The Eighth Arrow

by J. Augustine Wetta

  Tychios looked at the shield and shook his head. “I don’t know how.”

  Ajax pulled another arrow out of his leg and snarled at it. “Make me a bigger shield, or I’m storing these extras in your face.”

  Tychios winced. “Where am I going to find that much bronze?”

  Ajax left cursing and returned a moment later with four Trojan shields stacked like bowls. He threw them on the ground next to his own. “You figure it out,” he said, “but I’m coming back in two days, and I want me a shield that will act like a shield instead of a dinner plate.”

  Tychios looked at the pile of bronze and wiped his face with a trembling hand. If he didn’t figure out something, he would soon bear a striking resemblance to a cactus. Ajax did not understand metaphors, so if he said he was going to reuse those arrows in the manner described, then he meant it.

  Sure enough, two days later Ajax emerged from the blacksmith’s tent with the largest shield I have ever seen—the height of a full-grown man, seven layers of ox hide stretched over an iron frame and plated with bronze. How he could even lift it was a mystery to us all. But lift it he did, and he was never thereafter seen without it—on or off the battlefield.

  Nor was he without it now. And in his right hand he carried a spear the size of a tree. I’d watched him skewer three men at once with that weapon, and there was every indication that he intended to use it on me now.

  “Welcome, Ajax, Son of Telemon,” I said. “You look better as a man than a vegetable.”

  He started to thank me and stopped himself. “We have a score to settle, you and me,” he said, thumping the ground with the butt of his spear. A flurry of leaves fell from the trees around us. Diomedes made a move to intervene, but I shook my head.

  “I suppose we do have a score to settle,” I answered, “but I won’t trade blows with you.” I dropped my helmet to the ground, fell on my knees, spread both arms, and bowed my head. It hurt to do it, but I knew that there was no sense going head-to-head with Ajax. If I was clever, I might beat him, but then what? He deserved his revenge.

  There was a long silence while I waited for the blow; then Ajax spoke. “Oi!” he said, and I felt a sharp rap on the top of my head. “Get up! We’re going to see who fights better.”

  “Lord Ajax, Son of Telemon, Bulwark of the Achaeans, you know as well as I do that you are the greater warrior. A greater man as well. The day that Agamemnon awarded me the armor of Achilles, Folly herself reigned on the beaches of Troy. Name your reward, and I will surrender it to you.”

  “Oi!” He rapped my head again with his knuckles, and I felt as if the teeth would fall out of my skull. I began to wonder if it had been such a good idea to toss aside my helmet. “This another of your tricks?”

  “No more tricks, Ajax. Not for you.”

  He rapped on my head once more while he worked my answer through his head. “Then I won?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I don’t feel like I won.”

  “Neither do I.”

  He rapped on my head again, but this time I think it was just nervous energy. His heart wasn’t in it. “Now what?” he said.

  “With your permission, I might stand.”

  “Right, then. Up with you.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and hoisted me to my feet. Then we stood for a while looking each other face-to-face—or rather, face-to-navel, he was that tall.

  “Ajax,” I said, “Diomedes and I would be honored if you would accompany us to the lower rings of the Underworld. We’re looking for a way out, and the most difficult stretch of our journey lies before us. We need a real warrior.”

  He looked blankly at the two of us. He sucked his upper lip into his mouth and frowned. Then he spat his lip out with a pop and smiled at me. “Right, then.” Ajax swung the massive shield across his back and planted his spear in the ground like a walking stick. “Which direction?”

  This was exactly what I liked most about Ajax. He was nothing if not single-minded. A quick look at our map, and we were on our way.

  CHAPTER 11

  ONWARD

  IT DIDN’T TAKE ME LONG to start feeling bad again. The incessant groaning and swaying of the trees made me nervous, the air was cold and damp, and to top it off, Argos really did smell exceedingly foul. I reflected that the Wood of Suicides would have no shortage of dead things for him to roll in, but something about the smell struck me as singularly revolting—as though he had bathed in a barrel of dead fish. And with that, a terrible suspicion came over me: What if the smell wasn’t Argos at all? The more I thought it over, the more sense it made.

