Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast

by Jane Yolen

  “The gods always speak in riddles,” Evenor said. “It pleases them to puzzle us.”

  “You all put too much credence in the gods,” Orion said. “There is nothing they can send against us that can’t be stopped by one good spear thrust.” He stared at each of them in turn, as if daring them to argue with him. When no one did, he slowly nodded, satisfied that he’d established his authority.

  “Now eat,” he said, “and get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch and the last. Atalanta will take the second watch, Evenor the third.”

  “I can take a turn,” Melanion said.

  “We need strength at the door and a huntsman’s eye,” Orion said, his voice coldly distant. “I judge that you have neither.”

  “But…”

  “And you are also one of Iasus’ blood,” Atalanta said.

  “Oh!” Melanion suddenly looked shaken.

  “I am the leader,” Orion added. “And therefore I make the rules. And no one—” he glared at Melanion—“no one has the right to question me.”

  No one did.

  “In the morning,” Orion finished, “I’ll give each of you your tasks and we shall finish this business at last. This I promise.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ONE SMALL DEATH

  THE THUNDERSTORM WAS PASSING now, but even as the clouds cleared, night rolled in across the wine-dark sky. Atalanta found a spot in the cave across from Melanion and next to Evenor, and circled it like a dog getting ready for sleep. Ancaeus was stretched out at her feet, dozing fitfully, exhausted by his wounds.

  Lying down across the entrance to their little den, his spears on his lap, Orion was clearly ready to defend the gap should the mantiger try to take the cave.

  Atalanta’s mind was reeling, her thoughts flying about like leaves in a gale. She’d suspected the truth of her parentage the moment she’d seen the royal banner. The queen’s face in the morning light had confirmed those suspicions. Still Atalanta had refused to really credit such a possibility until now.

  Now she could look away from the truth no longer. Iasus was her father, Queen Clymene her mother, and the child in Clymene’s womb was her brother.

  But how could she love them when they had given her away with such ease? Her real mother and father were the ones she’d buried by the little house in the woods.

  She thought about all this muzzily, fighting sleep; but eventually sleep won the battle, though it was a sleep haunted by dreams. In her dreams Atalanta saw Queen Clymene lying prostrate on her bed, hands across her milky breasts, weeping for the loss of her child. She heard the baby on the hillside crying out in hunger and in fear, its wails growing louder and louder until she was startled from her dream by the noise.

  Only then did she realize that what she was hearing was no dream-child at all. It was the sobbing of a grown man.

  She sat up quickly in the half dark, wondering who among them could be weeping so. Prince Ancaeus in pain? Melanion in fear? Evenor missing his family?

  “What’s wrong?” she called out.

  “Are we being attacked?” That was Evenor, his voice fuzzed by sleep.

  “Atalanta, is that you?” Melanion called.

  Prince Ancaeus struggled up, leaning heavily on one arm. “What? What? What?”

  The awful cries went on and on.

  There was only one of them left who hadn’t responded.

  “Orion!” they all said together.

  The great hunter, clutching his head and screaming in pain, was suddenly outlined against the lightening sky.

  “Aieeeee! Aieeeee!”

  It was an awful cry that echoed inside the little cave until it sounded as if his voice were coming from everywhere. He stood shakily, lurching from side to side, slapping at his right ear, shaking his head till his hair stood up like flames.

  “Aieeeee! Aieeeee!”

  He bounced against the stone walls, staggering as if drunk, his limbs trembling.

  “Aieeeee! Aieeeee!”

  Then all at once he fell to the ground and lay still.

  “Orion—what is it?” Melanion scrambled toward him.

  But Atalanta was already there at the body, cradling Orion’s head in her lap. She watched as a small shape dropped past her arm and scuttled away across the ground. Holding out her hand, she stopped Melanion from coming any closer.

  “Scorpion!” she cautioned, setting Orion back down on the stone floor and standing up carefully.

