The Twelve Labors of Nick

by Amy Wolf

  For once, all in Mýthos was good: Nick’s arm had healed; he’d triumphed in his Fifth (Fourth) Labor; and was able to think of his dad with a smile instead of tears.

  The next morning, after breakfast, Nick and Helen lounged in the dining hall. He had to confess he wasn’t too anxious to leave. But their peace was disturbed by the tramp of ten burly soldiers.

  “Oh no,” said Nick, putting a hand to his sword.

  As one of them spoke to Helen, Nick saw her eyes grow wide.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Uh.” Her face went pale. “They say they are grateful to you for freeing them from a tyrant. They offer you talents of gold—”

  “Nice,” said Nick.

  “And—"

  “Yeah?”

  “They want you to be their king. The-the new King of Thrace.”

  “Whaaat?” asked Nick.

  He could feel blood leaving his face.

  “One more thing,” said Helen, and she did not look happy.

  “I get to be called HRH?”

  “They-they want you to marry.”

  “Well, could we wait maybe a year? At least ‘till I turn eighteen.”

  “Diomedes’ widow.”

  “No way!” cried Nick. “That is really creepy.”

  “It’s how they do things here.”

  “Well, I’m not from here, and I won’t!”

  “In that case,” said Helen, “they’ll consider themselves dishonored.”

  Nick glanced at the ten guys, who all looked like Olympians: not gods—athletes. They could probably bench press him along with the four mares.

  Nick felt a rising panic.

  “What do I do?” he asked Helen.

  “Stall.”

  “How? Do I put on a show?”

  “I’ll tell them this is such an unforeseen honor, you need two days to consider it.”

  Nick felt a wave of relief.

  “Thanks.”

  Helen spoke to Team Thracia. The men nodded grimly and left.

  “Oh, God—gods,” Nick breathed.

  He tried to avert his eyes from two gold thrones on a dais.

  “You must consider this carefully,” Helen told him.

  “No way,” Nick cried. “I’ll never marry another.”

  “Think of the queen,” said Helen. “You didn’t mean to, but you killed her husband.”

  “It wasn’t me!” Nick yelled. “Those mares just went for him. They must have been holding a grudge.”

  “Well, it is quite an honor to be the King of Thrace. This is a once-proud land, and, if ruled rightly, can regain its prestige.”

  “Oh, great,” said Nick. “So glad that you’re in favor. I hope the queen is a babe.” He got up from his soft couch. “Look, there’s only so much a guy can take. First, I find out my dad’s a centaur. Then, I’m one. I get thrown off Mt. Olympus and, for some reason, the Sea God hates my guts. Next, I lose two people: my dad and a new friend. I’m expected to kill all these monsters, and I totally suck at Fortnite!”

  Helen shook her head.

  “Being a Hero is never easy.”

  “I didn’t come here for that. I just didn’t want to be bullied.”

  “That was enough to get you to Mýthos.”

  “For what?” Nick asked. “To go up against Typhon? No offense, but your dad’s huge—doesn’t he stretch from Italy to Greece, or something? How can one guy—uh, centaur—possibly take him on? Don’t you need like a god?”

  “You’ve already done five Labors,” said Helen, hands on hips. “You can complete them all, then become King of Thrace. Or not. The choices are up to you.”

  “I’m tired of making the hard ones.” Nick felt anger flow through him. “Look, I’m just a teenager. Isn’t life supposed to be fun?”

  “Was yours?”

  Nick put his head in his hands.

  “Not really,” he said, “but that stress is lookin’ good now. Compared to death, that is.”

  Nick saw Helen, who’d been through some things, give him a hard look.

  “Did Theseus turn back?” she asked. “Perseus, Achilles, Heracles?”

  “Achilles was shot with an arrow, and Herc was tortured by Hera.” Nick spoke from between his fingers. “I don’t know about the rest.”

  “Theseus was thrown off a cliff, and Perseus killed his own grandfather.”

  “See?” Nick shouted. “Even if I kill Typhon, what happens to me? My dad’s gone—he’s not here to protect me.”

  “There is Athena,” said Helen.