  I slowed down until Diomedes and I were walking side by side. I leaned close and spoke to him in a whisper. “Diomedes, I’ve been thinking about this smell.”

  Suddenly he looked as worried as I.

  “What if it’s not the dogs at all?”

  Diomedes narrowed his eyes.

  “What if it’s—you know—the shapeshifter. What if he’s nearby?”

  Diomedes swallowed and looked around at the forest. “Not nearby,” he said. “Here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it, Odysseus. What are the odds that in all the Underworld, you would run into your very own dog?”

  My heart sank. “Do you really think—” But Argos sensed we were talking about him and came over to my side. Diomedes looked at him, frowning.

  We spent the remainder of the walk in a morose silence, broken only by the groaning trees and Argos’ ill-suited barking. Soon the dogs themselves began to lose interest, and one by one, they wandered off into the woods, leaving only Argos and little Dionysus behind. I was growing increasingly troubled by our conversation, and increasingly annoyed with little Dionysus, who seemed forever under my feet. Finally, Diomedes picked him up and slung him under one arm like a sack of barley. Argos, for his part, kept silently by my side, bumping my knee with his head. “Good boy,” I said, patting him on the back. He leaned against my thigh as we walked.

  The wide trunks of the trees barred our vision for a time, but as we approached the forest’s edge, the landscape opened up, and we were able to see the next great ring of Hell’s spiral of despair. Just beyond the tree line, the crumbling vegetation gave way to desert—league upon league of sweltering sand, stretched out beneath a stormy sky.

  “Are the stars falling?” asked Ajax as we looked out across the dismal terrain.

  Absurd as it may sound, the same thought had occurred to me, for the air, it seemed, was alive with countless points of light. In every direction, bright against the murky sky, embers cascaded from the clouds in sparkling sheets. Some fluttered to the earth like leaves, drawing long ribbons of soot in the air, but the greater part clattered to the ground in glowing heaps. Everywhere, the sand was pocked with black craters.

  “No,” I said, “I have seen this before. They aren’t stars. They’re rocks.”

  “You seen this before?” asked Ajax, looking uncomfortable. Argos, spooked by the brimstone rain, had judged Ajax to be the more worthy shelter and had left my side to work his way between the giant’s legs. Every time Ajax would lift a foot, the hound would bark as if his tail were on fire.

  “Yes,” I answered. “On the island of Methena. I wasn’t more than a pup at the time, but I remember it well enough. There was a big mountain at the center of the island. It had a hole in the top of it, and every now and then, some steam or smoke or whatnot would belch out of it. The folk there used to think that Hephaestus lived in its belly. But this one time, the whole thing blew up, and for days, the sky looked just like it does now. Little red rocks falling out of the clouds as if Zeus were upstairs putting out a fire with a broom. But it wasn’t anything to laugh at, I tell you. Houses caught fire and folks burned to death, and the whole island was full of ash for years. A couple of priests lost their livelihoods over that one, not to mention their heads.”

  “How we gettin’ through is what I want to know,” exclaimed Ajax, who seemed even more afraid of the f
ire than Argos was. Adding to the horror of the spectacle were the countless writhing souls cast on the sand like fish from a red tide. “And who’re all those people?” he asked.

  I took out Chiron’s map. “We are in the seventh circle of Hell,” I replied. “Here we will find the violent—against God, against nature . . . Oh! And against art too.” I returned the map to my quiver and looked across the sweltering landscape. “It won’t be easy to cross, but we could try the tortoise again. Use Ajax’ shield as a sort of roof with yours and mine on either side, Diomedes.”

  But Ajax was no longer listening. Trying to hold his attention was like holding a fly in your hand. “Boys,” he called out as though we weren’t standing right next to him. “Think I see a way around.”

  Good old Ajax. Having him along was like having our own walking, talking watchtower. Thanks to him, we were able to circumvent the burning sands by moving along a branch of the river Phlegethon that flowed straight through the desert beneath a snaking cloud of red steam. Here, the brimstone was extinguished by the mist that rose from the boiling river, and so we were able to walk from one end of the desert to the other, swatting at the occasional smoldering ember but otherwise unharmed.

