Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest

by A. Lee Martinez

  “No, it’s not,” she said. “If you didn’t have complaints, you wouldn’t be human.”

  “Maybe, but it’s obnoxious. Especially complaining to you about it.”

  Helen’s smile dropped.

  Troy bit his lip. “That was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry, Hel.”

  “Don’t do that,” she said. “You don’t have to tiptoe around the minotaur thing. I know what I am. Not like I’m going to forget. But it’s not like we don’t have a lot in common that way. We’re both stuck with the expectations people put on us. Whether we like it or not. Funny thing is, we may be the two people who can most relate to what the other is going through.”

  Troy laughed. “Hadn’t thought about it that way.”

  They tapped their divinely cursed fists together.

  Someone in the stands blew a horn.

  “He’s coming,” said Billi.

  Clifford approached the battlefield, a scrawny figure in bike shorts and sandals. An accompanying drummer punctuated Clifford’s every step, thumping as if the earth were shaking beneath his feet.

  Smith spat in the dirt, smacked the ground twice with his giant hammer. Each blow sounded a clap of thunder. “I’ll go first, if you don’t mind.”

  “Be our guest,” said Troy.

  Smith marched out into the field to meet Clifford. The cyclops drank some Gatorade and slipped out of his sandals while Smith loosened up with some practice swings. The combatants exchanged a few words, but they were too far away to be heard.

  The cyclops grew into a tremendous twelve-foot giant. He nodded to the horn blower, who sounded the start of battle.

  Smith charged. His hammer crackled with magic lightning. He didn’t get a chance to use it. Clifford knocked Smith off his feet with one swift punch. Smith bounced across the field. The woozy warrior struggled to his feet. He stumbled in a clumsy zigzag to recover his weapon.

  Clifford calmly walked over and tripped Smith. The cyclops then stomped him into the dirt. Clifford appeared bored by the act. He stopped occasionally to check if Smith yielded, which he didn’t until the third pause.

  Clifford shrank to his scrawny proportions and used a towel to wipe the sweat from his bald head, which was more likely to have been caused by the heat of the morning than by any strain on his part. Smith was carried out on a stretcher.

  “You’re up,” said Billi. “Good luck.”

  She stopped Helen.

  “Oh, and I came up with a name for your dog. Achilles.”

  “That’s not bad. Why don’t you keep an eye on him while we try not to get our butts kicked?”

  Achilles whined. Helen scratched him under the chin. “Don’t worry, little buddy. We’ve got this.”

  Billi said, “Miss, I don’t normally give questers hints, but just so you know, Cliff’s father was an air spirit and his mother was an earth goddess. I can’t tell you more than that, but it might prove helpful.”

  “Thanks.”

  Helen caught up with Troy.

  “Did you hear that? She gave us a hint because we have a dog.”

  “I heard, but we don’t need it,” he replied. “I think I know how to beat this guy.”

  Clifford stretched. “That guy was a good warm-up. Now, before we start, I like to give everyone one last chance to back out. There’s no shame in it.”

  “Is it all right if I use this sword?” asked Troy. “It’s magic, just to be up-front.”

  “It’s all right.” Clifford nodded to the horn player, who sounded the start of the fight.

  Troy tapped his sword on the ground three times. A rumbling monster of hard-packed dirt rose before them. “What is your command, master?”

  Troy pointed to Clifford. “Beat him up for us.”

  The dirt elemental lumbered toward the cyclops, stopped in front of him, and spoke with its deep, dry voice.

  “Hi, Cliff. How’s it going?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  The elemental said, “Sorry, kids, but I can’t fight Cliff.”

  “But I command you,” said Troy.

  “Yes, but the magic of your sword is inferior to his birthright. I can’t attack him. Even if I could, against an earth godling I wouldn’t stand a chance.” The monster shrugged. Clouds of dust fell off its shoulders and blew into their faces. “But I’ll be happy to help you with anything else if you survive this.” It walked over to the stands to watch the fight.

  “Was that your master plan?” asked Helen.

