by Amy Wolf
“Northwest,” Helen answered. “According to the myths.”
“Well,” Nick said, “who needs maps when you’ve got myths?”
Helen narrowed her eyes as they began their trek. Since she was a Titan, and had a sense of direction, Nick let her go first.
“How far?” he asked.
“Not more than a hundred stadia.”
“Huh?”
“A stadion is the length of one Olympic field.”
“Oh,” said Nick, “can you convert that into miles?”
She shook her head.
He shrugged, and they started to walk, treading a dusty path that, Nick hoped, would eventually end up somewhere. At this point, it seemed doubtful, and all he knew was that he was wet and hungry.
“So . . . Athena couldn’t drop some olives?” he mumbled. “Not even a fig?”
Helen just smiled. Clearly, her heritage meant she could just go without eating. And, from his dad, he’d gotten exactly . . . nothing.
“Yay,” said Nick, as they finally arrived at what passed for civilization.
Helen, who looked fresher than when they’d started, stepped up to an old shepherd tending to his goats.
Nick heard blah-blah-blah, then something about “Nikólaos of Verde.” He raised a brow. The shepherd blah-blahed until Helen turned back to Nick.
“He says he is Molorchos of Cleonae. He hopes that the great Hero can rid them of the scourge that has recently taken his son.”
“Don’t tell me—a lion?” Nick asked.
“Yes,” said Helen, talking more with Molorchos. “He says if you return soon, he’ll sacrifice a ram to Zeus. If you don’t, he’ll sacrifice it anyway.”
“To whom?” Nick asked.
“Um, to your dead spirit.”
“I’m sure it’ll enjoy the gift.”
“He says,” said Helen, “that the lion lives in a cave near the Nemea valley. It’s been killing everyone there.”
This made Nick feel slightly nauseous. He gave Molorchos a forced smile and dragged Helen back to the path.
“This is insane!” he said fiercely. “I’m just a guy who got beat up at school and doesn’t know how to fight.”
“Yet, you hold the state record,” she said.
“Not in boxing or fencing!”
“You showed you could vanquish others.”
“I ran,” Nick hissed, “away from them. I’m no Hero, and you know it.”
The goats behind him bleated.
“Have your forgotten,” asked Helen, “that you are the son of Chiron? That he and the gods chose you? Also, at your academy, did you have any of these?”
She pointed to one of Nick’s biceps.
“Nope,” he said, “they’re new, thanks to pops. But, trust—I can’t kill a lion! I don’t even know how to pet one.”
“Nikólaos,” said Helen, staring him straight in the eye, “you have the armor and weapons. I’m sure when you’re faced with the beast, something will come to mind.”
“And if it doesn’t,” Nick asked, “does he wear me as a coat?”
“Recall Athena,” said Helen. “Would she let you perish?”
“But she can’t help me,” Nick whined, trying not to.
“True,” said Helen. “That is why you must find strength within.”
“All my strength is here,” Nick said, flexing. “Within, it’s pretty much hollow.”
Helen just shook her head, turning back to the shepherd. After a brief chat, he offered them cheese, bread . . . and wine. Nick wolfed down the meal, wincing a bit at the garlic-soaked beverage.
“Blech,” he told Helen.
“You liked it enough before.”
“I know, but I wasn’t tasting it.”
She gave a slight smile.
“In our world,” she said, “garlic is an aphrodisiac.”
Nick spit out a mouthful of liquid.
“Now you tell me!” he cried.
When he was done (she barely ate), she beckoned for him to get up.
“If this lion is on the hunt,” she said, “we better get moving.”
“Good thinking,” Nick said between clenched teeth.
They both nodded to Molorchos as Nick trailed Helen reluctantly. Hope that ram tastes good, he thought, when they chow it down in my memory!
The rest of their walk was . . . hot. It was just like L.A.! When the sun finally set, pushed by that wacky dude Helios, Nick looked to Helen for guidance. She examined a cliff face, stopping before a small cave.
“Best to sleep here,” she said. “I have some food left over.”
“I nominate you,” Nick said, “for helper of the year.”
She laughed. They both bent their heads to enter, listening in the dark.
“Seems safe,” Nick shrugged, accepting a lump of cheese. “As long as Leo doesn’t have a Mrs. Leo.”
