Pandora's box, part 8

All through the first day and night, Pandora paced her room, forgetting to drink or eat, snapping at the few servants who dared to offer her any sustenance. The box rattled incessantly; its voice whining and insistent.

“Pandora. You must open me. Do you not want to know your destiny? Open me. OPEN ME!”

Pandora gripped the sides of the box, her fingers rigid as claws as she shook the box.

“Let me in!” she cried. “I must see within you.”

“Make a wish,” hissed the box.

Pandora sank to the floor, eyes closed, lips trembling and twitching with old words and spells, learnt from she knew not where, when or who.

Outside the window, the sky bled red and purple and dark shadows swept over the palace grounds. The sun drooped silently away, giving way for a full moon, which gazed down, cold and aloof.

The North wind raced in, rustling the trees and bushes with a violence that released beech nuts and chestnut shells in a sudden deluge. Branches creaked and cracked and trunks groaned as the trees surrounding the palace grew taller and thicker, shrouding the palace in a tight web of tree trunks and foliage.

Pandora rose, staring out at the darkened visage beyond her windowpane. The world was now a great forest, blocking any entrance or exit to her palace grounds. She gazed up to the moon, and was struck by one bright star twinkling next to it. Reaching out her arms, her eyes filled with glee.

“I see you. Come to me!” she cried.

In the distance, a lone wolf howled.

***

Aurora shivered and clutched Epimetheus’s arm. “What was that?”

They had taken shelter under a giant oak tree when the light had abruptly been sucked from the sky, leaving a mysterious, foggy half-light. The horse was tethered nearby, nibbling small shrubs whilst Epimetheus and Aurora ate hunks of bread and apples, sipping mouthfuls of mead.

The wolf howled again, a lonesome wail that tore through the air like a tornado. Looking at Aurora’s huge, child-like eyes, Epimetheus was about to lie, but somehow, he couldn’t. “It’s a wolf,” he admitted.

“A wolf?” Aurora gathered his red cloak more tightly around her slender shoulders. “Then we must light a fire to keep it at bay.”

She stood and started gathering sticks. “Come on, Epimetheus,” she commanded.

He looked at her determined, sweet face and fell fathoms deep in love.

Aurora sang all the while she was gathering sticks, an old tune, perhaps learnt in the cradle. “Make a noise,” she urged. “It will keep any animals at bay.”

“How do you know?” Epimetheus asked, standing up at last and hurrying to help her.

Aurora shrugged carelessly. “I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps my mother told me, long ago, before she was banished.”

Aurora threw down an armful of sticks and Epimetheus began assembling a fire. She laughed. “The sticks won’t catch like that. Have you never made a fire before?”

“No,” Epimetheus admitted. “My brother was always the one interested in fire.”

Aurora arranged the sticks into a neater pile and then searched for a small stone to ignite the dry kindling. She rubbed the stone and stick, breathing gently and smiling as a tiny spark enlarged into a flame.

She sat back, her face suddenly wise and older in the fire’s glow.

“Tell me about your mother,” Epimetheus said.

“I will tell you all I know,” Aurora said. “Though we have been parted for many years. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful maid, and the king fell in love with her…”

Epimetheus felt his eyes droop as Aurora’s voice soothed and nurtured his weary body and soul.

“He was already married to the old queen. She was furious of course, and my mother was sent away, banished from the land.”

Epimetheus lay down, his arms crossed under his head.

“She was allowed to keep me for the first years of my life, but when my half-sister, Pandora, demanded a new maid of her own, the old queen commanded me to come back and serve her.” Aurora placed another stick on the fire, warming her hands.

“How old were you then?” Epimetheus asked.

“Seven or eight, I think. Pandora was a fully grown woman already.”

“And did Pandora know she was your sister?”

“It was never mentioned. The king and queen never spoke to me, beyond commands, and they died shortly after I came back to the palace. I only knew the truth, because my mother had told me where I had come from.” Aurora looked at Epimetheus. “Not a noble beginning to my life,” she said, ruefully. “A king’s cast-off and a servant to his royal daughter.”

Epimetheus sat up then, desperate to reassure her of her worth. “You are noble in the best sense, Aurora.”

She smiled at him, her eyes warm. “Thank you. Now, it’s your turn,” she said. “I know you had a brother…”

Epimetheus threw a large stick on the fire and molten sparks flew up, highlighting his stricken face. “I have a brother still,” he admitted. “Prometheus - suffering a life-long punishment from the gods.” His throat caught and a slight sob escaped. “I came, thinking to avenge him, yet abandoned him for a life of ease in that cursed palace. Oh Aurora, I have done such evil in my life, and the worst is yet to come.”

Aurora circled the fire and sat down beside him, offering her hands to his. “But you will do no more acts of evil now.”

He leant towards her, rested his head on her shoulder and wept, washing away all bad thoughts and deeds from his mind.

They lay down besides each other finally, silent and drowsy, innocent as newly born pups, waiting for a new day to begin.

Epimetheus awoke first, his eyes lighting on Aurora’s smooth, serene face as she slept. Pandora’s cold, angular face rose before him, her grey eyes freezing his soul.

“Now,” she screamed. “Kill her!”

It would be so easy to do it now. Epimetheus looked down at the knife, laying abandoned on the ground besides the embers of the fire.

“DO IT!” Pandora’s voice screeched within his head.

Epimetheus rocked with the pain and power, his head pounding. “No!” he cried. “I won’t do it.”