by Amy Wolf
The chained figure started to flicker.
“Dad!” Nick cried, “don’t leave me.”
But the black centaur was gone.
The next morning, Nick got up extra-early so he could talk to Mom.
“Sweetie, it’s five A.M. You okay?”
Nick watched her grab a pod of coffee.
“Um . . . yeah. No. I’m not sure.” Mom took out a plastic cup with a lid. “I thought . . . “I thought I saw Dad last night.”
“Really?” she asked. “I’ve had dreams of him too.”
“What did he say?”
“I’m afraid I can’t remember.”
“Well, he told me to go back. To finish what I started.”
Mom nodded as she stirred some milk in her cup.
“And?”
“And what?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I-I don’t know.”
Nick padded around the kitchen in what passed for pajamas.
Mom gave him a sharp look.
“I think,” she said, “that you do.”
“Is that your Mom Sense?”
“Beats Spidey every time.”
Nick leaned against the fridge.
“When I left,” he said, “I was scared. I didn’t want to marry a queen and I didn’t want to be king.”
“Okay,” Mom said, like that was everyday talk.
“I didn’t want to leave Helen—”
“I won’t ask,” said Mom.
“Thanks. And I don’t want to be a quitter.”
“You never have been,” she said.
“Yeah, why start now? Even if Typhon is huge and a jerk, they need me to fight him.” Mom nodded as Nick looked down. “Does that sound conceited?”
“No, Sweetie. You were the one who was chosen. Of course, they need you.”
“Thanks,” said Nick. “I just feel if I keep hiding here . . . there won’t be a here left.”
“Or a Mýthos,” said Mom. Then she gave him a smile. “Let’s not forget about Helen.”
“No way. Mom,” said Nick, “thanks for helping me decide.”
“I didn’t.”
Nick ran forward, squeezing her close in a bear hug.
“You’re the best mom ever,” he said, “and Dad’s the Number One dad.”
That really made her smile.
As the toaster began to shake and the floor tiles rumble, Nick remembered to tell her something.
“Mom,” he called, watching waves of light bend toward him, “did I mention that I’m a centaur?”
King for a Day
Nick went from plain kitchen floor tiles to those with big swirly patterns. Once his vision cleared, he looked up to see the palace: same gold thrones, painted lions, and . . . Helen!
“Nikólaos,” she cried, running over. “Where have you been? The Thracians are getting restless.”
Nick sprang to his feet. Looking down, he saw he wore his old tunic.
“How long was I gone?” he asked.
“Almost a lunar month. Call me a fool, but I stayed in case you came back.”
Nick nodded, drawing her to him and kissing the top of her head.
“I vow,” he said, “on the graves of the gods, never to leave you again.”
“That’s sweet,” she said, “but they’re immortal.”
“Right.” Nick took a deep breath. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
Helen rubbed her eyes with a hand.
“Of course, the queen is frantic—she wants to know her fate. And the Thracians need a king.”
Nick released her and folded his arms.
“No,” he said.
“But—”
“I won’t marry that woman. I don’t care if she’s Aphrodite. And I’m not in this thing for a title. I just want to be like my dad.”
“Nikólaos,” said Helen softly, “you are more like him now than ever. But . . .”
“Yes?”
“The queen will not let you go, for her heart is set on a Hero.”
“She doesn’t even know me!” Nick cried. “What if I eat Tostitos in bed?”
“I don’t think she would care.”
“C’mon,” he urged, “we gotta blow this taco stand.”
“What?”
“Escape. Like now.”
“Perhaps,” said Helen, “it would be best to wait. Then leave under cover of darkness.”
“Of course,” Nick answered. “How did I get by without you?”
They spent the rest of the day in the palace, where Nick paced before tall columns. Man, these royals sure knew how to live. He circled those empty gold thrones, remembering Diomedes. No way, he thought, am I taking the place of a guy who served people as snacks.