After today—with its whirlpool, wind, and long walk—Nick felt his new muscles ache. Try as he might, he just couldn’t sleep on dirt. How he longed for his bed in P.R.! Clean sheets, firm mattress, and fluffy pillows for days! He wished there was something soft here, but—besides Helen—there wasn’t. And, if he put his head in her lap, she would rightfully kick his butt. He watched her slide down, leaning against a wall, comfy as at a Hilton. Titans. Still, as a wannabe Hero, it was his job to protect her. He kept his armor on and blocked the cave with his body, Pelian spear in one hand and flat sword in the other.
When he woke at dawn, he couldn’t remember dreaming, but somehow, that didn’t surprise him. In Mýthos, with its monsters and Gorgons and gods, you were basically dreaming all day.
“Helen?” Nick called.
Propping himself on one arm, he looked toward the rear of the cave.
“Here,” she called, and he twisted around to find her just outside, raising her hands to the sky.
“Praying for rain?” he asked.
“No. To Athena.”
Nick nodded, munching on leftover bread. After she finished her prayer, she joined him back on the path.
“So,” said Nick, not knowing if he should raise this. “You still okay with her? I mean, after she made you Medusa?”
“Yes,” said Helen. “In her eyes, I was guilty. For that, I cannot blame her.”
“Man.” Nick shook his head. “Mýthos needs to get woke.”
They trudged along in silence until Nick couldn’t take it anymore. He had to divert his thoughts from wherever this narrow path led.
“So,” he said. “Let’s talk about Herc. He must have fought this lion. That would explain his fur coat.”
“Yes,” said Helen.
“Um . . . may I ask how?”
“He stunned the beast with his club. Then, with his great strength, he strangled it with his hands.”
“Look,” Nick whimpered. “I’ve seen this guy: he’s like ten Stallones. I’m only Rocky on top.”
“You must bring your own strengths.”
“I’d love to know what those are.”
“Try not to think too much. Relax. Rely on your Hero’s instinct.”
“Right now, it’s telling me to run.”
Helen tried to ignore him.
“Look,” she said. “This must be the valley of Nemea.”
Nick stared at an overgrown pasture minus even one sheep.
“See?” he said. “That lion’s killed everyone. And I’m his second breakfast!”
“Calm down,” Helen advised. “Don’t go into this so rattled.”
“What else can I be?” Nick asked. “I have this strange fear: of being eaten alive. I’ve seen it happen on YouTube!”
They both froze as a low roar resounded from a nearby cave.
“That’s no lion,” Nick cried, “that’s a straight-up T. Rex!”
He clutched his sword so tightly that the hilt left dents in his palm.
“Gather yourself,” said Helen. “This is what you were born to do.”
“No,” Nick whispered. “I was born to go t
o an Ivy. Now, I won’t live to take my AP’s.”
“Put your old life behind you,” said Helen, grabbing one of his arms. “This is a new Nick—a new Nikólaos, son of Chiron. Bring honor to your father and to the gods above.”
Nick felt the sting of tears as, along with Helen, he took a few shaky steps toward that cave. Again, the lion’s roar, amplified by rock, echoed all over the valley. Nick frantically tried to think of all the times he’d been brave: actually, there were none. Besides winning track meets, he didn’t have much to offer. Then, he glanced down at Helen and came up with a reason to do this: a girl that he liked was watching!
Just a footstep away from his fate, Nick tried to steady his voice.
“Please tell Chiron to let my mom know. She’ll worry when I don’t come back.”
“You will come back,” said Helen, dodging his long cheek guards to give him a kiss on the lips.
“Whoa.” Now Nick felt excitement mixed up with all that fear. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered, wanting to kiss her back. But what good would that do now?
From the cave, they both heard growling. That was one big kitty. Nick tried, despite his shaking, to summon his inner hero.
“Here I go!” he yelled. “Athena, don’t help me but help me!”
He forced himself into that dank, murky cave. Naturally, it was huge. And, as he’d somehow expected, the lion was waiting for him atop a far rock platform. Man, he was not like the ones Nick had seen at the zoo. This thing was ginormous, like a whole pride packed into one. When it saw Nick enter, it raised up on his haunches, its front paws as big as a polar bear’s!
