished more in the last few moons than any ten mortals in ten lifetimes will have done combined. The spirits in this line don’t want to spend an eternity reflecting on missed opportunities, days of drudgery and routine, words like ‘can’t’ and ‘shouldn’t’ that filled their lives. They race to the line as soon as they arrive. And then there are some that just stand in line because everyone else does. The sheep. By the time they drink, it’s too late.”

  “And you want Iole to drink from Lethe?” Pandy queried incredulously.

  Persephone stared back at Pandora, just as dumbfounded.

  “Okay, I get that she’s supposed to be the one with the big thinker,” Persephone chortled, pointing to Iole. “But tell me you’re smarter than that! You can’t seriously believe that that was my idea! C’mon, she’s barely got any memories in there as it is. You think I want to drain her?”

  “Uh …”

  “Besides, I’d just like to see you try to take cuts in that line. Seriously. No, my little buckets of sweet cream, we are going this way.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mnemosyne

  Persephone turned her back on the line, now facing the other side of the road and a second large pool, which had somehow gone unnoticed by all of them. This pool was ringed in large flat white rocks, and there was a small silver goblet resting on top of one. There were several people gathered around, kneeling, but Pandy could tell almost immediately that there was something different about them. They were all women and there was no transparency. They looked solid, real flesh and blood, not dead at all.

  “They’re not,” Persephone said with a wink, reading her thoughts. “They’re as alive as you and I. Well, not as much as I … me … but you get my drift.”

  “They’re alive? How did that happen?” joked Alcie. “You guys don’t normally make mistakes down here.”

  “No mistake, Miss A. The pool is Mnemosyne. The only spot in the entire underworld where humans can pop in for a little bit without the the stress and strain of knowing they’re gonna have to stay.”

  At that moment, another mortal woman materialized by the pool. She was warmly welcomed by the others. Pandy noticed that all the women were dressed similarly in long, loose, full robes. Several were wearing ceremonial headdresses.

  “And when I say humans,” Persephone continued, “I mean priestesses of a very special order who wish to be initiated into the ‘mysteries.’ ”

  “The who-steries?” Alcie coughed.

  “The mysteries.”

  “What are those?” Pandy asked.

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a mystery. And I’d have to kill you.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” said Persephone.

  “Uh, excuse me …,” Alcie cried.

  “No, silly.” Persephone giggled. “I wouldn’t have to kill you. But I had you both going there for a moment, didn’t I? To tell you the truth, I couldn’t tell you what they really are even if I wanted to, because I just don’t know. No one does, mortal or immortal. Only them.”


  As she spoke, Pandy watched one of the women bend down, dip the silver goblet into the water, and raise it to her lips. The other women joined hands and gazed intently at the initiate. The woman dropped the cup where she knelt and began to sway slowly back and forth. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets and her breathing became labored. Two other priestesses rushed forward to hold her arms as she began to twist and thrash, cooing into her ears inaudible but obviously soothing words. After a few minutes, the initiate began to calm down and shortly she was very quiet. Her eyes rolled forward and as her breath evened out, an enormous smile spread across her face. The other women nodded and laughed in agreement as they shared a very special and sacred secret. Then one of the women, one who’d been holding the initiate’s arm, dematerialized in the blink of an eye. The priestesses together chanted some mystical words, and Pandy thought that it was some sort of communal farewell.

  “What I can tell you,” Persephone said, grabbing everyone’s attention away from the chanting women, “is that Mnemosyne means memory. Personally, I think that’s really all the ‘mysteries’ are: every memory from everyone ever, from the time before Chaos, contained in that pool and passing into the priestesses when they drink. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some sort of tube under the road that connected the two pools, draining all the mortal memories captured by Lethe and dumping them in Mnemosyne, but that’s just my theory. Anyway, the way I figure it, if Iole’s memories are anywhere, they’re in that pool.”

  “But wouldn’t that mean that Iole will be filled with all the memories, just like those women?” Pandy asked.

  “Don’t know,” Persephone said with a shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. Those women are trained practically from the time they can talk to prepare for that one sip of water. It’s basically the only thing their lives are about. They don’t know exactly what’s coming, but they know it’s gonna be humongous, and they’re ready. But this is gonna hit Iole like Zeus’s hand on Hera’s backside. So one of two things will happen: Iole’s own memories will find her—if they’re there—and her brain will accept only what it’s supposed to, or her head will explode.”

  “Seriously?” said Pandy.

  “Yes.”

  “My head?” Iole said, looking from Pandy to Alcie to Homer.

  “Okay … ha ha, another joke.” Alcie laughed nervously. “Right?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is there another way?” Homer asked.

  “Something else?” Pandy cried. “Something we haven’t thought of?”

  “First of all, you all haven’t thought of anything,” Persephone said. “This was my idea—something you all might remember when deciding whom to patronize first on the next feast day. And second, no, I don’t see another way. Look, she certainly doesn’t have to drink, if you don’t want. She can stay this way for the rest of her life if you all think it’s best. It will save her from standing in that long line across the road; she can just head on over to be judged …”

  “No!” Pandy cried. “If there’s a chance …”

  “She’s got to do it!” Alcie agreed. “Iole, you have to do it!”

  “But my head …,” Iole said flatly.

  Persephone grinned and took Iole gently by the hand, leading her over to Mnemosyne. At the sight of the goddess, the priestesses all instinctively drew back and bowed deeply.

  “Yes, yes, I know, I know.” Persephone smiled beneficently at them. “Worship, worship, yes, yes.”

  She gently guided Iole to the edge of the pool. One of the priestesses, who only then realized what Iole was going to do, let out a small cry of protest. Persephone shot her a look that, literally, aged the woman thirty years. The woman now sported gray hair and a face full of wrinkles. And a closed mouth.

