Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

VICTIMS OF THE BEAST

ATALANTA’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.

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.