by C. Gockel
‘Shakespeare.’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘Very well. If this is what I have to do, then so be it. What’s first?’
‘I’m to transport you to the first place.’
‘And where is that?’
Hermes looked uncomfortable.
‘Oh, I get it,’ said Skye, ‘you can’t tell me.’
Hermes shook his head.
‘Can you give me any hints at all?’
‘I don’t know what you’ll be asked to do. It will be possible though, Skye, even if it doesn’t appear to be to begin with.’
She looked him in the eye. Hermes was facing her with a look of absolute sincerity.
‘Then let’s do it,’ she said decisively. ‘Take me to it.’
‘Are you sure? You can have a rest first and start tomorrow if you wish. It doesn’t have to be now.’
‘The faster I complete these stupid tasks,’ Skye grumbled, ‘the faster I can see Coop again.’
Hermes bowed his head. ‘So be it.’
He grasped her arm, instructing her to hold on tight. Skye shut her eyes, feeling a lurch of nausea. Moments later, her nostrils were assailed by the reek of manure.
‘Shit,’ she said softly, feeling Hermes’ hand leave her. Then she opened her eyes.
A huge barn stood in front of her. A long, deep sound made her jump. Terrified, she whipped around, her eyes searching through the dusky twilight to find just what monster it was that made that noise. When she realised it was nothing more than a cow, and that she was standing in the middle of a field, she relaxed slightly. There was no sign of Hermes.
‘Brilliant,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Now what?’
With no indication of what she was supposed to do, Skye eyed the vast structure in front of her. No doubt that was where she had to be. Wind whipped round her as she mused about what might be inside the rickety edifice. She tried desperately to recall what she knew of previous tasks from the old Greek stories her parents had read to her at bedtime. Everything she could remember involved slaying terrifying creatures. Skye glanced doubtfully down at herself. Perhaps she should have spent more time in the gym and less time reading. Then she might have had some muscles to help her in a fight. Wasn’t there something about eyes, throat, groin, that women were taught in self-defence classes? She shook her head, realising she was shaking. If this really was a monster she had to defeat, then she had no hope. But there was simply no alternative.
Taking a deep breath, Skye walked forward, willing her legs to feel more like steel and less like jelly. There was a small door in the front of the barn which she tentatively pushed open. She peered inside, unable to make out anything in the dark, gloomy interior. A cow outside mooed again, making her jump.
‘Don’t be a wimp, Skye,’ she told herself firmly. Then she stepped inside.
A rich earthy smell assailed her. The barn’s interior was still too dark for much to be visible but fortunately there appeared to be no sign of any kind of monster.
Reaching behind her, Skye’s fingers felt along the wooden wall next to the door. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she found a light switch and flicked it on. For half a second nothing happened then, abruptly, there was a loud hum of electricity and the barn was bathed in a flood of light.
Blinking rapidly, Skye tensed. Her eyes darted around while she carefully took a step backwards in case a fire-breathing, three-headed, five-tongued monstrosity decided to appear. There was nothing, however. The barn was empty apart from a mountain of grain reaching up towards the roof. She chewed her lip. Okay, now what?
Keeping her back pressed firmly against the rough wall of the barn, Skye sidled along to her left, attempting to peer round the huge mound, her eyes constantly flicking around for any sign of movement. There was nothing. A large wooden ladder stood against one wall, the door was at another and there was the grain in the middle. No monsters, no gods, no anything.
Now that Skye was certain she was alone she felt bolder and left the safety of the wall to take a few tentative steps forward. When there was no sudden roar or rush of an attack to fend off, she continued until she had covered a circuit of the whole space. Her fear was dissipating and being replaced by annoyance. What kind of task was it if she couldn’t even work out what it was she was supposed to do?
Just then, her eyes caught something sticking out at the top of the grain mountain. It looked like a piece of paper. Glancing around quickly again to make sure she was completely alone, she walked forward. There was nothing to do except climb up and retrieve whatever it was.
Skye lifted one leg. As soon as her foot landed on the grain, it sank in. She cursed and pulled up the rest of her body, leaning into the mound and using her hands to yank herself upwards. Mini-avalanches began to tumble down the slope, impeding her progress. It was like trying to climb up a pile of sludge. Every time she seemed to get somewhere, her body weight shifted ever so slightly and she slid back down. When she opened her mouth to gasp for air, she ended up with mouthfuls of grain and she could feel the tiny husks getting trapped between her body and her clothes, scratching her skin.
Taking a deep breath, Skye decided she would have to make a rush for the top. She tightened her muscles and fixed her eyes on the summit, then sprang upwards, her hands and feet scrabbling at the surface of the sliding mountain. Her fingers just managed to snatch the edge of the paper before she began falling back down again so, holding it tightly, she turned and jogged back down, leaving sunken footprints in the grain. The last thing she wanted was to be smothered by it collapsing on top of her.
Back on the safety of the floor, and spitting out grain from her mouth, Skye smoothed out the paper. There was a message on it, written in an elegant looping script.
Contained here are two different types of grain, wheat and oats. You have until dawn to separate each out into two piles.
