“Absolutely not.”
“But we’re training in an arena. Won’t the games demand that we fight?”
“You’re only training here. The competition doesn’t involve any kind of duel. Has no one explained the rules to you?”
“No, they haven’t.”
“Then I guess we’re once again at the mercy of the gods’ fancies.” He sighs. “I promise you there will be no fighting outside of the training phase.”
“So you do expect us to fight.” I point out.
“So you can learn to wield your weapons…and to please the gods.” He raises his voice so everyone can hear him. “Anyone who seriously maims his opponent during training will be immediately disqualified.”
A few disgruntled mutters echo around the room, but the majority of the contenders look grateful. Most city kids don’t get to spend a lot of time around deadly weapons.
“But when the competition starts, all bets are off, right?” Josh asks expectantly.
Heracles answers his question with a saddened frown. “Find your weapon, boy.”
I’m surer than ever that I need to leave Mount Olympus. And if I could, I would bring Gabriel along. I worry for my new friend, a lamb surrounded by wolves. But unlike me, he chose to be here. Even if I attempted to rescue him, I don’t think he wants to be saved.
My eyes scan the wall ahead of me, trying to figure out how a weapon is supposed to choose me. Even in great Mount Olympus, they remain inanimate objects as far as I can tell.
The swords and other sharp-edged weapons repulse me. Not only aren’t they selecting me, but they’re rejecting me as a potential candidate. At least we’re all in agreement.
There’s also a section with clubs and other bludgeoning objects, but although I like that they are devoid of lacerating edges, I don’t think I can lift even the smallest one of them.
That leaves me with distance weaponry such as bows and slingshots. I love the inoffensive appearance of the slingshots, especially the ones made of plain wood. They look like toys. But in case I have to fight, I don’t want to be wielding a plaything. I want something scary enough to make my assailants reconsider attacking me in the first place—something like a bow.
Gabriel must have had the same reasoning, because we both take hesitant steps toward the archery section of the wall. But at the last second, he halts then veers off to the left. I don’t see where he’s going. My gaze is glued to a slender bow positioned slightly above my eye level. Its limb is made of unpolished red mulberry wood the color of a flaming sunset. Elegant but not pretentious, it looks light enough for me. I know, even before I touch it, that this is the one. This bow was meant for me.
I reverently pull it off its hook. The wood warms up, responding to my touch.
“A good weapon.” Bellerophon, the hero with bushy eyebrows and a high forehead, nods as he observes my bow.
Only now do I notice the quiver strapped to his back.
“Will you teach me how to use it?” Emotion strangles my voice—I’m infatuated with a bow.
“It will be my honor,” he says and moves to another contender miming shooting arrows with a mean-looking crossbow.
I caress my weapon’s delicate limb, familiarizing myself with each of its grooves and edges. It’s so pretty.
Amy bounds close to me, brandishing an ornate dagger.
I manage to grin, despite being so dangerously close to the lethal blade. “And I’m supposed to be the princess? You’re like a metal detector for precious gems.”
Amy trails a finger over the bejeweled hilt. “We were meant for each other.”
“Without a doubt.”
Gabriel joins our group. He holds a heavy looking sword, tip pointed toward the ground.
“A sword?”
“It called to me,” he explains, struggling against the sword’s weight.
“You better hit the gym,” Amy says. “It’s broader than your chest.”
Gabriel blushes. “I’m stronger than I look.”
Amy rolls her eyes. If Gabriel can barely carry the sword, how can he be expected to fight with it?
Heracles speaks over the excited murmur that’s taken over our group. “The teachers will now help you get outfitted for your weapons.”
I go to Bellerophon while Amy heads for Ariadne, and Gabriel seeks Orestes. As I approach the hero, he takes me in from head to toe before selecting a quiver from a basket at his feet.
“This should do.” He hands me an oblong case made of sturdy red leather. I place my beloved bow inside the quiver and sling it over my shoulder, the flexible leather strap resting against my sternum the way Bellerophon carries his.
