Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast Page 9

  When she opened them again, she was back in the tree and Urso was stretching up and licking her leg.

  She sat up stiffly. Pan was gone. If, she thought, he’d ever been there at all. Suddenly she was sure the entire conversation had been no more than a dream.

  Scratching the top of Urso’s head, she whispered, “Good night, brother-bear. Thank you for standing guard.” Then she curled into the crotch of the tree and slept once more.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE RACE

  IT WAS AN HOUR past dawn when Atalanta woke. Her body was stiff and there was a terrible taste in her mouth. Climbing down from the tree, she found Urso had already left.

  Better that way, she thought, with the Mighty Hunter so near. She brushed away the bear tracks with her foot. Going back to the village, she located the well, and hauled up a bucket of water, which she splashed liberally over her. Then she stretched her legs, first one and then the other, to ensure that her muscles didn’t cramp in the middle of the race.

  It wasn’t long before people began emerging from their houses. In spite of their long celebratory evening, no one wanted to miss the fun.

  They’re here, Atalanta thought, to cheer Orion on.

  As if answering his name, Orion suddenly came out of the door of Labrius’ house, stretching his arms and yawning. Even this unheroic display was enough to prompt a loud round of applause. He filled the bucket from the well and drained it in one long draught.

  Just then Phreneus emerged from one of the humbler cottages. Looking from the tall huntsman to Atalanta, he shook his head.

  I suppose, Atalanta thought, he means I might as well go home now.

  Evenor appeared at last with Labrius. Spying Atalanta, he hurried over. In a low voice no one else could hear, he said, “A prayer to swift-footed Hermes might be a good idea, Atalanta.”

  “Why? Because you think I can’t win without the gods’ help?” She felt cross. “Isn’t that just the same as cheating?”

  “Not if they’re helping Orion as well.”

  “Well, they would, wouldn’t they,” she said.

  Evenor couldn’t help it. He began to laugh.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “I am reminded of a race run in our village many years ago. A man named Charmus ran for three miles with five others, and he came in seventh.” He chuckled as he spoke.

  She looked puzzled. “How seven?”

  “A friend of his went along crying, ‘Keep it up, Charmus!’ and arrived ahead of him. If he’d five more friends, he would have come in twelfth!” He began laughing again.

  It took Atalanta a moment to get the joke, and when she did, she began to laugh, too. Soon they were howling together, till tears ran from their eyes.

  When the laughter passed at last, Atalanta handed Evenor her bow, spear, quiver, and belt. Then she took the leather thong from around her neck with the boar’s head ring.

  “Will you…” she began.

  “Of course.” He gathered them to his chest. “As if they were my own.”

  Atalanta looked over to where Orion was stripping down to his loincloth and sandals, leaving himself as unencumbered as possible. Seeing his swelling muscles and powerful legs, she wondered for the first time if she had simply made a fool of herself by challenging him. Yes, she’d chased Urso through the forest and more than held her own. But she’d been told Orion’s speed was legendary. Poets sang of it.

  Orion approached her and towered over her. “Do you still wish to go through with this?”

  “Why? Do you want to back out?”

  A few of the villagers chuckled, and Orion laughed as well. “I like your spirit, child.”

  Labrius cleared his throat, which effectively silenced everyone. Pointing to a rough, narrow road leading to the next village, he said, “The girl, Atalanta, and the hero, Orion, will race down that track.” He cleared his throat again. “We’ll place a marker two miles down, attended by a judge. Once they’ve reached the marker, they’ll turn and run back. The first to reach the well will be the winner.”

  Looking down the long straight track, Atalanta again felt her heart sink. This was not how she raced Urso. They went through the forest—over trees and through rock clefts and wading across streams.

  Suddenly that thought gave her an idea. Perhaps there was a way to even the odds just a little, to turn Orion’s great size and strength against him.

  “What sort of a race is that for a hunter?” she asked.

