Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast

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 Atalanta 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.”

Atalanta covered her mouth with her hand to hide a smirk. Orion hadn’t seemed to need much prompting to relate his stories.

Indeed, it wasn’t long before he was telling Evenor and Atalanta all about a seven-headed sea monster he’d slain while on the island of Delos, about his faithful dogs who could put up ninety birds with one leap, about the Keshite lion he’d captured alive and given as a present to the king of that country, and so on and so on. If she hadn’t seen him wrestle the raging bull to the ground, Atalanta would have thought he was making all of it up. But maybe, she mused, maybe most of it’s true.

When he was done storytelling, Orion spoke to them about the length of spears, the proper flight of arrows, and the best way to hold a lion’s jaws apart. He pointed out tracks on the path, animal scratchings on the trees, and the difference between the scat of a stag and that of a doe.

The man simply couldn’t stop talking.

Atalanta mentioned this to Evenor once, when Orion had gone on ahead to scout, and he replied quietly, “Perhaps he’s lived too long alone in the woods and is used to the sound of his own voice.”

She had no answer for that, nor did Evenor seem to expect one.

They walked farther, but now darkness was stitching up the garment of the day. Soon it would be time to make camp.

Spotting a rabbit lurking in the long grass, Atalanta took the bow off her shoulder and an arrow from the quiver, and in one swift movement bagged the creature.

Once they found a place to camp and had laid out the fire perimeter and the rabbit was cooking on a greenwood spit, Orion passed her his wineskin.

“Good shot,” he conceded.

Atalanta’s cheeks reddened, but she nodded her thanks. It was as if she and Orion had come to a kind of alliance. She smiled to herself. Rabbits were easy. Wait till he saw how she stood up to the mantiger’s charge.

She went to sleep to the drone of Orion’s voice, waking only when Evenor called her for her turn standing watch. Though with the din Orion made snoring, she doubted any animal—even the mantiger—would come near.

Over the next few days, Orion took it upon himself to instruct Atalanta in some of the finer points of hunting.

“A bow’s fine for rabbits and squirrels,” he told her, “but you need a proper hunting spear for bigger game.”

“This has served me well enough,” Atalanta said, patting her own light javelin.

“A weapon that does no more than wound can be the cause of your own death,” Orion cautioned her. “Especially hunting boar.”

She nodded. Her father had said the same.

“Boars die hard. Wounded, they’re as vengeful as the Furies. Evenor can vouch for that,” Orion added.

“I was young then,” said Evenor, running a finger down the long white scar on his arm, “and too eager to claim a trophy.”

“I have hunted boar,” Atalanta started to say, but Orion continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

“A wounded beast is more enemy than prey,” he said. “If your shot doesn’t bring it down, it’s safer to miss altogether. If you’re trying to stop a boar with that bow of yours, little huntress, don’t aim for the heart. His hide is too thick and his breastbone will block the way. Aim for a vulnerable spot on the head: the eye or the ear. With a spot of luck you might pierce his brain. Otherwise that pretty skin of yours will get damaged.”

Evenor moved between them and pointed at an old bite mark on Orion’s left arm. “I see you’ve picked up your own share of wounds.”

“As I said before, a man who flinches from danger is no hunter,” said Orion. He pulled aside the lion skin and pointed. “See—there. And there. And there.” Each place he touched was a fearsome scar, some puckered like little mouths, others long white slashes. “But there is enough danger in the wild without taking foolish risks, little huntress,” he said, turning again to Atalanta. “No matter how helpless a beast may appear, don’t hold back from a final spear thrust or you could pay with your life. And if you corner a beast in its lair, be prepared to strike without hesitation.”

On the third night of their journey, during her turn at the night watch, a familiar scent caused Atalanta to stare nervously around before she realized it was the smell of bear.

Glancing over at Orion, she saw he was fast asleep and—for once—not snoring. Evenor also was deep in slumber.

Noiselessly, she slipped away from camp, gliding a short way through the shadows, before she found Urso crouched in the darkness. As soon as he saw her he let out a soft, welcoming growl.

“Hush, boy!” she whispered urgently, clamping a hand over his muzzle, “We can’t let Orion know you’re here. Who knows what he’d do.”

Urso rubbed his shaggy neck against her.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she said. “But we’re going off to King Iasus’ palace to round up enough men to hunt the mantiger.”

At the beast’s name, Urso snorted.

“No,” she told him, “you can’t come along. To Orion you’re just a helping of meat and fine fur cloak.”

Urso made a low, plaintive whine.

“Yes, it’s dangerous,” Atalanta confessed, “but if you want to help me, you have to keep out of sight. We’ll be in Tegea, the king’s city, soon. It won’t be safe for you there, so you have to stay out here, in the forest.”

Urso licked her hand.

“I can’t go home until this is done. The mantiger killed my father and it’s threatened my friends. We’re connected somehow, that beast and me. I don’t know why, but I know it’s so.”

She wrapped her arms around Urso’s neck and hugged him hard before pushing him away. “Go now,” she said. “I have to get back before somebody notices I’m gone. Besides”—she struck her fist to her chest—“I am standing guard.”

The bear stood up till he towered over her. Then he struck a paw to his own chest. Clearly he was saying that he, too, would stand guard. Then he bounded off into the trees, a great dark shape that was one minute there and the next gone.

Atalanta stood for a few moments, remembering the feel of the bear’s head under her hand, the shaggy roughness of him. Then she turned to head back, and walked right into Orion, who was emerging from the bushes, his long spears in his right hand.

Atalanta leaped back in shock.

“I woke and you were gone,” he said in explanation.

“I thought I heard something moving around. But I was wrong.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “None of us—myself included—is to leave guard station and go off alone.” He paused and sniffed at the air. Then his eyes scrutinized the hard-packed ground carefully.

“Probably just a rabbit,” said Atalanta, stepping into his way.

Orion lifted his head and raised an eyebrow. “A rabbit? With that musk?”

For a heart-stopping instant, Atalanta was afraid he’d insist on pushing past her, find Urso’s tracks, and set off after him. But instead, Orion just turned around and headed back to camp. Letting out a sigh of relief, she followed.