The Dig (12 page)

Inside the temple, I‘m shocked by all the action. It‘s like Grand Central at Thanksgiving and I‘m bookended by creatures with spindly flamingo legs and heavy gorilla-like upper bodies. I marvel at their ability to stand upright and I try not to stare.

A black and white hopping creature with a pouch, like the child of a kangaroo and a raccoon, is making way for me. It yanks a scroll out of its pouch and waves it at me. It seems to be telling me that it‘s my turn to see the Oracle, and as I follow the beast through the creeping indoor fog—what
is
it with time travel and indoor weather systems—I pretend that Blondie is close by my side. The roo-coon scurries off without a word and I cough. The fog is even worse in here and I‘m on my knees, choking.

I bow my head. Instantaneously, the fog lifts and my lungs are clear and I look up. There she is, the Oracle, in all her smug glory.

She‘s on a throne, her long legs crossed. My god, she must be eight feet tall. Next to her, I feel like a Bratz doll.

―Thank you for bowing, Traveler.‖

Aah, the fog was a mere ploy. Typical. Tall girls, in my experience, are always trying to make short girls feel shorter.

―I was told to ask you for help,‖ I say. ―That you could answer my question.‖

The Oracle blinks her hooded eyelids at me. ―And what question do you bring me, Traveler?‖

―How do I get back home?‖

The Oracle huffs. ―That is not the question.‖

―I don‘t understand. Creusa said—‖

―You are misguided. Your destiny is not at home.‖

―But my family and friends and my life are all at home.‖

―Your destiny is greater than such things.‖

―Look, I‘m exhausted. And I‘m lost and I don‘t need a lecture on self-esteem or a pick-me-up talk about how special I am. I just want to go home!‖

The fog erupts and I sink to my knees. I can‘t breathe. I‘m choking. I raise my arms and wave them in the air. The fog lifts. I won‘t be exploding again. Of that much I‘m sure.

―It is difficult to see your home. You have come from a land far away, shrouded in strangeness,‖ she says. Then it hits me. The Oracle is a fraud.

It‘s why she won‘t answer my question. Because she doesn‘t know the answer. How could I have been so naive? To think some gassed-up ladylegs would know how to get me to the future.

Just as I‘m about to thank her for nothing and skulk out of the hall, she calls out, ―When your parents were carried away in the body of a great bird, they left a child of destiny to wander without guidance.‖

―Wait…carried away by a bird? How did you…‖ How could the Oracle know about my parents‘ plane crash? Or was she just making it up? Maybe people are routinely carried away by giant birds in 1000 BC.

―I do not see your world clearly. But it is of no matter. I speak of the great order of things.

The balance that must be maintained.‖

―What does that have to do with me?‖

―It is tied to your destiny. There is no evading it.‖ She opens her mouth and I can see her many, narrow teeth. ―And your destiny is not met without trials.‖

―With all due respect, um, Oracle, I have
been
through trials. Okay?

I‘m lost. I‘ve been wandering for days and my clothes got stolen by a creep and I was chased by vicious dogs. It hasn‘t exactly been a picnic.‖ I brace myself for fog, but the air remains clear. She looks at me with a sneer.

―You have been through hardships. Now you will endure trials.‖

―But what if I don‘t want to?‖

―You are destined for one true thing, Traveler. Do not resist your fate.‖

―I don‘t care about my fate. I just want to go home!‖

―It is Mount Olympus that awaits your step now.‖

―Come on, not
this
again,‖ I grumble.

―Do not mock the lair of the gods!‖ she shouts.

Breathe, Zoe. You can‘t antagonize the Oracle; that will get you nowhere. I drop to my knees and go into pleading mode. ―With all due respect, I‘m not a god.‖

―So you think your powers over the earth are earthly?‖ I flush. She knows about my powers.

―Your powers are your sole hope, Traveler. Only a god may ascend to Mount Olympus.‖

―And what if I‘m not a god? What if I can‘t make it to the top?‖

―Then you die.‖

I don‘t know which comes first, the thunder or the mob of creatures.

But suddenly, the Oracle has risen and fled her throne and the roo-coons and the gorilla-mingos are all flocking into the temple as if World War III is beginning outside. I start to run, but the Oracle raises a wiry fist at me and shouts, ―No! You must face it! Alone!‖ So I fight my way through the crowd, shoving against the tide of terrified rainbow-colored animals, until I make it out of the temple. And there he is, waiting for me.

