The Eye of Zeus

by Alane Adams

  “I think it’s coming from over there,” I said, pointing at a cluster of trees nestled between two low-lying hills. A thin tendril of smoke twined upward from the top of a chimney just visible through the pines.

  “You think whoever lives there might be willing to feed us?” Damian asked hopefully.

  Macario pursed his lips. “I don’t know—it could be a trap.”

  “I hardly think anyone who cooks bacon that delicious smelling is setting a trap for us,” I said, imagining the crispy pieces in my mouth.

  Macario shrugged. “My mother always said, never trust anything that seems too good to be true.”

  “I don’t care if it’s a wicked witch that wants to throw us in her oven like Hansel and Gretel,” Angie said, giving her horse a kick. “I’m going to knock on their door and beg whoever answers for some breakfast.”

  Angie trotted off toward the stand of trees with Damian close behind. I hesitated, until I caught the unmistakable smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls.

  “Come on,” I said to Macario. “If it’s a trap, we’ll eat first and then figure a way out.”

  He grumbled but followed along. As we entered the woods, the temperature dropped and the air cooled. Soft grass grew underfoot. The horses began grazing, refusing to carry us any farther. I couldn’t blame them, as they’d been living off scrub brush for days. We left them behind and walked down a narrow trail that wended through the trees.

  A tiny cottage came into view. It was surrounded by swathes of purple and pink bougainvillea that provided cover for the chorus of crickets that chirruped a loud welcome. The white adobe walls had thick brown beams framing an open window. A neatly pebbled path led to a round front door with a brass knocker.

  Angie was already rapping loudly. Pans banged in the kitchen. A cheery voice called out through the window, “Door’s open, children, come right in.”

  She must have seen us come down the path, I reasoned, as Angie eagerly opened the door. More delicious scents assaulted my nostrils. I caught the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg. Surely that wasn’t maple syrup … and ooh … the distinct odor of chocolate chip cookies made my head dizzy.

  “If I’m dreaming, nobody wake me,” Angie said as we stepped inside the cottage.

  The white walls were offset by a colorful throw rug. The sofa held plump cushions, and next to it was a wooden chair in front of a spinning wheel. A small fire burned merrily in the stone hearth.

  “In here, dearies,” the voice called.

  We followed the sound into a cozy little kitchen. Every surface of every counter was covered in platters of food. Cinnamon rolls dripped with icing. Stacks of waffles oozed maple syrup. A plate piled high with bacon still sizzled. The woman had her back to us, busy serving up food.

  My eyes bugged out.

  Either I was seeing things, or the woman had six arms. Three on each side. Her movements were a blur as she deftly served up our plates. She turned, giving us a bright smile. She was younger than I expected, with long black hair coiled in a knot on top of her head. In four of her hands, she held a heaping plate of food. The other held a jug of milk and the last, a platter of cookies. “Welcome, welcome, children, please find a place at the table.”

  We didn’t say a word. Even Macario didn’t argue, his eyes bigger than any saucer as she set the plates in front of us. “I saw you coming, and I thought to myself, Ara, they look hungry enough to gnaw on a tree trunk, so I fixed this lovely meal for you.”

  “Thank you,” I managed between stuffing my mouth with fluffy waffles. I took a bite of bacon and swooned … sooo crispy and perfectly cooked. “We really were starving.”

  “Mmfhmmf,” Angie muttered. “I could’ve eaten my arm off.”

  Ara laughed, clapping her hands. “Younglings can be so ravenous. They need a fresh meal when they come out into the world.”

  She sounded oddly excited. I swallowed a bite of my cinnamon roll, exulting in the sugary taste, and pushed back an uneasy feeling that prickled my neck. “This is a lovely cottage, but it’s so far from anywhere. Don’t you ever get lonely?”

  Her hands went to her hair, patting stray strands into place. “Sometimes, but soon, I’ll have all the company a mother could ask for.”

  “Are you expecting?” This freaky-armed lady didn’t look pregnant to me.

  “My babies will be here before the day is gone. They’re practically bursting to be born.” She clapped her hands. “Come, enough talk. Finish your milk, and then perhaps you’d like a little rest before you continue on.”

