The Twelve Labors of Nick

by Amy Wolf

  Nick sighed. The muscular Titan was right.

  “What would you suggest?” he asked.

  “Go to the Garden and seek my daughters. They really are quite sweet.”

  “Yet,” said Helen, “they hold the apples for Hera.”

  “True,” said Atlas. “But then there’s Ladon.”

  Nick slammed down his shield in disgust.

  “That’s it,” he said. “This Labor is just impossible.”

  “But we’ve come so far,” said Helen. “Is this really much worse than the Lion? Or the Eagle of the Caucasus?”

  “Hey,” said Atlas, “sorry I called you a bug.”

  “That’s okay,” said Nick. “Helen, you’re right. The least I can do is try.”

  She nodded and turned to the Titan.

  “Which way to the Garden?” she asked.

  Pointing was not an option.

  “It’s three stadia to the left,” said Atlas, “then two to the right.”

  “Thanks!” Nick cried, taking Helen’s arm. “Catch you on the way out?”

  “Only if you survive.”

  It didn’t take long to march across those stadia. Nick tried to imagine football and all those cheering crowds. When they finally reached the Garden, he wanted to cry out: it was just that lovely. He saw a number of fresh springs springing, heard flocks of songbirds warble, and marveled at rows of sheltering trees. Here, even the grass was perfect, hosting insects who smiled and waved!

  “Wow,” said Nick, breathing in the sweet scent of hyacinths. “Makes you never want to leave.”

  “That may be so,” said Helen, “but we need to find those nymphs.”

  “How?” Nick asked. “Is there some kind of nymph spray?”

  Helen rolled her eyes, then called, “Aegle, Erytheia, Hesperia, Arethusa.”

  “You know them?” Nick asked.

  Helen shook her head.

  “No, I know of them.”

  It was then that they heard a sound like the rush of a brook.

  “Here,” said a voice, delicate as the breeze.

  Helen and Nick moved toward it as flowers turned their tiny heads.

  “We’re here,” said a second voice, this one tinkling like wind chimes.

  “Hey,” Nick said, stumbling onto four women who formed a dance-like circle. They all had long, flowing hair; and even longer robes, each stained in a deep earth tone. But what stood directly behind them earned most of Nick’s attention: it was a huge spreading tree bursting with golden apples!

  “Hesperides?” Nick asked the women.

  “Yes,” they all said, like the gentle notes of a flute.

  “I’m sorry to be so rude,” said Nick, “but um . . . those apples? Zeus sent me here to grab some.”

  “Oh, no,” said the nymphs together, now sounding like a bassoon. “We are Hera’s guardians. Neither god nor mortal shall pass.”

  “No offense,” said Nick, “but you guys aren’t that scary.”

  Helen poked Nick’s shoulder and pointed.

  There, from around the tree’s trunk, came the heads of a dragon, each making the Hydra’s look sweet. It was true there were a hundred, all bobbing from a single neck and displaying rows of sharp fangs. On the other side of the trunk, there emerged a spiky tail and the edge of a batlike wing. Oh boy, Nick thought, this thing was as big as the Lion!

  “Nice monster,” he said, ducking behind his shield.

  Ladon’s wings were bad news, since of course the dragon took flight, dive-bombing straight for Nick as he flamed from his many heads. Nick silently thanked Heph for making his armor scorch-proof.

  What can I do, he wondered, to avoid being flambéed? As the dragon roared down, worse than a squadron of Stukas, Nick shakily raised his sword. When Ladon came in for a landing, Nick furiously tried to charge him, but just got in a slight poke. Then, he gripped his ash spear and hurled it, striking the beast on its breast. Ladon barely reacted. Desperate, Nick ran behind the tree, seizing his bow and an arrow. It was then that he heard a beating accompanied by a strong wind: Ladon was airborne again. Before the dragon gained height, Nick shot, striking it square in the belly. Ladon screamed, but still belched fire from his many mouths. That’s it, Nick thought, I’m cooked. I hope he likes well-done. As he prepared to be pounced on, he felt the air cool around him. Sneaking a peek, he saw Ladon crash to the ground, his black claws cutting a line in the grass. Man, thought Nick, that Hydra’s poison! It’s worth like a million gold talents.