“Now you need arrows.” He bends down to retrieve the sharp-edged objects from another basket.
He hands me seven, all displaying bright red feathers. Both the quiver and arrows match the mulberry wood of my bow. I accept the arrows reluctantly. I can’t see how I’m supposed to train with a bow against someone without risking hurting him badly.
I stuff the arrows inside my quiver and thank Bellerophon. I don’t want to fight, but I can’t wait to test my bow and see what we can do together.
As we return to the arena, Amy admires the bejeweled sheath that hangs from her waist to carry her beautiful dagger. She carries a small, matching shield in her right hand. Gabriel pants, fighting against the bulk of the silver scabbard that holds his sword. I’m carrying his shield, since I’m the only one with both hands free.
Looking up, I see that the twelve Olympian gods, along with minor divinities, have taken their places in the arena. My chest constricts with dread. Between my outfit and bow, I must look like a gladiator, but the gods can’t begin to fathom how incongruous it feels for me.
Heath has chosen—or was chosen by—a lean sword. The biggest boy carries a mighty bludgeon while Reading Glasses went with a slingshot. Hunting Girl has a crossbow strapped to her back. Josh looks perfectly at ease with a trident and wide fisherman’s net dragging in the sawdust at his feet.
The setup of the arena has been altered while we were gone. White scarecrows are spaced out evenly around the arena to serve as targets. Heracles informed us of this first phase of our training before we left the arsenal. Today will be dedicated to familiarizing ourselves with our weapons under the heroes’ supervision, while we have the rest of the week to train on our own. The gods will observe us only today and the last day of training.
Each contender stops in front of a dummy, except for us archers who stand in the middle of the arena, far from our own scarecrow targets. With trembling hands, I extract my bow and an arrow from the quiver on my back. Bellerophon hovers behind the eight archers, including me.
“First, you need to decide which is your dominant eye,” he instructs us, his voice even.
I squint at the dummy ahead of me. I’m right-handed, but the vision in my left eye is clearer.
“Chin high, back straight.” My teacher jabs the middle of my back. I jolt upright as if electrocuted. “Feet wide.”
I move my feet apart ever so slightly. Bellerophon comes to stand before us.
“Nock your arrows.” He shows us how. “But keep them pointing down.” He cranes his neck to glare at us.
Presenting your back to a bunch of newbie archers must be unsettling. I try to mimic his movements, placing the shaft in the nook on the bow’s limb, while the nock rests against the string. Our teacher comes to inspect our bows, making slight corrections. He pries two of my fingers away from the arrow.
“Three fingers are enough.”
Once he’s satisfied with our grip, he steps away from the line of fire.
“Now raise and draw your bow.”
I’m surprised at how much resistance I encounter as I try to follow his command. The string that looks so light and flimsy fights me all the way, but I keep pulling, willing it to submit to me. In the end we reach a tacit accord—the bow won’t yield, but neither will I. My arm shakes as I finally pull the string before the middle o
f my chest.
“Take aim.” Bellerophon raises his right arm. I shut my right eye, focusing on my dummy at the back of the arena. “Release.” The hero lets his arm drop to his side.
I let go as the whoosh of eight arrows fills the space around me. My arrow falls pitifully in the sawdust nowhere near the dummy, a perfect metaphor for my crushed hopes.
Some did hit their target, although none reached the dummy’s chest. Hunting girl curses as hers missed altogether. I give her a sympathetic look, which she throws back in my face with a glare of her own. I have a feeling we’ll never be friends.
While Bellerophon inspects our targets, I search for Gabriel and Amy, hoping they are faring better than me.
Gabriel thrusts his sword angrily at his dummy’s legs, his face crunched as if he’s about to cry. I guess our weapons both have a sense of humor—they chose us despite the blatant fact that we’re no match for them. Amy on the other hand, appears to be having a blast. She skips in place before lunging at her dummy, slashing its chest. Straw comes out of the wound, along many others she’s already inflicted. I’m never arguing with my roommate again.