  “How do I know she exists?” Nick stomped around the room. “You might not exist! Maybe I’m having a nightmare, and I’m not really a centaur: maybe I’m just Nick C. who goes to P.R. High.”

  “If you feel that way,” said Helen, “why don’t you go back?”

  “I wish I could!” Nick yelled, and, next thing he knew, he found himself pressed against grass. Bending waves around him vanished, leaving his vision foggy. When it cleared, he saw where he was: in Lil’ Pardner’s main pasture.

  Back

  Spitting out bits of grass, Nick got to his feet. He was relieved that the barn behind him didn’t belong to Diomedes: and there was Johnny, coming out to greet him. Nick looked down: he was wearing his own clothes, down to his jeans and trainers. Feeling almost giddy, he threw his arms around Johnny.

  “Hey, old boy, you okay? Miss me?”

  The black gelding neighed softly, then put his head on Nick’s shoulder.

  “I missed you guys too. Man, do I have some stories to tell.”

  But these would have to wait. All Nick could think of was Mom as he grabbed his bike and jumped a three-rail fence to get home.

  “Mom?” he called, after fumbling for his key and barreling into the house. Darn! It must be a weekday, and she’d still be at work. Then, Nick had an idea: why didn’t he, for a change, make dinner for her? He reached into the fridge, nearly giddy to find some tomatoes. Slicing a couple on the cutting board, he set a pot to boil. This meal’ll be fit for a queen, he thought, then felt instant guilt. That’s what Helen could be, he thought, if he went back to Mýthos. But of course, that wasn’t true. He’d have to marry some woman who’d put up with that killer Diomedes . . . Nope.

  Nick made sure the rice was fluffy when Mom pulled into the carport. Man, he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed her.

  “Nikólaos?!” she exclaimed, dropping her purse in the hall and giving him a hug that could only come from a mom.

  “Mom,” Nick whispered. “I am so glad to see you. Guess you know where I’ve been.”

  “Yes,” she said, then stopped to sniff the air. “Sweetie, you cooked? Are you sure you feel okay?”

  “I’m fine,” said Nick. “Just wanted to give you a treat.”

  He pulled out a chair so she could sit at a table already set and ready. With a flourish, he brought out a luscious Greek salad. Ah, Nick thought, taking a place across from her, the taste of bell peppers and feta must beat ambrosia!

  “And, now, our main dish,” he announced, retrieving a crackling roast lamb, homemade hummus, pita, and rice.

  “Mmm,” said Mom, digging in. “Sweetie, what’s got into you?”

  “Mom,” Nick answered, “I can’t tell you how much I missed you.”

  He leaned over the table and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “And I missed you, Sweetie. Of course, I knew that your father was keeping you safe.”

  Nick slumped, closing his eyes.

  “Uh, Mom . . .” he began, “I don’t know how to say this . . .”

  When he opened his eyes, she must have seen what was in them.

  “But he was immortal,” she whispered, putting down her fork.

  “I know,” said Nick. “He was so brave, he took Prometheus’ place.”

  “That was just like him,” said Mom, wiping her eyes. “We can only hope that Zeus takes pity on him.”

  “Not likely,” Nick snorted. “Those gods are emo
and cruel!”

  Even though her tears flowed, Mom continued to eat: to please him, Nick thought.

  “So, Mýthos is real?” he asked. “I mean, I didn’t just dream it?”

  Mom shook her head. She tried to pat her cheeks dry.

  “I’ve been there, too,” she said. “If we’re both making it up, they should come with butterfly nets.”

  Nick nodded, eating to keep her company. For once, he wasn’t that hungry.

  “What about school?” he asked.

  “You were on ‘a leave of absence,’” Mom said. “They were pretty surprised, since you were such a good student.”

  Nick sighed.

  “Can I go back?”

  “Of course,” Mom said. “That’s the deal I worked out. You missed the last ACT, and you’ll have to catch up your assignments. But I told them if anyone can, it’s you.”

  Nick put down a forkful of rice. Now, he’d have to study at least three times as hard.

  “So. How did it go? There,” Mom asked.

