Hero for Hire (9 page)

A few stalks of wheat shivered. I could imagine the whiny boy crouched down there, hoping against discovery, knowing it was too late. Perhaps he was praying for the kindly earth to open and swallow him up, a far better fate than Yanni’s.

Still the snake didn’t take its eyes off me. “Come out, boy, come out, come out wherever you are.”

The voice had less of a hiss in it, sounding more like the human being it had pretended to be. “Poor little boy wanted to be a man and all you really are is meat, just cold meat. At least I appreciate you for that!”

The rock that bounced off its head did not come from the wheat field. Nor did it come from the hand of a coward.

The girl stood astride the road, her hair unbound, her eyes bright with clean tears. They didn’t impede her aim. She swung a second stone in the sling she'd improvised from her head-cloth. “What are you waiting for?” she shouted.

The snake reared back, ready to spit at her.

I woke up from my own astonishment. Dropping the useless sword, I reached behind my head and pulled my own. All the energy pent up in my body let loose as I jumped forward with a yell that rivaled the harpy’s in volume. I sank my sword deep into the creature’s neck, at the angle of the jaw.

It hissed and twisted, sucking down its own venom deep into its throat. It tried to bite me but if there’s one place you cannot bite it is under your own lower jaw. It reared up, up and up, almost the entire length of the body, then fell backward, thrashing as violently as the snake that had nearly bitten Temas.

Only this time I was riding athwart the ridged muscle of the body. Where does a snake’s neck end and the body begin?  My sword cut a jagged line through the white skin and spurting flesh as the creature twisted and writhed.

It heaved over onto its belly and began beating its head on the earth, trying to kill me with its own death throes. Dazed, I leapt off but not so dazed that I stood where it could still spit its hatred at me with its dying breath. I whirled my sword up and over, cleaving the head off in a blow so hard it went right through to the ground.

The eyes glazed over, the white membrane falling over the half-human pupils. My sword was smoking; I shoved it under the dirt of the road.

I sank to one knee as the girl came closer. I wish I could claim it was in homage but the truth is that the snake had been right. I was exhausted. But I had three more men to fight, four if you counted Eurytos himself. The Fates alone knew what vile abominations Eurytos’ remaining little friends would prove to be. What other creatures had he found on his travels, converted like the snake into some new thing neither honestly animal nor entirely human? A wolf, a bear, a boar?

The girl produced a wineskin full of well-watered wine. I could have drained it in a breath but remembered in time that someone else had been out in the heat as well. After she’d drunk, I said, “That was a well-thrown stone.”

“When I was a little girl, they set me in the fields to keep off the crows. I had nothing else to do but practice rock-throwing. Then when my brothers were born, I had to learn to weave instead.”

“If you throw a shuttle as skillfully as you throw a rock, you must weave better than the spiders. You saved my life.”

“I didn’t do it for you; I did it for Yanni. And Pacci.”

“Pacci?”

The whiny boy came out from the wheat, dirty, disheveled, dragging his feet with shame. His brown eyes looked like a scolded puppy’s. “Where is Yanni? Did he run away?”

The girl dug her foot scornfully into the dead snake’s side. “He’s in here, eaten at a gulp like a pelican downing a fish.”

The boy shivered and turned white. I had a feeling he had nothing more to be sick with. “Shouldn’t we let him out?”

The girl and I just looked at each other. She handed him the wineskin. “Drink that. We’d better be getting home.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Omphale, daughter of Demos, farmer and smith. That is my brother, Paculi. He wants to be a hero.”

“No, I don’t. I want to be a blacksmith and never, never look at another sword. I’ll make pitchforks and shovels and horseshoes forever and a day but I won’t ever make a sword or a knife longer than my finger! I swear by Hephaestus Himself!” It was the kind of fervent prayer that finds its way at once to Heaven and the ears of the Gods. I had no doubt it would be recorded there. Perhaps with time and much labor, he could erase the memory of his cowardice. It would help if his sister wasn’t always there to remind him of her courage.

