Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast Page 7

  The two hunters laid their stricken companion down by the campfire and did their best to dress his wounds, pouring water and wine into the bloody punctures.

  “Did anyone see the thing that did this?” Phreneus asked. “I can’t believe the size of that bite.”

  “I saw it,” said Atalanta. She repeated the description she’d given Evenor.

  Demas shook his head. “Girl’s lost her wits,” he grumbled. “Must have been a mountain cat gave her a scare.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my wits,” Atalanta told him hotly. “I’ve seen mountain cats before. And killed them. This was no cat. Ask Goryx. He must have seen it.”

  “I don’t think he saw anything,” said Phreneus, looking down at the wounded man. “I think his own fright is all he remembers.”

  Goryx was twitching fitfully where he lay, which was making it difficult for Demas to wind a bandage around his injured leg.

  “For all we know, that beast’s on its way to the village,” Evenor said grimly. “We have to get back and warn everyone.”

  “In the dark?” Demas objected.

  “We have to go. For the village’s sake. And to get a healer for Goryx,” Phreneus pointed out.

  At the sound of his name, Goryx groaned.

  “We can make torches to light our way,” said Atalanta. “Wild creatures are afraid of fire.”

  Evenor agreed. “Atalanta, you know this forest better than I know the faces of my children. You can guide us back, can’t you—even in the dark?”

  Atalanta nodded.

  “Right then, let’s get Goryx up,” Evenor said decisively.

  They helped him to his feet and handed him his spear. Then Evenor leaned close to Goryx and addressed him urgently. “Can you walk, man?” When there was no reaction he repeated the question. “Goryx, can you walk?”

  For a minute, Goryx’s clouded eyes cleared. Then he nodded. Gingerly he tested his wounded leg and then, leaning heavily on his spear, he hobbled forward a few paces. “Yes, I can walk. I wish I could run.”

  Quickly, the men made four torches out of long branches and twig heads, wound about with pieces of their shirts. They held the torches into the campfire till one by one, they blazed.

  Atalanta took the lead with Urso by her side, his ears standing up alertly. The nimbus of torchlight stretched only a few feet ahead, and with the light came accompanying shadows. Atalanta knew she’d have to rely on the bear’s instincts to alert them to any presence of the beast.

  Evenor followed close behind, and at his back came Demas, one hand under Goryx’s arm. Phreneus was their nervous rear guard, flinching at every rustle in the undergrowth and jabbing his spear at irregular intervals as if to keep a whole host of imaginary enemies at bay.

  It was dawn when Eteos finally came in sight, and only then did Atalanta relax a little.

  With a great loud whuffle, Urso abandoned them at the edge of the village, bounding back into the forest. Atalanta turned for a moment, watching him go. She wished she could follow. To keep him safe. But right now she knew the villagers needed reassurance.

  And reinforcements, she thought.

  As they drew nearer to the cluster of cottages, she saw that the whole place was already astir, like a disturbed beehive.

  On the far side of the village, across the square and to the right, a buzzing crowd had gathered around the goat pen. The hunters headed straight there, and when the crowd parted to let them through, Atalanta saw that five of the goats in the pen had been slaughtered, their throats and bellies ripped open and two of them partially eaten. The soft parts.

  “It’s been here already,” Phreneus said, shaking his head.

  “Yes,” Evenor agreed. “Nothing else could have done this much damage.”

  Goryx began to tremble uncontrollably again. Atalanta could hear his teeth chattering. She put her hand out to him, but he shook her off, almost angrily.

  Finding his wife, Herma, in the crowd, Evenor said, “Take Goryx to his cottage and have someone tend his wounds before his leg swells up.”

  “What happened to him?” Herma asked, eyeing the bloody bandage.

  “Nearly the same thing that happened to these goats,” Atalanta said.

  For a long moment after that there was silence. Finally one man asked the hunters, “What manner of creature is it that can move so fast and strike so brutally in the dark? Not even a mountain cat or a bear does this much damage.”