―Are you okay?‖ Blondie asks. ―What did the Oracle say?‖ Before I can answer him, a giant shadow appears, edging around the side of the mountain. My God. It‘s no wonder all the creatures fled. What else can you do when you see a Hydra coming?

It‘s almost fifteen feet tall, with a muscular reptilian body supporting five swaying heads, each one of which is capable of giving me nightmares for weeks.

Blondie grabs my arm.

―Curly, let me help.‖

―No! You have to get out of here. Now!‖

―I can‘t leave you here by yourself.‖

―If you stay, you‘ll be killed!‖ I shout. It‘s bad enough I have to face a living nightmare; I‘m not about to watch the boy of my dreams get eaten by it.―I won‘t be killed. I can help you.‖

―Just go!‖ I shout, as the Hydra stamps dangerously closer. ―The Oracle says I have to do this myself.‖

He hesitates. His grip on my arm loosens.

Two of the five heads let out a sickening screech, and I almost turn and run myself. ―Please, you have to go now.‖ I push his arm away. He may be the captain of the football/debate/teen model club, but even he seems to know when he‘s outmatched by a giant five-headed monster.

The moment he‘s gone, I turn to face the Hydra. At the sight of it bearing down on me, my adrenaline surges, the way it does when moms lift cars to save their babies. I take it all in, this enormous monster, this thing that‘s supposed to exist only in legend: the five heads, bulbous and oily and moss green; and the eyes, bulging and wet with muck; and the pupils, expanding and retracting, expanding and retracting. I remember the books of myths I read as a kid and there‘s something almost comforting in seeing that the Hydra looks exactly as it was depicted in the storybooks.

It advances with surprising speed, and before I even realize what is happening, one of the heads lunges at me. I dodge instinctively, ducking out of reach, and as I‘m rolling across the ground toward its body, I get hit with a powerful scent. I smell rotten eggs. I smell hatred. I smell death.

A second head lunges at me and I barely dodge this one. I won‘t last long without a weapon, so I open my hand and command a rock to fly into it and sharpen on its journey into my hand. The blade is sharp. I‘ve never stabbed anyone, I‘ve never wielded a weapon, and my eyes grow full as the sheer scope of my powers becomes clear to me.

I can kill.

The Hydra lurches forward and I scream as I swipe the rock-knife through one of the thick, meaty necks. The monster squeals and the severed head drops to the dusty ground, oozing blood and greenish bile. Victory only lasts a few seconds, however, since, despite all the books I‘ve read and movies I‘ve seen, I seem to have forgotten the most essential truth about multiheaded Hydras.

Cut off one head and another grows back with a friend in tow.

It‘s like trying to pluck eyebrow hairs.

The Hydra stretches up and all six heads are now high above me, eyes hungering for my blood. I teeter and drop my knife. I can‘t defeat it this way. The felled head is slowing to its death a few inches away and just behind it I see them: boulders. The Hydra lunges at me with its largest head and I dive, sliding toward the boulders and sending one at the largest head. I‘ve never tried to lift a rock this big with my powers, and I watch with relief as the boulder smashes against the side of the Hydra. It‘s a direct hit, and it knocks out the biggest head. Another head is coming at me and I dart out of the way, then fling another boulder at the offending head. It flies even harder—I‘m getting the hang of this—striking the Hydra where the neck joins the head. The eyes pinch with pain and the jaw spasms, as the head struggles uselessly for air with its crushed throat.

The four remaining heads let out a deafening roar and I scurry back from the enraged creature, covering my ears. Looking behind me, I realize that the Hydra has trapped me. I am pinned between it and the mountain.

The Hydra eyes me with hatred. It rakes the ground with its claws, preparing to charge. I look to the remaining boulders and, concentrating hard, as if lining up a complex four-way billiards shot, I direct them to their flailing targets.

Go!

The impact knocks me backward. I lie on the ground, unable to move.

Silence falls like rain. When I finally open my eyes, Blondie is there.

He extends a hand.

―Not too shabby, Curly.‖

I‘m not crazy about goodbyes. On the last day of school, I always avoid the main quad, where people are sobbing as if they‘re never going to see each other again. It‘s different from the way I avoid the cliques in day-to-day life. I don‘t avoid the quad because I don‘t feel like I‘m included. I avoid it because if I see all those people hugging and crying, I‘ll start crying too. I‘m embarrassingly schmaltzy when it comes to send-offs. I even cry at the moment in
Dirty Dancing
when Baby and Johnny part ways by his beat-up car. No matter how much I have seen the movie and know that it‘s not really a goodbye—that Johnny will come back because, hey, he never misses the last dance—I still choke up.

