by Amy Wolf
“Alexandrian chamaedaphne,” she said. “Best thing for the day after.”
“If it works,” Nick told her, “I’ll be happy to wear the whole tree.”
Their hosts came in to join them, looking as fresh as Nick felt rotten. He was glad that breakfast was simple: jut barley bread dipped in wine. Under Helen’s black-lined gaze, he was sure to skip that last part.
“Good luck to you, son of Chiron,” said Agamemnon as he walked them out. “I am not privy to the gods’ council, but I think you’ve come to help us.”
“I hope so,” said Nick. “Don’t wanna be cringey. Bye, Cali Genie.”
“Calligenia,” said Helen.
They stepped onto the streets of Athens which even at this hour looked like downtown L.A. Merchants shouted at them from a market; the potters did their thing; and, just beyond Nick’s view, he heard the clink of chisels.
“It begins,” said Helen, blinking in the Mýthos light.
“Yeah,” said Nick. “What?”
Helen sighed.
“Son of Chiron, you are dressed as a Hero, and you told me you were one. Now, what is it, exactly, that you’re supposed to do?”
“Something about Labors.”
“Like Heracles,” Helen nodded. “Why don’t you tell me the first one?”
Now Nick sighed, looking down at some stones.
“I don’t know.”
“You are pulling my peplos,” said Helen. “Yes?”
“No. I wish that I was.”
She came to a sudden halt.
“You mean to tell me,” she asked, “that Chiron and Hephaestus did not give you your tasks?”
“No,” said Nick, toeing some dirt with his sandal. “Neither did Herc, by the way.”
Helen looked amazed.
“So . . . a god, a hero, and a centaur kept your Labors from you?”
“For the last time, yes.”
“It must be a riddle,” said Helen, putting her hand to her chin.
“Please! I had enough of those with the Sphinx.”
“Well,” asked Helen, “how hard can this be to solve?”
“Well,” said Nick, mimicking her, “you go right ahead.”
She gave him a black-lined side eye. When they reached the Street of Sculptors, she began to pace.
“What did Hephaestus give you?”
“As you can see, armor and weapons. That’s it.”
Helen nodded, circling Nick. Her being that close made him nervous.
“Find anything?” he asked.
“No.”
She examined the Pelian spear, then made him take out his sword.
“Ah,” she said, pointing to the flat blade.
“‘Ah,’ what?”
“See? There’s a letter burned into the bronze.”
Nick bent to see a red “T.”
“What does it mean?” he asked.
“For Hera’s sake, it means ‘T.’”
“Oh.”
“That gets us nowhere,” she said. “Please, hand me your shield.”
Nick lifted it from his side. He had to admit, he’d kind of ignored it, but now Helen bent over its scenes like a Greek Nancy Drew.
“Ah ha!” she cried.
“What now?”
With a hand, she stifled a laugh.
“You didn’t know,” she asked, “that your Labors are all on this shield, in order?”
Nick blushed to the roots of his hair.
“I was afraid to look. Besides,” he went on, “you try to deal with everything when you’re dropped on a wacked-out world.”
“That must be,” said Helen, thoughtful, “why Athena made me your helper.”
“‘Cause I’m a dumbass?” Nick growled.
“Of course not,” she said. “Everyone needs a helper. Even the greatest of heroes.”
“Hmmp,” was all Nick could say.
Helen went back to the shield.
“Now, see this, the first in this circle?”
She pointed.
“How do you know it’s first? It’s a circle.”
“‘Cause you’ve already been to Thebes.”
“And?”
“Well, this is the Theban Sphinx.”
Nick leaned in closer. Did she always have to be right?
“I take it you answered her riddle?” she asked.
“If I hadn’t, I would have been Sphinx food.”
“Right. So, that’s the first letter. You achieved the First Labor, and the sword marked it off.”
“Wow,” Nick breathed. “I did one and didn’t know it!”
“Yes,” said Helen. “Now, the shield shows your next task is . . . to slay the Nemean Lion.”
