Ides of March (Time Patrol) (11 page)

“When you take this map,” Leonidas said, “will you stay with it or do you deliver it somewhere?”

“I will know when I have it.”
So, this was about a map,
Scout thought
.
But she could sense it wasn’t a typical map. It was special.

Of course, if it
wasn’t
special, why would she be here in the first place?

Leonidas continued. “And after you fulfill whatever task has been laid on you, will you go back to the Oracle?”

“I don’t know my fate.” That, at least, was true.

“If you survive somehow and stay in Greece, will you do me a favor?”

“Yes, if it is within my power.”

Leonidas smiled. “I believe it is indeed within your power. Go to my home. Tell my wife how I died.”

“I can do that,” Scout lied.

“I’m not done yet,” Leonidas said. “I have grown to admire you during our journey here from the Oracle. I want you to teach my daughter.”

“What would you like me to teach her?”

“To be like you.”

Scout hated this next lie. “I will.”

It is 480 B.C. The world’s population is roughly 100 million humans. Soon to be less three hundred Spartans and quite a few Persians, along with troops sent by vassals of Persia and mercenaries paid by King Xerxes. The average life expectancy is twenty-eight but if a child made it to ten, then they had an average of another thirty years.

Scout sensed a presence. She got to her feet.

Some things change; some don’t.

“What is it?” Leonidas was up, putting his helmet on. “The Persians come in the dark?”

“No.” Scout took a step toward the grisly barricade of Persian bodies and stone the Spartans had erected. “Someone like me.”

“The Sibyl Pandora that the Oracle spoke of?” Leonidas asked.

Scout shivered at the mention of that name and the connection she immediately felt to it.

“Perhaps. She is not a danger. Not right now.” Scout had no idea if that were true or not, but she knew this Pandora was her problem, not the Spartan’s.

“How does she fit into the Oracle’s prophecy?” Leonidas asked.

Scout didn’t know that either since she hadn’t been there for the prophecy. “What do you remember of the prophecy?”

Leonidas gave her a strange look. “She told me I would gain much honor and fame. And that I would die. She said I was to save a sphere that was a map. That the fate of not just Greece but the entire world lay in the balance. That we must give the map to another warrior.” He shook his head. “A warrior who is not yet alive, but alive. Of this world but not of this world. You people speak in riddles.”

Scout’s first thought was Nada. Did he exist in some time, some place between his death and his choice to go back?

Leonidas didn’t let her dwell on that for long. He pointed toward the north. “I know who we fight there. I can see them. But fighting a Shadow? That I don’t understand. And your Oracle couldn’t tell me what this Shadow is. How to find it to defeat it.”

“Prophecies can be taken many ways,” Scout said.

“Yes,” Leonidas said. “We all learned the lesson of Croesus, last of the Lydian Kings. He earned that title after he consulted the Oracle. She gave him a prophecy. That if he went to war against the Persians, he would destroy a great empire.”

Scout dialed up the info. “He heard what he wanted to hear. That is not the Oracle’s fault. He led his troops into war with Cyrus, King of Persia, grandfather of Xerxes who we now battle.”

“And he did destroy an empire,” Leonidas said. “His own. A good reason I should not trust you. Or the Oracle. I should trust this.” He tapped the hilt of his sword. “It has always been reliable.”

Scout focused on the King, staring into his eyes. “You can trust me.”

A long pause, then Leonidas nodded. “I believe I can.”

A weariness passed through Scout, a brief wave, then it was gone.

“I will check on the men,” Leonidas said, leaving her be and heading for the nearest fire.

Scout knew of the name Pandora without the download. Part of Greek mythology. Something about opening a box. And then data flowed, a fire hydrant of information overwhelming Scout’s sketchy schooling:

After Prometheus sided with the Gods in the epic battle against Cronus and his fellow Titans, he’d been tasked by Zeus to create man. But Prometheus, jealous of all that the Gods had, stole the secret of fire from Mount Olympus. Angered, Zeus ordered his son Hephaestus to create a woman. Thus, Pandora was formed by the Gods out of clay.

