Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast (19 page)

Ancaeus was sitting on the ground, holding one of the spears as if guarding the other men. “Where’s the bear?” he asked.

“He’s done his part,” Atalanta answered. “He’s on his way home.”

“So it’s just us now.” Melanion squared his shoulders, but his voice was unsteady. “Funny, I was counting on that bear!” He smiled, a shadow of his usual broad grin.

She nodded. “Have you heard anything?” She looked at Evenor carefully.

“Not a sound,” he said. “You?”

“Nothing.” She turned to Ancaeus. “Are you ready, my prince?” She held her fist to her breast to show him honor.

If he noticed, he didn’t say, but he struggled to his feet, tottering a few steps toward her. He handed her the spear.

They took him by the arms then, helping him around to the far side of the pit. Here the trees grew too close and thick for the mantiger to attack from any direction other than directly across the trap.

As he settled his back against a tree trunk Ancaeus drew his long hunting knife. “I wish I had my axe,” he said. “Then I might yet strike a blow that would do for that monster.”

“No single blow will stop him,” Atalanta told him. “It will take all of us working together.” She didn’t say that she doubted the prince had the strength to wield his axe, even if he’d had it.
How hard it must be for him to have to rely on us to keep him from harm,
she thought, adding aloud, “Though I, too, wish you had your axe. It had a fine sharp edge.”

They walked away from Ancaeus carefully, skirting around the very edge of the pit.

“What do we do now?” Melanion asked, pushing his hair back from his sweaty brow.

“Conceal ourselves as best we can,” Atalanta replied. “And wait.”

She found a large acacia bush and hunched down behind it with a bag in front of her containing one of the beehives. The buzzing was more subdued now, as if the bees had resigned themselves to their prison.

Off to her left was Melanion with another of the bags, hunkered down behind some berry bushes. To her right, barely visible among the foliage, Evenor knelt and waited.

Only Ancaeus was in plain view, their human bait.

Atalanta checked her bowstring to make sure it was taut, then slid her knife out of its sheath and into her waistband. As she was without the spear she’d lost in the mantiger’s first attack, these weapons would have to serve. She was too small to handle Orion’s spears. It was best the men have them.

Time dragged on, limping toward sunset. The blue of the sky began to redden, like the skin of a ripening fruit.

Atalanta took a small drink of water from her wineskin and chewed on some berries she’d picked up along the way. They were early berries, tart and tasty, and seemed to explode in her mouth. All the while she never took her eyes off of the prince.

Ancaeus’ chin was resting on his chest and his eyelids had begun to droop.
It might go easier for him if he falls asleep,
Atalanta thought. The waiting was bad enough for all of them, but it must be even worse for him, in the open, exposed on purpose to danger.

She heard a rustling to her left and immediately set an arrow to the bowstring.

It was only Melanion crawling toward her, looking as if he wanted to talk. She hissed angrily at him and waved him away.

Reluctantly he crawled back.

Atalanta shook her head. Melanion seemed to be finding it harder to sit still than any of them.
He’ll never make a hunter,
she thought, then laughed at herself.
As if that were his one desire!

Just then she heard another sound, a slight crackling, like a paw on leaf mold. She stared around but could see nothing. Yet somewhere in the forest—she was sure—a large animal was stalking them, waiting for dark. She knew it by the way everything went suddenly quiet—insects, small birds, even the trees seemed to be holding their collective green breaths.

Head snapping up, Ancaeus, too, was suddenly alert. He reached for the knife in his lap and the blade glinted dully in the last bits of sunlight slanting through the trees.

Suddenly, the greenery between Atalanta and Evenor burst apart. The mantiger—its wings tucked close to its body—was racing straight at Ancaeus.

The prince tried to brace himself, but the beast was almost on him. All he managed was a weak cry. “For Arcadia!” And raised his knife.

The mantiger snarled and leaped, landing at the far edge of the lattice of branches. For a moment nothing happened. The mantiger prepared to leap again, but—with a sharp snapping sound—the latticework gave way beneath its paws and it tumbled backward into the pit with a roar of outrage.

Atalanta, Evenor, and Melanion jumped out of hiding and ran over to the pit. Down below, the mantiger had righted itself, but as Orion had known all along, it couldn’t unfurl its wings in the small space. Frustrated, furious, the beast was roaring and trying to leap up, but its great wings kept catching on the sides of the pit and knocking it down again.