Skye turned the paper over. There was nothing else, not even a signature. She stared disbelievingly up at the huge grain mountain. Dawn could be no more than ten hours away.
She reached in and scooped up a handful, tracing through it with her fingers. The difference between the oats and the wheat was clear but there was so much. This appeared to be an impossible task.
‘Well, you’re not going to get anywhere by looking at it, Skye,’ she scolded herself. And at least there wasn’t a monster to defeat.
Realising there was little time to spare, and with the wind outside causing a few grains to fly upwards, Skye went back to the barn door, turned the latch and returned to the mountain. She squatted down and got to work, taking up handfuls and spreading them out on the floor, then picking out all the flakes of oat and setting them to one side. She worked quickly, her fingers moving through the grain and deftly separating out the different types. Her eyes stung from the dust and her neck ached but she continued, getting faster and faster as time passed.
After what seemed to be a couple of hours, Skye looked up to take stock. Her heart sank. She had barely made a dent in the heap. The two piles were tiny compared to the mountain in front of her. She rocked back on her heels and massaged her neck. Outside, the wind continued to howl around the barn. The wooden walls creaked and groaned but at least inside was warm. It was certainly more sheltered than the ruins she’d been forced to hide in during the storm she’d been caught in on the way to Litochoro. That was scant comfort, though. Dawn was only a few hours away, and she would need a month to separate the grain. She’d never get it done in just one night by using her hands.
Trying not to panic, Skye picked up a single wheat grain and examined it carefully. Then she did the same with an oat. They were clearly different sizes. Perhaps all she needed was a sieve. A very, very large sieve. She put her hands to either side of her head and thumped her temples. There had to be a way to fashion one.
Skye stilled. Fashion.
She was wearing jeans, a t-shirt and her coat. None of those would work but her underwear might because her bra was made of intricate lace. She blus
hed as she remembered that the last time she’d worn it was when she was with Coop. It was a kind of poetic justice if the scrap of material would also help her return to him.
She reached under her top and unclasped her bra, pulled down one strap and extricated her left arm, then her right. She yanked at the material, freeing it from her clothes and frowned at it.
The cups were rather small. Not for the first time, she wished she’d been born with larger breasts. It still might work though. Taking a small handful of the grain, she dropped it into one of the bra cups and shook, exhaling loudly as the majority of the wheat fell through the gaps in the lace while the larger oats remained in the bra. Skye grinned to herself. It wasn’t a perfect method, but it had to be better than her hands.
She quickly developed a rhythm. She pushed in her bra and scooped up the grain, then shook each cup to free the wheat onto one pile and emptied the remaining oats onto the other pile. Some of the wheat clung stubbornly inside, catching on the lacy material. It was fairly easy to get hold of those husks, however, and suddenly she was moving much faster than before. Skye was aware she would never have time to separate out the entire mountain. She would just have to hope that by managing to sort a large amount of it, Aphrodite would let her off.
Skye was so intent on her task that she blocked out everything else. Scoop, shake, empty. Scoop, shake, empty. For that reason she didn’t notice the wind picking up and the door to the barn beginning to strain and bang against the latch. The rusty nails holding it in place were no match for the might of the wind. She stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow – and that was when the door burst open, allowing the wind’s full force to gust in. Before she could react, her two neat piles of separated grain were blown up into the air.
Yelling, Skye scrambled to her feet, waving her arms and attempting block the wind from destroying her hard work further. It was too late though. Everything she’d achieved so far had been destroyed, every separated grain pushed back against the original mountain.
Skye’s mouth dropped as she stared in horror. She ran back to the door and pushed it but, with the latch broken, she had no way of keeping it closed. Swirls of grain blew up from the mound, mixing with each other. She sank down against the wall and watched helplessly. There was nothing she could do. Dawn was little more than a couple of hours away and she had failed.
Her eyes pricking with tears, she followed the movement of a few errant oat flakes, dancing in the wind as if they were taunting her. Skye cursed aloud and swiped at them but they jerked away from her, merrily sweeping upwards through the air.
‘Bloody oats!’ she cried, flapping her arms out towards them.
Then she stopped. ‘Oats,’ she said again, although this time in a whisper.
Only the oats were flying around because they were light enough to be picked up by the wind. The wheat grains moved but they were far heavier and weren’t carried as far.
Her mouth was dry. Skye knew exactly what she needed to do. Ignoring the flapping barn door, she ran to the other side of the building. There was only the one entrance but, far above her, on the opposite side to the door, there was a large skylight set into the roof. It was covered in glass and Skye could make out the night sky with the stars glistening above. The tinge of purple indicated the approach of dawn. It didn’t matter, though; suddenly there was a way out of her predicament.
The ladder was heavy but it wasn’t far away from the skylight. She yanked it along the wall a few metres. When it felt stable and it was close enough, she began to climb. The skin around her fingers was tender from all her work separating the grains but Skye ignored the pain and pushed herself upwards as fast as she could. It was fortunate the ladder was tall enough to reach the sloping skylight; if it hadn’t been, all would have been lost. But even though she managed to reach it, there appeared to be no way to open the window itself.