“Whaaa-t?” asked Nick. “I’ve only seen lions in zoos. And those were behind a moat.”
“Well, you’re here for a reason,” said Helen, “and you must have agreed to come.”
“Not to be Siegfried and Roy!” Nick yelled.
“Son of Chiron,” she said, “Zeus would not have brought you, nor would Hephaestus forge your armor, if they thought you would simply quit.”
“I’m no quitter,” growled Nick. “I ran my last 800 with a taped-up knee, and, when I set the state record, it was ninety-eight out—Fahrenheit!”
“See?” said Helen. “Within you, there is strength.”
“You too. Wanna switch? I can be the sidekick.”
“It is not permitted,” she answered. “Only the chosen Hero may accomplish his tasks.”
“But, uh, Herc said—”
“Yes, when his nephew helped him, that Labor didn’t count.”
“And?”
“Hera added another.”
“She sounds like a gem,” said Nick.
“Do not cross her, for she is Queen of Mýthos.”
“I’ll keep that under my helmet.”
Nick took back his sword and spear, but looked at the shield as if it would bite him.
“Mkay,” he said. “Let’s pretend in Fantasyland that I ‘want’ to slay this lion. Where is it—a circus?”
“No, it’s in Nemea.”
“And that would be—?”
“West of here in Cleonae.”
“That’s kind of vague,” said Nick.
“I know,” said Helen. “I’m sorry. I was inside the temple for what I think was hundreds of years. As a guide, I fear I am poor.”
“No worries,” said Nick, not wanting to see her sad. Then he remembered something. “Hey! Think we can go by boat?”
Helen thought as chisels sounded around her.
“Why not? It’s a lot faster than walking.”
“Sweet!” Nick shouted. A nearby sculptor gave him a look. “I mean, let’s find a boat and get to, uh, Cleo. Then, I’ll try to decide if I want to be Herc.”
Helen gave him a smile, and to Nick, that’s what counted. She took him by the hand and led him down to the port. Nick saw Poseidon’s statue again: this time, from the front. Man, that dude’s rock arms were twice as big as his own!
“He looks fierce,” Nick said. “Like he could make Aquaman cry.”
“Mm-hmm,” Helen said absently.
As he’d expected, Nick saw tons of ships in the harbor: some steered by unseen men in galleys; others, like his first one, relatively small but fast.
“How ‘bout that one?” he asked, pointing to a ship with two sails. “Only problem is—”
“Leave that to me,” said Helen, and walked—or rather, glided—over to the ship’s captain.
She spoke a bunch of gibberish.
“What’d you say? Nick asked.
“That to honor the gods, he must lend us his boat.”
Nick chuckled.
“Good luck with that.”
He watched her implore the captain, then end with a dramatic look to the sky.
The poor guy said something like“Sha ba glosa,” then pointed to his craft in a gesture that nearly spoke: “Take my boat, please.”
“Sweet,” said
Nick, clambering over the side. He offered Helen his hand.
“I can do it,” she laughed.
“I know,” Nick said, “but Mom always told me . . . it’s important to show respect.”
“I think I like her,” said Helen, tossing off the ropes.
“And I think I like . . .” Shut up! Nick told himself.
“Yes?”
Helen was gazing at him with those clear grey eyes.
“A-a woman who knows how to steer.”
“Thanks.”
Nick exhaled.
Man, that’d been close! He decided to change the subject.
“It’s funny,” he said, staring out to sea, “ but when I lived on the ocean, I never got to go out. That was for the rich kids.”
“The rich,” said Helen, “enjoy many pleasures. But sharing them with friends is the sign of a true Greek.”
“I couldn’t agree more!” Nick yelled. Calm down, he thought, exhaling.
“Steering is easy,” said Helen, her hair waving in the warm breeze. “I will set the sails so that we journey northwest.”
“Where’s your compass?” Nick asked, looking around for one.
