Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast (8 page)

At last he stopped and she caught her breath.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “No matter where I live, you’ll still be able to sniff me out, won’t you. No matter how I age. No matter if I get soft. You’ll still smell the wild in me.”

The next time Atalanta joined Evenor and three other hunters on a two-day trek through the forest, Urso had been gone for nearly a week.

At the end of the second day, Atalanta had helped them find a great stag, which she finished off with one well-placed arrow.

“Orion himself couldn’t have tracked so surely,” said Evenor. “Or flung a spear so true.” He treated Atalanta like a daughter now, and she burned red and happy under his praise.

“Who’s Orion?” Atalanta asked, as she knelt to gut the deer, for by rights the one who killed had to field-dress the creature. But she also got to keep the best parts.

“Why, Orion is the greatest huntsman in all Achaea,” Evenor replied. “Orion-of-the-two-spears, he’s called.”

Phreneus added, “He’s famed from far Colchis to the gardens of the Hesperides.”

“What—you’ve never heard of Orion?” interjected Goryx. He turned to the others, a sneering disbelief on his face. “Hasn’t she heard how he’s killed every wild beast on the island of Chios?”

“Then I’m surprised there’s any game left for the common folk,” she said.

Evenor laughed and slapped his thigh!

Goryx glared at him before continuing. “There wouldn’t be except every now and again Orion stops to dally with a nymph or a goddess.” He nudged Phreneus. “And that gives the beasts time to multiply again.”

“They say he can throw a discus as far as other men can shoot an arrow,” added a hunter named Demas, a gray-haired man who rarely spoke up.

“And he’s so surefooted he can walk safely across the surface of the sea,” Goryx added.

Atalanta snorted through her nose. “If he tried that, he’d have drowned long ago.”

Evenor laughed again.

Meaning to have the last word, Goryx said, “Orion is a true huntsman, not a hound that sniffs out prey the way you do.”

Atalanta ignored him. “Have any of you ever met this wonder, this Orion?”

“No,” answered Phreneus, “but everyone from Phrygia to Pylos has heard the tales.”

At that, silence fell upon the little band, and they trekked back quickly to their camp. There they built up the fire and took turns with the wineskin.

Only Atalanta sat outside the circle of men, tasting the wine but once, a soft white wine that had a touch of lavender she found refreshing. But she never took more than a taste, hating the lethargy of the next morning that came from drinking much wine. Her father had always said, “Wine is a good friend and a fierce foe.”

As she sat looking into the fire, she felt a strange tingling on the back of her neck, a sure sign of some danger nearby. Without meaning to, she shivered visibly.

Seeing her uneasiness, Evenor asked, “What is it?” He had long since learned to trust her instincts.

“Ach, it’s the wine,” Goryx said, spitting into the fire. “Too strong for her tender belly.”

Before she could put her feelings into words, a great roar shook the branches of the trees as if a gale had blown down from the north. Atalanta remembered that sound and the swallow of wine threatened to back up into her throat. She stood.

Evenor snatched up his spear, and the others followed his lead.

“What
was
that?” Goryx said.

“Hush!” Atalanta held up her hand.

Through their silence, they could hear a disturbance in the forest. An animal, a big one, was charging through the trees, breaking branches and trampling bushes as it came nearer.

“It’s coming our way,” said Goryx, nervously licking his lips. He set down his spear and lifted his bow instead, carefully setting the arrow in place.

“No!” Atalanta shrieked, throwing herself into Goryx’s line of fire.

At that moment Urso crashed into the clearing, pulling up behind Atalanta.

“I don’t know how she knows it’s him,” Phreneus said to the others as Atalanta stroked the mound of muscle behind Urso’s neck. “Doesn’t one big crash in the forest sound just like another?”

Evenor laughed, more in relief than anything else. “Not to her.”

Atalanta could feel the tension in the bear’s body, and as he rubbed his muzzle against her ribs, she could hear the worry in his low growl. She turned to the men. “It wasn’t Urso who let out that roar.”

“If it wasn’t him, then what…” Demas began.

Looking at Atalanta’s drawn face, Evenor answered, “Something a lot worse.”

Urso suddenly stood on his hind feet and began sniffing the air. A menacing rumble sounded at the back of his throat.

“What is it?” Evenor asked.

“He smells something,” Atalanta replied, standing. “Something he’s smelled before.”

The bear continued his low grumbling.

“What is it?” Evenor asked, staring up at Urso.

“I don’t think he knows…” Atalanta whispered. But she did. Slowly she reached for her bow and arrow and stood up even more slowly. “But Urso came here to protect me.”

“Protect you from
what
?” Evenor asked.