Without thinking, Skye pulled off her shoe and grasped it in her right hand. Averting her face, she smashed the heel into the window as hard as she could. At first nothing happened but she continued, sensing that the glass was weakening. Wobbling slightly on the ladder, Skye took a deep breath and flung her arm at the glass. This time it worked and the window cracked. She gulped in relief and hit it again. The glass broke off into several shards. Taking care not to cut herself, she gingerly broke off enough pieces to create a large gap, then quickly slid back down the ladder.
‘Come on,’ she whispered.
Creating a gap into the outside world worked perfectly. There was now a howling wind tunnel between the door at the far end and the break in the window. The airflow was strong enough to swoop through from one end of the building to the other. Covering her eyes with her sleeve to avoid being blinded by the flying oats, Skye ran out of the barn, her hair whipping around in all directions. Irate cows in the nearby field bellowed their displeasure and Skye shouted gleefully into the wind.
‘Do it! Come on!’
She jumped around like a mad woman while, high above her, a tiny smile played around Zephyr’s lips and the first glimmers of the sun appeared on the distant horizon.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘It’s hardly perfect,’ Aphrodite stated caustically, her eyes sweeping over the mound of oats, which had been pushed to the far end of the barn as a result of the gusting wind. ‘Not all the grain is separated.’
‘You are being somewhat unfair.’
‘The task was to properly divide all the wheat and oats.’
Zeus raised a single bushy eyebrow. ‘In twelve hours? Even you have to admit that she did a good job with the time she had.’
‘She had help. She couldn’t have done this alone.’
‘Your son hasn’t left Olympus for days.’
‘That doesn’t mean he didn’t inveigle someone else into helping.’
‘Aphrodite…’
‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘The girl passed.’
Zeus watched her, his face impassive. ‘He is really in love with her.’
‘The question is whether she returns the sentiment.’
‘Perhaps if you spoke to her, you would gain a better understanding of her character.’
A look of pain crossed her face. ‘Liking her won’t mean anything.’
‘Is that why you’re avoiding speaking to her face to face? You’re afraid you’ll like her?’
Aphrodite turned away. ‘I’m not afraid.’
‘You’ll need to let go of him sooner or later.’
‘And if she proves herself worthy, then it will be sooner. There are still three more tasks to go. We’ll see whether she can really come up with the goods or not. Besides, I’m hardly the only one around here who has to deal with problematic children.’
‘Apollo’s not a child.’
‘Neither is Coop. It doesn’t mean the pair of them don’t act like three year olds sometimes.’
‘You’re changing the subject.’
The goddess didn’t answer. Instead, without even turning, she snapped her fingers and vanished. Zeus remained where he was for another moment, his gaze thoughtful. Then he too disappeared.
Outside the barn, Skye was pacing up and down. She’d been too afraid to look inside to see whether her plan had worked and the wind tunnel she’d created had done its job. The thought of going back home without seeing Coop ever again was too painful to consider. She had to have passed.
‘You did it.’
Skye closed her eyes in relief for a moment, then turned to face Hermes.
‘Good,’ she answered briskly. ‘What’s next?’
‘When was the last time you got some sleep?’
‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead,’ Skye snapped. ‘What’s next?’
Hermes eyed her warily. ‘You’re a lot more … angry than you used to be.’
‘Well, I’ve got a lot more reason to be, don’t you think?’
‘Don’t let them change you, Skye. Don’t let all this,’ he gestured vaguely towards the barn, ‘change you.’
‘I’m still the same person. I’m just getting mightily tired of being treated like a toy.’
For once it was Hermes who looked embarrassed. ‘The gods are fickle. And jealous. And often slightly unbalanced. Being immortal does that to you.’
‘You’re not like that,’ she pointed out. ‘Coop’s not like that.’
Hermes smiled faintly. ‘Not since he met you anyway.’
Skye blushed ever so slightly.
He grinned at her. ‘Now that’s the Skye I know.’
She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. ‘Stop delaying and take me to the next task.’
He sighed. ‘Okay. Just be careful with this one. Not everything is what it seems.’
Skye opened her mouth to ask him what he meant but before the words could form she was standing alone in a different location. There was no sign of the barn and no sign of Hermes. Instead, she was facing a gushing river and several fields, all cordoned off with barbed-wire fencing. The gods of Olympus clearly had a thing for farming.
Looking around for another note to tell her what she was supposed to do, Skye felt buoyed by her earlier success. As long as she kept her wits about her, these stupid tasks would be a piece of cake. Hermes was right that the gods were fickle, jealous and unbalanced; what he’d failed to mention was that they’d obviously underestimated her. Maybe she wasn’t Hercules, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t pass these tests.
‘Roar,’ she whispered. Then louder, ‘Roar!’
‘I had been told to expect a young human woman,’ came a voice seemingly from nowhere, ‘not a lion hybrid.’
Startled, Skye whipped round her head. She was still alone, so where the hell had the voice come from?
‘Hello?’
‘Hello!’ came the cheerful rejoinder.
Skye looked upwards at clear blue sky. There was nothing there other than a few fluffy white clouds.
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m here, of course.’
Skye couldn’t pinpoint where the voice was coming from over the sound of the river. ‘Where’s here?’ she asked, exasperated.