Nick saw occasional soldiers come in to talk to Helen. They all seemed pretty tight, which made him twitch with jealousy. He made sure to stand close and glower in his best impression of Herc. Finally, the sun went down, and the moon (Artemis’ baby) waxed or waned or whatev.
“Okay . . . goodnight,” Nick told Helen as they both shut themselves in their rooms. Nick put on his armor, making sure he had all his weapons. Then, he padded next door.
“What now?” he whispered to Helen, who was wrapped in a cloak. They both hunkered down in the hallway, avoiding the moon’s white glare.
“Shhh,” she warned as they crept back to the throne room. Its painted lions seemed ready to roar. Then she stopped so abruptly that Nick tread on her heel. “Oh no.”
“Oh no what?”
“The watch!”
They both slipped behind columns as eight Thracian guards marched in. The stomp of their sandals on tile was not a happy sound.
“Sorry, guys,” said Nick, raising his sword. He was just about to emerge.
“Wait,” said Helen, “don’t look.”
Nick pressed his face into marble, and, when it was safe, found the guards encased in the same. He let out a low whistle. The watch days for these dudes were over: unless they could roll.
“Nice one,” Nick said to Helen as they crept down another hallway leading to the front doors. A slipped bolt, a creak, and they were standing outside.
Helen gave him a nudge.
“Right,” Nick said, handing over his armor. “Allagí,” he mumbled, prepared to leave Thrace the same way he’d arrived.
Helen leapt on his back.
“Where to?” he asked, loping away from the palace and its steep mountain home.
“I’ve had some time,” said Helen, “to really study your shield. I think you’ll like this next Labor.”
“For real?” Nick asked.
So far, none had been what he’d call “fun.”
“What you won’t like,” she said, “is how far it is.”
“Okay,” said Nick, “lay it on me.”
“You see . . . it’s at the end of the world.”
Nick nearly reared.
“What?”
“The Caucasus,” she said. “The best way to get there would be the Black Sea—”
“—No water.”
“I know. We’ll need to travel by land. Unless . . .”
“Yes?”
“Please. Could you stop?”
Nick did, watching her hit the ground.
“Help me,” she said.
“I think you’re good,” said Nick. “I mean, those eight guards—”
“No, no. Help me pray to Athena. You are, after all, her favorite.”
“So where’s she been?” Nick muttered. Still, he lowered his head.
“O Pallas Athena,” said Helen, “Goddess of Wisdom and War . . .”
She shot Nick a look.
“Right.” He took it from there. “She who saved us against that tool Poseidon . . .”
“We have no sacrifice,” said Helen, “but beg you to hear our plea. Please, O Goddess of Heroes, speed us to the Caucasus. Nikólaos, son of Chiron, was . . . briefly absent—”
“Sorry!” Nick yelled.
“If you grant us this boon,” said Helen, “we will worship you forever.”
Athena must have liked that, since, the next second, they found themselves in a wide valley. Whoa, Nick thought, this was definitely not Thrace. The only mountains around were pretty far away, and these were fronted by trees which looked like firs and maples.
“Wow,” Nick breathed, delighting in the woody smell. They hadn’t been in a forest since . . . that pesky Hind.
“Beautiful,” said Helen, looking up at those snow-dusted peaks. Closer in were some low hills completely covered with green.
“So,” Nick asked, “where do we need to be?”
Helen pointed to the summit . . . of the tallest mountain there.
“C’mon,” said Nick. “Not Everest.”
“Yes.”
“Why in God’s—I mean, the gods’—names, didn’t Athena drop us off there?”
“We cannot know her mind,” said Helen. “Perhaps she didn’t wish to make this Labor too easy.”
“Easy?” Nick yelled. “Do I look like a mountain climber? I’m a horse, not a goat!”
“I too have never climbed. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try.”
“Sure,” said Nick. “Back home, people die on mountains all the time.”
He stubbornly dug in his hooves.
“Well,” said Helen. “That is the mountain, and it is where we must go.”
“Insane,” said Nick. “For now, let’s just find a place to camp.”