“A what? I don’t have one. I navigate by Helios.”
She pointed to the sky, where some guy in a chariot was actually dragging the sun!
“Wow,” said Nick. “As a guy, I hate to admit this, but I’m no good at reading maps.”
“Don’t worry,” said Helen, “remember—I am the daughter of Titans.”
“And they always know where they’re going?”
Helen sighed.
“Right now, that would be nowhere,” she said, “but there was a time when they did. They strode across the Cosmos.”
“Um,” Nick said, not wanting to deceive her. “I, uh, I was sent here to put down your dad, Typhon.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“That means, I . . . I’m supposed to kill his kids.”
“Like me?”
“Yeah. Hey, if you want to turn back—”
“No,” said Helen firmly. “My brothers and sisters are monsters. We can’t let them help father.”
“But—”
“If he escapes, that’s the end of everything.”
“So you don’t . . . hate me?”
She looked at him with those calm grey eyes.
“Of course not.”
“Phew.”
Nick couldn’t believe how relieved he felt. He leaned over the prow, catching spray as he let his eyes focus on a weird painted one.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“To earn the gods’ favor,” she said, “so we may avoid being wrecked.”
“Ah.” Nick sucked in his breath. “I didn’t think about that.”
“Try not to,” said Helen. “This should be a short journey, just ten hours or so.”
“Good,” said Nick, “since we didn’t bring any food.”
She nodded, intent on keeping the sails filled.
‘So . . .” asked Nick, “where’d you learn to sail? Is that a Titan thing too?”
Helen laughed.
“Nope,” she said, “I’m Greek. They say it’s in the blood.”
“Hmm,” said Nick, “wonder what happened to me.”
“You never got a chance to practice.”
“Yeah, in Palos Rojas, nobody asks you to go on their boat. They’d rather cut out their hearts.” Helen started. “And owning one is so expensive.”
“Sounds awful.”
“Yeah, a lot of things are. I mean . . . there. It’s no fun being poor in a rich man’s town.”
“As a Titan—and Gorgon,” she said, “I never lacked for much.”
“Can I join?” Nick asked with a smile.
“You would not wish to . . . not now.” She stared past their blue sails at an equally blue sea. “So,” she began, “did you . . . did you have someone special? I mean, there.”
Nick hung his head as he clung to one of the masts.
“Nope,” he said, “too busy with track and school. Also . . .” He had never told anyone this. “I would get, uh, really into girls like every three weeks or so, and then, when they’d start to like me, I just blew them off. Plus—” This was getting weirder. “—When it was winter, I had no interest at all. Does that make me a freak?”
“No,” said Helen, adjusting a sail which sported a painted owl. “Maybe you weren’t ready. Or . . . you feared . . . what’s that word—?”
“Commitment,” Nick said.
“Yes,” she said. “That.”
They were both silent as they watched the waves turn turquoise under a clear Mýthos sky.
“It’s pretty here,” Nick said finally. “The Pacific Ocean is nice, but to me it seems—I don’t know—so distant.”
“You have to get out on the water.”
Before Nick could answer, that very thing met his face. Fighting his way to the side, he saw they were moving inside a circle which had at its center an outsized gaping hole!
“Whirlpool!” cried Helen, trying to lower the sails.
But a wave smashed her to the hull. The ship was now on its own, tottering like a drunk around that rip in the sea.
“We’re being pulled in!” Nick yelled, not knowing what to do. All this frantic motion was starting to make him feel sick.
“Hang on!” Helen shouted as she followed her own advice.
They both reached for a mast.
“POSEIDON,” Helen cried, “God of the Seas, protect us!”
She was answered by a wall of water: Nick thought he had never seen a wave so high, not even in surfing contests.
It crashed over the boat, wrenching Nick’s arms from the wood, seizing his body and tumbling him over, until all he could see was an angry cone of white water. It looked exactly like . . . an underwater tornado? Though Nick fought its pull, he could feel himself being sucked in.
