Zeus kept pushing, tearing the paper-thin skin from the brow bone and disconnecting the cords holding the gelatinous orbs in place until he could remove the evidence of his essence with a scoop of his thumbs.
Zeus looked down at his hands, studied the results of his act noncommittally for a moment, and then flung the contents to the side. He walked to the edge of the river to wash the gore from his hands as she continued to moan.
When he returned to the squirming body on the ground, he stopped to admire his brutality.
He’d solved all of his problems tonight.
His madness was stored in a being unknown to his people and erased any evidence of their encounter.
Before he called back the vines and released her completely, he plucked two fully bloomed roses of death and placed one in each socket.
Zeus tsked, “You should have listened and not moved as I said. Look at you. It will take months for your neck to heal. It’s utterly mutilated.”
The skin was pulled back in all directions exposing delicate muscle, tendons, and ropey veins that pounded to the drum of her heartbeat. She lay in a pool of her own blood, hair matted to the back of her neck in sticky clumps.
“Listen to me. It will be a long first few months of life if you don’t. Follow this bank until you reach a small gathering of shelters,” he pointed over his shoulder. “I will erect it on my way back and send humans from Prometheus to it to help you. You will settle there until you heal, and then you will leave. You will not mention me, ever, and you will not speak of your scars. If I hear whispers of anything on the wind I will come and take your tongue as I have taken your eyes. Do you understand, Pandora?”
At her weak nod, he continued, “You will carry my madness with you, and it will take its toll. You will have to learn to keep it within the confines of your mind or settle alone. No one– are you listening?” Another meek nod. “No one is to overpower you and take your essence. Lock it in a box within you, Pandora. If it is released on the world it will wreak havoc, but it will be nothing compared to what I will do if you lose it before I come back. Do you understand me?”
Another nod. Good.
“Go get some foliage and wrap your wound to stop the bleeding before you pass out and become useless. I would hate for you to be eaten by Themis’s beasts before you find a resting place.”
He was going to leave it there. He could so easily shift and fly away. He was done with her, but a sense of trepidation tugged at his mind.
“You wouldn’t die, by the way,” he murmured. “Not with parts of my immortality inside of you. You would just lie in your own misery until your pieces could stitch themselves back together.”
She sobbed, and he scoffed at her weakness
“Leave the flowers to bind to your skin. They will reform what you’ve lost. They’re fertilized by the soils of the Underworld and will cover any lingering traces of my essence. Consider this information my parting favor for your help.”
With that, Zeus turned, transformed, and flew away leaving Pandora on the riverbank. She still bled from the mutilated sockets where her eyes used to be, and her neck throbbed as if the wicked vines were still lodged in her skin.
Pandora rolled to her stomach as the agony burned white hot. She crawled in the direction she last heard the cruel voice, blood painting the drag marks in the muddy clay, and followed the sound of rushing water to what she could only hope was a sliver of solace.
***
When Zeus arrived back on the top of Mount Olympus all had fallen silent. He planted his feet atop the summit where he’d ruled since the end of Titanomachy.
He should feel power and glory atop his mountain, but instead he felt a lingering air of dread. It felt as if the darkness would smother him if he took his eye off of it, creeping from its corner like an errant child while its mother’s gaze strayed.
A cool breeze rustled his air and wound around his shoulders like a lover’s caress.
“You did great,”it whispered, the flow so feminine and ethereal he shivered.“Now rest, and revel in your glory. Your deed is done. For now.”
That breeze left him with a soft laugh and, while her words should have comforted him, a stone of dread weighted his gut.
Without shifting his gaze, Zeus erected a throne of platinum from the minerals of the glorious mountain behind him. He sat, his eyes never leaving the horizon.
Through the years the immortals would say he built his throne here so he could watch over them, to be the e’er seeing eye of man and immortal, but the truth was much more.
No, Zeus erected his throne at the summit of the mountain facing north because chaos was coming, and gods be damned if he wouldn’t see it before it saw him.
A man with no name roams through crowded halls with nameless faces. His body is agonizingly stiff and aches all over, but he can’t remember why.
Bright white lights burn his retinas, his mind too groggy to shade them.
Where was he going again?