  Orion raised an eyebrow.

  “Does a hunter chase an animal along a straight flat track?” Atalanta continued. “Does a hunter run halfway then turn around and go back before catching the prey?”

  Orion smiled. “What do you suggest then, little huntress?”

  “Let’s go through the woods,” she said, gesturing toward the thick woodland to the north of the village.

  “And what will be the object of the race?” he asked.

  Squinting, Atalanta used the flat of her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “What’s that up there?” she asked, pointing. “Up on that hill beyond the trees.”

  Orion’s sharp eyes followed her finger. “A statue.”

  “That’s our shrine to Artemis,” Labrius said.

  “Make that our finishing post then,” Atalanta suggested.

  Orion smiled fully, showing his white, even teeth. “Agreed. The first one to touch the statue is the winner.”

  Atalanta nodded and held out her hand.

  Orion took her hand in his but was careful not to squeeze her fingers too tightly. “It looks to be at least a mile and uphill the whole way,” he observed. “Are you sure those spindly legs of yours will carry you?”

  They must, Atalanta thought. I have to be part of this hunt. She swallowed hard.

  The starter asked: “Are you both ready?”

  Atalanta looked down at the ground. “Ready,” she whispered.

  “Let’s get on with it,” Orion said. “I’m growing hungry for breakfast.”

  They waited till the people of Mylonas had walked up along the trail and the finish line at the shrine was well watched over by Labrius and his council of elders.

  When all was ready, the starter—who was Labrius’ stoop-shouldered son—began his count. “One…”

  Atalanta chewed her lip nervously. She needed to make a good beginning, for if she fell behind Orion at the onset of the race, she might never catch up.

  “Two.”

  Orion did a deep knee bend.

  I can do this, Atalanta tried to give herself courage. He’s too vain to believe it possible. He’s never run with a bear.

  “Three…”

  Atalanta felt as tight as a bowstring. No, she thought suddenly, I am the arrow in the bowstring.

  “GO!” shouted Labrius’ son.

  Atalanta sprang forward at once, the arrow released from the bow.

  Orion’s start was slower as if he knew he didn’t need to exert himself fully.

  An enthusiastic yell went up from the crowd on the hill.

  “Orion! Orion!” they cried. “Victory to the huntsman!”

  Atalanta gritted her teeth, ignored their calls, and ran toward the trees, her legs pumping. She thought about keeping up with Urso, pictured him ahead of her, and raced to keep up.

  “Run, Atalanta! Run!” It was Evenor. His voice floating down the hill was remarkably like her father’s and his encouragement put an extra spring in her step. Surprisingly, she found herself in the lead. She didn’t dare look around for fear of giving away as much as an inch.

  Though he had started more slowly, the huntsman’s muscular legs were now hurtling him forward in long, powerful strides that devoured the distance between them. Soon he was alongside Atalanta. “You’re nimble, girl, I’ll grant you that. But you’ve a long way to go. A start is not a finish.”

  Atalanta said nothing. She was saving her breath, straining every muscle to keep Orion from pulling away early in the race. But little by little
he drew ahead.

  Only a short way into the forest, Atalanta told herself. It was through the wild, forested country of the north that she’d raced Urso, and that experience was what she needed to give her a chance.

  They ran under the canopy of the trees only a few feet from each other, passing from sunshine into leafy shadow. Ahead of her, Orion suddenly turned and plunged into a thicket of blackberry bushes, tearing a path through it like a bull trampling a hedge.

  Atalanta rushed headlong through the gap he’d made, fighting desperately to catch up.

  Now negotiating the forest’s many obstacles became part of the race. Here alertness and agility counted as much as speed. Boulders blocked the way, trees tilted across their path, great holes in the ground yawned at their feet. All of these had to be swerved around, dodged, leaped.

  They took separate tracks, Orion on the higher ground, Atalanta below him. He remained bull-strong, blasting through what couldn’t be gone around. But Atalanta was deer to his bull.