  Troy said, “I’m working on a backup.”

  Clifford inhaled and expanded into his monstrous form. Helen didn’t even see his punch as she was knocked across the field to lie in a heap. Clifford followed it with a fist smash meant to flatten Troy, but Troy’s athletic reflexes kicked in. He dodged to one side, though the concussion of the blow nearly knocked him off his feet.

  Troy sidestepped another strike and another. Clifford was powerful and fast, but he telegraphed his attacks. Troy had always been good at reading body language and years of sports had honed that talent to a fine point. He was able to stay one step ahead of the giant.

  Though Clifford was easy to read, he was also too skilled to give Troy an opening. Even if he had, Troy wasn’t sure he’d have been willing to take it. The sword was a lousy weapon because it was designed to kill. Intellectually, Troy understood he was fighting for his life. And for Helen’s. But it was a big jump from never being in a fight to slaying a monster. Especially a monster that seemed as if he was just doing his job.

  After a minute of cat and mouse, Clifford paused, blew out his breath, and shrank. “You’re a fast one.”

  Troy held up his sword as if he might actually use it. “Do you surrender, then?”

  “Nice try. But you’ll have to do better than that.”

  Clifford expanded and rushed at Troy. Troy was too slow, and the cyclops plowed into him. And bounced away harmlessly.

  Both Troy and Clifford were surprised by that.

  Clifford threw a punch. Troy stood his ground, and the huge fist hit him without effect. He didn’t feel it, though to judge by the way Clifford held his reddened knuckles, he had.

  Troy whirled his weapon. “Magic sword of invincibility.”

  Clifford exhaled and became scrawny. “Why the hell were you dodging so much?”

  “Instinct. Also, I kind of forgot.”

  “This is a surprise,” said Clifford. “I thought your minotaur friend would be the challenging one.”

  Behind him Helen stirred. Troy kept Clifford’s attention focused away from her.

  “I don’t want to stab you, but I will if I have to. And since you can’t hurt me, you might as well surrender.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I can’t just give up. Usually enchanted weapons have a catch to them.”

  “There’s no catch. I’m invulnerable. You’re not.”

  “Would you like some advice? If you’re going to go on a quest, you have to commit to it. Now, I’m not suggesting that I want you to stick me with that magic sword of yours, but that’s part of my job. I can’t walk away every time some ambitious person waves a blade in my direction.”

  “So it’s a standoff?” asked Troy.

  “Only until I figure out the flaw in your weapon.”

  “What if it doesn’t have one?”

  “There’s always a flaw. That’s how magic works.”

  “That must mean there’s a flaw in your magic too,” said Troy.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yes you did.”

  They smiled.

  “All right then. That’s the challenge, is it? First to find the other’s kryptonite.”

  Helen was on her knees. She was dizzy, but Troy couldn’t tell if she was hurt.

  “I’ve already found yours,” said Troy. “You’re the child of an earth goddess and an air spirit. You grow when you inhale, but only for as long as you’re holding your breath. And since you are barefoot, I bet it only works for as long as you’r
e touching the ground.”

  Clifford’s brow furrowed. “Ah, damn it, Billi, what did I tell you about giving hints?”

  “Sorry, Cliff,” called Billi from the tent. “But you know I’m a dog person.”

  “You got me,” said Clifford. “But I’ve got you too. You haven’t moved from that spot. I’m betting that your invulnerability only lasts so long as you stay put.”

  Helen stood. Troy nodded subtly to her not to interfere.

  “It’s a stalemate?” asked Troy. “We just stand here until one of us gets exhausted?”

  “Not quite.”

  Clifford inflated. He grabbed Troy in his two giant hands and lifted him off the ground. Clifford, holding his breath, couldn’t speak, but his smug grin said it all. Troy’s sword arm was pinned to his side. He couldn’t do anything about it.

  “I can’t yield,” said Troy.

  Clifford nodded as if he understood. He cocked his arm back, preparing to hurl Troy like a football. A fleshy, crunchy football that would end up a shattered sack of bones.