  It was the most dangerous kind of scorpion, its back marked with a pattern of green and red, and its tail the length of her hand. The deadly stinger was curved forward over its body, twitching, as if looking for another victim.

  “Keep still!” she hissed at the others.

  Pulling out her knife, she waited for a second, then leaned over and drove the blade right through the scorpion’s jointed body, impaling it. Its pincers and eight legs wriggled helplessly until Melanion picked up a rock and crushed its head with a single blow.

  Evenor hurried over and put his ear to Orion’s mouth, listening for a breath that didn’t come. Atalanta laid a hand over his heart. She couldn’t find any beat.

  They sat in that attitude for almost an hour, silent, not knowing what else to do. Then dawn broke across the valley and by its light they could all see that Orion’s ear was red and swollen and his face discolored with the scorpion’s deadly poison.

  “It must have stung him in the ear while he slept,” Atalanta said.

  Evenor spoke in a harsh whisper, “We came to kill a mighty monster, but the mightiest hunter has been killed by one of the smallest creatures on the earth.”

  “One great man, one small death,” Melanion said.

  “But why…?” asked Evenor.

  Indeed, why? Atalanta thought. Why should he have been the one punished? He didn’t have any of Iasus’ blood.

  Suddenly she remembered her dream in the palace, how Artemis had said that Orion had his own sins to pay for. Was this what she meant?

  “Orion was our hope,” groaned Ancaeus getting to his knees. “Our only hope. What are we to do now?”

  “The first thing we must do,” said Atalanta, “is to give him the proper honor.” She struck her breast with her fist. “I, Atalanta, daughter of the forest, sister to the bear Urso, will avenge your death, Orion. I dedicate this hunt to you and to my father, who also died because of the king’s sins.”

  The others struck their own chests and said similar words. It was little enough that they could do. Then, when the sun had risen fully, they buried Orion under a cairn of rocks within the cave, to keep off the wild beasts.

  Evenor spoke a brief prayer before they left. “May this hunter’s brave soul pass peacefully from the world.”

  Atalanta noticed that he’d said nothing about the gods. Just as well, she thought bitterly. For this is their fault, and none of ours.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ALLIES FROM THE WILD

  “THE HUNT ISN’T OVER yet,” Atalanta said, looking out across the valley. She was thinking about the goddess’s words to Iasus. Perhaps if only royal blood could slay the beast, and she was a true daughter of the king, she could kill the thing. Hadn’t she wounded it once already? Hadn’t it flown off when her knife had cut it?

  “There are only four of us now,” said Melanion. “And Uncle is in no shape to fight. Think, Atalanta—what chance do we have?”

  She turned around and glared at him. “As much chance as any hunter with courage and wits at her command. We can’t quit. We owe it to Orion to go on.”

  “Besides,” Evenor said sensibly, “what other choice do we have? With Ancaeus injured, we can’t move fast enough to escape.”

  Ancaeus winced as he tried to move. “Leave me,” he said hoarsely, “for what good it may do.”

  Atalanta shook her head. “Orion never would have abandoned a helpless man. Neither shall we.”

  “You’re right,” Melanion agreed. Glancing quickly around the little den, he added, “I supp
ose we could hole up here and defend ourselves till Uncle Iasus sends men to find us.”

  “Not soon enough to do any good,” said Evenor.

  “Or I could go back to Tegea for help,” Melanion added. “I’m a strong runner.”

  “That beast has taken deer and boar who run faster than you, my young friend,” Evenor told him.

  The air in the little den suddenly seemed hot and thick. Tempers were on the edge of flaring, dry kindling ready to ignite at the least spark.

  “We came here to kill the mantiger,” Atalanta reminded them, “and that’s what we’re going to do.”

  “With what?” Melanion asked. “We lost half our weapons running away from it. We’ve only three spears between us.”

  “We still have our knives,” said Evenor, “and Atalanta’s bow.”

  Atalanta looked at Orion’s cairn. An idea had occurred to her, a foolish one perhaps, but one that might give them a chance.

