The Gifts of Pandora

the city by the cartloads.”
“H-h-he was still walking,” Pyrrha objected.
Now the sisters exchanged a glance. “Then he wasn’t dead yet, you dolt!” Styx said and moved to loom over Pyrrha. Styx was twelve and well larger than Pyrrha, while Hera was a woman grown at eighteen. The elder sister folded her arms, denying Pyrrha’s silent pleas to intervene. Pyrrha’s stomach dropped. No one was going to help her, were they? They would watch while this happened?
Styx shoved Pyrrha. “Did you leave a man to die out there? Didn’t think to call for help?”
Pyrrha couldn’t get her words to form. “He had a hole in his mouth.”
“Aye, that’s for eating.” Styx pushed her again. “Little Nymph still doesn’t know what any of her holes are for?” Her voice had taken on a singsongy tone. “Maybe someone can explain it all to her?”
“Stop it!” Pyrrha shrieked and ducked under the Titan’s arms.
Or tried. Styx grabbed her, and for a moment they struggled. Pyrrha stomped on her toes.
“Gah! Bitch!” Styx grabbed her by the hair before Pyrrha could get away. The Titan jerked her backward, sending Pyrrha stumbling off the pier.
For one horrifying instant she was weightless, flailing. Then the black waters smacked her in the back and obscured even the lamplight from the harbor. Pyrrha thrashed her way to the surface, coughing and sputtering, only to hear Hera and Styx laughing.
“Maybe the Telkhines will have a use for her,” Hera said.
“Not even Pontus needs someone as useless as—” Styx began.
She was interrupted by a snarling bark, and Sharvara collided with Styx, bowling the Titan over onto the pier. A thrill of vindication shot through Pyrrha on hearing the girl scream and shriek.
Pyrrha swam to the nearest ladder and began to climb. Styx’s cries had grown so pathetic she was wincing before cresting the top. “Sharvara, enough!”
But she was too late. Hera had seized her dog with Titan strength. While Pyrrha watched, Hera slammed Sharvara down over her knee, snapping the dog’s spine. Then, with one hand, Hera tossed Sharvara out into the waters like her precious pet was a dirty rag.
“No!” Pyrrha gasped.
It was too late, she knew, but she dove into the sea once more, grabbing her beloved companion. Sharvara was still by the time Pyrrha managed to get him onto the dock. The dog offered up a last trembling breath, and then no more.
Throwing herself over the animal, Pyrrha wailed. The lamplight around her flickered and dimmed, and color seemed to bleed out of it. The lamp’s orange warmth faded into a cold aquamarine color, and before Pyrrha’s eyes, the World warped, angles becoming too sharp. The buildings in the harbor twisted, as if doubled over in pain. A mist wafted in over the waves, though she had not seen it before now.
A fell chill seized her, had her shivering.
Beneath her, she felt Sharvara move once more.
Alive? Could he be alive?
As she rose, some translucent vapor flittered out of the animal and seeped into the ground.
Now, looking about, she saw soldiers here, their armor and weapons stained with blood. Some had empty, hollow eyes and moved as if dazed. Others rushed about, seeming intent to engage an enemy she could not see.
What was happening to her? What in the whole vile Underworld was happening?
Another figure ran toward her, shadowy and indistinct, as though viewed through a curtain of water. The figure vaulted crates then made an impossible leap from one pier to the next, to land beside her. He grasped her face, but his touch felt subdued, as if through a woolen blanket.
“Pyrrha …” Her name was almost incomprehensible, an echo carried to her from far away, borne upon a whispering wind. “Pyrrha …”
The grip tightened, became more substantial. Slowly, his features solidified into the face of her father, his crystal blue eyes glinting in the returned light of the hanging lamps. The chill faded with the return of light, and Pyrrha slipped into her father’s arms, wracked by sobs. “Sharvara …”
His comforting hand stroked the back of her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about him, Pyrrha.”
Pyrrha pushed away to stare at his face. “Hera murdered him!”
While she expected him to blanch at her accusation, Papa instead just nodded in understanding. “Are you all right?”
Oh. Oh … “I-I saw … I don’t even know, Papa.” First the terror at the beach, and then … She swallowed, realizing she had begun to tremble despite the return of warmth to the night. “Everything turned gray and blue and so very cold, Papa.”
Something—pain, maybe—washed over his face for a bare instant, then he hefted her up in his arms as though she were still a tiny thing. Pyrrha couldn’t remember the last time he’d carried her thus, but tonight, she cradled her head against his warm chest and shut her eyes.
When next she opened them, Papa was laying her down in her own bed. The room was dark, lit only by an oil lamp out in the hall, and she could almost swear the shadows moved once more. Flickers of what she’d seen raced through her mind, and Pyrrha snatched his hand rather than let him go.
“Am I going mad?”
“No,” he said, settling down on the end of the bed beside her. “Though those of narrow minds may not be able to tell the difference, and that is a burden you will forever bear.”
She refused to release her grip upon him. “What’s happening to me?” He knew something, that much was clear. Sometimes, she thought Papa knew everything. Maybe all Papas did.
Papa glanced at the door and held up a finger in silent promise of his return before extricating his hand. He grabbed a candle and slipped outside a moment to light it. When he returned, he shut the door behind him. His words were meant for no ears save hers, and a flutter of excitement raced through her chest at the thought.
How she loved secrets!
He set the candle down on a shelf beside her bed, then settled back into his spot