Atalanta shook her head. “I don’t know either. But I suspect it’s what killed off game this winter and spring.”

Suddenly close by there was a sound of foliage being trampled aside. Trees shook, shivering from the top down all around them. Another roar shattered their ears.

“That doesn’t sound friendly,” Demas said.

“We should make a run for it,” Goryx cried, “while we still can.” In the fading light of day, his face looked pale and his eyes were wide with fear.

“That would make us easy prey,” said Atalanta. “And it’s a long way home in the dark though the forest.”

“Yes, we need to keep together so we can protect one another’s backs,” said Evenor.

“I don’t think,” Atalanta said softly, “that it’s after us. I think it’s after the deer.” She pointed to the carcass by the fire.

“Let it have the deer then,” shrilled Goryx.

“No!” Atalanta’s voice was firm. “The village needs the food.”

More sounds of crashing came from somewhere in the trees. Then, heedless of the humans, three rabbits and a doe trailing a fawn ran startled through the clearing, desperate to escape whatever menace was behind them.

Goryx edged away from the gutted deer, babbling. “Hide. Hide from it…” Then he turned and ran away from the sounds of the crashes, toward the shelter of the heaviest trees.

The others remained alert, spears in hand, but Goryx suddenly screamed, and they all spun around. All they could see were the bottoms of his sandals vanishing into the undergrowth as if he’d been snatched away by a giant hand. Then there was a wild thrashing in the treetops and finally a sickening sound of bone snapping.

“What is it?” whispered Evenor. “Have you seen this thing before?”

“No. Not entirely. Some of it. Its back. And its paw. Its
huge
paw. Whatever the creature is, it killed my father,” she said quietly. But there was no quiet in her belly. Her mouth was filled with the salt tang of anger and fear. She had her bow out, an arrow in place.

The three men and Atalanta edged forward to the spot where Goryx had disappeared. They rammed their spears into the greenery, trying to flush out the beast. But whatever had been there was already gone. Above them, branches on the trees suddenly started shaking as if in the middle of a storm.

Urso’s growl was as constant as summer thunder.

“Quiet, boy,” Atalanta said, her arm starting to tremble with the pull of the bow.

“I see him!” Demas shouted, and the three men plunged into the undergrowth.

Atalanta stayed back, tense and alert.

No sooner had her companions gone than a shape erupted into the clearing on the other side, something orange like a mountain cat, but much
much
larger. Atalanta turned the moment she heard it. The beast was bull high at the shoulder, with long upper fangs overhanging its lower lip, ears tufted in orange and gold, a shaggy mane, serpent’s tail, a large scar across one of its front paws, and a charnel house smell. And it had…

“Wings,” Atalanta cried. “I should have guessed it before now. Wings!”

Urso reared up and roared, part challenge, part fear.

The beast didn’t bother to answer. Instead it took one leap toward them and glared at Atalanta who faced it with her drawn bow.

There was a long pause as girl and beast stared at each other. Then the creature shook its shaggy head and backed away. Turning, it pounced on the gutted deer, and with a mighty sweep of its golden wings rose into the air with the carcass in its claws, and was gone.

A
TALANTA’S FATHER HAD ALWAYS
said: “Trust what you see, hear and smell, just the way the beasts of the wild do. Don’t let your mind conjure fancies out of your fears.”

But now her mind told her such a thing as the winged lion could not exist. Yet her senses—what she’d seen, heard, and smelled—told her the creature was real. For a moment she was stunned into immobility, as if she’d been encased in a block of ice.

Sensing her confusion, Urso leaned comfortingly against her, almost pushing her over. It was only then that Atalanta found she could move again.

Evenor burst back out of the greenery, bow and arrow at the ready, and saw how shaken she looked.

“Atalanta, are you all right?”

“I
saw
it,” Atalanta said, scarcely breathing. She pointed at the empty space by the fire. “I saw the creature. It took the stag, picked the carcass up as if the thing weighed no more than a piece of straw.”

“What kind of beast was it?” Evenor asked, casting about for some sign of the creature’s trail.

“It was bigger than a bull,” she said slowly, “like a mountain cat but enormous. With claws, a mane, a scaly serpent’s tail…wings.” Her voice died away. She knew the description sounded absurd.

“Where did it go?” Evenor asked with an uneasy frown.

“It flew off,” said Atalanta. “That way.” She gestured to a spot above the trees.

At that moment Phreneus and Demas appeared, supporting Goryx between them.

Goryx was bruised and scratched and blood trailed from a wide row of tooth marks on his left leg. His eyes were glazed with shock and his lips twitched as though he were muttering wordlessly to himself. But—miraculously—he was alive.

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.