  “Well, I answered the Sphinx’s riddle, killed a mutant lion, sort of slayed the Hydra, a really hideous boar, and caught the Golden Hind. I also stood down four lovesick, man-eating mares.”

  “Wow!” Mom cried. “But aren’t there . . . Twelve Labors?”

  “Yeah,” said Nick. “I’m kinda . . . taking a break. They wanted me to be king, but I had to marry some babe, so I decided to bounce.”

  “You mean,” asked Mom, “you quit?”

  “Um . . . yeah. I was seriously sick of monsters, and I can’t fight Typhon alone. Dude’s as big as Wyoming!”

  “Hmm,” said Mom, getting up. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”

  Nick rose and went over to her.

  “Mom,” he said, “I hope you’re not mad. I did the best that I could.”

  “That’s all anyone can ask.” She piled dishes into the sink. “Now, why don’t you get some rest? Sounds like you deserve it.”

  Once in his old bed, Nick slept for eighteen hours. Man, he must’ve been beat. He hopped into the shower, grateful that he had one. There was so much here he’d just taken for granted . . .

  Like pouring cereal from a box. Or getting milk from the fridge. Mom had taped up a note: “Sweetie, at work. Call if you need something.” Man, he wished he could help her: haul back those gold talents so she could retire in style . . .

  “One day,” he breathed, putting on some new clothes. Ah, the smell of fresh laundry. Here, he even had underwear!

  Nick got on his bike and rode to P.R.H. He had missed so much time—how much?—that he wanted to go back today.

  “Nick!” cried the nice office lady the minute he opened the door. “It’s been, what? Over three months?”

  “If you say so,” he said. Oh, boy. Catch-up was gonna be tough.

  “Let me just change your status . . .”

  The office lady, whose plaque read “Miss LaRose,” bent her Brillo-like hair over her ancient PC.

  “Okay, you’re good,” she told him after assaulting her keyboard. “Go online to see what you missed, and sign up for the next ACT.”

  “Thanks,” said Nick, but he wasn’t feeling it. After a nine-headed Hydra, the ACT was kind of a letdown.

  When he entered each of his classes, Nick made a Big Splash. That wasn’t his intent but he’d been away for so long, and he certainly looked . . . different.

  “Been working out?” Bob sneered as Nick took a seat in front of him. He felt himself being poked in the back of the head with a pencil.

  “Yeah,” said Nick, “and if you do that again, I’m gonna show you how much.”

  “Sure,” said Bob, nodding across the aisle.

  There sat Nick’s old “pals”: the fabulous Bill and Josh.

  The sight of their blond heads caused Nick’s pulse to quicken: not from fear, but disgust. They looked exactly the same in their Hilfiger jeans, Ralph Lauren tees, and two-hundred-dollar trainers. What did their parents do? Whatever it was, it sure brought in the Benjamins.

  “Hey.”

  It had taken exactly an hour for them to reform their goon squad. They trailed Nick down an outdoor hall, their backpacks clutched like weapons.

  “What do you idiots want?” Nick asked.

  Bob took a step back. They weren’t used to him mouthing off, but now he had something they didn’t. While their arms were jacked from varsity ball, his were NFL-big.

  “No girl to save you today?” Bill taunted, getting into Nick’s face.

  “Don’t need ‘em,” said Nick, taking off his hoodie and flexing. Though they tried to hide it, he could tell The Three Stooges were scared.

  “That right?” growled Josh. “Well, we’re three-against-one.”

  “How fair,” said Nick. “Look, I’ve fought some things you dweebs can’t even imagine.”

  The three of them laughed as Bob and Bill pulled back their arms.

  “I’m warning you,” Nick said calmly. “Leave now and you won’t get hurt.”

  Josh’s laughter echoed against the steel of lockers, but, before Bob could land the first blow, Nick punched him square in the gut.

  “Ow!” Bob gasped, doubling over.

  Nick strode toward Bill and Josh, took them both by the collars, and, in a Vader-like move, dangled them off the ground.

  “Give up?” Nick asked.

  Bob, now recovered, picked himself off the ground. Taking advantage of Nick’s full hands, he got a running start, then head-butted Nick so hard that he dropped his pals.

