The Eighth Arrow

by J. Augustine Wetta

  I reached for the only arrow at hand—the one still attached to the rope—and pulled my bow till I could hear the wood groan. When I saw Helen fall at the Siren’s feet, I let fly, skewering the great beast straight through its middle. The arrow landed with a clatter on the other side.

  Strangely enough, the Siren didn’t seem to notice. “Ah! Proteus-s-s!” it screamed, pinning Helen to the ground with one claw. “I shh-hould have known. Clever. Clever-r-r.” It raised one talon and might have quartered her right there if I hadn’t given the rope a hard tug.

  That got its attention. The Siren shrieked, spun around, and sprung at me with both claws. In doing so, however, it entangled itself in the rope and fell to the ground face-first. While it fluttered and thrashed on its back, I called for help. “Giant!” I shouted. “Ignotus! Help us! Now’s your chance!”

  But the giant only dropped his spear and curled up on his side with his hands over his head. The Siren actually stopped struggling with the rope to laugh. “You’ll receive no assistance from h-h-him, I as-s-ssure you. Now come h-h-help me out of this tangle s-s-so I can unthread myself and loose your limbs-s-s.” Helen leapt to her feet, grabbed the arrow with both hands, and ran to the far side of the clearing. “Ah! Oh! That s-s-stings,” screeched the demon as the cord slid through her torso.

  It took me only a few seconds to figure out what Helen was up to. Having wound the rope around two pillars, she lodged the arrow under a third, and took off at a run. “I’ll be back for you,” snarled the Siren over its shoulder, but I was already moving in the other direction with my end of the rope. Following Helen’s example, I ran until the cord pulled taut, wrapped it around two fallen columns, and tied it with a bowline around a third. Thus the demon discovered that no matter which way she tried to turn, and no matter how far she dragged herself along the rope’s length, she could not pull free without pulling herself in half. Back and forth she slid, leaving a coat of dark slime on the cord.

  “Proteus!” the demon cried. “You duplicitous-s-s old fiend, there will be H-H-Hell to pay!” I couldn’t see past the Siren, but its words seemed to be addressed to Helen. “You s-s-slippery old coward,” hissed the monster, “you’ve been working at this-s-s ever since you arrived.”

  Here and there, bits of the Siren’s innards stuck to the rope, and though she clawed and bit with all her might, the cord held true.

  “This would be a good time to run,” shouted Helen over the shrieks of the demon.

  Back and forth the Siren flew like a bead on a string. “Don’t you leave us-s-s, Proteus!” it screamed. “It only gets-s-s worse where you’re going. You f-f-follow these f-f-fools and you’ll wis-shh you h-h-hadn’t. They won’t protect you.” But when she received no answer, she directed her taunts to the giant. “Ignotus-s-s! You could not face even me. Do you really thh-hink you will be any challenge to my s-s-sisters? They will make a s-s-soup of you! Listen, Ignotus, I’ll m-m-make you a deal. Give me H-H-Helen and I’ll find you a soft job here among the lustful. Come now. Be r-r-reasonable. I’ll even give you your shh-hield back . . .” But the giant was already loping into the mist. For fear of losing him, I heaved Diomedes over my shoulder and followed.

  CHAPTER 16

  A PARTING OF WAYS

  ONCE WE HAD put a safe distance between ourselves and the Siren, I pitched Diomedes on the ground and slapped him awake.

  “What was that thing?” he gasped.

  “That, dear boy, was one of the daughters of Electra,” Helen answered, dabbing his forehead with the corner of her gown, “heralds of famine and bane of sailors.”

  “Bane of perfumers, I’d say,” answered Diomedes as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I can still smell it.”

  “Their stench is their special gift,” she answered. “A fine example of how to turn a weakness into a strength.”

  “What was the name it called you?” I asked.

  “Who knows?” snapped Helen. “It is a Siren. The beast itself does not know what it is saying.”

  “It used the name several times.”

  “It called her Proteus,” said the giant. He stood at a distance, hunched over his spear.