Helen nodded, trudging beside him as he cut a path with his sword. The trees here were just nonstop!
“This okay?” he asked, pointing to a clearing where they could at least lie down.
“Sure.”
Nick made himself less bulky by saying “Allagí” again. As he hastily slipped down his tunic, Helen kindled a fire. Though it really wasn’t that cold, those peaks above looked frigid.
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “We don’t have any food.”
“Wrong.”
Helen pulled out a skin bursting with Thracian goodies. They supped on salt fish in oil which seemed a little odd when you were basically in the Alps . . .
As always, Nick wished he had a blanket, since the night was quiet, but cold. When he woke the next morning, he felt pretty good, like the trees had given him oxygen. While they both ate a quick breakfast, Nick surveyed that gnarly peak.
“Look,” he said, “that thing is ginormous.” He pointed. “It’s gotta be . . . like twenty-thousand feet. That’s like-like Everest!”
Helen nodded.
“What we need is a way to fly there.”
“Oh. Is Pegasus around?”
“What? No. But, I think someone else is.”
She froze in place and began to move her lips.
Oh no, Nick thought, not that prayer thing again!
He thought she started to look weird. Her pupils clouded as she cocked her head and listened. For what? he wondered. Is she hearing voices? In a sort of trance, she led him out of the woods and back to that wide valley. There, she threw her arms to the heavens, crying out, and was answered by a loud screech.
“Help?” Nick said.
It wasn’t exactly bright here, but even the pale sun vanished. When Nick looked up, all he saw were two giant claws. And, like a monster movie, they were trying to snatch him!
“HEEELP!” he yelled for real.
“It’s all right,” Helen told him, but when he spotted a beak the size of a VW, he didn’t exactly feel great.
“Hey!” Nick protested, as this bird—which he saw was a giant eagle—plucked him up in one claw, holding Helen in the other.
“I’m scared of birds,” Nick whispered, not liking the way his legs dangled. Why couldn’t they stay in their flock?
“Helen?” Nick called, his stomach in his throat. He closed his eyes while they quickly gained height. “Tell me,” he yelled over the flapping of wings, “what is this thing?”
“The Caucasian Eagle’s mate.”
“And that’s good?”
“Athena sent her,” called Helen.
“I liked the owl better.”
As they went higher, Nick noticed the air getting thin.
“I need oxygen,” he cried. “And a winter coat.”
Nick thought he heard Helen laugh, but—Thank the gods!—the eagle was gaining on the mountain. After what seemed like hours, she glided over the summit. Nick was relieved until she released them . . . onto a pile of frozen snow.
“Many thanks!” Helen yelled, as the bird fastened her . . . eagle eye on Nick and slowly shook her head. With a last cry, she vanished.
Fun in the Caucasus
“It’s c-c-cold,” said Nick, flapping his arms like a chicken. He was glad the eagle was gone so she couldn’t laugh. He cautiously drew in his breath, expecting to die from lack of air. Though it was thin, he found his lungs could take it.
“This d-doesn’t make s-sense,” he told Helen. “At th-this height, we should be dead.” He asked a question that was odd even for him. “Wh-why are we even alive?”
“The gods don’t want us to fail,” said Helen.
“It’s s-so nice of them not to k-kill us. A-and to not give us frostbite.”
Helen took her Thracian cloak and put it around him. Clearly, she was not cold.
Nick stepped to the edge of the summit, daring himself to look down. He saw swirling mists, jagged edges, and enough snow for a Winter Olympics.
“W-whoa,” he breathed. “W-wish I had my phone. This would make a great s-selfie.”
Helen rolled her eyes, shaking her head like the eagle’s.
“Try not to look down,” she said. “Want to hear about your next Labor?”
Nick sighed, his breath visible.
“H-hit me.”
“Well,” she said, “you need to slay the Caucasian Eagle.”
“N-not Mrs. Eagle’s bae?”
“Her husband. Like me, he was born of Typhon.”