Holding the bags by the bottoms, Atalanta, Evenor, and Melanion shook out the hives into the pit. The hives struck the beast’s back and broke apart like ripe fruit, releasing the buzzing swarms.

Like a miniature army, the bees struck at the first enemy they could find. Pouring angrily over the mantiger, filling the air with a deafening hum as they attacked, they stung it again and again. The mantiger clawed futilely at them, tossed its massive orange head to get them out of its ears, its mouth, its eyes, the soft, vulnerable spots, which they seemed to find with unerring accuracy.

Maddened beyond endurance, the mantiger roared in pain and frustration, but the more it roared, the more the bees found their way into its open mouth. Clawing its way up the side of the pit through the cloud of insects, the mantiger finally got to the top. Its wings opened with a loud snapping sound and it tried to take to the air, still screaming its fury. The bees followed it out of the pit and continued their assault with renewed frenzy.

Atalanta fitted an arrow to her bow and fired. It struck the beast in the haunch but didn’t penetrate far. The mantiger’s skin was thick, but still she could see a bit of blood seeping from the wound. The scent of it made the bees even more frantic.

Ancaeus was on his feet now, eyes blazing feverishly. Fear and anger drove him, lending him strength. His right arm went back and he threw his knife directly at the creature. It bounced off a flailing claw and fell into the pit. Slumping back against the tree, Ancaeus wept.

Meanwhile, Evenor and Melanion had both raised their spears, ready to fling them at the crippled beast. However, the mantiger was spinning about and moving too erratically for them get an accurate shot, and they were desperate not to lose their only weapons in a futile attempt.

The swarming bees made it impossible for the mantiger to fly. Instead it dropped to the ground and bounded up the path away from the hunters, to some place of refuge.

“After it!” Atalanta cried. She’d already guessed where it would go.

L
IKE ANY ANIMAL, THE
mantiger knew instinctively how to rid itself of a swarm of bees. As Atalanta had expected, it was heading along the path that led to the pool, the path where she’d set the snares.

A hideous roar told her that the mantiger had run straight into them. She only hoped the ropes would hold.

Rounding a bend, she was relieved to see the mantiger with the cords tangled around its hind legs, rearing up and ripping at the air with its claws. The bees were dispersing now in the open air, but there were still enough of them to distract and infuriate the great beast.

Skidding to a halt, Atalanta readied her bow. Melanion came rushing to join her with Evenor on his heels.

Before she could stop him, Melanion had charged straight ahead, yelling and thrusting the long spear at the mantiger’s head. The beast seized the end of the spear in its jaws and, with one swipe of its paw, snapped the shaft in two.

Only now realizing his danger, Melanion tried to jump back, but the same paw smacked him across the head, sending him rolling across the ground.

“To me, to me!” Atalanta cried at the mantiger, trying to attract its attention so that Melanion would have time to crawl away.

For a second the beast hesitated, unsure, its golden eyes—now rimmed with swelling flesh from the stings—focused on Atalanta. It ignored Melanion, who scrambled back to Evenor’s side, panting, exhausted, frightened, but unhurt.

Atalanta sensed her own danger, but kept calm, retreating step-by-step, staying out of the mantiger’s way. At the same time she tried to aim her bow, but for some reason her arm was shaking too much to get off a careful shot.

Moving up to stand by her side, Evenor jabbed defensively with his spear, muttering, “By the gods, it’s big. By the gods, it’s huge.”

Then one cord of the snare snapped.

And then a second, the sound of it as loud as the crack of a whip.

The mantiger suddenly lunged forward.

The unexpected movement caused Atalanta to shoot high and her arrow went past the beast’s head, by no more than a whisker’s breadth, and on into the trees. Quickly she nocked another arrow.

Evenor gasped out a prayer. “Hermes guide my arm.” Then he hurled the spear with all his might. It ripped through the mantiger’s right wing and grazed its back.

Rearing up, the mantiger trembled with anger. It bared its awful yellow teeth and beat the air with its wings, causing the blood to spray them both.

Evenor’s spear fell to the ground, far out of reach.

