Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast

by Jane Yolen

  “With the…Urso…away, you’ll be wanting some company then,” said Herma.

  “Company!” Atalanta exclaimed in disgust. “Why would I want that? People crowding around. Asking questions. Telling me what to do. Getting in the way. No, I don’t need anybody or anything.”

  “That didn’t stop you taking the fruit and bread and honey” Herma pointed out.

  Atalanta grinned. “I said I didn’t need it. I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

  “Everybody needs companionship,” said Herma. “You could have a good life here with us—a warm bed, a roof over your head. And I could use the help. With the baking, with the washing, with the children.”

  Atalanta made a face and took another bite out of the bread. “Those things belong to you, Herma, not me: I don’t want them.” She lowered her eyes and frowned into the bowl.

  “What do you want?” Herma whispered the question.

  “Almost everything I want has been taken from me. All I’ve got left is my freedom. I won’t let you steal that.”

  “We’re not trying to steal anything from you,” said Herma, putting her hands out, palms up.

  Atalanta’s voice rose. “But you are—all these comforts, all your kindnesses. How can I stay free if you lure me that way?” Atalanta looked past the cottages to the woods beyond. That was where she belonged—not here.

  Evenor suddenly appeared in the middle of their argument. He put his hands up, the sign of a peacemaker. “Maybe you can have the bread and honey and keep your freedom,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Atalanta and Herma spoke as one.

  Evenor put an arm around Herma’s waist. “Well, your bear isn’t around all the time, is he?”

  Atalanta looked confused, but Herma clapped her hands. “Of course.”

  Biting her lip, Atalanta looked down at the ground. She still didn’t understand.

  Evenor explained. “Just as it’s the bear’s nature to come and go, so it could be yours. When he is away, you could live with us.”

  Looking up as if expecting a trap, Atalanta asked, “Why would you want that?”

  Evenor smiled at her. “Fair exchange, child. We’ve had a hard winter, with a hard spring as well. Game is scarce, as if something’s been chasing it away.”

  Atalanta suddenly looked down again at the ground. Should I tell him about the beast? Then she thought: Since it’s gone, disappeared, vanished as if it had never been, what would be the point?

  “We’re having to hunt in places far from the village,” Evenor continued. “And you know those parts of the forest better than we ever will.”

  “So…” Atalanta thought she knew what he was getting at.

  “So if you would guide us, show us the deer trails and the watering places, show us where to set our snares, you could have a place with us here in Eteos whenever…”

  “…you wanted to!” Herma finished.

  Putting her hands on her hips, Atalanta glared at them. “Why should I ever want to do that?”

  “Child, you could get injured, it happens to the best of hunters,” Evenor said.

  She looked at the scar on his arm, remembered her father dying of his wounds.

  “Or get sick,” Herma added. “Who would take care of you then? The bear? He would make a very poor nurse.”

  Atalanta suddenly thought of how her father had nursed her through a bad cough the year before. And how sweet the honey on Herma’s bread had tasted.

  She tried to think how to answer without sounding as if she were giving in. “I’m not saying I need anything. But I could give you some help. In exchange for a share of the kill.”

  “A fair share of anything you help us catch,” Evenor agreed, offering his hand.

  She drew back warily. “What are you doing?”

  “This is how we seal a bargain,” Evenor explained. “We clasp hands.”

  Herma’s eyes were wide. “Have you never…?”

  Atalanta shrugged. “It seems a funny way of doing things, when a promise should be enough.” But she suddenly recalled her father at a market fair shaking someone’s hand. She held hers out and Evenor took it in his, squeezing the fingers gently.

  “But remember this,” Atalanta said sternly, pulling her hand back, “we’re not hunting any bears.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE HUNT

  IN THE MONTH THAT followed, the hunters swore they’d never known such a summer for game. “Especially after last winter and spring,” said Evenor one day when they were heading home with a brace of quail and seven rabbits. Over his shoulders was slung a gutted stag. “We feared all the game was gone.”

  Atalanta thought briefly about the orange-tufted creature that had killed her father. Had it moved on to a fresh supply of food?

  Not that she had given the creature much thought lately. Now she had a comfortable life, and on her own terms, too. As long as she could find the villagers what they needed, she had a choice spot next to a hearth on cold nights—when Urso was off on one of his solitary jaunts—and a healthy share of the meals.

  Of course the littlest children, led by Daphne, shadowed her whenever she stayed over, pestering her with questions.

  “Do you always sleep on the ground?”

  “Do you have your meat raw, like a bear?”

  “Do you and the bear ever eat people?”

  Sometimes Atalanta answered. “We never ate a person yet, but if we did, we’d have to start with something small.” Then she’d pounce on them making growling sounds, and they scattered like hens before a fox.

  The village children her own age, though, ignored her or made faces. One or two still called her names under their breath. She guessed they were jealous, especially the girls, that she had such freedom.

