Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two (7 page)

She climbed down the tree and raced after Hercules, keeping him in sight but taking care not to be seen herself.

11

The Hydra

Trees run down to the bank of the river Lerna. Water nibbles their roots and the trees lean over to watch their reflection in the shining river. At one point, though, the tree line stops short, and grass grows between river and wood.

It was in this meadow that Hercules stood. He wanted a clear view of the river. For it was from there that the Hydra would come. It was early upon a summer morning but the sun was already a brass ball, flaming hot. The young man felt himself slowly broiling inside the thick lion hide.

“It better come out soon,” he thought. “Or it won't find anyone to fight—just a breakfast, all cooked and ready to eat.”

Now the last monster Hercules had fought, the Nemean Lion, had announced itself by roaring so loudly that the boulders shook. Hercules didn't know that evil has more variety than goodness, and that monsters differ. So, waiting for some kind of horrid sound, he was almost caught off his guard. For the Hydra came with a faint scraping and was slithering swiftly across the grass before he saw it.

It was a crocodile, but the size of ten crocodiles. “This can't be it,” thought Hercules. “It has only one head. But how many monsters that size can dwell in the river?”

Happy that he had only one head to cope with, big as that one was, he cast aside bow and spear and held only his sword. The Hydra scuttled toward him with astounding speed. Weighed down as he was by the heavy pelt, Hercules leaped straight up, turning in the air, and landed at the Hydra's shoulder. He raised his sword in a two-handed grip, and struck down in a tremendous shearing blow that cut through hard leather scales, through bone and muscle and flesh, slicing the head off so swiftly that it jumped off the neck. Blood spouted, a black vile broth that scorched the grass where it fell.

And Hercules was shocked to see the severed head turn and slide back toward him, rising from the ground and snapping its jaws in the air. Hercules struck it down with his clenched fist, whirled to face the Hydra again, and was horrified by what he saw. The stories were true; he had congratulated himself too soon. For the stump of neck had split into two; from each sprouted a new head.

Two heads now. Hercules charged, struck, cut off the new heads. They fell to the grass, but stayed alive, snapping about his legs like vicious hounds. They could not pierce his lion-skin trousers, but they clamped their jaws on his legs and tried to drag him down. And now, where there had been two heads, there were four.

Four heads struck at him with sickening force. Four sets of enormous jaws fastened on his arms. The awful teeth could not pierce the pelt, but Hercules felt them slowly crushing his bones. He tried to raise his sword, but could not; his arms were held by the jaws. He tore himself away, staggering, as the cut-off heads pulled at his legs. He fell to his knees, kicked free, and his sword became a glittering blur as he whirled it, cutting the heads off, one after the other.

But where the four heads had been, there were now eight. They came at him from all sides. Again they closed upon his arms and shoulders. Jaws clamped his midriff. He felt his ribs caving in. Jaws locked his head. They did not pierce the lion skull, but they were crushing it, and crushing his own head inside.

Worst of all, though, he saw that one of the new heads was spitting fire. The lion skin turned the flame, but he felt himself growing unbearably hot inside his armor. He could hardly breathe. With a desperate effort, he whirled and kicked and struck, hacked and stabbed. The cut-off heads ravened about him, clamping on his legs, pulling him down. The Hydra struck with a single head. In an instinctive counterstroke, which he instantly wished to recall, Hercules swung his sword again, shearing off that head. Two heads sprouted in its place. Now, he knew, there were too many heads for him to combat; he could fight no longer.

With the last flaring of strength, he caught up a fallen bough from the grass, held it in front of the fire-spitting head. The dead wood kindled immediately. Hercules sprang up with his torch in one hand, his sword in the other. He sliced off a head and seared the neck-stump with his torch. A hideous stench of roasting flesh fouled the air, but no head sprouted from the seared stump. Now, he knew, if he could only keep striking with sword and torch, cutting off heads and searing stumps, he might have a chance. But all the severed heads were upon him, a multitude of them now, fastening their jaws upon his legs, dragging him down.

Iole, watching from behind a tree, saw him fall. She flashed out, raced across the grass, scooped up the fallen torch. Using it as a club she beat off the severed heads that were fastened to Hercules' legs. She thrust the sword at him, crying: “Cut off the heads and I'll burn the stumps! Get up! Get up!”

He looked up at her. Dazed as he was, he realized that she was clad only in her short tunic. One scratch of a poisoned tooth would kill her on the spot. Her peril filled him with fresh energy. He leaped up, snatched the torch from her; with his other hand seized her about the waist and hurled her across the meadow—into the river. He held torch in one hand, sword in the other, and crouched as the Hydra came at him.

He was afire now. His veins ran with starry wrath. He whirled and leaped, spun, dodged, weaved—striking as he moved, ducking the jaws, darting in, striking again. Each blow of his sword cut off a head. Then, striking with his torch, he immediately seared the stump so that no new head could sprout.