  “Nicely done,” said Helen, retrieving the Pelian spear. “Now, you must seize the apples.”

  “Never,” said the Hesperides, and Nick watched as they Allagí -ed: into creatures much like the Bird Babe!

  “Harpies!” Helen yelled.

  They responded by flapping their eagle’s wings and squawking from still-human faces.

  “Ech,” said Nick. “I liked them better before.”

  The four of them took to the air, pecking down at his helmet.

  “Ouch!” Nick cried. “Why’d you have to be birds?”

  Lucky for him, their beaks and claws bounced off him, thanks to Heph again. That gave Nick time—to wave his spear and ruffle some feathers. As the Harpies regrouped, Nick ran toward the sacred tree.

  Yes! He stood on tiptoe and plucked off some apples until he held four in his hands. The Harpies went nuts as they screamed their way toward him, trying to pluck out his eyes.

  “Hey, I need those!” Nick yelled, striking out with his sword and raising a shower of down. He could fill a pillow.

  “Nick,” cried Helen, running from their pursuers. “We need to get out of here!”

  He tried, but those four black shapes still hovered over his head.

  “We can’t outrun ‘em!” he called.

  “We must,” Helen panted. “They’re not permitted to leave the Garden!”

  This gave Nick a rush like that of the eight wings above, and he picked up his pace as he thought about Allagí-ing.

  Better not, he decided, without my armor I’m bird food . . .

  “Ow!” Nick shouted as one sharp claw raked his flesh. “That’s my arm, not a swing!”

  The Harpies—who weren’t stupid—split up and veered in pairs. They used their enormous wings to try to strangle Nick.

  “Mmf!” he said, getting a throatful of feathers. Did these things ever bathe? Nick managed to hack his way out, then ran to free Helen as well. How long could they keep this up before they were torn to pieces?

  “Go away!” Helen cried as a Harpy went for her head.

  “Get off her!” Nick yelled, trying to hoist his spear. But the cursed things were so close, he couldn’t pull back his arm.

  He and Helen kept running: away from this gorgeous garden. Once they leapt over a hedge, Nick could no longer hear wings. The Harpies had hit a clear wall, and, faces flattened against it, they looked like four smashed parakeets.

  “‘Bye!” Nick yelled back, glad to be free of their shrieking. Aside from the Bird Babe, these chicks with wings could be nasty.

  “C’mon,” urged Helen, not breaking her run even though they were free.

  “I’m not . . . a Titan,” Nick gasped.

  Speaking of which, there was Atlas, who hadn’t moved since they’d left him.

  “Hey,” Nick called, finally slowing.

  “Got the apples, I see,” said Atlas.

  “Your daughters . . .” Nick breathed, crouching by the giant’s side. “Think . . . you need . . . to have a family talk . . .”

  “I heard squawking,” said Atlas with pride. “They can’t help it, you know. Otherwise, lovely girls.”

  “Yes, they seemed nice,” said Helen, “when they didn’t have wings.”

  “As far as those apples,” said Atlas, “Nick, you must give them back.”

  “Huh?”

  “If you don’t, Hera will send a monster to rip you into small parts.”

  “Hmm,” said Nick, “that goes on a lot around here.”


  “I’d take them back,” said Atlas, “but . . . ” He nodded up to his globe. “What I can tell you is that after Heracles stole them, Athena gave them to Hera.”

  “Sweet,” said Nick. “Helen, that’s our cue.”

  They both bowed their heads. This time, Athena’s voice did not resound in Nick’s head; instead, the apples were torn from his hands to sail on a swift wind back into the Garden.

  “Hurray!” Nick exulted, pumping a fist.

  “Looks like it worked,” said Atlas.

  “It did,” Helen told him, raising Nick’s sword to point to a new ‘ύ.’

  “Was that really the Eighth—uh, Seventh—Labor?” Nick asked.

  “Yes,” said Helen.

  “Heracles took twelve years,” said Atlas, “ to finish all his.”