  Gradually, as summer blossomed and then faded under a brilliant blue sky, Atalanta found herself changing. For example, she took more care with her hair when she visited the village, combing it out and braiding it up again. At one time she’d given some thought to simply cutting it off short.

  Herma had been aghast at the idea. “Only slave women have short hair.”

  “I’m no one’s slave,” Atalanta had retorted. She kept her hair long.

  She’d also begun to enjoy talking with the villagers—not just to Evenor and Herma but with many of the others—even the ones who’d shunned her before. However, one or two of them still grumbled about her presence and the influence she had on the children, a few of whom now liked to play “wild child,” which mostly meant not washing and going too far into the woods on their own.

  Only Goryx still complained openly.

  “She’ll turn on us one day,” he muttered aloud. “You mark my words, she’ll turn on us just like a wild beast.”

  One day Urso returned from marking trees around the forest to set the boundaries of his territory. He seemed reluctant to join in their usual game of gentle rough-and-tumble and didn’t answer Atalanta’s snorts and snuffles. Instead he growled irritably at her when she persisted.

  Eventually Atalanta sat back on her haunches and fixed narrowed eyes on him.

  “I know what’s bothering you,” she said. “I’m starting to smell of baking and wine, hearth smoke and soft covers.”

  Urso made a whining noise.

  “It’s the deal I’ve struck,” she explained. “It’s my plan. I help them out—and they leave you alone. Besides, what right do you have to grump about what I do? I don’t complain when you go off by yourself, do I?”

  She batted him playfully on the nose and he knocked her onto her back with a shove of his paw. Then he rubbed his nose against her ribs until she started laughing uncontrollably.

  At last he stopped and she caught her breath.

  “Yes, that’s right,” she said. “No matter where I live, you’ll still be able to sniff me out, won’t you. No matter how I age. No matter if I get soft. You’ll still smell the wild in me.”

  The next time Atalanta joined Evenor and three other hunters on
a two-day trek through the forest, Urso had been gone for nearly a week.

  At the end of the second day, Atalanta had helped them find a great stag, which she finished off with one well-placed arrow.

  “Orion himself couldn’t have tracked so surely,” said Evenor. “Or flung a spear so true.” He treated Atalanta like a daughter now, and she burned red and happy under his praise.

  “Who’s Orion?” Atalanta asked, as she knelt to gut the deer, for by rights the one who killed had to field-dress the creature. But she also got to keep the best parts.

  “Why, Orion is the greatest huntsman in all Achaea,” Evenor replied. “Orion-of-the-two-spears, he’s called.”

  Phreneus added, “He’s famed from far Colchis to the gardens of the Hesperides.”

  “What—you’ve never heard of Orion?” interjected Goryx. He turned to the others, a sneering disbelief on his face. “Hasn’t she heard how he’s killed every wild beast on the island of Chios?”

  “Then I’m surprised there’s any game left for the common folk,” she said.

  Evenor laughed and slapped his thigh!

  Goryx glared at him before continuing. “There wouldn’t be except every now and again Orion stops to dally with a nymph or a goddess.” He nudged Phreneus. “And that gives the beasts time to multiply again.”

  “They say he can throw a discus as far as other men can shoot an arrow,” added a hunter named Demas, a gray-haired man who rarely spoke up.

  “And he’s so surefooted he can walk safely across the surface of the sea,” Goryx added.

  Atalanta snorted through her nose. “If he tried that, he’d have drowned long ago.”

  Evenor laughed again.

  Meaning to have the last word, Goryx said, “Orion is a true huntsman, not a hound that sniffs out prey the way you do.”

  Atalanta ignored him. “Have any of you ever met this wonder, this Orion?”

  “No,” answered Phreneus, “but everyone from Phrygia to Pylos has heard the tales.”

  At that, silence fell upon the little band, and they trekked back quickly to their camp. There they built up the fire and took turns with the wineskin.

  Only Atalanta sat outside the circle of men, tasting the wine but once, a soft white wine that had a touch of lavender she found refreshing. But she never took more than a taste, hating the lethargy of the next morning that came from drinking much wine. Her father had always said, “Wine is a good friend and a fierce foe.”

  As she sat looking into the fire, she felt a strange tingling on the back of her neck, a sure sign of some danger nearby. Without meaning to, she shivered visibly.

  Seeing her uneasiness, Evenor asked, “What is it?” He had long since learned to trust her instincts.

  “Ach, it’s the wine,” Goryx said, spitting into the fire. “Too strong for her tender belly.”

  Before she could put her feelings into words, a great roar shook the branches of the trees as if a gale had blown down from the north. Atalanta remembered that sound and the swallow of wine threatened to back up into her throat. She stood.

  Evenor snatched up his spear, and the others followed his lead.