Heath practices next to her. In one swift flick of his wrist, he slashes his dummy from head to toe. I know the dummies aren’t people, but I feel a strong impulse to send a team of paramedics to their rescue. Some of the minor divinities cheer him on. One chubby-cheeked god whistles in admiration. A powerful gust of wind escapes his lips, ruffling the hair of the divinities seating next to him.
I stop breathing as I notice, standing about five seats away from him, the white-haired young god from the throne room. His face is tilted down so he can observe the contenders, his full lips puckered as if he finds us highly distasteful. I wonder why he came at all if he finds our little display so tiresome.
As if he senses me watching, he stares down at me. I’m petrified by the intensity of his gaze but refuse to reveal the effect he has on me. I may be an insignificant pawn in the gods’ games, but I have my pride. My eyes never waver from his as the corners of my mouth lift in a defiant grin. I won’t be belittled, not even by a god.
“Again,” Bellerophon commands, forcing me to break eye contact first. I draw a new arrow from my quiver, determined to do better this time.
Bellerophon surveys our dummies. At last the archers have all hit our target, although my arrow is stuck in its straw foot—better than nothing, I guess.
“Recover your arrows.”
I’m startled out of my hungry trance and divert my gaze from the platters of delicacies being passed between the gods in the audience. I bend to retrieve the closest arrow at my feet while the tallest boy, the one who wields the giant club, clears his throat.
“When do we eat?”
I could kiss him in gratitude. I’d never have dared to ask, but it’s been a day since I ate last and I’m ravenous.
Heracles pauses and a sheepish grin blooms on his lips. “Guess I forgot what it’s like being human. Please accept my sincerest apologies.”
He claps his powerful paws together. Instantly faint footsteps trot toward the arena, and soon large silver platters waltz into view. The platters seem to float on their own, but if I concentrate enough, I can almost discern the shapes of human bodies carrying them.
I step closer to Hunting Girl—whose name is Kara, I learned during practice—and whisper in her ear.
“Do you see them too?”
“I think so,” she replies, her usual bravado gone. “What are they? Ghosts?”
“I don’t know. They must be the servants Aphrodite told us about yesterday.”
We could discuss the matter at length, but instead I listen to my stomach’s grumbling pleas. I dart toward the platter closest to me, abandoning my spent arrows waiting in the sawdust—they can wait; I can’t.
The thirty contenders swarm around the food, stuffing their cheeks with anything they can find while making sure they don’t step on the spectral forms holding the trays.
I grab a roast chicken leg with one hand and a hunk of cheese with the other. There aren’t that many platters, and I can’t see how this will feed everyone until I see the spot where I just helped myself to cheese refill itself. Handy. Never in my life has food tasted so good. I moan inappropriately as I bite into the chicken, my taste buds going into sensorial overload. The sharp flavor of the cheese comes next. I help myself again.
Gabriel stands next to me, nibbling at a piece of cheese.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I mumble, tiny pieces of chicken sputtering from my full mouth.
Gabriel frowns—I must look like a cavewoman. “I’m watching my figure.”
I almost choke on the last bite, trying my best not to laugh. “You’re skinnier than this chicken.”
“I’m svelte. It’s a good thing.”
“Eat. You need strength to carry that big sword of yours.”
I didn’t mean it to sound like an innuendo, but Gabriel blushes. “I can carry my big sword fine. Thank you.”
“If you want a chance to win this competition, you should forget about your weight for a while. You’ll have your whole life to diet once you’re the champion.”
Relief lights up Gabriel’s blue eyes. He grabs the equivalent of a whole chicken from the platter and endeavors to eat it all at once.
“Slow down.” I chuckle. “Food’s not going anywhere.”
“Is it me or does the food here taste way better than on Earth?” he asks.
I shrug. Dumpster food would taste like caviar at this point. My throat burns from thirst now. As with the bath, the servants read my mind and the spectral form of a woman drifts over to me with a new platter holding bronze cups. I accept one and peek inside. It looks like grape juice except for the potent smell of alcohol.