  “Spring can really bring you down the most, huh?” muttered the goddess of springtime.

  She dipped the silver goblet into the clear water and held it out to Iole, who took it unquestioningly. Pandy found both Homer’s and Alcie’s hands and held on tightly.

  “All down,” Persephone said. “There’s a good maiden.”

  Iole drank the entire contents in one gulp. She stood staring from Persephone to her friends and back again. Then, without warning, Iole started shaking.

  “She’s gonna explode,” Alcie whispered.

  Iole took a step backward, dropping the goblet. Her tongue seemed to swell in her mouth and she began to choke. Homer was the first to reach her, but Persephone commanded him not to touch even the hem of her toga. Iole’s eyes turned as red as blood, and a thick gray foam poured from her mouth.

  “She’s dying!” Pandy cried.

  “Maybe,” said Persephone, holding them all back as they rushed to help their friend.

  Iole collapsed on the ground in a heap. That’s what Pandy, Alcie, and Homer saw. That was all they knew.

  Iole, however—who had been sitting slumped in her chair in that small room for such a long time, surrounded by millions of pieces of parchment and the terrifying void that was her mind—suddenly bolted upright. Something was coming. Something big. No … no, better word: gargantuan. Yes, better. And it was something, she knew, not to be feared. She ran to the door of the room, floating in the dark gray abyss, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was, this gargantuan … leviathan. Where did that word come from? She turned back into the room and saw the pieces of parchment had begun to rise up off the floor and were swirling through the air. Each one drifted into the candle flame, which had been her only comfort for ages, and ignited with a flash. Then she saw the ashes from each piece drop into a small silver funnel, floating in midair, and emerge at the bottom as drops of clear liquid, which ran with ever-increasing force into a small silver goblet standing upright on the seat of the chair.

  The room was ablaze with millions of thoughts and memories, every bit of information that had ever entered her brain, sparking and liquefying, emptying into the small cup that never filled. She walked straight through the … what was the word? Her word? Maelstrom! She walked through the maelstrom, the bits of parchment whooshing around her with lightning speed, toward the candle flame. There were so many memories that, very quickly, the pieces began to overlap as they neared the flame, and one ignited the next and then the next. Within seconds, the entire room was filled with a blazing swirl, an inferno of crackling thoughts and ideas. Iole was not only untouched and unafraid; she began to laugh with delight and abandon.

  Beside Mnemosyne, they all saw Iole stop choking and writhing. Underneath the oozing gray foam, a smile crept over Iole’s face.

  Iole threw her hands up into the fire. The whirlwind was beginning to thin out as the mass of memory ashes flooded into the funnel. At last, there were only a dozen or so bits of flaming paper spiraling downward; Iole reached for the silver goblet as the final drops drained out. To her surprise, there was only a tiny amount of liquid in the bottom, barely a swallow. Keeping her eyes on the candle flame, she drank quickly; the taste was sweet, then bitter, then sweet again. Suddenly, the candle blew out, the smoke swirling as it rose on the soft, dying current of the whirlwind. Yet the room was light now and brightening with each passing moment.

  Iole dropped the cup and ran to the doorway of the room. Instead of the gaping gray maw, she saw a reddish-orange glow in the distance spreading out and engulfing the darkness. Then appeared a white spot in the center of the glow, growing larger as the murkiness faded on all sides, underneath and above her. The next instant, she was pulled by an unseen force, lifted off the floor and out of the room. She was flying though space, leaving the abyss behind and heading joyfully toward the light. She turned and saw the tiny room receding at such a tremendous speed that, for a moment, she couldn’t contemplate what force it was exactly that had ahold of her. Immediately, she answered her own question. It was her mind, igniting back to consciousness as swiftly as the bits of parchment had themselves been ignited. As the whiteness grew in scope and intensity, she began to hear familiar voices. Alcie was shouting the
word “explode.” Pandy was crying, and there was a rustling of fabric, which, even though unseen, she knew to be Homer’s robes moving as he struggled against something; something that was holding him in a tight grip. She was almost into the white light as she heard another voice, authoritative but feminine.

  “Wait for it.”

  Then, as the white light grew so intense she was forced to shut her eyes, Iole caught the faint scent of lavender and roses …

  … and blacked out.

  Iole opened her eyes. Her mouth was filled with a foamy, sticky substance that was alternately bitter and sweet as she swallowed what she couldn’t cough out. She felt no pain in her body, but her head ached with a pain she’d never known before. She was lying on the ground; Pandy’s face was directly above her, upside down, and Alcie and Homer were staring at her from only a meter away. Somewhere behind her, she heard whispers from a group of women—she was sure they were women. She remembered seeing them, or thought she remembered. Then the pain in her head was gone. She looked clearly at her friends, seeing the abject terror in their faces, seeing Alcie’s cheeks wet with tears, seeing Homer’s knuckles whiten as he gripped the fabric of his cloak.

  “Gods!” Pandy whispered suddenly. “Look!”

  “Her skin,” Alcie gasped. “It’s … the color of … skin!”

  Iole raised her hand and saw that her flesh was, indeed, the color of flesh. But she had no idea there was any significance.

  “Iole?” Pandy said.

  Iole looked into Pandy’s upside-down face.

  “Yes?”

  “Uh … how are you?”

  “How am I? Well, for some reason unknown to me, I’m lying in the dirt.”

  She wiped from her mouth the last of the foam, looking at the grayish mess on her fingers. “And I surmise that I’ve been consuming chalk, but other than that, I’m fine. Why are you shiny?”