  We drained our glasses. Before I could cry out in protest, she swept our plates up and began rinsing them in the sink. “There’s a nice soft couch in the main room. Make yourselves at home, and I’ll pack some food to take with you.”

  That sounded heavenly and made up for the fact that I didn’t get to wipe my plate clean with my biscuit.

  Macario grabbed my arm as we rolled ourselves into the other room. “Something’s off about this one,” he whispered.

  “You mean because she has six arms?” I joked.

  “That. And why is she being so nice? And where are these babies she speaks of?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” I plopped down on the sofa, so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. “Maybe she’s a nice lady who—” a yawn split my face “—who likes to do … nice … things.” My eyes were slits as I fought to keep them open.

  “Katzy, I can’t stay awake,” Angie mumbled, and then she keeled over across the top of me, landing facedown at my feet.

  Damian sat down in the center of the room. “A little … nap …” He sprawled backward.

  Something is wrong, my brain screamed at me. The last thing I saw was Macario looking at me with sleepy eyes that still managed to look angry, and then I began to snore.

  CHAPTER 22

  I opened my eyes to a fuzzy white world. My mouth felt stuffed with cotton. I worked my jaw, trying to spit it out. Gauze wrapped around me as if I’d been rolled up in a burrito. I couldn’t move. Was I dead? Had the six-armed lady poisoned us? No, if I was dead, I wouldn’t feel this sick. My head pounded and my stomach was doing somersaults. A putrid smell made me gag.

  My arms were trapped behind my back. If I could get a lightning bolt, I could maybe get out of this. I clenched and unclenched my hands until the tingle started and managed a small bolt. It cut easily through the gauzy covering, and with a whoosh, I fell backward out of my cocoon and landed on my butt.

  A dark paste covered my arms. I sniffed it. Gross. It was the source of the icky smell. I was in a storage room with no windows. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with jars filled with brown goop. Three matching white cocoons hung from the ceiling. A pile of bulging gray sacs the size of basketballs were piled up in the corner. They were pulsing, as if something inside wanted out.

  Using my small bolt of lightning, I slashed at the first hanging bundle. Angie spilled out onto the ground, choking and coughing. I quickly freed Damian and then Macario, who came out yelling, “I told you this was a trap, but no, you didn’t listen.”

  “Quiet!” I snapped. “You want her to come back?”

  Angie wrinkled her nose. “Why do we all smell like we rolled in horse manure?”

  They had the same dark paste smeared on their faces and arms. Damian rubbed some of it between his fingers.

  “We’ve been basted with cricket guts if I’m not mistaken. The smell is a sort of spider aphrodisiac.” He smacked his forehead. “Of course! Six arms, two legs, eight limbs. Our hostess must be Arachne. Athena cursed her to be a spider for boasting she was a better weaver.”

  “So Arachne dowsed us in cricket guts so she can eat us?” Angie asked, rubbing at the caked gunk off her arms.

  “No, not Arachne,” I said, pointing. “Them.”

  They turned and saw the pile of pulsating egg sacs. As we watched, one hairy black leg poked itself free of a sac, followed by a head.

  A gnarly, beady-eyed spider’s head with a pa
ir of nasty pincers.

  “Damian, we could really use one of your ideas right now before those babies of hers start to eat us,” I said.

  Because they were definitely hatching. The first spiderling stepped out of its sac, and it was anything but little. Its cantaloupe-sized body had eight spindly legs and unblinking red eyes that were focused on us. We backed away as the pile of discarded pods grew, and the teeming mass crawled forward on tentative legs.

  “Spiders don’t actually eat their prey,” Damian said. “They spit acid on them to dissolve them, then slurp them up.”

  We stopped to glare at him. “Not helping,” I said as one began skittering closer. I kicked at it, making it draw back.

  The only exit was a wooden door that I had a pretty good idea was barred from the other side. Angie rattled the handle, but it didn’t budge.

  “Damian, anytime.” I gave another spiderling a boot. It snapped at my foot, spitting something nasty at me.

  “Um, I’m thinking,” he said, blinking rapidly.