“Has your father arranged your marriage?” I asked. It’s the sort of polite question we old, worn-out men ask young and lovely maidens when we met them.

She shook her head and drew down her scarf from where she’d flung it over her shoulder. With deft fingers she bound up her hair again. “Come on, Pacci. You’ll have to apologize to Father but he’ll forgive you. He always does.”

She walked away, her back straight. There’d be no more tears on that face, not where anyone could see them. At night, under the eye of the moon, perhaps. I hoped Artemis would turn her tears to pearls.

Pacci lingered behind a moment, shifting from foot to foot nervously. “It was him,” he whispered with a frightened glance at the snake’s body. “Yanni. She was supposed to marry Yanni. His grandfather’s the second richest man on the island, next to the King.”

“She’s well out of it, then. He was a....” there didn’t seem any words that would do him his proper justice.

“Oh, he was bad, I guess, but good company. I’ll never have another friend like him.”

“You’re well out of it too, then.”

He shot me a glance full of dislike, the sort that should accompany an out-thrust thumb or tongue. I hoped his father would sweat the brattiness out of him behind a plow or an anvil. It would take more than work to make a man of him, though. Strange how a girl could inherit all the balls in a family.

Like most men, I don’t really understand women. According to the ancient story of the Flood, after Deucalion, son of Prometheus, and his wife Pyrrha drifted to safety over the surface of the waters, they repopulated the earth by throwing stones over their shoulders. The stones thrown by Deucalion became men; those thrown by Pyrrha became women. But how can men and women be made of the same stuff, from the ‘bones of the earth’, and yet be so utterly different from one another?

I’m glad I’m a hero and not a philosopher. These kinds of questions make my head hurt.

I rested a while not far from the corpse of my fallen foe. I felt as though I’d been beaten, slowly and expertly, by teams of tiny men with large hammers. The wine had helped but I didn’t want to meet the next enemy looking like I’d come off second best from the last encounter. Besides, I had a lot to mull over.

First of all, I had to get off this island. I was getting too involved, too interested in what was going on here. I felt an urge to stay, help Temas to clean up and set things right. I wanted to know more about that girl and her brother, talk to their father, get the kid’s feet set on a better path. Even drinking down in the tavern with Phandros had a cozy sound. It was a pretty place, Leros, or would be once the evil that festered here was gone. Maybe my future bride would like it too.

I rubbed my head vigorously, putting those dreams aside for a better time. The foes I had to face next might be stronger and more fell than the snake-creature. I was beginning to take Eurytos' measure. If I'd been defeated by any of the guards I'd met so far, well and good. He could hold his stronger forces in reserve. But if I won out, as I had, he'd need to throw something more powerful yet at me.

Was Eurytos in league with the three-headed thing in the temple? It had been more dangerous than the snake, commanding strange powers. This big fellow whose remains lay beside me had been something more than mortal. Evil had been done to it. It had been an animal, twisted into a semi-human with a bad attitude, but the thing in the temple had seemed like a manifestation of something else, something capable of far-reaching sorcery. Was Eurytos the font of all the evil on the island or just another tool, like Nausicaa and the late king?

I sat on, gripping my forehead as if squeezing it would help, trying to remember everything the evil three-headed creature had said. I felt that there was a clue there, if I could tease it out. It couldn't be under Eurytos' control because it had said it wanted to be Queen. And the dead boy had called Eurytos 'King' and talked about his plans to take over Leros. The thing in the temple had talked about ruling everything. Eurytos must be working for that unknown queen as I had a hard time believing in the coincidence of two evil magicians at work at the same time in the same place.

Be that as it may, I knew at least Eurytos had some supernatural creatures at his command. What did I have to use against him? A sword or two, twigs, rocks, my strength? None of it particularly useful until I got a look at my opponents.

The wind had picked up, drying my clothes. The monotonous song of the cicadas had started again, as soon as the snake had fallen. I could do with another drink. Pity the wine-skin was dry.