  “Friends,” I said as we emerged at last on the other side, “if the rest of our trip is that easy, we’ll be out of Hell in no time.” I pushed past both of them and leapt into the cool air.

  The next thing I knew, I was drowning.

  Well, drowning may be an overstatement. One moment I was standing on the sand; the next I was up to my ears in water. My little bag of bread stayed afloat, gods be praised, but I was weighed down by my armor and never would have made it out if Ajax hadn’t caught me by the helmet crest and hauled me ashore.

  The experience, however, was not altogether disagreeable, following as it did upon the long, hot march beside the boiling river. What’s more, I discovered by default that the water was fit to drink. After so much dry sand, a mouthful of water was quite welcome, even if it did taste like an old man’s foot. We sat on the bank and passed the wineskin once around. I filled my helmet with water and offered it to Argos. Then I broke up a loaf of bread, and together, Diomedes, Ajax, and I shared a meager supper, feet dangling in the cool river.

  Neither of my companions was inclined to talk, and for once, neither was I. The Centaur’s words still lurked like phantoms in the darker corners of my mind. “Wily . . . lying . . . cruel . . . ruthless Odysseus.” I kept repeating the words to myself. Did they really sum me up? Thus we sat in silence, contemplating the darkness. When I looked at Ajax again, he was slumped over his shield, sound asleep. Diomedes too seemed to be nodding off, and soon I was . . . well . . . dead to the world.

  I slept.

  Again I dreamt of the tiger. Again of the tree and the seven suitors. This time, however, Ajax was not among them. Instead, it was my son who turned without reply and walked away. And the dream ended with the same aching sense of despair.

  CHAPTER 12

  MAN AND DOG

  I AWOKE TO A mouthful of dog. Argos was standing directly over my head and barking furiously, so all I could see was the mottled fur of his stomach. Clearly, though, Diomedes and Ajax were upset as well. Above Argos’ howls and Dionysus’ yapping, I could hear their anxious shouts.

  By the time I had climbed out from under Argos, things had calmed down considerably, but the situation was still tense. Three enormous men stood before us up to their waists in the water. They might have been brothers—or triplets even, they looked so much alike, from their sparkling gray eyes to their long red beards, to their broad and excessively hairy chests. On their left, two enormous hounds were swimming side by side toward the shore.

  “So what’s all this, then?” the giants asked. “Three living mortals in the land of the dead. It is an unpleasant sort of riddle, and I don’t mind saying so. Nor do I.” They spoke in turn, though their voices were so similar and their mannerisms so complementary, it was hard to know who was speaking at any given moment. “And you. Where did you find that magnificent bow? I was just going to ask him that myself. It belongs in worthier hands, I’m sure. Yes, certainly. Did you rob someone of it? I’ll bet he did.”

  I started to answer, but the two dogs had made it to shore, and the sight of them quite took my breath away. They were not, as I had supposed, two distinct animals but one animal with two heads.

  Argos jumped forward, growling and baring his fangs, but the great beast seemed not to notice, pausing at the water’s edge only to shake itself dry.

  “Orthos. Stay,” commanded the three giants. “Good boy. You’ll have your supper in a moment.” This did not sound like good news to me. “I am Geryon,” they said together, “Guardian of the Lower Realms. Who are you, and why did you stir the waters of my lagoon? What business have you calling me from my sleep?”

  “Sir . . . um . . . sirs,” I answered with a deep bow, “it was quite by accident that I slipped into those waters, and quite by accident that you were summoned. My name is Odysseus, Son of Laertes. My two companions are Ajax, Son of Telemon, and Diomedes, Son of Tydeus. We serve the Parthenos, and we seek a passage to the lower realms.”

  I would have continued, but Argos was making such a fuss over the two-headed dog that hardly anything could be heard above the barking.

  “Argos,” I shouted, “that’s enough.”

  But just then, the two-headed beast leapt forward and came down on Argos’ back, pinning him to the sand and gripping his neck in one of its two mouths. Argos yelped and wriggled free, springing up and under to drive the beast back on its haunches. It parried the attack with one head and went for Argos’ neck with other; then there was a cyclone of sand as the two wrestled back and forth along the shore.