That’s when the sea quieted, and Nick saw the surface flatten as the cyclone below disappeared. What he didn’t see was Helen. He wanted to call out but realized that would be foolish. Instead, he kicked his runner’s legs, his muscled torso a burden as he plunged farther down and swam. Where, he wondered, was what he was looking for: a tangle of white with just a splash of red?
Helen! He couldn’t lose her. That’s not what heroes did. He took out his sword and started hacking through coral. This was getting him nowhere.
Nick broke through to the surface, filling his lungs with air. Too bad his helmet wasn’t the diving kind. He dove back under, blinking in the clear blue. Darn all these rocks—and fish. Wait. He thought he saw something: by a huge fishy blob, thick strands of red wafting up. Using the last of his strength, Nick powered over, grabbed Helen’s arm, and wrenched her into the air.
They both coughed and sputtered. When they stopped, they focused on treading water.
“So much for Poseidon,” Nick gasped.
“It is not a good omen,” said Helen, freeing herself from his grasp. “I fear your Labors are over before they’ve really begun.”
Nick nodded.
“Good thing ol’ Volcano Breath made my armor light,” he said. “Hopefully, it’s waterproof.”
“It must be,” said Helen. “None can rival Hephaestus.”
Stranded in the ocean, with not a boat in sight, Nick felt less than hopeful.
“What now?” he asked.
“Pray,” said Helen, staring at him intently.
“Do you really think—?"
“To Athena,” she went on. “We know she favors you.”
“What about Posei—?”
“He’s her uncle.”
“Great.”
“Word is that she hates him.”
“Okay.” Nick cleared his throat, feeling like a dork. “O great Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and-and stuff . . . I know the sea isn’t your thing, but we are really hosed. Is there anything you can do? I mean, do you want to see me die after only one Labor?”
All he
heard was wind on waves.
“What a crock!” Nick shouted. He’d been brought here only to die. Thanks, Dad, he thought. Just another in a line of disappointments . . .
“Look,” said Helen.
Nick followed her hand. Was that really an owl winging its way toward them? But why, Nick thought, was it here? To hang out with the gulls?
“Athena!” cried Helen, paddling. “The owl is her sign. Surely, she means to save us.”
“I hope so,” said Nick, “‘cause I’m starting to prune.”
Just then, he felt himself caught in a wind: not the gentle, warm breeze of Mýthos; but a stiff gust that flung him into the air!
“Helen!” he yelled.
He relaxed when he saw her beside him, a grateful look on her face.
“It’s like flying,” she said.
Nick wanted to nod, but his head was held back by the wind. Where was that owl leading them? It looked like a rocky shore.
“Land ho!” Nick yelled. He’d always wanted to say that. “Ouch” was his next word as he landed hard on his back. Helen was far more graceful: her sandals touched the ground lightly.
“Here,” she said, offering him a hand.
“It’s okay,” Nick responded, getting to his feet. “This armor is a godsend—literally!” She nodded. “So . . . you really think ol’ Pallas came through?”
“There is no doubt,” she said, then mouthed a prayer to the goddess.
“I hope this doesn’t count against me,” Nick said, “I mean, with her help and all.”
“I don’t think so,” said Helen, and, dripping wet, she looked like a goddess herself. “Athena did not aid you during an actual Labor. She certainly knows the rules.”
“If she doesn’t, who does?” Nick asked, removing his breastplate and arm things to give them a chance to dry out. He smoothed his windblown hair, glad he still clutched his weapons. “Sorry for asking,” he said, “but what the heck do we do now?”
The Lion King
“Find Nemea,” said Helen, wringing out her long hair. Nick resisted the urge to touch it: he didn’t think she’d like that.
“Do we have to?” he sighed.
“If you want to stop Typhon, yes.”
Nick turned this over in his mind.
“I’m not really sure.”
“Well, why don’t we get there first—then, you can decide.”
“Okay.” He looked at the rocky shore. “Where is it?” he asked.