Olympian Challenger

by Astrid Arditi

  The divine audience boos while the contenders moan with dread. Kara barely made it through a third of the obstacle course.

  Josh doesn’t wait for Heracles to introduce him or for Kara to come out of the water before jumping onto the platform. He wears a conceited smile as he leaps from the revolving platform in direction of the bridge while Ariadne and Perseus jog to the moat to help Kara out.

  As a punishment for his lack of respect, Heracles doesn’t introduce him. The hero barely suppresses a cheer as Josh misses the bridge in his arrogant hurry and lands head first in the sawdust, failing the challenge as fast as he undertook it. A few giggles escape our group.

  “Well, that was quick,” Heracles says with a grin. “What is your name, girl?” he asks Amy.

  “Amy.” She ties the hem of her dress into a tight knot so it comes to just above her knees and doesn’t hinder her movements. Heracles echoes her name for the gods.

  My feelings for my roommate are still ambivalent, yet I find myself cheering for Amy as she pulls herself onto the platform. Her height puts her at a disadvantage compared to the other contenders, but, between her wits and her determination, I’m sure she can do better than them.

  There is a tension in her stance even on this first, relatively easy segment of the course. Gabriel squeezes my fingers as we both root for Amy to succeed.

  Like Kara, she waits one rotation to jump onto the suspension bridge, her hands thrown upward to catch the chains first. Once her grip is secured, she advances on the bridge, her light weight an advantage since it barely moves the suspension. She reaches the end of the bridge in no time, but now comes the segment I fear for her.

  The ropes dangle way too high for her petite frame. Even on her tiptoes, her head comes short of the first rope. But Amy is resourceful. Instead of jumping for the rope, she balances on top of the bridge’s chains like a ninja in a crouching position. Once the chains stop rocking, she carefully unfurls and extends her arms to the first rope. Then in one swift motion she throws her legs up, allowing her feet to brace on the counterweight. Her slim arms harden as she pulls herself to a standing position, swinging over the water.

  I never expected patience to be one of Amy’s virtues, but she swings in the air for a long time, eyeing the next rope. She rocks her hips to alter the direction of the rope, orienting it toward where she needs to go. Only when she’s inches from the next rope does she leap. Again her feet connect with the counterweight and she stands victorious above the water. She repeats the process three more times until she reaches the safety of a new platform—the one leading to the lethal climbing wall.

  Gabriel claps excitedly next to me, his round cheeks red from exhilaration. “Go, Amy!”

  A slashing sound resounds as a large rock, hanging from a chain, rends the air and hurtles toward Amy. Blindsided, she barely has time to duck, saving her head from being ripped off her shoulders. Unfortunately, she loses her balance and flails off the platform. The sawdust softens her fall.

  Gabriel and I run to her to make sure she’s all right.

  I help Amy stand while Gabriel fusses over her. “Are you hurt?”

  My roommate swats the hand he’s brought to her shoulder away. “I’m fine. Just pissed off.”

  I chuckle at her sour disposition. “Better that than decapitated.” She glares at me. “You did great. Seriously.”

  “But I didn’t win.”

  “Next time,” I promise as I pull her to her feet.

  By the time Gabriel and I resume our position at the end of the line, Heath has already reached the end of the suspension bridge.

  Imitating Amy in a fashion, he props one foot on the chain, which gives him enough elevation to reach the rope and stand on it. Then he rocks himself to the next, and the next, until he makes it to the last one.

  Thanks to Amy, Heath knows what to expect on the following platform. As a result, when he jumps onto the flat wooden beams of the platform, he drops onto his stomach. The boulder falls from the structure above and swats empty air where Heath would have been. He waits for the boulder to stop swinging then simply bypasses it on his way to the climbing wall.

  Although I still resent Heath with a passion, my chest clenches in fear as he surveys the spikes on the wall. They are meant to be used as footrests but could impale him if he falls off.