  “And it called you Ignotus,” I added.

  “Is that your name?” asked Diomedes. “Does it have a meaning?”

  “It is a Trojan word,” said Helen. “I think it means unknown.”

  Diomedes and I looked at the giant, who was so stooped over, he might have been walking on all fours.

  “You sure handled that Siren, though,” I said, returning to Helen. “Quick thinking. Not like you, really.”

  Wide-eyed, Helen yanked her hands up to her face and giggled. Then she sighed and dropped her hands to her sides as though giving up on a pretense. “No one has ever suspected that I would be anything more than beautiful.”

  Diomedes rose to his feet and smiled. “Well, you are.”

  She smiled back at him, twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

  “Now that you’re back on your feet,” I grunted, “we need to move.”

  We walked on in silence. Over time, the fog thickened, until at last we decided it was safest to walk single file, each with his hand on the person in front. Diomedes opted to take up the rear, which put me in the front just behind the giant, and Helen in the middle between Diomedes and me. My view was decidedly less inspiring than Diomedes’, and I couldn’t help feeling a little cheated. Only the giant’s massive rump was in reach, so I decided to follow him by sound rather than touch. “Is Ignotus a name, then?” I asked. “The demon addressed you as Ignotus.”

  “Put it out of your mind,” he answered.

  “Oh, Ignotus,” I crooned. “After all we’ve been through together? Now that I’ve finally learned your name, you want me to forget it? What if I’m in trouble and I need you to run for help?”

  Diomedes snorted approval.

  “Yes. What if we get in another fight,” Helen added, “and we need someone to curl up on the ground and whimper?”

  I looked over my shoulder at her and grinned, but when I turned back, the giant was gone.

  “Ignotus?” I called, advancing a step further into the mist. There was no answer. Instead, I felt a desperate weightlessness, accompanied by the vague sense that there was no ground beneath my feet. I had just enough time to curse. Then the world did a flip and I found myself in rapid descent along the face of a steep, gravelly slope. Over and over I tumbled, armor ringing against the rocks. From the grunts and squeals behind me, I gathered that Diomedes and Helen were close behind. I curled into a ball and prayed for a soft landing. It came with a thud and a splash.

  A few paces away, Diomedes rolled to a stop, and Helen followed shortly thereafter. The three of us lay on our backs wondering if we would ever get up. “You all right?” asked Diomedes, not moving. The fog had dissipated, but the sky was the same dull gray, and a cold rain fell in our faces.

  “I think so,” I answered. “A fall like this would have killed me back in the world of the living, but I guess I’m harder to hurt now that I’m dead.”

  “I was talking to Helen,” said Diomedes. Beyond him, the giant was standing, silent and watchful as always.

  “I am unharmed,” said Helen. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Well, I’m unharmed as well,” I added, “in case you’re interested.”

  “If you die here,” asked Helen from where she lay, “what happens to your soul?”

  I groaned and rose to my feet, feeling for broken bones. “I don’t intend to find out.” All my bones seemed to be in place, but my equipment was scattered everywhere. My golden bow, unstrung but miraculously undamaged, was easiest to find in the mist.

  Helen rolled over to face Diomedes. “Touch me,” she said.

  “Um . . . what?”

  “Touch me. Now.” She held out her arm.

  The giant and I looked on as Diomedes, timid as a schoolboy, touched her on the back of her wrist.

  Helen jumped to her feet and whirled around.
“You, Odysseus! Touch me!”

  “No. Stop that. I’m a married man.”

  Helen shook her head and smirked. “I thought the famous Son of Laertes was supposed to be clever.” Then she slapped me. “You see? Ha!”

  “I’m not sure I take your point,” I said through a tight grimace.

  “Think, you mule-headed fish gutter. Could I do that if I were a shade?”

  The realization dawned on Diomedes and me simultaneously.

  “I am alive!” she squealed. “Alive! Alive! Alive!” She jumped and twirled like a Theban top. Then she ran over to Diomedes and kissed him. She grabbed him by both hands and spun in a circle.