  It helped her to be the smaller now. She could duck overhanging branches, slip through narrow slits in the rocks, and make sudden changes in direction more quickly than the big man.

  She saw Orion as a flashing shadow moving through the trees, slightly up the hill and to her left. Gradually the gap between them narrowed and, as it did, they both came upon the same fallen tree trunk, lightning-struck and gaping. Leaping at exactly the same moment, they hit the ground on the far side together, matching step for step.

  I’ve caught up! Atalanta thought. Thick sweat plastered her hair to her brow; her tunic clung clammily to her back. She was struggling hard to keep her breath steady and the blood was pounding in her temples. She could only hope that Orion was suffering as much.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him set his teeth in a grimace as he summoned another burst of speed.

  Then his pace faltered.

  A thick copse of trees was blocking their way. At the sight of it, Orion broke off and swept around to the left to try and bypass the obstacle.

  Atalanta decided that this was her one chance to pull ahead. Running straight into the cluster of trees, she drove through the narrowest of gaps between them, tearing her tunic and skin alike as she scraped against the rough knobby trunks. A low branch raked across her head, another smacked her in the face, which brought tears to her eyes. But still she kept on, slim enough to slip through.

  On she sped, her arms now thrust ahead to push other branches away from her face. Twigs and leaves snagged in her hair, but at last she broke free, bursting into a more open stretch of forest.

  She could see no sign of Orion.

  Where is he?

  She didn’t dare stop to look around in case he was already far ahead.

  Then she heard him behind her, to her left, grunting like an angry boar. The sound drove her on as surely as a sharp spear in the back. Her legs were protesting now, telling her they had no speed left. She willed herself to ignore them.

  She thought of Urso and how he ran so easily, eating up miles in a steady rolling gait. Be a bear, she told herself, and at that very moment she was a bear, her two legs feeling like four as she galloped along.

  A wide stream suddenly stretched right across her path. She could hear Orion in close pursuit and knew that she couldn’t afford to lose as much as a single pace.

  Gathering her nerve, she jumped the stream.

  Be a bird, she thought, willing her arms to be wings. But it was too far across. Her left foot came down in the water and slipped on a layer of smooth pebbles. She pitched forward, throwing her arms out to protect her face as she fell. She hit with a splash and her right knee scraped painfully over a jagged stone.

  A huge shadow flew over her and Orion landed with a thud on the far side. He swiveled around and looked down at her in triumph.

  “You should go back to the village and have that tended to,” he said, his words puffing out like strength ebbing. “Young pretty legs like yours shouldn’t be scarred.” He was, she thought, older than he’d seemed in the village. Much older. Older than Evenor. Old as my father.

  He was bent over, breathing hard.

  She thought, Old man, this run has sorely taxed you.

  Gritting her teeth against the pain in her leg, she scrambled up onto the bank and darted into the forest.

  Now the ground was rising toward the hill where the little shrine stood. Without warning, a high steep bank reared up in front of Atalanta, like a massive wave. She attacked it, grabbing onto handfuls of grass, roots, forcing herself upward. The grass on the northern slope was still slick with morning dew and the soles of her sandals kept slipping. She kicked them off and dug her toes into the ground, clawing up the rise like an animal.

  Orion came charging after her and leaped, his hands catching hold of the top of the bank. But when he tried to pull himself up, his fingers slipped off the dewy grass and he slithered back down. Furiously cursing, he mounted a second attack, but he was too late.

  Atalanta had already reached the top and clambered to her feet. From here the slope was less severe. She drove herself up, ignoring the spasms that shot like streaks of flame down her thighs and calves, the pebbles that dug into her bare feet.

  Every breath she took was like a fire blazing through her lungs. A pain lanced through her left side as though someone were forcing a long sharp needle between her ribs. But worse than her own pain was the sound of Orion struggling behind her, his ragged breath like a roaring wind.