“Artemis preserve us!” Evenor gasped, whipping out his knife. He reached down to grab Melanion’s arm and haul him out of the way.

The mantiger crouched and then began its leap.

Atalanta pulled back so hard on the bowstring, the muscles in her arm felt ready to burst. Then she let the arrow fly and the string sang like the wind.

The arrow drove straight into the mantiger’s eye, throwing it back on its hind legs. Its cry of pain was so loud, the trees shook in horror on each side of the path.

Dragging Melanion to his feet, Atalanta and Evenor backed away desperately. All they had to defend themselves now were their knives and one last arrow, feeble weapons compared to the monster’s raking claws and long sharp teeth.

But the mantiger was no longer interested in them. Half blind, dizzy with pain, unable to fly because of its wounded wing, it turned away and ran off into the trees, howling. They could hear it trampling through the bushes as it made its escape, away from the world of men and traps, of arrows and spears and knives.

“Is it gone?” Melanion asked.

“Gone, but not dead,” Atalanta answered.

“Then we have to go after it.” Evenor was breathing hard. “Finish it off.”

“Not
we
,” Atalanta said. “Me. Evenor, you take care of Melanion and Ancaeus. Finishing off this beast is my job.”

Evenor stared at her. “You are mad.” He’d never looked at her that way before. “Girl, the mantiger may be wounded, but even wounded unto death, it’s still more than you can deal with on your own.”

Atalanta walked over to where Evenor’s bloody spear lay on the ground. Picking it up, she wiped it off on the grass and hefted it in her hand. “This is far heavier than I’m used to, but it will have to do.”

“Suppose the mantiger kills
you
,” Melanion whispered, a pleading in his eyes. “How could I bear it.”

She couldn’t stand the way he looked at her, so vulnerable, so open. She turned away, staring up at the darkening sky.

“Melanion, you go and attend to your uncle,” Evenor ordered. “I have to talk with Atalanta.”

Melanion nodded. “Whatever you do, don’t let her go alone. I count on you.” He turned and stumbled back up the path.

“Atalanta,” Evenor said softly. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

She turned slowly and looked straight into his eyes. “Haven’t you guessed yet, dear friend?” She reached down inside the neck of her tunic and pulled out the leather thong, holding the ring toward him so that he could see the engraving of the boar. “This ring, with the insignia of the royal house of Arcadia, was around my neck when I was found. The baby girl Ancaeus was talking about, the baby princess left on the hillside to die, with the bear tracks all around—that infant was me.”

Evenor frowned. “You?”

“Look at my face, Evenor. Isn’t it the queen’s own?”

He shook his head wonderingly. “I hadn’t noticed it before. But it’s true—you look just like her. Iasus is your father?”

“My sire, but not my father. My
father
is dead,” said Atalanta, “killed by that thing that the gods sent to punish the king.”

Evenor looked out into the forest and rubbed his chin ruefully. “This business is darker than I thought. Who can fathom the ways of the gods?”

“I believe that the curse means that only someone of the royal bloodline can kill the beast,” Atalanta said. “And that means me.”

“You sound very sure of that,” Evenor said. He rubbed the old scar on his arm as if that lent him strength.

“I
have
to be sure. A hunter can’t afford to have doubts.” She smiled. “That at least I learned from Orion.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “Now go, my other father, go with Melanion, and don’t breathe a word of what I’ve told you to anyone.”

He nodded slowly. “We’ll wait an hour, and then I’ll come looking for you.”

“If I haven’t returned in an hour, get back to Tegea as fast as you can,” Atalanta said, shaking her head. “For it will mean I am wrong in this, and the beast will be after the king next.”

He cocked his head to one side and considered her for a moment. “Is that a doubt I hear creeping in?”

“That’s called being careful,” she said. “I learned
that
from my father.”

Then she was gone, following the blood trail into the fading light.

T
HE MANTIGER LEFT CLEAR
tracks dotted with blood. It was moving toward the mountains and, Atalanta guessed, heading back to its lair.

The worst kind of confrontation,
she thought to herself. She would rather meet the beast—any beast—in the open. Once she and her father had cornered a mountain cat in its den. She’d been ready to charge right in, but her father had cautioned, “Leave it. We’ve time on our side. The beast will need water eventually. Nothing worse than your back to the wall in a beast’s own lair.”