When the wings beat over my head, I mistook them for the rising wind. But when a soft down puff floated before my very eyes, I glanced up.

She was there, hovering with long strokes of her wings, floating with a strange grace. Her claws weren’t ten feet above my head, cruel as the hooked barbs on an arrow, designed to rend flesh from bone. The sun threw rays of light over her bronze body, receiving her radiance in return. I could feel her looking at me but she was far too bright for me to gaze long upon her.

The hilt of my sword was near to my hand. I could have snatched it up, clipped her wings and brought her crashing to earth. I could have bound her with the ropes young Omphale had dropped and returned later to deal with Eurytos. I did nothing of the kind and it was not the thought of the claws that stayed my hand. Perhaps it was a recompense for her timely cry during my fight with the snake. Perhaps it was the soft cooings she was making now.

When it changed suddenly to a snarl, I did glance up. She’d moved away from me, to hover effortlessly above the snake’s body. Her claws flexed as a human might tighten and ease a fist.

She dove down over the head, digging her claws in to the thin flesh that covered the skull. With powerful beats of her large wings, she lifted it off the ground. The cut neck trailed a thin dripping of blood as she flew off with it. Thankfully, she did not fly over me.

With renewed strength, I followed her. She was going in the right direction, toward Eurytos’ natural fortress. From what the snake had said, I knew the harpy was no friend to my enemies.

She led me up into the cliffs above the sea by a secret path that only one who could see from the sky would know. When I stopped or turned in the wrong direction, she would come back, drop the head and rest on it, watching me. I found myself talking to her, the way I would explain my actions to a dog, knowing it understood nothing but the tone of my voice. Yet it is a comfort to speak sometimes, especially while working hard on something that requires much bodily labor.

Just before I poked my head for the second time over the ridge that ringed the men’s hideout, she left me, still clutching the snakehead in her sharp talons. I watched her fly up, getting some altitude. I wished her good appetite, though why she’d chosen the head was beyond me. Maybe she liked brains.

Bordered on one side by the ocean, the sandy clearing was about a hundred yards across, encircled by embracing arms of stone. There was a tunnel below me, through the ridge. I could, by leaning out, see the tall wooden doors bound with iron that closed off this side. The heads of the nails were still gleaming in the sun from Eurytos’ recent repairs. They’d made their natural fortress stronger with all the tricks of military men. It seemed odd that the doors were open, however, unless it was a trap for me.

For the rest, they had a few tents, enough for ten men, and two piles of arms, some swords and bows, one quite near the tunnel entrance, the other closer to the high-tide mark. A fire burned between the two, a large shining perch suspended on a spit above it. My stomach rumbled as I caught the smell of the grilling fish. I'd been working hard without time to eat. Two men stood by the fire, talking with their heads close together.

Then, with wings outspread, the harpy dove into the bowl of the camp, a gilded figure of heavenly vengeance. I watched in gape-mouthed admiration as she glided so low that the two men threw themselves flat to avoid her, and then she powered out again with a few strong, almost lazy wing beats. Her terrifying beauty so drew my eyes that I almost forgot to watch my enemies.

Her cry echoed off the stone walls, magnifying their terror until it seemed as if a hundred harpies shrieked.

I heard shouts of consternation and saw two more men run out from the tunnel into the middle of their camp. For the first time, I saw their leader. He wasn’t the tallest, or the most muscular. He wore a simple leather vest over his burly chest and, true to report, his right hand ended in a claw like a crab’s. One could almost overlook that macabre touch. Eurytos walked as if he were king already.

The harpy flew twice around the camp, her cry at its most piercing. Only I could hear the note of triumph underlying the bloodcurdling blare. The second pass saw three of them, including Eurytos, flat on the ground, their hands over their ears. The fourth figure stood unmoved, his face hidden under a broad-brimmed straw hat. None of them, however, seemed to have enough wits left to seize one of the bows lying about.