Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two

by Bernard Evslin

  Hercules raced toward the sound to see if he could help. He had run only a few steps, however, when something came charging out of the brush. He stared in amazement. What he saw was a giant wearing armor, and it was growling like an angry bear. Looking more closely, he saw that it was a bear rearing up on its hind legs, but such a bear as he had never seen—a full-sized one, sheathed in ice. The sun striking off the ice made it glitter like armor.

  It moved toward him, growling more savagely than ever. Now bears do not usually grow angry unless they feel themselves threatened, or, in the case of a female, if she sees someone approaching her cubs. Thinking fast, Hercules realized what must have happened. This bear, emerging from a swim in the lake, had been caught in the sudden frost, and the water froze on its fur, sheathing it in ice. This made the beast very uncomfortable. And now, in confused rage, it sought someone to fix the blame on.

  The huge glittering animal was very close now, and Hercules prepared to fight. It was his custom, in a fight, always to charge first. But he hesitated. He did not relish the idea of those arms closing about him in a mighty icy hug. Nor did he particularly want to hurt the bear. But it was coming at him; he had to do something. He cast his spear with the full-armed throw that could split a tree—and was astounded to see it skid off the bear, just chipping away a few flakes of ice. He realized then that the thick ice sheath was indeed like armor, but even better protection because it was slippery.

  So Hercules, who had never avoided a fight in his short life, whirled now and raced away.

  Denied his wrestling that day, and feeling himself aflame with the unfinished fight, he galloped home through the heavy snow, seeking the thickest drifts to plow through.

  The weather warmed again, and spring resumed. The fund of wild energy that was in Hercules seemed to grow and grow. He wandered far from the city and began to climb mountains, the steeper the better, not plodding up, but running as hard as he could, and never stopping to rest.

  One day, he came upon a range of foothills, not too high but quite steep, and he happily raced up one slope, over the top, down the back slope, and on to another hill—until he had done every one of the eight hills without stopping.

  It was a hot day, and coming down the last hill he was delighted to find that a fast-moving stream was tumbling over a rocky ledge to become a waterfall. Without doffing his tunic, he jumped under the fall and stood under the icy shower, shouting with joy. Cooled off now, he began to explore, and found himself on a high meadow, cupped by the eight hills. It was the loveliest meadow he had ever seen, carpeted by wildflowers, a great mix of them, filling the air with fragrance and the sleepy hum of bees, and blazing with sudden pure colors among thick grass and loose underbrush.

  This meadow became young Hercules’ secret place, and he came there as often as he could after wrestling bears, and uprooting trees, and racing up and down the hills. He was further delighted to find that the meadow was inhabited by a clan of flower nymphs, who spent part of each morning plucking the wild blossoms and steeping them in a great vat of springwater. As soon as they saw Hercules, though, they would leave the flowers to steep themselves and run across the meadow to dance with him.

  At first, he thought they were making wine in the vat, but when he asked for a drink they laughed at him.

  “That is not wine we’re making,” said a nymph named Numa, “but various dyes. For know, oh handsome youth, that we serve Iris, the rainbow goddess. Every so often she comes down here and dips her gauze into our vat; they become the colored streamers which she flings across the sky after a storm, and which then gather themselves into a great bridge of colors.”

  “Do you think I might see Iris sometime?” asked Hercules. “Will you tell me when she’s about to visit?”

  “No, we don’t think so,” said Numa. “She’s enchantingly beautiful. Once you saw her you would fall in love with her and forget all about us.”

  “Love? Love …” said Hercules. “I don’t know. I told my mother I thought I was in love with all of you, but she laughed at me and said I was much too young to know what love was.”

  “Tell her we’ll teach you,” said the nymph.

  When Hercules next came to the meadow, it seemed deserted. He listened for the happy voices of the nymphs, but did not hear them. Then he did hear something. It was not a happy sound. It seemed like the sound of weeping—not an ugly aggressive sobbing, but like the mourning of doves. He searched and found the nymphs huddled in a glade. All were weeping, but each one was trying to comfort the one next to her, while still weeping herself.