  “I don’t have that kind of time,” Nick said. He turned to Helen. “So, what’s next?”

  “Well,” she said wryly, “I have good news and I have bad news.” Nick closed his eyes.

  “The good news,” she reported, “is that we get to visit Cumae.”

  “And the bad?”

  “There’s something there that could kill us.”

  A Ride and A Song

  “What?” asked Atlas. “Hey, would you mind?” He jerked back his head, motioning to his left shoulder blade. “Ah,” he breathed as Helen scratched away. “That’s one thing I miss.”

  “I’m sure,” said Nick, wanting to go. “Now about this Cumae—”

  “We passed it before,” said Helen. “When we were with the mermen.”

  “I knew it,” Nick cried. “Of course, it has to be far!”

  “No use whining, my man,” said Atlas. “I mean, look at me.”

  Nick stared at the crouching giant.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Well . . . maybe we’ll see you again.”

  “That would be nice,” said the giant. “Sometimes I get so lonely.”

  Nick and Helen waved as Atlas nodded back.

  “See?” Nick told her after they’d left. “His heart isn’t bitter. It’s just that he can’t scratch.”

  She nodded as oven-like heat swept over the both of them. Nick dreaded going back to the desert, but knew what he must do.

  “Allagí,” he said, after giving Helen his stuff.

  She leapt on his back, and, again, they were off. Within a few minutes, Nick could feel sweat coursing down both flesh and hair. He really wanted a bath: the thing that most horses dreaded. If they could just find another oasis . . .

  They did, stopping at every one and reversing their travel to night. Nick had always thought that the desert was quiet, but he could hear the roar of sand like some spirits on the move. I can’t wait, he thought, to get back to the sea . . .

  Three days later, and there it was. Nick trotted into the surf as waves swept him and Helen.

  “That feels so good,” she said, whipping around her wet hair.

  “Try having a coat,” Nick told her, kicking out all four legs. “Not bad,” he mumbled, horse-paddling around. When they were done with their impromptu shower, Nick loped back to the beach. “So,” he said, “guess we should summon Glaucus. Should be easy, right?”

  Helen shook her head.

  “They only obey the Old Man, and, we are not him.”

  “I’m willing to age,” said Nick.

  “We should have made plans,” Helen said, “for the mermen to meet us here.”

  “My bad,” said Nick.

  “And mine.”

  He sighed as he Allagí-ed back, hastily putting on armor over his sopping wet tunic. But his pity party was short, for he saw, a few yards offshore, the top of a blue head. Then there were three others!

  “Glaucus,” Nick called. “Dude.”

  “Swim to us,” said the merman.

  “How did you—?” Nick started to ask, splashing in with Helen.

  “We thought you’d need a way back,” said Glaucus. “We asked the Old Man to call us if you . . . survived.”

  “Here we are,” said Nick. “Another Labor crossed off.”

  “Proteus told us,” said Glaucus. “Ladon is dead and the apples restored. Hera is at peace.”

  “For now,” Nick mumbled, sliding onto the merman’s back. “We have to go to this place, uh—”

  “Cumae,” Helen finished.

  “I know it,” said Glaucus. “We Greeks have a colony there.”

  “I’d be surprised,” said Nick, “if we didn’t.”

  He clung to the merman’s neck as the four of them set off.

  “So,” he asked Glaucus, “seen anything cool lately?”

  “Of course. We have been to Poseidon’s palace, where Triton spun tales of monsters.”

  “Fun?”

  “Then, we fought giant crabs, won, and had them for dinner.”

  “I hope they were cooked,” said Nick. “My mom says to never eat shellfish raw.”

  Speaking of eating, he and Helen shared some last dates. Blech! Could they be blander? Nick threw one in the water, along with thoughts of the desert.

  “Glaucus,” he said, “I am totally stoked to be here.”

  “Perhaps,” said the merman, “you’d like to join our pod.”

  “No thanks,” Nick answered. “I’m just getting used to four legs. A fish tail would freak me out.”

  His first real friend smiled. All through the day, Nick enjoyed his company, as well as the sea and sky. Once night fell, he got ready, and was not let down: the mermen cut through the water like wake-spurting speedboats.

