Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

ARROW’S FLIGHT

LIKE 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.