  “You’re gonna wish you never came back,” said Bob, joining his friends in pounding Nick with a quick flurry of blows.

  This wasn’t going well. Nick used his arms to cover his face, but that just let the three bullies pummel his chest and gut. Nick tried to use his legs, but, when he raised one, Josh caught hold of his shoe.

  Once, Nick thought, my kicks could mean something.

  “Where’s your girlfriend?” Bob asked.

  “Back in the cuckoo’s nest!” laughed Josh.

  Okay, that was enough.

  “Allagí,” Nick said, not knowing if this would work here.

  Oops, there went his GnR T-shirt. He felt his soft coat sprout, along with his hair, and, in place of white trainers, there were now four rockin’ hooves!

  Bill actually whimpered. Bob and Josh recoiled in horror. Nick gave them a wide smile from above his muscular chest. These fools were so scared he might not have to kick!

  Yup. There they went down the hall, leaving their piled backpacks. They didn’t even look back as they pounded beyond Nick’s view.

  Nick couldn’t help it—he laughed. Then Allagí-ed back to himself. He would have to grab his gym clothes so Miss LaRose wouldn’t faint.

  Still, it had totally been so worth it.

  Back to What?

  Funny how Bob, Bill, and Josh now avoided Nick like the COVID. There were no more #2 stabs in the neck; no stalking him down the halls or anywhere else. After they’d told their story, they were sent to the school counselor: whom they had to see regularly, three times a week. Too bad, Nick thought. Maybe they’d all think twice before punching another kid.

  In the meantime, Nick slipped easily back into his old life. It wasn’t hard to take up the daily grind: studying, homework, and tests. For Track, he sat on the sidelines, feeling like a helpless mascot. To keep up his lie about “working out,” he spent lots of time in the gym.

  At school, Nick stuck to the story that he’d been away in Greece: mainly, to visit his dad. In a strange way, it was true. He noticed that girls who’d formerly shunned him now ran after him, flirting. That would have been welcome if there was no Helen, waiting for him in Thrace. Or was she? Maybe she’d come to hate him and had gone home to Athens. Frankly, he wouldn’t blame her.

  Just like old times, Mom tried to support him, but she didn’t get this new age. Unlike her Boomer Days, the pressure on kids to Get Into the Right College no Matter How Much It Cost had reared up like the
Lion. Frankly, Nick thought, he’d rather face a monster . . .

  In P.R., the only good thing Nick did was trying to help out his mom. He cooked every night, made sure to take out the trash, even helped fold laundry. She would smile in appreciation, but sometimes gave him a look like: Why are you here and not there?

  One night, before she got home, Nick sighed over boiling rice. After being back for two weeks, Nick’s routine was so set he walked through it like a zombie. He might as well go to the Pier, get on a carousel horse and ride it in circles. Speaking of horses . . . no. He stayed away from Lil’ Pardner.

  In the morning, after his shower, Nick cleared away steam and stared at himself in the mirror. What he saw was a tired, pale guy, a . . a drudge. He was staying up ‘till two, glued to his teachers’ websites, caught in a catchup mode that, realistically, would take to the Twelfth of Never.

  At school, he was so tired he’d taken to wearing a hat so he could drop off in class.

  Still, that beat real sleep. In P.R., he dreamed every night, and they were always the same: there was Helen, dressed in white, red hair down to her waist, and all the time she was calling: “Nikólaos, where are you? Why have you left me alone?” The dreams ended with her reaching out, so real he could almost touch her . . .

  Nick always woke in a sweat. Where was she? he wondered. Did his dreams really reflect what was happening in Mýthos?

  His third week home, the dream changed. White-robed Helen gave way to a figure high on a mountain. As the sleeping Nick came closer, he saw it was his dad: bound by enormous chains.

  “Nikólaos,” Chiron whispered, his face contorted with pain.

  The Dream Nick saw his dad’s side, bloody and torn.

  “Dad!” he yelled, “where are you?”

  “Mount Elbrus,” said Chiron. “I don’t have much time. I have come to tell you that you must return to Mýthos.”

  Dream Nick looked down in shame.

  “Typhon grows stronger,” said Chiron. “Seven of his children still live. You must—”