  The giant and I looked on soberly.

  “Unladylike, if you ask me,” I said.

  “I don’t,” said the giant.

  Then, as suddenly as she had started, she stopped. Diomedes stumbled a few steps off and sat down hard. He had never been much of a dancer.

  “The bread,” she said.

  “The bread what?”

  “It must have been your bread that cured me.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Diomedes.

  “How else could it have happened? I was a shade when you dragged me out of the storm. And you said that bread was a gift from the gods. Perhaps it is not poisoned at all. Perhaps it has some fabulous power.”

  “Diomedes,” I said, “hand me the pouch.”

  He looked at me blankly. “The pouch with the bread in it?”

  “No, the pouch with your brains in it. Of course the pouch with the bread in it. To which other pouch could I possibly be referring?”

  “I don’t have it,” he said. “You do.”

  “No, I gave it to you.”

  There were some moments of silent panic between us.

  “Miraculous or not, we will not make it much farther without food,” said Helen. “And if that bread could transform me from a shade into a living mortal, who knows what wonders it might work for you two porridge heads. What a loss. And to think you had that wonderful stuff with you all the time and never even tasted it.”

  “Well,” I sighed, “we need to find something to eat sooner or later. You’re right about that.”

  “And you won’t find it here,” interrupted the giant. “There is nothing in these parts that would ever nourish anything. Water you will find in abundance, but the bread must be recovered.”

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it,” I snapped.

  “When did you have it last?” he asked.

  I thought for a moment. “During the storm.”

  “Then it could be anywhere between here and the shelter.”

  “Yes, it could.”

  “Very well,” declared Diomedes, shouldering his shield. “We have a climb ahead of us.”

  “I will not go back,” said Helen. “And even if I wanted to, I could not possibly climb that far.”

  “She is right,” interrupted the giant. He stepped toward the cliff face. “None of you are able to make the climb. You are too heavy and too weak.”

  “Too weak?” I said, abandoning what little restraint I had left. “Too weak! Who are you to talk? You’re twice the size of all three of us combined, and where were you when the Siren tried to gut us?”

  “He was rolled up in a ball on the ground,” said Helen, “while I did his fighting for him—I, a woman.”

  “Weak,” I growled. “Look at yourself. Eight spans tall and a coward. I’d rather have a brave weakling any day.” I scraped a clod of mud from my tunic and threw it at him. He didn’t answer. Didn’t even duck. The mud hit him with a thump and slid off, leaving a greasy track down his chest.

  Helen shook her head in disgust.

  “So what do we do?” asked Diomedes. He hadn’t so much as looked at the giant since our encounter with the Siren. For all his skill on the battlefield, Diomedes was not one to be angered by cowardice or incompetence. Instead, he reacted with cool indifference. A man who would not stand his ground was no man at all in his estimation—a dog had more claim on his affections. Beatings, floggings, and public humiliation were common in the Achaean camp, but if a man under Diomedes’ command showed himself a coward, he simply found his gear piled up outside his tent with a bag of barley and a skin of water. Most agreed they’d rather be beaten.

  “We go on,” I answered. “If we’re lucky, we may run across a rabbit or a deer.”

  “I will go back for the bread,” the giant answered.

  “Ignotus,” said Helen, “in all seriousness, I think it is likely that the Siren has found a way out of our trap by now, and you are not in any shape to face her down. What is more, the bread is probably soaked through by rain. Even if you found it in the storm, it would not be worth eating.”

  “I am going,” said the giant, holding his spear like a walking stick. “Continue without me. Beyond the next ridge, you will find the circle of gluttons. Beware the hound. When I find your pouch, I will follow. I am faster than you. I will catch up.”

  “With no due respect, Ignotus,” I said, “you aren’t fit for the job.”

  “Then climb the cliff yourself,” he answered, leaning over so our faces were level.

  I didn’t hold out much hope for his success, but his chances were better than ours. “Fine,” I said at last. “Go back for the bread. We’ll carry on without you.”