Standing here with Blondie, I have a thousand things I want to ask him, but I can‘t say much of anything. My emotions are already shot from the battle and I don‘t want to let him see me cry, so I try to keep it all in.

I‘m bruised head to toe and my fingers are still quivering, as is the rest of me, in large part because I can‘t believe he came back for me. I‘ve never felt so loved by a boy and I can‘t look him in the eyes or he might see what I‘m feeling. And if he sees how hard I‘ve fallen, well, then he really might run.

Of course, according to Blondie, the last thing he wants is to run. ―I‘m coming with you up Mount Olympus,‖ he announces.

As much as I want nothing more than for him to come along, I have to refuse him.

―You can‘t come,‖ I say. ―I‘m supposed to do this alone.‖

―But I can help protect you.‖

―These are my trials,‖ I say, shaking my head.

―What if you get hurt on your way up? You‘ll be all alone.‖ I look at him, beautiful, earnest Blondie, and imagine the dangers I‘m about to face. More Hydras? Even nastier creatures? Even if the Oracle had allowed it, I couldn‘t bring him into that kind of danger. What if I couldn‘t protect him? What if I failed and he died? Sometimes love really does require sacrifice. I could never live with myself if I put him in that kind of jeopardy. Ever.

―No,‖ I say. ―I won‘t let you get hurt.‖

―Tell me your name.‖

―Tell me yours.‖

―I asked you first.‖

He‘s right and he‘s here and I want to wrap myself up in him and know him and I might never get the chance. I don‘t mean to reveal it, but I‘m powerless and I‘m headed into oblivion.

―Zoe,‖ I say.

He reaches forward and gently brushes my cowlick off my face. ―It‘s really nice to meet you, Zoe.‖

I wait as long as I can to answer him, because I don‘t want to answer him, because when I do answer him, that will be the end and he‘ll go his way and I‘ll go mine. I wish that I could never talk out loud again. I would stand here forever, in silence, just to keep him around me.

―I‘ll remember you,‖ I say.

―Forever,‖ he says.

And then he‘s gone.

And suddenly I‘ve become one of them, one of those girls with an aching heart, one of those girls I‘ve passed on campus and thought,
Wow, what a drama queen
.
Now I get why they learn to knit or play Angry Birds so much that their fingers go numb. As it turns out, the songs don‘t lie. Breaking up
is
hard to do.

But what‘s wrong with me? I didn‘t even technically ―break up‖ with Blondie. I mean, we never kissed, we didn‘t go skinny-dipping, he didn‘t actually tell me that he likes me, so why am I feeling like this? And part of me can‘t help but wonder. Am I so afraid of trekking up Mount Olympus that I‘m just using Blondie as a distraction because, lord knows, it‘s much more enjoyable to worry about a boy I barely know than about a mountain full of obstacles.

Speaking of obstacles, did I get credit for surviving that trial with the Hydra? I look skyward and shout, ―I better get credit for that!‖ My senses are on high alert and I can feel every weak breeze that blows, smell the sap on the trees I can‘t even identify. Some instinct is kicking in, and I rub the scar on my neck and take a deep breath and stop in my tracks before it even begins, or maybe as it begins. It happens too fast for me to know when it starts.

The water comes.

You can‘t call it rain because it doesn‘t fall in drops. Fist-size blobs of water are crashing around me, growing bigger and bigger with every second and falling sharp like hail. I look at a tree just as a moving box–size burst of water hits it, felling it. The branches fly apart and I duck.

As I crouch down, I realize that I‘m knee-deep in water. A lake is forming already and if I don‘t do anything, in minutes I‘ll drown. Without any clear sense of why I‘m doing what I do, I zone in on a boulder and smooth it out so that it‘s flat, almost like a raft. But the pathetic raft sinks down like an anchor. Nervous and jittery, I huff it to the nearest tree and start to climb. My clothes are soaked to the bone and I haven‘t shivered like this since I was a child, since that time Uncle Alex and Aunt Sophia took me to Vermont, where I thought their friends had a ―magic driveway.‖

Snow fell the first night we arrived and I ran outside in the morning without any shoes on and stood in awe of the driveway. Though my teeth chattered and my lungs felt like blocks of ice, I remained still, awestruck. The driveway was completely clear. Not a single snowflake had managed to stick.