  Heath tackles the climbing wall slowly and methodically. His movements are deliberate as he props one slippery sandal onto the bottom spike while making a fist around another one at chest level. If he slips, the spike could pierce his heart like a butter knife. As he realizes this, he adjusts his position so his body is angled safely between both spears. Then he starts climbing.

  Every time, he waits for both his hands and feet to be secured before climbing onto the next rung of darts. When he finally reaches the top of the wall, at least six times his height, contenders and heroes exhale in relief. The top of the wall is about four feet wide, providing a safe haven for Heath to rest, but the way his shoulders tense, I’m afraid of what awaits him on the other side of the wall.

  “Can we see what comes next?” the boy with the reading glasses and clever eyes asks Heracles.

  “Go,” he says.

  We leave our organized line and shuffle to the side of the obstacle course. Four platforms dangle from chains, each three feet apart, forming some sort of staircase. Jumping from one platform to the next seems difficult enough, but the spikes waiting underneath to catch whoever falls off make it truly frightening.

  The stairs lead to a final, benign-looking platform, which tells me it’s probably the most dangerous after the boulder trap. Heath feels our gazes on him and glares at us, resenting the distraction.

  He shakes his head as if trying to push our presence away and takes a few steps back before dashing across the top of the wall and leaping toward the first dangling platform. His chest connects with the hard surface with a thump, but his legs are suspended in the void above the spikes. He tries to fight their pull and grab the chains, but his fingers slip against the metal. Before he can fall to his death, he manages to swing his weight to the side so when he lets go of the platform, he plummets onto the sawdust on the opposite side of the obstacle course instead of the spikes.

  A painful hiss escapes his lips as he hits the ground, echoed by disappointed murmurs from the crowd. Jason and Odysseus are instantly at his side, checking him for injuries. When Heath doesn’t stand up soon, I peek over the obstacle course at him. His leg is bent at an odd angle, obviously broken in many places, but the heroes don’t look worried. They wait for a spectral servant to bring them a silver dish and spoon, then Odysseus urges Heath to swallow whatever remedy is in the cup. Just half a spoon, and Heath’s leg gets restored to its original straight shape while his eyelids flutter open, all signs of pain gone from his face.

  “What did they give him?” Reading Glasses asks Heracles.

  “Ambrosia, food of the gods,” the hero answers. “It is a great privilege.”

  “So is risking a broken neck to entertain them, apparently,” Amy whispers next to me.

  Chapter 11

  I’m last to go, and although I’m less worried since I’ve seen the miracles ambrosia performs—like healing the chest wound on Giant Boy, aka Bob Huntington, Jr.—an army of butterflies swarms in the pit of my stomach as I face the obstacle course.

  Gabriel is still trying to shake himself dry after a plunge in the moat, but he gives me a thumbs-up. I let him go before me, afraid he’d pass out if he had to wait a second longer. But now I’m last—the worst place. Out of the thirty contenders, none have made it further than Heath. I don’t see why I’d be the first one to succeed. I tie my dress around my thighs like all girls did before me.

  “Hope Diaz.” Heracles calls my name for the gods, the deep rumble of his voice echoing inside my bones.

  I try to recall my mother’s words as she taught me to ride a bike without the training wheels. I was terrified, certain I’d fall off and hurt myself, but she he
ld onto me tight and whispered comforting words in my ear.

  Forget about the fall and focus on the ride. When you believe in yourself, you can do anything.

  Well, here’s to you, mom, I think as I thrust my body onto the first platform.

  From afar the revolving of the platform didn’t seem like much, but it is surprisingly dizzying—like doing ten pirouettes in a row. I focus on a statue at the back of the arena to find balance then wait for the right moment before jumping onto the suspension bridge. I hold on tight to the chains to stop myself from falling then remember Amy’s small steps that stopped the bridge from shaking too hard. I’m taller and heavier than she is, but I imitate her enough to cross the bridge with minimal rocking.