  Macario drew a glowing sunbeam. “I say we fry them.”

  I grabbed his arm. “And us at the same time. We’re locked in, so if they burn, we burn.”

  “No, Macario has a good idea,” Damian said.

  We turned to goggle at him. “Explain,” I said.

  “We need Arachne to open the door. If we stack our discarded cocoons, we can light them and create a barrier between us and the spiderlings. The door’s not sealed tight. Arachne is bound to see the smoke.”

  “So she opens the door, and I crack her a good one,” Angie said, smashing her fist into her other palm.

  “No, we slime her like she slimed us.” Damian took a jar off the shelf and twisted the lid, reeling back at the strong odor.

  It was just crazy enough to work.

  Macario touched his sunbeam to the mound of cocoons. Flames licked up, and smoke quickly filled the room. We ducked down behind the door and waited, each with a handful of cricket guts. The smell and the smoke made my eyes water.

  The newly hatched spiders retreated from the fire, clacking their jaws in fear.

  The door flew open.

  “My babies! What have you done?” Arachne stomped and stamped on the burning cocoons, which were largely ash by now.

  She spun around, her face twisted into a mask of rage. “You will pay for this!” She flung her hand forward, and a stream of webbing spit out. I dodged to the side as Damian shouted, “Now!”

  We flung our handfuls of cricket goo, nailing her in the face and chest. Arachne screeched, swiping at the sticky paste. The spiderlings stopped their march toward us and, as one, turned toward her, hungrily encircling her. Their pincers clicked and clacked as they scented the air.

  Arachne took a step back, shaking her head. “No! My babies, not me. Them, eat them!” She pointed a finger at us, but the odor of fresh cricket goo was too tempting. One of them spat out a green hunk of spit at her, melting a hole in her dress. She screamed as another spiderling joined in. They climbed up her skirts, swarming over her and burying her under their hairy legs and clacking jaws.

  We slammed the door shut and bolted it, running from the house as her screams followed us.

  CHAPTER 23

  The only good thing about running into my sister’s web-spinning nemesis was our bellies were full for the first time in days. The horses were eager to trot, having feasted on lush green grass. There was a charge in the air, a sense of anticipation. We had defeated the sphinx and escaped from a nasty spider lady. We were on a roll. That crummy she-pig didn’t stand a chance.

  “Where exactly are we headed?” I asked Macario after we’d stopped to bathe in a stream. It felt good to scrape off days of dust and cricket guts.

  “Crommyon. You’ll like it. They have the best clams in all of Greece.”

  “Too bad we don’t have much money,” I said, rubbing the few coins I had left from my gambling win in Avalon.

  Macario grinned, shaking his pocket. A jangling sound rang out. “I helped myself to Miss Kitty’s treasure chest while you were getting that feather. I can buy all the clams you can eat.”

  “Forget clams. I need a warm bed,” Angie muttered. “One that doesn’t have rocks in it.”

  After a few hours of riding, we crested a hill and pulled the horses up. Below us was a small fishing village. Boats bobbed in the water. White buildings with tiled roofs sprinkled the hills around the town.

  “Is that it?” I asked.

  Macario nodded. “Welcome to Crommyon.”

  We rode into town, hoping to find a shop selling roasted kabobs, but the place was deserted. Every shop was shuttered closed. We got down from the horses and left them drinking from a trough.

  “Where is everyone?” Angie asked, turning around. “It feels like eyes are creeping on us.”

  “Do you think it’s that crazy she-pig?” As I said the words, a chill trickled up my spine. A sudden panic washed over me.

  Angie’s eyes grew frantic. “Something horrible’s going to happen. We have to run.”

  Damian was hyperventilating. “I feel it too. We’re in terrible danger. We have to go now.”

  Macario’s terrified eyes searched every corner for the threat.

  There was the sound of laughter, and then Ares’s pair of brats, Phobos and Deimos, stepped out into the street.

  “Look who we ran into,” Phobos said, his glacial eyes glittering with hatred. His face was covered in blotchy red welts.

  “Father’s chosen one and her band of misfits,” Deimos added, sporting his own angry bites. His eyes took on that ominous yellow glow.