  Helen charged from behind and knocked Clifford’s legs out from under him. He tumbled into the air, deflating. Troy hit the ground hard but not nearly as hard as Clifford had intended. Relief overwhelmed any pain.

  Clifford stood. “OK, that was a bit of a cheap shot, but I have to give you credit. Not many people can—”

  Troy heard the steady thump-thump-thump of hooves and Helen crashing into Clifford again. It was followed by his yelp and the light thud of a shrunken cyclops hitting the ground.

  Troy sat up. His eyes followed the trail of dust left in Helen’s wake. She was fast. Really fast. She swung around for another charge, her head held low.

  “I knew she’d be trouble. But nobody knocks me off my feet three times in a row.” Clifford adopted a linebacker stance and grew.

  The two Enchanted Americans crashed together. Clifford reeled from the collision and for a moment it looked as if he might fall over. But he held steady. He twisted and threw Helen off balance, and she landed on her face, choking on the dust in the air.

  The crowd cheered. Clifford bowed.

  “Can I say how much fun this has been? I haven’t had a genuine challenge in such a long time, I forgot what it felt like. You did good, but you’re only mortals in the end.”

  He expanded, lifted Helen off the ground, and prepared to lay her out with his strongest punch.

  “Hey, you forgot about me.” Troy stood with his enchanted sword at the ready.

  Clifford grinned and shook his head. He couldn’t say it aloud, but he didn’t need to. Troy was next.

  Helen undid the clasp on her bracelet. It fell to earth, and a bristling mix of her family curse and adrenaline surged through her.

  She kicked Clifford in the gut with both hooves. He exhaled painfully and dropped her. He gasped, struggling to draw in a suitably deep breath. She laid a punch across his jaw. Her form was sloppy, but it was her first. It still knocked him to the ground.

  “Stay down,” she said.

  “It doesn’t work like that, Hel,” said Troy. “He recovers from anything as long as he can touch the earth. If you want to beat him, just throw him over your shoulder before he catches his breath.”

  She did. The cyclops squirmed and writhed, but she held firm.

  “Game over, Clifford,” she said.

  12

  Victory over the Gateway guardian had earned Helen and Troy more than permission to carry on their quest. They’d also earned a special reward from the town’s prize cache, rare and unusual items of interest that had made their way into Gateway’s possession. They were kept in a shack behind Clifford’s house.

  “You get one thing,” he said as he slipped the key into the padlock.

  “But there are two of us,” said Troy.

  “You fought as a team. That means only one item. That’s the rules.”

  “Who makes these rules?” asked Helen. “Everyone keeps acting like they’re written down somewhere. Is there a manual we should have?”

  “They’re just the damn rules. Everyone has to follow them. Don’t ask me where they come from.”

  He pushed open the door and walked away, scowling.

  “What’s wrong with him?” asked Helen.

  “You kicked his ass,” said Troy.

  “Oh yeah. I did, didn’t I?”

  Smiling, she unfolded their map and used a pen to mark out the scowling cyclops’ face with an X. It felt very satisfying.

  “That was amazing, Hel. I didn’t know you could take a punch like that.”

  “Neither did I. Nobody ever punched me before.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  She rubbed her chin, stretched her right arm out. “Little sore. But considering I just wrestled a godling, I can’t complain.”

  They entered the shack. Knickknacks and collectibles lined its shelves. Troy picked up one golden chalice among many. “Do you think some of this stuff is magic?”

  Helen shrugged. She held up a Gilgamesh Pez dispenser. “Behold the awesome gifts of the gods: chalk-based candy.”

  “Does it come with Pez?” asked Troy. “Or would that count as two things?”

  She put the dispenser back on the shelf. “Good question.”

  They picked through the various items. Troy tried on a rubber mask of the Creature from the Black Lagoon. “Here’s a serious question, Hel. Just how strong are you?”

  She tapped a plastic skull. “Too strong.”

  “How can you be too strong?”