  Next comes the moat, where more than half of the contenders have failed. Never in a million years could I copy Amy’s hands-free stance on the chains, but I can prop one foot up like Heath, which helps me reach the first rope with my hands. Now to bring my feet up…

  Thanks to swimming, my arms are strong enough to make up for my lack of grace. I extend one leg up so my foot stands on the counterweight and grip the rope tight. Then trying to forget about the fall, I throw my other foot to meet the first one. I chortle when I realize I’ve made it to standing.

  My hips rock the rope toward the next one for a long time, until I only have to step onto the following counterweight. And again.

  After seeing the massive bump on a pretty blonde who received the boulder smack in the forehead, I hesitate before jumping onto the platform. What if I don’t crouch in time? Forget about the fall—what about getting knocked unconscious?

  I count to three then jump, flattening my body against the platform like a pancake. The boulder grazes my butt but doesn’t hurt me. I lie in wait until it stops moving and then walk around it to reach the climbing wall. The barbs look even deadlier up close. Once again, I use my upper body’s strength to my advantage, making it all the way to the top. This is where Heath failed and Bob Jr. plummeted onto a spike.

  None of the other contenders have made it this far, which flatters my ego but not enough to feed my confidence. There are no tricks here to make it from one platform to the next. Only way down is through blind hope and a leap of faith—alas, I’ve never been a trusting person.

  As I look down, my mother’s face hovers above each lethal spike. Making it through would be one more step toward getting my wish and healing her. But falling down could mean death and never seeing her again. I freeze.

  The odds aren’t in my favor, and despite the insane impulsion that drove me to jump after Heath yesterday, I usually only take calculated risks. Ambrosia healed many wounds today, but I doubt it could restart a still heart. If I fall the wrong way, I will die.

  “I forfeit,” I yell from my towering height toward the heroes.

  Judgmental commentaries stem from the audience.

  “You can’t,” Heracles says.

  Anger suffuses my face. “I can, and I will.”

  Heracles’s good-natured expression turns severe. “Then do as you will. But find your own way down.”

  I glance at the platforms ahead I’ve already decided to avoid then turn the other way, toward the climbing wall I just ascended. Both are equally dangerous and thorny. My eyes prickle with tears. I’m both humiliated and frightened.

  No one forfeited except for one boy who doesn’t know how to swim and was, understandably, afraid of the moat. Heracles let him out without the reproof he gave me. I know how to swim, and I can jump, but I don’t know how to survive deadly spears.

  I consider diving into the sawdust, but with nothing to slow down my fall, I have as much chance of breaking my neck as impaling myself the other way. I’m stuck. I have to move forward. Please, please, please let me survive this, I beg as I hurl myself toward the first platform.

  Cheers erupt as I grab the chains on both sides. Like Heath before, my legs want to drag me down, but I fight their pull, fueled by indignation and fear. Miraculously, I manage to pull myself to a standing position. The platform sways gently under me. Now I know how I’m going to make it through.

  I swing the platform back and forth, gaining height and momentum, like I did before with the ropes. When I make it close enough to the next platform, I saunter across the small divide and land safely. I reproduce the same technique until the fourth platform, leading to the final stage of the obstacle course.

  Pride makes me grin at Heracles, but my teacher still looks disappointed in me. To him I remain a quitter. He isn’t wrong, of course.

  Ashamed of my cowardice, I step without much consideration onto the last segment of the course. Hurriedly, I shuffle across the wooden boards, so close to the end I can almost taste it. This is when a board from the platform fades beneath my feet and I’m swallowed under the structure, falling pitifully to the arena’s floor, out of sight.

  The audience is only too happy to cheer for my misfortune while I’m left alone to find a way out of my wooden prison. Spotting a hole on one side, I slide underneath to face my teachers’ frowns.

  “Are you hurt?” Ariadne asks me.

  “Just my pride,” I answer, dusting myself off as I stand.

  “Heroes never forfeit,” Heracles comments drily. “You could have won.”

  Perseus chuckles. “But you didn’t.”

  “The challengers will now wrestle to display their physical strength,” Heracles bellows, clapping his hands so a fighting ring appears, drawn in the sawdust.

  “Hope Diaz will fight Jessica Grey.”