  And then she was there—on the hilltop. At the shrine.

  Ahead of her was the simple figure of Artemis set atop its crude pedestal of gray stone. The people crowding around it were shouting.

  She couldn’t distinguish the words they were saying, couldn’t tell who they were calling for. She only had the wit to throw herself forward, flying vertically across the last few yards.

  The crowd parted for her and her arm stretched out, fingertips brushing over the feet of the goddess. Then she hit the grass, bruising her cheek as she landed.

  “You’ve won!” Evenor cried. Then to the suddenly silenced crowd, he called, “Atalanta won! The girl won!”

  She turned over and saw his kind face looking down at her. He reached out with his hand and pulled her to her feet.

  Orion erupted onto the scene, as furious as a storm ripping through a field of corn. He let out a wordless cry of anger that sounded like an animal’s roar. Lashing out with one massive fist, he knocked the statue off its pedestal. The stone image of the goddess rolled across the ground several times before coming to rest face up in the grass, its stone eyes staring up at the blue sky.

  Then Orion turned from the crowd, showing them his back, his shoulders heaving as he drew in a series of deep, calming breaths. When he turned around again, the smart of defeat was still smoldering in his eyes, but he had control of it.

  “Game’s over. Everyone back to the village,” he said in a low rumble to the crowd. Then to Atalanta he added, “I guess, little girl, you’ll be joining the hunt.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE ROAD TO TEGEA

  “ORION SEEMED MORE THAN eager to set out for the palace of King Iasus at once. Atalanta was sure that part of his eagerness had to do with getting away from the scene of his embarrassing defeat, but she said nothing about it. In fact, she said nothing at all, eating the celebratory breakfast without speaking a word.

  Orion took his meal standing, apart from the others. He even turned away several young men of the village who begged to join the hunt. He was so curt with them, they stalked away, cursing Orion angrily.

  “Who does he think he is?” one of them said.

  “Only an old man,” said another.

  “A slow old man,” added a third.

  Though she felt sorry for them, Atalanta kept her silence. After all, those same young men had been Orion’s greatest fans only hours before.

  “You’ll have a tale to tell, when you come back,” Phreneus said to Evenor and Ata
lanta with an envious grin. Then he added, “Everybody in Eteos will give you all the wine you can handle just to hear the tale of Orion and the Arcadian Beast.” His voice rose in its enthusiasm. “How he crept up on the mantiger and—”

  “He hasn’t killed it yet,” Atalanta interrupted sharply, the first words she’d spoken since the race. “My father always warned me not to suck the marrow from the bones of a live beast.”

  “We’re not doing this for wine,” Evenor reminded him, “or for the tales we can tell. We’re doing it for the good of our people.”

  “We’re not doing it for Orion’s glory either,” Atalanta added.

  As if called by his name, Orion suddenly appeared behind Evenor. “There’s no glory for any of us till the beast is slain,” he said. “Afterward, there’ll be plenty to go around. Pick up your gear and let’s be on our way.”

  Atalanta started to protest that he’d misunderstood what she meant, but he’d already gone back into Labrius’ house. Shrugging, she picked up her gear and stood. Whatever appetite she’d had was gone, anyway.

  Just then Orion came out of the house, fully armed. The two of them stared sullenly at each other across the courtyard. When Evenor joined them minutes later, they were still glaring like two boars getting set for battle.

  “It’s the mantiger we’re after,” he reminded them, “not each other.”

  Orion had the grace to look embarrassed, and Atalanta bit her lip before turning her head away. Hot tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away. The last thing she wanted was to be scolded by Evenor.

  The entire village turned out to see them off. Orion’s final wave of farewell was greeted with a cheer, except for the three young men who glowered in the back of the crowd.

  “I don’t mind telling you I’m glad to be away from here,” Orion confided as they headed down the track. “There’s nothing I find as wearisome as hordes of country folk demanding that I tell them stories of my adventures.”