  “What’s the matter?” cried Hercules.

  They lifted tear-stained faces to him. Then arose and surrounded him, all talking at once.

  “One at a time,” said Hercules. “I can’t make out what you’re saying.”

  Then Numa gestured the others to silence, and said, “Let me tell him. Remember that rainstorm we had last week? Well, when the air cleared, we watched the sky because we knew that after so hard a rain Iris would appear. And she did. She stretched her bow across the sky, and we rejoiced to see that one foot of it was planted here because that meant she would slide down and visit us. Then we saw her sliding. She grew larger and larger as we watched until we could see the yellow hair whipping about her face, and were calling to her joyously when, suddenly, the sky blackened, blotting the rainbow. An enormous black-caped figure came hurtling down toward Iris. It engulfed her, snatched her off her bridge of colors, took her into its darkness—spread the wings of its cape and flew north. Oh woe and wail away, our Iris was gone, our lovely goddess. She’s gone, gone, gone, and we’ll never see her again.”

  “She’s a goddess, after all,” said Hercules. “And can escape from whatever monster it was that took her.”

  “Ah, no,” said Numa. “It was no monster but a Titan, a Wind Titan, the most powerful of all. It was Boreas, the North Wind; we recognized him. And from his clutch no one escapes.”

  “And he flew back north, you say?”

  “Yes,” she said. “There he dwells in an ice castle on the very northern rim of the earth. And there, no doubt, he means to cage up our poor bright Iris, and freeze her into submission.”

  “Farewell,” said Hercules.

  “Where are you going?” cried the nymphs.

  “North,” he said.

  3

  The Frost Demons

  The fleet, joyful goddess who had used the entire blue vault of heaven as her playground was unprepared for captivity. As soon as she knew the great clutch of the North Wind upon her, when his black cloak quenched her colors, she felt so grossly violated that she wished to shed her immortality and die.

  But she was a goddess. She could not die. She could suffer, but not die.

  She tried to call for help. The terrible icy clutch froze the screams in her throat and she could utter no sound. Boreas clasped her to him as he flew northward. His cloak covered her body, but her head poked out, and she could watch the water sliding away far below.

  She swooned briefly then. When she came to, she saw a whale spouting; its spume froze, glinting in the weak sunlight and casting fractured colors. The shards of light reminded her of her own blotted colors, and a hot pang of grief pierced her breast.

  But the heat thawed her. Her courage awoke, and she began to think how she might free herself. “I’m supposed to have many friends,” she thought. “Will they dare? Will they attempt to save me? Who among my admirers on Olympus will brave the North Wind’s wrath? Oh, the gods can be courageous where their own interests are concerned, but they don’t like to put themselves out for anyone else. There may be someone though. I can only hope there may be one who will follow me here and seek to rescue me. But how will anyone find me? Who could possibly guess that I’ve been taken to this icy waste? If I could only leave some kind of sign. But of course! There is one unmistakable sign of my presence. How stupid of me not to think of it before.”

  But she knew she could do nothing yet, so she bid
ed her time. And when Boreas came to earth and began to drag her toward his ice castle, she slipped his grasp and flung her colors into the sky—where they immediately froze.

  And that arch of color frozen into the leaden sky was what Hercules saw as he approached the rim of the world. He knew then that he must be nearing the North Wind’s castle and pressed forward with renewed hope.

  Now, Boreas knew that he was well hated, and that many enemies wished his destruction. And while he also suspected that they were too much afraid of him to attempt an assault, he did not believe in taking chances and had surrounded himself with creatures so fearsome that no one would dare trespass.

  The icy plain about his castle was the hunting ground of great wolves that would attack any stranger. Polar bears also prowled; they would devour anything that moved except their own cubs. Above hovered arctic owls, larger than eagles. Boreas used them like falcons. At his whistle they would stoop upon any living thing passing below, raking with their meat-hook claws, stabbing with their murderous beaks.