  “Atalanta saw it,” Evenor said.

  “What did it look like, girl?” someone else called out.

  “I only saw it for a second,” Atalanta replied, “but it was a monster. High as a bull at the shoulder, in the likeness of a cat, but with wings.”

  A skeptical murmur passed through the crowd.

  “Does it have a name?” someone else cried. “This monster?”

  “I’ve never seen another like it,” Atalanta replied.

  “Whatever this creature is,” said Phreneus, “we must warn the other villages that they need to guard their animals—and themselves.”

  “I’ll go,” said Evenor, “and Atalanta should come with me. To describe it properly.”

  Atalanta trembled, with fear as well as fatigue, but she gave her silent agreement to Evenor’s plan.

  Only Herma seemed to notice her shaking.

  “Not until you’ve had a proper meal and some sleep,” she told them firmly, before dragging Goryx off to be tended.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LAND OF DANGER

  ATALANTA FOUND IT EASIER to eat than to sleep. Her dreams exhausted her more than the long night’s trek through the forest, dreams of teeth dripping blood, dreams of wings of flame.

  It was a relief when Evenor shook her awake.

  “There are a few hours of daylight left,” he said. “If we leave now, we can reach the next village before dark.”

  “Can we wait for Urso?” Atalanta asked, suddenly missing her furry friend.

  “He’ll have to find us on his own,” Evenor told her. “There’s little, time to lose.”

  Phreneus insisted on coming with them. Since he still seemed shaken by the beast’s attack, Atalanta was surprised that he wanted to be part of a journey that could prove so dangerous. Then she realized that it would be worse for him to remain behind, haunted by what had happened to them in the night forest. By coming with them, at least he had a chance to face his fears.

  They reached the next village, Phylos, that evening, a place smaller and far dirtier than Eteos. There they learned that a hunting party had already lost two of its dogs to some wild creature, and they’d been unable to find any of the remains.

  “Completely gone in an instant,” one of the men explained. “They were tracking well ahead of us, baying on the trail. Then we heard a strange yelp from one of them. From the other, only silence. But by the time we got to where their footprints ended—they were gone.”

  “Clean gone,” added another man.

  “We know the creature that did this,” Atalanta said.

  The head huntsman stared at her for a moment with disdain, his nose wrinkling as if he smelled something bad. He was a tall, lean man, with lines as deep as craters across his brow. Turning away from Atalanta to Evenor, he said, “If you think this creature of yours is responsible, then what is it exactly?”

  “Not ours…” Atalanta began, but Evenor put a hand on her arm to silence her.

  “We only had a glimpse of it,” he told the tall huntsman. “All I can tell you is that it’s big. Very big. Body of a great lion but with wings. Moves as fast as a bird. Guard your herd animals. Take them into the houses at night. Travel only in the daylight or in large parties that can defend themselves.”

  “For Hermes’ sake, don’t go after it alone,” Phreneus added.

  Atalanta didn’t say anything more. It was clear that the hunters wouldn’t value the same information from a girl.

  They heard a similar story in every farm and village they came to: cattle and
sheep killed in the fields, goats and pigs carried off by an unseen predator, hunters coming upon their prey already slaughtered and stripped to the bone.

  “This beast is unstoppable,” Phreneus said.

  “No beast is unstoppable,” Atalanta said. “Or so my father used to say.”

  “Your father,” Phreneus pointed out, “died under this one’s claws.”

  Evenor gave him a look that shut him up. “This beast,” Evenor mused, “is eating for more than one.”

  For a moment all three of them were silent thinking about the implications of that.

  “It’s a female?” Atalanta said at last. She tried to remember what she’d glimpsed of it: head, mouth, haunch, wings, tail. She tried to put the entire picture together in her mind and see it as female. She failed. It had seemed overwhelmingly male: fierce, bloody, frightening.

  “A female?” she asked again, her uncertainty clear in those two words.

  “Or a male bringing back food to its mate,” Evenor said.