  “Return quickly,” hissed Helen. “It should not be difficult. Just pretend you are being chased by something scary. A puppy perhaps, or a woman.”

  Diomedes looked askance at the giant, who noticed and cringed. Then he turned back toward the cliff and began his ascent, using the silver spear as a staff. All of a sudden I felt a little sorry for bullying him. “Ignotus!” I shouted. He turned and looked down at us. Already he had climbed the distance of a tall tree. “Good luck.”

  He nodded, then resumed his climb.

  “That is the last we shall see of him,” said Helen, looking ahead into the mud and rain.

  “Not much of a loss,” growled Diomedes.

  I watched the giant disappear into the clouds. “On both accounts, I fear you may be right.”

  As we walked, the night grew colder. The steady rain turned to sleet, then hail, then snow; and we soon began to feel the deep chill of it. Diomedes lifted his shield over his head, and Helen walked under it with him, her thin shawl wrapped tightly about her shoulders. “I am almost nostalgic for the hurricane,” she groaned, and for once, I had to agree with her. A good straightforward bruise is almost a gift by comparison with the slow, numbing ache of an icy wind. Still, there was a quiet about the third ring of Hell that was almost peaceful.

  Over time, the wind subsided. The precipitation began to fall in a thick, regular spray, heavy with gobs of snow and sleet, and the whole setting began to take on an air of sluggish monotony, broken only by the slosh and suck of our sandals in the mud. It was an atmosphere conducive to despair. Holding my shield over my head, I recalled how, during my life in Ithaca, I had often prayed for rain as I sat in the sweltering Greek sun. But this was a mockery of rain, a sorry imitation. Here, the relentless drizzle had none of the consolation of an earthly shower. There was no sense that this water was feeding anything. It wasn’t even a reprieve from the heat. Above all, there was none of the lively rhythm of patter and splash—none of the careless impulsivity of nature. Instead, there was only the monotonous drone of a foul, endless, unwavering damp, and the fetid odor of spreading mold. So on we trudged through all that wet and gloom, drawing further into a stinking darkness that was more than physical, listening to the drum of the sleet on our shields.

  Then we heard barking. From a distance, yelps and howls filtered to us through the rain. Helen stopped and frowned into the gloom. “I don’t have the heart for this,” she said, wiping the water from her face with her shawl, “and I’m hungry.”

  “We can’t go back,” said Diomedes.

  “He’s right,” I said, “and no good will come of talking about it.” So off we set agai
n, lowering our shields as a precaution. Before long we arrived at the lip of a deep ravine. We coursed to the left and came up against another steep cliff. Then we followed the ravine to the right but encountered a sudden and precipitous drop. It became clear that we were going to have to make a steep and slippery descent to the next level.

  “If it were dry, we could climb down,” said Diomedes. “It’s steep, but it isn’t a vertical drop.”

  “So you suggest we wait for it to dry?” I asked.

  “No. But if we had our rope, we might be able to let ourselves down partway.”

  “Then you’re suggesting we wait for Ignotus to return.”

  “No.”

  “Then what,” I snapped, “are you suggesting?”

  Diomedes stood for a while in thought, evaluating the steep descent. At last he spoke. “We slide down.”

  “We what?”

  “Slide down.”

  “But we will be covered in mud by the time we get to the bottom,” Helen protested.

  “And surely in no condition to handle whatever is making that noise,” I added.

  “Then we use our shields.”

  “Of course we will use our shields. I wouldn’t fight without—”

  “Are you coming?” Diomedes said to Helen.

  Before I could protest, he was over the lip and down the slope sitting on his shield with Helen clinging to his waist. I ran to the edge of the gully in time to see them tearing downhill, the crest of Diomedes’ helmet whipping the air. Again, I was perturbed. Usually I was the one who came up with the silly ideas and made everyone else follow along. I unslung my shield, lay on it face down, and winging a quick prayer to the Parthenos, pushed myself over the edge.