“Won’t she be sad?” Nick asked, starting to feel a bit warmer. “I-I mean, I don’t want to break up a marriage.”
“He is vicious,” said Helen, “and delights in torture.”
“O-okay then,” said Nick. “W-where can we find this b-bird brain?”
“He will come to us.”
“G-great. And how am I supposed to fight a g-giant eagle?’
“I can’t help you there,” said Helen. “But I do know something that can give you strength.”
Nick waited, his breath icing over.
“The Caucasian Eagle is the one that torments your father.”
“Whaaa-t?!” Nick nearly lost his footing. “The-the one who eats livers?”
She nodded.
“You m-mean we’re on Mount—”
“—Elbrus,” she finished. “Yes.”
“Where is it?” Nick yelled, brandishing his cold sword.
“Shhh,” Helen warned. “You don’t want to cause an avalanche.”
“If it k-kills that eagle, I do. Come out!” he cried. “Show yourself!”
“Softly,” whispered Helen. “It shows up only once a day.”
“Where?”
Nick lifted his spear.
Helen climbed down from the summit, which, without ropes, was impressive. She offered Nick her hand, and, when they’d gone a few steps, pointed to a second peak, just a few yards below. What Nick saw there made him furious. It was his dream, but worse, ‘cause it was a real: a black centaur hung against the white of a cliff!
Nick could no longer feel the cold.
“Dad, hang on!” he yelled.
He used his sword as a kind of ice ax as he lowered himself, grasping rocks with his bare hands. Though he groaned from their sharp edges, Nick refused to halt until he stood below Chiron.
“Nikólaos,” his dad said softly. He had that same look of pain as when he’d been shot by the arrow.
“Dad,” Nick whispered, tears freezing on his lower lashes. “How can I help you get out?”
Chiron just shook his head. The chains that held him were thick and looked like they couldn’t be broken. Nick wished he could reach up and touch him, but the cliff face was too far away.
“I saw you,” Nick yelled. His words, echoing, caused a groan of snow. “Did you know I would come?”
“I hoped,” came the weak reply. “No. I knew.”
Despite the torn flesh of his side, Chiron gave him a smile.
“Dad,” asked Nick, “when does the eagle come?”
“Midday,” said his dad. “And he will come forever, unless you succeed in your Labor.”
“Don’t worry,” said Nick, clutching his shield. “Compared to the Mares of Diomedes, this thing’s just a bird brain.”
“No,” said Chiron. “The Caucasian Eagle is worse. Its talons are sharp as razors, and its beak can bend iron.”
“Great,” Nick muttered. “Sounds like he was made by Heph.”
As he stood at his dad’s feet, waiting, he tried to come up with a strategy. I could hurl my spear, he thought, but what if its skin can’t be broken? My sword is no good—I don’t want this thing on top of me. Bow, he finally decided. That’s the only thing that makes sense.
To get ready, he swung it around, then turned to Helen.
“You better go,” he told her. “We don’t want a stone eagle.”
Reluctantly, she nodded, slogging away from the cliff.
Nick waited. He watched Helios drag the sun ‘till it seemed to be on Nick’s shoulder.
“Here goes.”
His muscles tensed as he saw a shadow arc from out of the sun. Of course, it was the Eagle, but what Nick hadn’t expected was just how massive it was. He shook from fear and now cold, glancing up at his dad. Trying to steady himself, he loaded a poisoned arrow.
The eagle swooped so close that its wings generated a wind. This thing, Nick thought, was no bird: it was more like a jet! As its beak dipped down toward his dad, Nick fought to keep his footing, letting his arrow fly. Missed! There was no way to aim in this gale. He couldn’t even reach ‘round to retrieve a second dart.
“Here,” said a musical voice, and Nick saw a perfect white arm hand him another arrow. Artemis? he wondered. Had she come to help since he’d made friends with Orion?
“No,” said the voice and Nick realized it was a guy.
“Apollo?” he asked, amazed.