  Worst of all, though, were the frost demons. They looked like living icicles, but were not made of ice. They were made of translucent metal with a vital thread of pink fire pulsing inside. Stumpy legs propelled their long tapering bodies with terrific speed. After a short run they would launch themselves, traveling through the air faster than any arrow shot from any bow. When their pointed heads hit their targets—tree, wall, beast, or armored man—they would pass right through and come out the other side.

  Hercules’ first impulse when faced by an enemy was to attack. And at this time he was very young and exceedingly rash. Nevertheless, he realized that this array of beasts and demons was far too formidable for him to make any headlong assault. His only remote chance of any kind of success, he knew, was to make a plan.

  First he had to hide himself, for the wolves were already beginning to growl as if they had caught his scent, and the great owls were screaming overhead. Fortunately, the castle grounds were littered with bones and skulls of beasts that had been hunted and eaten. He dived among this rubble of bones, burrowed in and made a nest. From there he could peer out and see what was happening without being seen himself.

  He stared in wonder at the enormous polar bears and the gigantic white wolves. He carefully studied the canopy of white owls. Most of all, though, he was impressed by those living weapons, the frost demons. He watched in astonishment as they hunted.

  For the frost demons used themselves as augers. One of them would hurl itself into the air and come down headfirst. Its iron-hard pointed skull would drive a hole into the ice. Again and again it would do this, enlarging the hole. When it was large enough, the demon would crouch at its edge and wait there until a walrus poked its head out. Then the demon would seize the walrus by its tusks, flip it out of the water onto the ice, and eat it raw.

  After the demons were sated and left their water holes, the polar bears would come and squat in their turn, waiting for walruses.

  Watching them, Hercules began to put together a battle plan. It meant utter risk, he knew, but it was his one slim chance.

  He waited until the frost demons had left the largest water hole and the polar bears had gathered. Then he burst from his nest of bones, hurtled across the ice, leaped mightily, turned in the air, and dived over the circle of bears—into the hole. He had gulped a great breath of air while diving and held that breath as he entered the water and felt the viselike cold trying to crush his rib cage.

  He didn’t linger in the water. All he wanted to do was to get wet. Groping with his hands, he found the rim of the hole and pushed down with all the strength of his arms while doing a frog kick with his legs—lifting himself into the air again, soaring the other way over the circle of bears.

  The water froze on him before he hit the ground. Now he was encased in ice—just as that bear had been back in Thebes, that bear whose icy armor had stopped his spear.

  Two polar bears closed with him. He stood there, legs planted. They couldn’t knock him over. They tried to rake him with their claws, tried to crush him in their jaws, but neither fang nor claw could pierce the hard ice. He swung his arms like clubs; they cracked against the bears, smashing skulls. The polar bears fell.

  Wolves attacked. They leaped upon this icy form, detecting the meat underneath. They tried to drag him down, savaging him with their teeth. They could not budge him; their fangs could not pierce the ice. He swung his arms again, clubbing the wolves. They dodged away from him and fled, whimpering.

  Now the frost demons attacked. On their stumpy legs they whizzed across the ground with terrific speed, launched themselves into the air and came toward him like a flight of living arrows. Pointed heads hit him, seven of them at once, and bore him to the ground. Then the demons leaped, turning in the air, diving down at him, trying to pierce him with their spearlike heads.

  Chips of ice flew but the armor held. Hercules scrambled to his feet, grasped two of the demons about the middle, one in each hand, and, using them as weapons, stabbed each to death with the other. They kept attacking. Hitting him with such force that the ice chips flew, and he felt himself bruising inside his armor. But he kept catching the demons in his hands and two by two he stabbed them to death, using one against the other. Finally, those left alive retreated; they sped toward the castle to receive further orders from Boreas.

  Whereupon Hercules proceeded with the rest of his plan. He fell to the ice and sprawled there, pretending to be too weak to arise. He lay still, waiting for an owl to attack. Sure enough, one of the great white birds, seeing him lie there, dived upon him, raking him with its meat-hook talons, stabbing with its beak. It chipped ice, but could not pierce it.