  She hesitated.

  He said, “It’s cool. You don’t have to talk about it. It’s none of my business.”

  She sat in an old rocking chair. “No, it is. We are questing together. You should probably know.”

  “I wasn’t trying to pry, Hel.”

  “Forget it. It’s cool.”

  She picked up a banjo.

  “Until I was seven, I was only a little stronger than kids my age. Then the full enchantment kicked in, and I got stronger. It started slowly at first. I even got a kick out of it. And so did my friends.”

  She strummed the banjo.

  “Until I started breaking bones.”

  “Jeez,” said Troy. “How did that happen?”

  “Accidents. Kids just being kids. Except roughhousing can be a little…rough when you’re a little girl who is stronger every day. I broke an arm, two legs, and cracked some ribs in the space of three days. After that, parents stopped letting their kids play with me. Not that any of my friends were eager.

  “I took it hard. I’d always known I was different. Not like I couldn’t know. But the way my folks raised me, they always made it seem unimportant. Horns? Tail? Those were just things I was born with. Superficial stuff. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me sometimes. Or that I didn’t sometimes have fantasies about a handsome prince kissing me and making me normal. Not even beautiful. Just normal. But for the most part, I was OK with my condition.”

  She rocked in the chair, drumming her fingers on the instrument’s neck.

  Troy said, “Hel, you don’t have to—”

  “That day,” she continued, “with me sitting in my room, playing with dolls and action figures because they were all I had, it’s the first time I felt alone. And even Mom and Dad couldn’t change that. I was afraid to even touch them. The whole world seemed like this delicate, special place, and I was a monster stomping my way through it.”

  Troy prided himself on his ability to know the right thing to say, and in a moment like this, saying nothing was exactly the right thing to say.

  “They called in specialists who were able to make an enchanted bracelet that eventually reduced my strength to acceptable levels and kept it in check.” She held up her wrist to show the band of silver around it. “It works. Although the prescription needs to be increased every few years. The doctors say that one day it might not be enough or the counterspell might eventually cause a severe allergic reaction. But it works, even if it
gives me hives during equinoxes and solstices.”

  She scratched around it. It’d been insistently pricking her arms since she’d put it back on after the cyclops battle. It was as if her enchantment had been given the chance to run loose, and was unhappy to be chained again. The Lost God’s curse had something to do with it too. Troy had been scratching his hand as well, and if he was like her, entering the shack had triggered something, causing their marks to throb.

  He said, “Wow, Hel. That’s…I don’t…” He shook his head. “I mean…jeez.”

  She chuckled. “I’ve never seen you speechless before.”

  He shrugged. “It happens. Not very often, but it happens.”

  “They tell me it’s OK to take it off now and then. I don’t. I know it’s dumb because it’s not like I’m going to Hulk out the second it leaves my wrist.”

  “But you took it off when you were fighting Clifford,” said Troy.

  Helen rubbed the bracelet. “I didn’t have a choice. We were fighting for our lives.”

  “But you didn’t hurt anyone either,” he said.

  “He’s a godling. I don’t know if that counts.”

  “It counts. You were in control.”

  “Next you’ll tell me I don’t need this.”

  “I wouldn’t tell you that. If you need it, you need it. But let me ask you this. If you wore glasses would you be self-conscious?”

  She smirked. “It’s not the same.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “The nearsighted can’t accidentally kill people.”

  Troy turned around, thick spectacles on his face. “Why do you think the Titanic hit that iceberg? Hundreds dead. All because the captain thought he looked old in glasses. That’s a historical fact.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes, I read about it in the book Tragic Tales of Reckless Astigmatism.”

  Helen said, “No matter what else I take away from this conversation, I can at least be glad I’m unlikely to drown hundreds of innocent people.”

  “Not my original point, but you can take that away if you like.”

  They wasted another few minutes looking through the shack until Helen found something special in a pile of old shields. She knew she was on the right track when the divine throb became a sharp tingle in her fingertips. It subsided the second she touched the relic.