  “I can’t wait to make you feel the most intense pain of your life,” Phobos blazed, taking two steps closer. “A thousand times worse than any hornet’s sting.”

  “Stop,” I said, fighting the fear back so I could work my jaw. “If you hurt me, your dad won’t get his wish.”

  “What would that be?” Phobos asked.

  “To see me destroy Olympus. I’m doing what he told me to. I destroyed the temple of the oracle and the lair of the sphinx. We left Arachne to get eaten by her baby spiders, and we’re on our way to destroy a crummy sow. If you interfere, Olympus will stand, and Ares’s plan will be for nothing.”

  Phobos hesitated, and then a nasty smile crossed his face. “Agreed. But that doesn’t include your little friends, does it?” He flicked one hand out. Instantly, Damian dropped to his knees, clutching at his throat. “They are expendable, are they not, brother?”

  “Yes. Indeed.” Deimos stepped forward, and Angie joined Damian on her knees, both hands grasping at her chest.

  “My heart,” she gasped.

  Deimos clenched his hand tight.

  Angie’s face turned red. “Eaagh, he’s squeezing it. Do something, Katzy.”

  Macario stood helpless. He couldn’t use his powers against these two goons.

  But I could.

  I dug my front toe in the dirt, clenching and unclenching my fists. If it brought the Erinyes, so be it. I was going to call the biggest, fattest, lightning bolt I could and run them through.

  Only I never got the chance.

  A loud squealing noise made the brothers turn. A tusked pig the size of a Volkswagen ran down the middle of the street, head down. Its cloven hooves pounded the earth. An elderly woman clung to its back, gripping a harness, her gray hair streaming wildly behind her.

  “Grab Damian,” I shouted to Macario as I tackled Angie out of harm’s way. The sow headbutted the odious pair, sending them flying through the air to land behind our horses, scattering the animals.

  The woman reined in the sow, bringing it skidding to a halt, nearly unseating her.

  “Get on if you want to live,” she said.

  Phobos and Deimos were already getting to their feet. Horse dung clung to their once pristine tunics. We hurriedly climbed on behind the woman, and she dug her heels in, sending the sow into a run.

  “Get back here!” Phobos screamed.


  I turned and got one last look, enjoying the look of outrage on their snooty faces.

  The sow turned off the road and raced up into the hills above the town. We came upon a well-worn trail that wound through the trees and led us to a small clearing. Chickens pecked in the dirt. Smoke trickled out of a stone chimney built into a grassy knoll. Carefully placed bushes obscured the entrance to a cave.

  The woman sawed back on the reins and slid down. She rubbed the sow fondly on the snout and fed it a large mushroom she pulled from her pocket. She didn’t seem bothered by its enormous pointed tusks at all.

  We jumped down. Angie had her color back. Damian’s knees wobbled, but he was able to stand. Macario stepped warily back.

  “Thanks,” I said to the woman. “You saved our lives.”

  “Don’t thank me.” Her voice was low, harsh. “I know what you came to do, and I won’t let you harm my Agatha. Come inside and we’ll talk.”

  She led the sow into the cave by its harness. For a huge man-eating terror, Agatha seemed docile enough, butting her snout against the woman for another treat. Inside, a bright fire burned in a hearth made of stacked stones. Scattered pillows provided seating. A wrought-iron bed took up one corner. The sow headed for a thick pile of rugs.

  Something was moving on the rugs. Were those baby piglets? Three pink squirmy shapes began squealing. Agatha settled down with a contented sigh, and the piglets latched on to her, nursing with loud sucking noises.

  The sow was a mother. How was I supposed to rip its tusk out?

  We sat down on the pillows and took the offered mugs of soup she ladled from a cauldron over the fire.

  “My name is Phaea.” She settled herself across from us. “I used to be an oracle of some renown. I was forced out of Apollo’s temple several years ago when I gave a prophecy to a great king that didn’t turn out as he expected. He accused me of being wrong.”

  “Were you?” I took a sip from my mug. It was a delicious chicken stew with chunks of meat and vegetables.

  “Of course not. There has never been a prophecy that didn’t come true.”