Pandora was blessed, or cursed, depending on your perspective, with both beauty and cunning. She was given to Prometheus’ younger brother as a bride. Once she was inside his house, Pandora showed him the
pithos
(a jar not a box; someone in records had been anal on facts, Scout thought, then remembered Edith and that answered that), which Zeus had bequeathed her to give as a wedding present.

Prometheus had warned his brother against accepting any gifts from Zeus, but one given under the allure of Pandora could not be resisted. He opened it, releasing the evil spirits trapped within and thus unleashed them on mankind ever since: ‘
burdensome toil and sickness that brings death to men, diseases and a myriad of other pains
’.

In other words,
Scout thought:
bad stuff
. Sort of what she felt right now.

It was legend, myth, probably embellished and twisted over the course of time, but Scout knew at the core of every legend there was truth. Because reality was much stranger than the average person knew. The members of her team had run into many myths, legends, and unbelievably twisted science, that they’d learn to expect anything. Yet, they were still surprised at times.

Of course, as in many legends and stories, men liked to lay the cause of all ills at a woman’s feet. From Eve to Pandora. And men wrote the history.

As if a man would listen to a woman.

Scout was startled as an affiliated piece of data flashed through her consciousness: the only thing left behind in Pandora’s box was
Elpis
. Hope.

Hope. Sometimes it was all humans had in the face of overwhelming odds.

But Pandora had shut the lid, locking hope inside. Only evil had come forth from her jar,
pithos
, box, whatever.

Scout felt the echoes of the past, along with pulses reverberating back from the future. Even when there was no hope, mankind still persevered. She observed as Leonidas went from campfire to campfire, talking in a low voice, putting a comforting hand on a Spartan’s shoulder, giving them hope in a hopeless situation.

Something came out of all of this, Scout realized. Some power. A power that pushed back the Shadow. She didn’t know how, but it was affirmed by the faint presence of the real Cyra, outside the bubble of this day. It was as if she were out there, hovering, waiting to resume her role in her time and place and Scout was just a visitor that Cyra had allowed in for this brief, but critical time.

Lightning flashed to the east, over the water, followed by the rumble of thunder. A storm was approaching. Scout slowly walked to the barricade of dead flesh and rock. There were sentries, of course. Scout remembered the encounter with police officer near Cleopatra’s needle. She’d just acted, knowing they needed the cop gone without incident and that Moms and Neeley pulling badges were just making him more interested in trying to figure out what was going on.

Instinct. Drawing on something, she’d always had but not been aware of. It was a strength, a power, which Nada had sensed during the
Fun in North Carolina
, which seemed a lifetime ago.

She’d done it again, just now, with Leonidas. And for that, she felt guilty. Trust was something to be earned, not conjured. But there was no time.

Scout halted just behind the wall. There was a sentry to her left and one to her right, both peering down the pass toward the distant plain where the Persian army was massed. The fires ahead were so many they lit the northern sky like a false dawn. It was only the narrowness of the pass that had allowed the Spartans to hold the line this long as Xerxes was only able to send a limited number of soldiers against them at one time.

Scout closed her eyes. Concentrated. Opened them and climbed up.

Her foot slipped on viscera, falling forward, her forehead striking a stone. A trickle of blood flowed. Scout continued up, to the top, and then over.

Neither sentry gave the alarm.

The narrow pass continued for about fifty meters, before widening and descending. Scout swallowed hard. It would be impossible for her to go forward without walking on top of a macabre carpet. The bottom layer were Egyptian corpses, who had attacked on the first day. Then the Immortals on the second day. Xerxes’ elite corps of soldiers, 10,000 strong. And despite the dead who littered this battlefield, Scout knew from her download that there were exactly 10,000 Immortals this evening as every man lost was immediately replaced. She wondered if Xerxes even counted the dead if the living in his Immortals were always 10,000? On top, from the fighting yesterday, Scythians, from Eurasia, part of an ongoing tribute given by their country to Persia after Xerxes father had invaded their country. Many of the Scythians had arrows in their backs and Scout knew, from the vague part of her that had Cyra’s memories, that Xerxes, had, in frustration, ordered his archers to continue to fire as his troops closed on the Spartans.

Scout fell several times, feet slipping on blood, flesh and exposed internal organs. She realized the best footing was to step from helmet and armor to helmet and armor.