  There were a few tense moments as we looked on.

  It was Ajax who broke the silence. “I’ll be damned,” he said, the irony of his expletive lost in the commotion. “Those two’re playing.”

  It was true. They weren’t harming each other in the least, and seemed rather to be enjoying themselves, rolling in the sand and flinging one another into the water. Even little Dionysus had joined in, yapping and nipping at their heels.

  “I’ll be damned,” repeated the three giants; and this time, I couldn’t resist pointing out that they already were.

  “No,” they answered. “Strictly speaking, I am not damned. Nor I. Nor I. I could fly out of here whenever I like. Though not without my help—or mine.” The giant on the left shrugged, and a single webbed wing stretched out from between his shoulders. How he could fly anywhere with only one wing seemed to me the obvious question, but I checked myself as the giant on the right produced a wing of his own. “Yes,” they continued. “I am here because it is my job. You, on the other hand, are quite out of place.”

  I had enough unanswered questions to keep us all in conversation for a week, but before I could voice them, the surface of the water broke behind the giants, and something like a scaly black serpent rose out of the lagoon, its eyeless head arching up till it hung suspended in the air just above the middle giant. He made as if to speak again, but I cut him short.

  “Sir! Behind you! Look out!”

  The giants all turned in unison, but the moment they did, the snake disappeared into the water. They turned back to me with a suspicious glare.

  “Honestly. It was just there,” I explained, and my companions nodded. I had hardly finished protesting when the snake rose out of the water again, and this time Ajax, Diomedes, and I all shouted together, “There it is!”

  This time, the giants saw it. “Oh,” they rumbled in unison, “don’t worry. That’s mine.”

  “What . . . whose?” I asked, though by now I was so confused, I couldn’t be sure any answer he gave would help explain what I was seeing.

  “Mine,” all three giants answered at once, and as though to complicate the picture even further, a pair of gigantic paws emerged from the water, one to our right and one to our left.

  I like to
think that I’m pretty good with riddles, and after all my long travels, I’d become rather accustomed to encountering the exotic and bizarre, but the current situation was so beyond anything I’d ever known that I found myself reduced to silence. In my head, I sifted through what I was seeing: three giants, two wings, one snake, a two-headed dog, and now a pair of disembodied paws stretching out of the water. It was a lot to take in, and there didn’t seem to be any logic linking one element to the next. But I was handling it better than Ajax, who had crumpled in on himself in a posture of complete befuddlement—his shoulders slumped forward, brow furrowed, with his lower lip sucked up so that it touched his nose. The poor oaf had enough trouble figuring out how to work the straps of his sandals. This was just too much for him. And Diomedes seemed equally confused, scratching his beard with his sword and burrowing one foot in the sand.

  “Whose . . . snake . . . is that . . . exactly?” I asked, but now the giant solved the riddle for us by climbing ashore.

  “Oh . . .” Ajax, Diomedes, and I gasped in unison as Geryon emerged from the water. It was immediately clear how the paws, wings, three giants, and “serpent” were connected; they were all part of the same creature. Geryon, we discovered, was a lion from the waist down, three separate men from the waist up, and a scorpion starting at the base of the tail. He was easily three times the size of Ajax, and hideous in every respect but his face—or faces, rather, which had a surprisingly open and gentle look about them.

  Once he was on shore, Geryon gave himself a good shake, drenching us all, including the two (well, two and a half) dogs, who shook themselves in answer and drenched us all over again. Once all the shaking and drenching had ceased, we resumed our conversation.

  “You understand, it is my responsibility to prevent you from getting to the lower realms,” said Geryon, scratching himself on the back (and by that I mean one of his selves was scratching the other self on the back while all three spoke simultaneously). “But even if I weren’t here to prevent you, I can’t see how you would ever make it down there. On the other side of this lagoon, there is a sheer drop to the level below. Without a pair of wings, you would smash to bits on the rocks.” His scorpion tail twitched in agreement.