  “Whoo hoo!” Nick yelled.

  Glaucus laughed at his outburst, then cleared his throat of water. He must have been feeling good since he started to sing:

  WE MERMEN OF THE SEA have no good use for land

  We much prefer our tails to the legs on which Men stand.

  We swim beneath the seas for just as long as we please

  Or skim the briny surface while Men are on their knees.

  We do not answer to any, save our Old Man Proteus

  To any form of restraint, we will cry, “That is odious!”

  “Bravo!” Nick called as Helen clapped. “No songs about mermaids?”

  “They are glorious,” sighed Glaucus. “Each an Aphrodite. I myself have three wives, twelve sons and nine daughters.”

  “My God—gods!” cried Nick. “Good thing the sea is vast.”

  His friend and crew went Hypersea all night, slowing when morning came. Nick found he looked forward to the other two mermen’s dives, for they brought up mackerel which tasted of the sea. As Glaucus led his men forward, that long coast to the south receded.

  Goodbye, Nick thought, to Atlas, Hera, and Harpies.

  “So, where are we now?” he asked.

  “The Mediterranean,” said Glaucus.

  “That’s good, right?”

  “If you’re going to Cumae, yes.”

  It took one more night at top speed for land to come into view: this was no tip of a continent but one of a fairly big island.

  “Sardinia,” said Glaucus.

  “Is that Italy?”

  “I do not know. On it live Phoenicians and Sardinians.”

  “Hmm,” said Nick. When he got back home, he’d try to get hold of a map.

  Another wake-filled night, and, at dawn, Glaucus headed toward a long coast.

  “We must leave you here,” he said. “We cannot be seen by the men of Napoli.”

  “But . . . we’re still in the water,” said Nick. “How—?”

  “You must swim. It is but a few miles.”

  “Look, I’m a track guy—water isn’t my thing. Plus, I’m scared of your boss’s boss.”

  “I am sorry,” said Glaucus, giving a powerful shrug which dislodged Nick from his back. Sputtering, Nick saw that Harold had also dumped Helen.

  “Best of luck!” Glaucus called. “Try to avoid the Sybil, since she loves to confound travelers.”

  Nick wanted to respond, but Glaucus and his men had div
ed beneath the surface.

  “Goodbye,” he mouthed sadly. Then, he began treading water. “You can swim, right?” he asked Helen.

  “I’m a Titan. Can you?”

  “I’m from P.R.,” said Nick. “We swim before we can walk.”

  “Then let’s go,” she told him, looking especially nice with her spray-dampened hair. Nick’s mind flashed back to that spring . . . the waterfall . . . “C’mon!” she urged, and Nick swam, praising Heph again for his waterproof, lightweight armor. Man, Nick thought, I need to send him an Ecard . . .

  Even though they’d been stranded, Nick enjoyed the sun and the warmish water. His muscular arms came in handy as they powered him toward that coast.

  “You okay?” he shouted to Helen. “Need a lift?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I am not a wispy Hesperides.”

  “I know,” he said, but kept an eye on her anyway as they kicked their way to land.

  Just One Personality

  “Hey,” Nick said as they hauled themselves over rocks. “What kind of a beach is this?”

  “It’s not,” said Helen.

  They both stared back at the water. Across it sat a small island that looked more like a cliff.

  “Pithecusae,” said Helen. “That’s where my mom Echidna lives.”

  “Maybe we should stop by.”

  “She’s a monster,” Helen said. “With the bottom half of a snake.”

  “Forget I said anything.”

  Nick surveyed where they stood. It was a bunch of black rocks, and the ground seemed more ash than soil.

  “Nice place,” he said. “Look, I think it’s past time you told me about my next Labor.”

  Helen took a deep breath.

  “You’re not going to like this,” she said.

  “Do I ever?”

  “I’m afraid this next one makes my mom look sweet.”

  Nick gritted his teeth.

  “Shoot.”

  “Well,” she said, “we have to go to the Underworld.”

  Nick’s head swam for a moment.

  “You mean . . . Hell?”

  “If that’s where dead souls—”