  The girl with the big biceps and tattooed skin smirks at me. Guess I know how my teacher likes to get retribution.

  “Keep that ambrosia ready,” I mutter through clenched teeth, bringing a smile to every hero’s lips.

  “Good luck,” Heracles whispers, his animosity toward me replaced by barely contained hilarity.

  By the time I’m done glaring at my teacher, Jessica is already inside the ring. She rubs her large wrists and jumps on the spot to warm up. She didn’t even make it to the first rope across the moat—she must be eager to prove herself to the gods after such a crushing defeat. This is bad.

  I’ve never fought once in my life. I don’t have siblings, and I prefer clever repartee over hair-pulling when faced with a bully. I step inside the ring, my legs trembling from exhaustion. The girl facing me looks like she fights for fun. I wonder what got her here yesterday.

  “The rules are simple,” Heracles says from outside the ring. “No weapons and no maiming. The first one to step out of the ring loses.”

  Both the divine crowd and the contenders cheer in response. They don’t have to say whom they root for—only Jessica has a chance here. I shudder. What kind of rules are these?

  Jessica, on the other hand, grins. Without leaving me time to breathe, she lunges. I duck at the last moment, bringing my arms before my face in a protective stance. It doesn’t protect me from the leg swipe she aims at my ankles. I yell in protest as I go airborne and land hard on my back.

  After that I stop yelling. My lungs have deflated on impact, and should I wish to beg for mercy, I wouldn’t have sufficient breath to do so. Jessica could kick me out of the ring and end it, but she apparently decided to give the gods a proper performance.

  She crouches next to me and brings my neck into a vicious headlock. I squirm and kick to get rid of the pressure on my windpipe, but my feet only meet air. It feels like fighting against a monstrous jaw attempting to decapitate me. When at last I give up and stand still, Jessica cradles me in her arms, almost motherly, before catapulting me out of the ring.

  The audience applauds their first victor while I lie forgotten in the sawdust, both windpipe and pride crushed.

  As Heracles announces the next fight, Bellerophon crouches at my side.

  “Where are you hurt?”

  “Everywhere,” I mouth inaudibly.

  The hero helps me to a standing position. At least one of my ribs was broken when I landed.

  “He
re,” he says, feeding me ambrosia.

  As soon as I taste the stuff, I want to get my butt kicked again just so I can have more of the remedy. It is by far the sweetest, most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.

  “Can I have a second spoonful?”

  Bellerophon shakes his head. “No, you cannot.”

  “Please?” I beg.

  “Do you know what ambrosia is, Hope?”

  I shake my head no. Considering all my woes have been cured at once and I feel like I could run a marathon while carrying a three-ton truck on my back, I’m thinking something like steroids.

  “Ichor,” Bellerophon says. “Gods’ blood.” I press my hands against my stomach, afraid I’m going to be sick. “Gods eat ambrosia to enhance their powers. Humans aren’t allowed to sample it. Because you have god’s blood in your veins, you can taste it, but only in small quantities. More than a spoonful a day and you’d risk becoming immortal yourself…and bring the wrath of the gods upon you.”

  The immortality bit doesn’t sound bad. The vendetta from the gods against me is terrifying.

  “You don’t know my story yet, but I did once defy the gods. Believe me, Hope, you do not want to reproduce my mistake.”

  I want to say that being immortal and allowed to live on Mount Olympus is more reward than punishment, but I sense there is more to Bellerophon’s story. His green gaze is haunted, and he’s the only hero in the arena who never smiles.

  “I believe you.”

  Chapter 12

  “Young heroes! Congratulations!” Aphrodite claps as she nears our exhausted group.

  We’re all standing in the arena, though those who already sampled the ambrosia during the obstacle course are nursing new wounds that cannot be healed magically—we’re truly rationed to one spoonful a day. These include Heath, who sports a nice bump on his forehead to match his inflated ego, and a gorgeous girl who grazed her shoulder against a spike earlier and now displays a green bruise on her collarbone that complements her eyes.