A dizzying mist arose from the spilled blood. Hercules peered through and saw that the Hydra had two heads left. He charged the monster and struck again, and again. He thrust twice with his torch, searing the last two stumps. Now the Hydra was blind. Its armored body twitched violently; its neck stumps were great charred worms, still wriggling. But it was dying. The body stopped twitching, the necks stopped wriggling. The spiked tail ceased its flailing. And as the huge body died, its fallen heads died also.

All this time, Hera had been hovering overhead, watching the battle, rejoicing when Hercules fell, filling with thwarted fury when she saw him arise and kill the Hydra.

“All the fault of that meddlesome brat,” she hissed to herself. “I'll teach her a lesson.”

Hera descended, reached into the river, pulled out a great tangle of drowned tree roots. She breathed life into them and they became a huge crab, big as a chariot wheel. She dropped the crab into the water. It sank swiftly, and began to crawl over the river bottom, hunting its food. Spotting something above, it rose to the surface and fastened its claws on Iole's leg. She screamed.

Hercules heard the scream. He charged toward the river, kicking through the litter of dead, grinning heads. He reached the river, dived in, seized the crab, and broke off the claw that held Iole. As she climbed upon the bank, Hercules arose, holding the crab. He dropped it to the grass and stamped on it, crushing it under his foot.

Iole threw herself into his arms. He hugged her to him, then shoved her away, crying, “Crazy girl! Sweet brave crazy wicked child! I don't know whether to kiss you or spank you.”

“Better let me decide,” she purred.

Catlike, she sprang into his lap and wrapped her arms about his neck. “You have many tasks before you,” she murmured. “Please try to last a few more years—at least until I'm old enough to marry you.”

“How many years will that be?” he asked.

“Four, perhaps. Three, if I hurry.… Let's go swimming before the sun sets. We're very smoky and bloody.”

Hera could bear to hear no more. She flew off in a fury, vowing to avenge herself upon both of them, no matter how long it took. And, it is said, she put together the crushed crab, named it Cancer, and stuck it in the sky as a sign of her vengeance.

But something better happened in another part of the sky. Pieces of Iris's frozen rainbow still burn above the North Wind's castle, and are called the Northern Lights. Boreas, when he remembers what happened long ago, flies into a rage again and tries to blow them out … but never can.

LADON

For TANYA EVSLIN

halfway across the world, but very near

Characters

Monsters

Gods

Demigods

Mortals

Animals

Contents

CHAPTER I

Food that Isn't Fish

CHAPTER II

The Harpy Queen

CHAPTER III

Flight of the Rainbow

CHAPTER IV

A Suitable Monster

CHAPTER V

Another Hunger

CHAPTER VI

The War God

CHAPTER VII

An Amazon's Dream

CHAPTER VIII

Thyone Goes Hunting

CHAPTER IX

Artemis in Scythia

CHAPTER X

Hecate's Idea

CHAPTER XI

The Raid

CHAPTER XII

The Hippocrene Spring

CHAPTER XIII

The Silver Stag

CHAPTER XIV

Hero Meets Monster

1

Food that Isn't Fish

Not long after things began, certain homeless gods were offered a garden called Earth where they might grow fruit and grain and flowers. Animals, too, were promised, and a special clever one who would look like a cross between ape and god, and be prone to the kind of misadventure that most amused the Mighty Ones.

At first, though, this new place was just a bowl of red-hot rock full of water that hissed and boiled and bubbled. Gods hunched above it, trying to peer through the steam. When the bowl cooled they saw that it held a vital broth. Powerful new life was sprouting, casting itself into a wild variety of shapes, which swam off and began making more of themselves. And when they weren't breeding they were eating. Down through the entire life chain, what was bigger fed on what was smaller. But creatures of every size bred so fast that there was always enough to eat.

During those earliest years when a few islands had thrust themselves out of the roiling tides, another form of life was slowly blossoming. When it appeared, even the gods were dismayed.

Monsters!

Deep undersea, enormous eggs cracked and the first monsters wriggled out. They began growing as soon as they left the egg, and reached full size in a single day. These huge misshapen beasts not only ate everything in sight but seemed to be of a different nature, seemed to kill not only for food but for pleasure.

Dread and Evil had entered the world—which was now ready for man to appear.

The first humans in the Garden of Earth found themselves among fruit trees, and fed upon olives and figs, quinces, pomegranates, and the rich seeds called nuts. All this kept them alive and healthy, but there was something else they wanted; they didn't know what. This craving led them deeper and deeper into the orchard until, finally, they came upon a tree that bore golden fruit.

Uttering glad cries they rushed upon the tree, tore fruit from the branches and crammed it into their mouths. It was so delicious and they were so happy to be eating it that they ignored the thing that was wrapped about the trunk in huge, green coils—or, perhaps, they took it for a thick vine.