Despite being ready, Scout was startled as a woman’s voice floated out of the darkness from ahead.

“I can see you.”

Scout stopped and looked up, about. Just darkness and the bright glow of the Persian camp.

“But you can’t see me.” Pandora was surprised. Her voice was low, but one that reached far; not just distance, but into the mind. “Strange. I can sense the Sight in you but you cannot see.”

There was nothing for a few moments and Scout remained still, each foot on a helmet.

“Ah! They send but a girl. Should that be an insult? Or a sign of desperation? Or is it something else?”

“Show yourself,” Scout said.

“I have, but you can’t see. You’re not Cyra. She would be able to see me.”

“You are Pandora,” Scout said.

“Not a difficult guess since all have heard of me. What is your name?”

“My name is my own.”

The laughter was louder than the voice. “You have a point. It is not a name anyone will remember. My name, though, is legend. All have heard of me. I assume that is still true in whatever time you come from.”

And then Scout saw her in a flash of lightning. A tall, willowy figure that didn’t seem quite solid, coming out of the darkness, walking over the bodies as if her feet were barely touching.

In the next flash, Scout could see that Pandora had thick black hair with a shocking, single streak of white flowing from above her left eye, all the way down to the end over her left shoulder. Pandora had a Naga staff in her hand. Not in threatening manner; in fact, she put the seven-headed snake end on the ground and leaned on it. She cocked her head, peering at Scout. A half-smile creased her lips. “You are quite pretty. And quite flawed. Like this,” she indicated the streak in her hair, “except the flaw is inside you. A weakness you’ll never overcome. It will destroy you, sooner or later. I have a strong suspicion it will be sooner. Now. Your name?”

“Scout.”

“Scout? What a strange name to be given at birth.”

“I was given it long after my birth.” Scout remembered Nada bequeathing her team name in North Carolina, putting it to the vote and the entire team accepting her.

The first group that had ever accepted her into their ranks.

Scout tried to look past Pandora, but could see little in the dark; just the glow of thousands of camp fires from the Persians.

“We are out of bow range of both the Spartans and the Persians,” Pandora said. “They do not fight at night. It is difficult to discern friend or foe in the dark. The Persians are not afraid of a Spartan attack.” She gave a low laugh. “They are correct in that one assumption at least. Although I believe that if Leonidas had more men he would dare to do just that; try to cut his way through the camp and kill Xerxes and end this. But even three hundred Spartans cannot defeat this many. And then there are the ten thousand Immortals surrounding Xerxes tent.”

“Why are we meeting?” Scout asked. “Why did you reach out to me?”

“Time is short,” Pandora said. She laughed. Even her laughter was enticing, eliciting a pull inside Scout. Motherly.

Then Scout remembered her mother and that feeling was squelched.

“That’s not going to work,” Scout said.

Pandora was still. “True. True. We’ve only just met. But time is indeed short. I’ve been whispering that in Xerxes’ ear for months now, pushing him to get here in time. But he is just a man, despite all his titles.” She intoned them: “King Xerxes, son of Darius, King of Medea and Persia, ruler of Libya, Arabia, Egypt, Palestine, Ethiopia, Elam, Syria, Assyria, Cyprus, Babylonia, Chaldea, Cilicia, Thrace and Cappadocia, and most blessed of God Ahura Mazda. All that for just one man. Such is the pride of the ignorant.”

“Why is time short?” Scout asked.

“Is it not for you?” Pandora asked. “Is not your hourglass tipped and your sand running out?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me girl and I will treat you with respect. You must return the favor.”

“Why is time short?” Scout asked once again.

Pandora took a step closer. Scout held tight to the Naga staff, tip pointed at the other woman’s chest.

“You don’t need that,” Pandora said.

“You brought yours.”

“Never show up empty-handed,” Pandora said. “That is a truism through the centuries.”

“Is it a gift for me, then?” Scout said. “Leonidas could use it and more.”

“He would need the more,” Pandora said. “Much more. And do you really want a gift from
me
?”

Scout gave her a few points for that repartee.

Pandora continued. “Let us be clear. You and I both know what will happen soon. Once the sun comes up, the Spartans will not see it set. But it is different for us.”