“Could I have water instead, please?”
I gawk as the wine turns into water before my eyes. I gulp it down, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I nearly cry happy tears when the cup refills magically until my thirst is finally quenched.
“Can you believe this place?” Gabriel asks me, his eyes full of wonder.
I can’t. But then again, I never would have believed Mount Olympus was real if you’d asked me yesterday morning.
Chapter 10
Usually I’m not a big eater. So when I’m done wolfing down my third piece of chocolate cake, I’m nearly comatose. All I dream about is a bed and a nap, but the heroes have other plans for us.
“Time to resume our training.” Heracles claps so the servants can take the trays away.
Amy stuffs her pockets with Turkish delights. The sight brings a grin to my face.
The heroes beckon us to one side of the arena. Like a mirage, our dummies vanish as we approach. In their place, a deadly looking obstacle course sprouts in the center of the arena. The chocolate taste in my mouth turns to sand.
“Often, heroes’ worst opponents in a quest aren’t their enemies but nature’s obstacles,” Heracles explains. “Later this week we will train outside so you can get the feel of the land, but the obstacle course will remain so you can practice in a safe environment.”
I glare at the sharp metal spikes sprouting from a climbing wall—clearly, our definitions of safe differ greatly.
“Any injury incurred during training will be healed,” Ariadne announces.
I wish she’d extend her promise to the competition as well.
“Now take your places.” Heracles waves to the beginning of the obstacle course.
The minor divinities clap and cheer avidly. Twelve Olympian gods stare blankly down at us, their exquisite faces set in a mask of boredom. My gaze slides down toward the young god below them. As if expecting me, his dark gaze connects with mine and holds me captive. I could swear I saw his lips twitch into a grin, but it’s replaced by a jaded frown so fast I may have dreamt it. His eyes shift away from mine deliberately, losing themselves in the distance.
By the time I look down, weapons line one wall of the arena while a line of contenders has fo
rmed before the obstacle course. I place my quiver next to the other weapons.
As expected, the first people in the lineup are Kara the huntress, bloodthirsty Josh Matlin, and Amy. Coming in fourth is Heath, his calculating navy stare glued to the obstacle course, assessing possible ways to tackle it. In fifth position comes Giant Boy and following him is the girl with the muscular arms and tattoos I noticed in the throne room yesterday. The rest of the contenders blend together, with Gabriel and me at the end of the line. I press Gabriel’s fingers between mine to calm his quivering.
Heracles bends toward Kara and whispers something in her ear. She responds in a similar manner while shaking her arms as if to rid them of the adrenaline that makes her fingers tremble.
“Kara Vaughn will begin,” Heracles bellows to introduce her to the gods.
Kara closes her eyes and inhales deeply. She steps first onto a round wooden platform that swirls on an invisible axis. It doesn’t seem to be going fast, but the sight of her spinning is enough to make me feel queasy. She waits one full spin before jumping gracefully onto the next segment of the obstacle course, a suspension bridge that creaks as she lands on the first slat held by rusty chains. Even her careful steps jostle the bridge erratically from left to right. Her knuckles turn white as she grips the chains on both sides to stay upright. Her head is held high, her eyes glued to her destination as she slowly crosses the bridge. I make note of everything Kara does right, hoping to reproduce her steps when my time comes.
The bridge leads to a moat filled with water. Above the water, ropes resembling lianas hang. Each rope is finished with a disk-like counterweight. I watch Kara, waiting to see how she plans to cross the moat. Her hands keep a grip on the chains as she bends her knees to gain momentum, then she hurls herself at the first rope that hangs mere inches away from her. Her hands clasp the rope, but as she flings her feet toward the counterweight, they slip against the metal. Her slender arms bulge with the effort of holding on to the rope, but her hands slide against the smooth surface until she’s forced to let go and lands in the water with a sonorous splash.
Olympian Challenger Page 6