  “We won’t just use weapons,” she said. “We’ll use the wild itself to help us. But first I have to find Urso.”

  “Your pet bear?” Melanion asked doubtfully. “How do we know where he is?”

  “He was badly scratched and bitten when he ran off,” said Evenor. “We don’t even know if he’s alive.”

  “He’s alive,” Atalanta insisted. “I’d know here if he were dead.” She put a hand to her breast. “And he will help us.” She paused and turned to Melanion. “Didn’t you say you came across some bees back there?”

  He shrugged. “Yes. There are plenty of them in this part of Arcadia. The gods alone know why. The land is poor enough.”

  “Good,” Atalanta said. “Now—both of you—empty out the packs,” she said. “I’m going to need them all.”

  “To do what?” Evenor said.

  “You’ll see.” She grinned at him.

  Exchanging puzzled glances, Evenor and Melanion began turning the packs upside down and dropping empty wineskins, ropes, knives, dried olives onto the floor.

  “Are you all mad to obey her?” Ancaeus croaked. “She’ll be a single bite for that beast.”

  “I’ve been a hunter all my life,” said Evenor, “and Atalanta still knows more about the woods than I ever will. If there’s a way to survive this and kill the mantiger, she’s the one to do it.”

  He handed his empty pack to Atalanta.

  “Thank you, Evenor,” she said quietly. Then, taking all the packs and her bow and knife, and without further farewells, she slipped through the gap in the rocks.

  The sky above was a pale blue without a single cloud. Sun-cast shadows made creatures where there were none. Crouching low, Atalanta ran swiftly down the rocky scree and into the forest, alert for any smell or sound or sight of Urso. She knew he would be close by.

  She found Urso only an arrow shot away, curled up inside a thick clump of bushes, licking his many wounds. She was distressed to see the tears the mantiger had made in his flesh. There were bare patches of red, raw skin where whole clumps of his fur had been ripped out. Deep scores were gouged into his back.

  “Oh, Urso!” she gasped, throwing her arms around his neck.

  The bear licked her face in return and the two of them nuzzled and patted each other, growling softly.

  “You trailed me all across Arcadia, you foolish, foolish bear,” Atalanta said. “You saved us all.”

  Urso’s growl turned to a plaintive whine.

  “I know you’re hurt,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “But I need your help. Remember how we used to go hunting for honey? How I had to run from the bees?” She made a buzzing noise and formed her fingers into flying insects, nipping at her own skin.

  Urso gave a snort of recognition.

  “We have to hunt for honey again, Urso. We need to find some beehives.”

  The bear shook himself all over, as if just rising out of a river, and padded out of his hiding place. He bent his head into the crook of her arm and she gave his ears an affectionate scratch, carefully avoiding a deep wound near the right ear. She hoped Urso and she could accomplish their task before the mantiger found them again.

  The search for bees took the rest of the morning. With Urso’s sensitive nose sniffing out the sweet scent of honey, Atalanta was able to fill the three packs with full hives, using a long forked stick to lift each hive out of the bole of a tree.

  There was no sign of the mantiger, but neither she nor Urso relaxed. Even when they were concentrating on the bees, they kept alert to both sky and ground.

  But both of them were breathing hard now, the bear because of his wounds and Atalanta because she’d been stung several times on her arms. They were tired, hungry—and hurting. Atalanta knew there was little point in pushing further. They needed to head back to the den where the others waited.

  As they turned to go, Atalanta spotted a gleam of silver through the trees. “Look!” she said.

  Urso’s head jerked up and saw where she was pointing.

  It turned out to be a small pool. Urso plunged in as if he knew that his wounds needed to be clean, especially the ones he couldn’t reach with his tongue.

  Atalanta was more cautious, unwilling to put herself at a disadvantage in the water, but she bent down for several long draughts. Afterward, she made compresses from the muddy banks of the pool and covered her stings with them. The mud was cool and eased the pain. Then she filled her wineskin with fresh water and picked up the packs once more.