  The thought that there were two of the creatures—and maybe more—made them all shudder, and sweat suddenly sprang up on either side of Phreneus’ beaked nose.

  At last they came to the largest village in the region, Mylonas, where the great fairs were held and where people from all the surrounding villages gathered to trade with one another.

  Atalanta had been twice to Mylonas with her father and had hated every minute of it.

  There were no fairs or festivities going on now. Instead the same air of fear that they’d met in other villages hung over the houses.

  They were welcomed by the headman, Labrius, an old friend of Evenor’s. He was gray haired, and looked to be about sixty, but still had the lean strength of one who’d spent his life laboring in the fields from dawn till dusk.

  “We’ve come about a strange beast that’s been terrorizing the villages around here,” Evenor began.

  “Come, come, my friends,” said Labrius. “I make it a policy never to discuss difficult business on an empty stomach.” He led them to his cottage, a large stone house with four rooms in a semicircle around an open courtyard.

  Evenor, Atalanta, and Phreneus joined him and his two sons at a table in the courtyard, where his wife served them with a sweet red wine poured from a large jar called a krater, and bowls filled with fresh stewed vegetables.

  Atalanta didn’t wait for an invitation, but straightaway started on her food.

  The men laughed at her, but they began to eat as well. Labrius waited until they were almost done before allowing anyone to speak.

  Finally he leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, my friend Evenor, what makes you leave your wife and children to come here?”

  Evenor began telling him the story of their hunt, of the death of Atalanta’s father, the maiming of Goryx, and all of the tales of carnage in the villages and farms between Eteos and Mylonas. He was careful to praise Atalanta, her skills, her heroics.

  Occasionally Phreneus interrupted to add more to the story, usually elaborating on the bloodier parts.

  Having learned her lesson in Phylos, Atalanta didn’t interrupt but instead had a second helping of the stew.

  Labrius listened intently, nodding more than once to show that he understood. When Evenor finished, Labrius leaned forward in his chair.

  “We, too, have lately had our share of misfortunes,” he said. “Hardly any deer or boar this winter, then a sudden surplus of them. And now—goats and cattle taken. But the worst came two nights ago. Echthenes heard his cows bellowing with fear. ‘A bear,’ he told his wife, before running out with his spear to protect them. He was a good huntsman, Echthenes. The best.” Labrius’ eyes were suddenly moist, but he didn’t cry. “We found his mangled body in the midst of six dead cows, the broken spear by his side. The cows were all partially eaten, but he wasn’t, which was a small blessing. At least we could bury him. The bite marks on his back and spear arm were enormous, much too deep and wide spaced for a bear.”

  For a moment there was silence at the table, then one of Labrius’ sons—a stoop-shouldered man of thirty, spoke. “Passing travelers have told us the same stories from all over Arcadia. Whatever this monster is, it’s spreading terror throughout the whole kingdom.”

  The other son, handsome where his brother was plain, added, “It’s said King Iasus is assembling a party to hunt the beast down.”

  “Who’s King Iasus?” Atalanta whispered to Phreneus, who was sitting on her right.

  “King of Arcadia,” Phreneus whispered back. “Though I for one have never seen him.”

  What’s the use in having a king if you never see him? Atalanta thought, though she didn’t say it aloud. Instead she reached for some black-skinned olives.

  “This is a curse sent by the gods,” Labrius’ stern-faced wife declared loudly. She thumped a jug onto the table to emphasize her point.

  A long silence greeted her.

  At last Atalanta spoke. “What have the gods to do with it?”

  The old woman scowled down at her. “Think, girl, think. When a crime has gone unpunished by men, the gods will send a punishment of their own.”

  “Now, now, Iole,” Labrius cautioned her, “we’ll have no talk of crimes and punishment here.”

  Iole snorted and placed her hands on her hips. “What do you know, old man? You sit all day with your cronies and drink wine and it muddles what few wits you have left. Perhaps someone unknown to us has insulted the gods…” Before she could go on, there was a shrill uproar from the center of the village.