  “What was that?” Goryx said.

  “Hush!” Atalanta held up her hand.

  Through their silence, they could hear a disturbance in the forest. An animal, a big one, was charging through the trees, breaking branches and trampling bushes as it came nearer.

  “It’s coming our way,” said Goryx, nervously licking his lips. He set down his spear and lifted his bow instead, carefully setting the arrow in place.

  “No!” Atalanta shrieked, throwing herself into Goryx’s line of fire.

  At that moment Urso crashed into the clearing, pulling up behind Atalanta.

  “I don’t know how she knows it’s him,” Phreneus said to the others as Atalanta stroked the mound of muscle behind Urso’s neck. “Doesn’t one big crash in the forest sound just like another?”

  Evenor laughed, more in relief than anything else. “Not to her.”

  Atalanta could feel the tension in the bear’s body, and as he rubbed his muzzle against her ribs, she could hear the worry in his low growl. She turned to the men. “It wasn’t Urso who let out that roar.”

  “If it wasn’t him, then what…” Demas began.

  Looking at Atalanta’s drawn face, Evenor answered, “Something a lot worse.”

  Urso suddenly stood on his hind feet and began sniffing the air. A menacing rumble sounded at the back of his throat.

  “What is it?” Evenor asked.

  “He smells something,” Atalanta replied, standing. “Something he’s smelled before.”

  The bear continued his low grumbling.

  “What is it?” Evenor asked, staring up at Urso.

  “I don’t think he knows…” Atalanta whispered. But she did. Slowly she reached for her bow and arrow and stood up even more slowly. “But Urso came here to protect me.”

  “Protect you from what?” Evenor asked.

  Atalanta shook her head. “I don’t know either. But I suspect it’s what killed off game this winter and spring.”

  Suddenly close by there was a sound of foliage being trampled aside. Trees shook, shivering from the top down all around them. Another roar shattered their ears.

  “That doesn’t sound friendly,” Demas said.

  “We should make a run for it,” Goryx cried, “while we still can.” In the fading light of day, his face looked pale and his eyes were wide with fear.

  “That would make us easy prey,” said Atalanta. “And it’s a long way home in the dark though the forest.”

  “Yes, we need to keep together so we can protect one another’s backs,” said Evenor.

  “I don’t think,” Atalanta said softly, “that it’s after us. I think it’s after the deer.” She pointed to the carcass by the fire.

  “Let it have the deer then,” shrilled Goryx.

  “No!” Atalanta’s voice was firm. “The village needs the food.”

  More sounds of crashing came from somewhere in the trees. Then, heedless of the humans, three rabbits and a doe trailing a fawn ran startled through the clearing, desperate to escape whatever menace was behind them.

  Goryx edged away from the gutted deer, babbling. “Hide. Hide from it…” Then he turned and ran away from the sounds of the crashes, toward the shelter of the heaviest trees.

  The others remained alert, spears in hand, but Goryx suddenly screamed, and they all spun around. All they could see were the bottoms of his sandals vanishing into the undergrowth as if he’d been snatched away by a giant hand. Then there was a wild thrashing in the treetops and finally a sickening sound of bone snapping.

  “What is it?” whispered Evenor. “Have you seen this thing before?”

  “No. Not entirely. Some of it. Its back. And its paw. Its huge paw. Whatever the creature is, it killed my father,” she said quietly. But there was no quiet in her belly. Her mouth was filled with the salt tang of anger and fear. She had her bow out, an arrow in place.

  The three men and Atalanta edged forward to the spot where Goryx had disappeared. They rammed their spears into the greenery, trying to flush out the beast. But whatever had been there was already gone. Above them, branches on the trees suddenly started shaking as if in the middle of a storm.

  Urso’s growl was as constant as summer thunder.

  “Quiet, boy,” Atalanta said, her arm starting to tremble with the pull of the bow.

  “I see him!” Demas shouted, and the three men plunged into the undergrowth.

  Atalanta stayed back, tense and alert.

  No sooner had her companions gone than a shape erupted into the clearing on the other side, something orange like a mountain cat, but much much larger. Atalanta turned the moment she heard it. The beast was bull high at the shoulder, with long upper fangs overhanging its lower lip, ears tufted in orange and gold, a shaggy mane, serpent’s tail, a large scar across one of its front paws, and a charnel house smell. And
it had…

  “Wings,” Atalanta cried. “I should have guessed it before now. Wings!”

  Urso reared up and roared, part challenge, part fear.

  The beast didn’t bother to answer. Instead it took one leap toward them and glared at Atalanta who faced it with her drawn bow.

  There was a long pause as girl and beast stared at each other. Then the creature shook its shaggy head and backed away. Turning, it pounced on the gutted deer, and with a mighty sweep of its golden wings rose into the air with the carcass in its claws, and was gone.

  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.