  Suddenly a savage roar reverberated over the woody slopes.

  “Come, Urso,” Atalanta called, “we’ve got to get back to safety.”

  The bear needed no urging. Lunging out of the pool, he clambered up the banks at a run. Then, side by side, they raced through the woods till they got to the bottom of the scree beneath the cliff shelter. There they stood, catching their breath, the bear’s sides heaving with the effort.

  Realizing how exhausted Urso was, Atalanta stopped him there.

  “Wait here. Stand guard,” she said. “Growl if you smell anything coming. No need to make the climb unless you have to.”

  She left him and went quickly up the scree, darting into the cover of the rocks and calling out as she went, so they’d know she wasn’t the monster.

  When she reached the entrance to the little cave, with the three packs over her shoulder, Evenor and Melanion recoiled from the angry buzzing.

  “Are those bees?” Melanion asked.

  She nodded.

  “You are mad.”

  “We’re hunting something that can fly,” Atalanta replied matter-of-factly, “and as we can’t fly ourselves, we need some help.”

  She raised the bags up, and the men flinched as the buzzing grew more furious.

  “Just don’t let them loose in here,” she warned, “or we’ll be stung to death before the mantiger can find us.”

  “We heard it roaring,” said Evenor. “It’s out there looking.”

  “We’re not going to wait for it to come to us,” said Atalanta. “Here, drink this and listen to my plan.” She gave them sips from the wineskin and outlined what she had in mind.

  “It gives us a chance,” Evenor commented when she’d finished, “and we can’t ask for more than that.”

  “We still need something to use as bait,” said Atalanta. “Something to lure it out.”

  “A goat? Or a deer? Some game it can try to take from us,” asked Melanion.

  Evenor shook his head. “The mantiger’s scared off any animals in this part of the forest.”

  “You can use me,” said Ancaeus in a pained, hoarse voice. As he spoke, he pushed himself to his feet, his back pressed against the rocky wall.

  “Are you sure?” Atalanta asked.

  Ancaeus’ lip twisted in a sneer. “Do you think you’ve more courage than I, little girl? Do you think I want to lie here, cringing in fear, until I die of my wounds?”

  “Uncle…” Melanion began, reaching out a hand.

  Ancaeus slapped his arm aside. “Let the beast co
me for me. Better to die a man than live a coward. Just remember to have the poet sing about my bravery.”

  “You understand the plan?” Atalanta asked.

  “A fool’s plan,” he replied scornfully. “But the only plan we have.”

  “I intend to kill the mantiger,” Atalanta told him firmly, “and not at the cost of your life.”

  “Then make sure your aim is true,” Ancaeus said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE TRAP

  ATALANTA ALREADY HAD A spot in mind. It was on an animal trail leading to the pool that she and Urso had just left. There was enough dense greenery for the hunters to hide in and enough open ground for them to set their trap.

  “Can you walk, Uncle?” Melanion asked.

  “With your help,” Ancaeus replied.

  They all left the shelter of the little den, going carefully down the scree and then quickly along the path. Atalanta took the lead with an arrow in her bow. By her side ambled the bear. Next came Melanion, holding up his uncle with one hand, a spear in the other. Evenor was in the rear, and he had both spear and knife at the ready.

  When they got to the track, Atalanta signaled them to stop.

  “First we need to dig a trap,” she said.

  She and Evenor and Melanion took turns breaking up the ground with their spears, one always on guard.

  As soon as he understood what they were doing, Urso pushed into their midst and began ripping up clods of earth with his long, sharp claws. He worked with furious determination, flinging piles of earth in all directions. The others helped to widen the hole until it was just large enough to hold their prey—but just.

  Then Evenor and Melanion set about plaiting together branches and leaves to make a covering for the pit.

  Meanwhile Atalanta took Urso with her and walked up the trail to where she planned to set her snares.

  Urso was limping badly now. She ran a hand over his torn and matted fur, careful not to touch any of the wounds directly.