  Atalanta could make out cries of panic. “Run!” she heard. “Run or you’ll die!”

  She grabbed up her bow, and Evenor and Phreneus took up their spears. Then the three of them ran toward the sound of the cries, Labrius and his sons right after them.

  “Is it the beast?” Atalanta shouted as they ran.

  “In the village center? In daylight?” Evenor replied. “Surely not.”

  But Atlanta thought, I have seen the creature. It would dare anything.

  They pulled aside to avoid the fleeing people. Behind the runners a cloud of dust billowed up and from it came a ferocious bellowing.

  “That’s not the monster,” Atalanta said, turning to Evenor. “He roars.”

  “Roar, bellow—it’s all the same,” said Labrius, having caught up with them.

  “Papa, you’re too old…” said the stoop-shouldered son.

  “Get back,” his other son said at the same time.

  Just then the cause of the commotion came into view. It was a bull, kicking and snorting and tossing its head from side to side, its sharp horns hooking through the air. It was in a murderous fury. Behind it one man already lay dead, two others cringed, wounded, against a wall. Broken pots, ripped baskets, and a table with its legs broken, lay in the bull’s path.

  “That’s Gallo’s best bull,” Labrius said. “It must have broken free of its enclosure.”

  Atalanta stared at the crazed beast. “It looks in pain.”

  The bull lunged at one of the wounded men, who managed to crawl around the overturned table. Losing sight of its prey, the beast turned away and charged to the other side of the square, snorting. It stamped its hooves against the stones of the village well, knocking half of it into rubble.

  Licking her lips, Atalanta took an arrow from her quiver and set it into her bow. Where is a vital spot? she wondered, knowing that just wounding the bull would only madden it further.

  “Hold a minute,” said Evenor, who clearly had had the same thought.

  Atalanta lowered the bow.

  Labrius cried out, “But we have to save them or there’ll be more dead this day.”

  Hearing their voices, the bull lifted its great head, its small eyes reddened with pain. It pawed the ground three times, then lowered its head and started toward them.

  Atalanta lifted the bow again, thinking that they no longer had a choice. She pulled back on the bowstring and was just si
ghting on the beast’s eye, when a huge hand pushed her gently aside.

  “Be careful, girl,” came a rich, confident voice “That’s a mighty big bow you have there. Better leave this to me.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE CHALLENGE

  THE SPEAKER STRODE PAST Atalanta and Evenor, tossing a pair of lances and a heavy pack to the ground. He was the biggest man Atalanta had ever seen, a full head and shoulders taller than Evenor. His long black hair was tied back in a knot and his black beard was cropped short. He wore a deerskin tunic that must have taken the hides of three stags, and a lion skin cloak draped over his shoulders. His muscles bunched alarmingly.

  The bull sighted this new threat, bellowed again, and charged.

  The newcomer stood his ground. Weaponless, he fell into a fighting crouch, arms outstretched. “Come, bull,” he said, pounding his right fist to his chest, “I dedicate your death to the people of this village.”

  Atalanta gasped in horror. Surely the fool will be trampled to death, she thought. He may be big, but the bull is bigger.

  The sound of the bull’s hooves thudding on the ground was louder than thunder, but the man did not flinch. At the last instant he seized the bull by its horns and twisted its neck violently to one side. The beast’s hooves kicked at him, but he forced the animal back, driving his hip into its flank and toppling it to the ground. Falling on top of the bull, the man flexed his bulging muscles and gave the horns a mighty wrench. The bull’s neck broke with an awful crack.

  For a moment everything was silent. Then the villagers burst from hiding, waving their arms and cheering.

  “Who is that?” Atalanta asked as people rushed by her to surround the giant and shake his hand.

  “By the gods, girl,” Labrius said, grinning, “there is only one man it could be. The height, the fearlessness, the lion skin.” He pushed aside the villagers to welcome the giant to Mylonas.

  “It’s Orion,” Evenor said.

  “I thought he was just a story,” Atalanta said.