  Hercules waited. Having wandered the beaches of his homeland all during his boyhood, he had become acquainted with seabirds, especially gulls, and one habit of theirs had kindled an idea. So he waited. The owl clutched him in its great talons, tried to pull him into the air. Hercules felt himself being pulled, but he knew he was too heavy for one bird. He heard the owl scream, heard others scream in response. Felt the shock as they landed on him.

  Then, four of them fastened their talons on him. Beating their great wings, they labored upward. What they meant to do, he knew, was to take him high then drop him, hoping to crack his icy carapace—just as gulls drop clams onto rocks to break their shells.

  Up, up they flew, up above the top of the frozen rainbow. At that point, Hercules suddenly thrashed his arms and legs—kicked free, and dropped. Reaching as far as he could, he just managed to grasp the rainbow and clutch it fast. He balanced himself on the arch of colors and fought off the owls as they dived at him again.

  He caught one by its beak, and with a whiplash movement broke its neck and flung it away. The others flew off, screaming. Hercules perched on the rainbow and fixed his eyes on the castle, waiting for Boreas to come out. He was one big bruise. Strangely enough, though, despite his casing of ice, his violent activity and the battle rage kept him warm.

  He sat there, waiting. He knew that Boreas, when a wind, moved through the air as a vast disembodied force, too strong to be contained in any physique … but that when he came to earth resumed his Titan form. Nevertheless, Hercules gasped when he saw what emerged from the castle. For Boreas was perhaps the largest of all the Titans.

  Wrapped in his black cape, he looked like a hundred-foot cedar tree moving over the ground. Hercules held very still. The owls were still screaming above him. And Boreas, hearing them scream, strode toward the foot of the rainbow. Closer and closer he came.

  Hercules waited. And when Boreas neared the foot of the rainbow, Hercules moved. He arose and leaped. Encased in his massive ice armor, he fell a quarter of a mile toward the Titan, picked up speed as he went. And fell upon Boreas like a thunderbolt, knocking him into the permafrost, driving him under.

  Blood spread beneath the ice—the curious pink blood, called ichor, which runs in the veins of gods and Titans. Hercules knew that, wounded as he was, Boreas wou
ld have trouble floundering up again. How much time, though, this would give him he did not know. He raced toward the castle, calling, “Iris! Iris!”

  Slow footed in his heavy casing of ice, he lumbered on, and tried to run faster when he heard a glad cry. Without stopping, he crashed into the bronze portal, burst it open, swept up Iris, who had been running to meet him. Cradling her in his arms, he raced away from the ugly pile that was the North Wind’s castle.

  “Thank you … thank you …” said Iris. “Whoever you are, young stranger, thank you. For you alone have come to save me when no one else would.”

  Reaching up, she wrapped her arms about his head and kissed the icy helmet that covered his head. Hercules, who had never been kissed by anyone but his mother, blushed so hotly that his frozen casing melted, drenching the rainbow goddess. But she was crooning in delight, so overjoyed that she did not feel the icy cascade.

  And Hercules ran faster than ever. For without his armor he did not wish to meet the frost demons again.

  4

  Daughter of the Rainbow

  Iris was a very busy goddess. In addition to her after-storm duties she served as Hera’s messenger. And was so sweet natured and obliging that all the gods had fallen into the habit of asking her to do favors for them. Her popularity also enabled her to act as peacemaker. And she flitted about Olympus, seeking to patch up the feuds that simmered like heat lightning about the crags of the sacred mountain.

  For all her busyness, however, she took better care of her child than most goddesses. She managed to spend at least one day a week with Iole, and had arranged with the flower nymphs to care for the little girl the rest of the time. Iole was very fond of the sleek laughing creatures, and was happy dwelling among them. She missed her mother, nevertheless, and was overjoyed when the gorgeous young goddess came to visit her.