Unlike Herc—or so he assumed—Nick began to shake more, causing his armor to clank. Hero time, he thought, trying to quiet his muscles. C’mon, he told himself, you may have the courage of Shaggy, but you’ve got half the body of Brad!
Nick crept toward the lion. He knew, without being told, that it wouldn’t come to him.
“Okay, Leo,” he told it, “I apologize in advance.”
He took up his spear, hurling it like a javelin. Yes! He’d hit that huge beast square on its tawny chest.
But his triumph was short as the spear came back like a boomerang.
“Great,” Nick muttered, retrieving it from the floor. It was clear that the lion’s hide—just like his own armor—could not be pierced by weapons.
“Plan B,” Nick said, and, from behind him, he heard the sound of quick breathing. “Helen, get out!” he yelled.
“You can do this,” she told him like an overly perky cheerleader.
“I don’t think so,” Nick whispered, but still, he crawled toward the beast, which sat on its hind paws, snarling.
“My, what big teeth you have,” Nick told it.
A guttural growl was his answer.
Okay, he thought: hide, impenetrable; teeth, sharp. Plan B was slowly forming, knocking inside his skull.
“COME GET ME!” Nick shouted, running full-tilt toward the lion.
He was sure to keep his head up, seeing a flash of mane, then two front paws extending, black nails aimed for his face.
“Here!” Nick cried, using all his strength to hurl the Pelian spear into the lion’s mouth.
He saw the beast falter, its deadly embrace pre-empted. Instead, it fell to the floor, stone dead, nearly crushing Nick as it hit.
“I told you!” cried Helen, running up to his side. “You did it. You found the Hero within.”
Now that it was over, Nick felt his muscles untense: so much that he sprawled on the floor like a human bowl of Jell-O.
“He’s gone now,” Nick said weakly, accepting her hand to get up. “At least I didn’t shame yo—uh, the gods.”
Helen nodded.
“You must skin the beast,” she told him, “to prove that it’s really dead.”
“Yuck,” Nick said. He was from Cali: not known as a land of hunters. “Do I have to?”
Helen gave him a side eye which made him extend his sword. He couldn’t look (like when they drew blood at the doctor’s) but was sure he hadn’t cut anything.
“It’s—” he said to Helen.
“—Impenetrable,” she finished. “Now, what did Heracles do?”
“He didn’t say,” said Nick. “In fact, he didn’t say much. He was too busy selling scrolls.”
Nick sighed and tried to think: how could he bring back proof if the lion didn’t cooperate? Then—though he swore he was sane—he heard a voice in his head.
“Use one of the paws,” it told him, “to cut the pelt.”
“Genius!” Nick yelled, which earned him a look from Helen. “Hey,” he told her, “you keep praying to your goddess, okay?”
She nodded slowly as Nick struggled with a front paw. Then, with its stiff black nails, he neatly sliced off the other.
“Done!” Nick shouted, holding up his bloody prize. He hoped he wouldn’t be sick.
“Excellent,” said Helen, “but don’t you want the whole skin?”
“Um, no,” Nick said, running out of the cave. He called back. “I know that fashion gets weird but I’m not wearing lion. Those guys from PETA are scary.”
Helen’s Secret
The walk back to Cleonae was a heck of a lot more cheerful than the one they’d taken that morning. Nick nearly bounced in his sandals as he clutched the lion’s paw. Maybe he could hold onto it—use it as a good-luck charm. Then he looked down at those nails which could double as railroad spikes.
“Nope,” he said.
“What?” asked Helen. “Let me look at your sword.”
Nick handed it over. They both got close to the blade to see an etched red “ε” an inch down from the “Τ.”
“That’s two!” Helen crowed. “Only ten to go.”
“Ten?” Nick repeated, his mood dampened as they reached the town. Did there have to be so many? Couldn’t he do like three?
Nick tried to smile as Molorchos ran up. The shepherd stared, wide-eyed, at the giant paw. What followed was a stream of babble.
“He says,” said Helen, “‘Bless the gods!’ And urges his son Tomaso to put a ram on the spit.”
A young boy down the road ran off in excitement.
Nick tried to share it.
“Well, I’m still alive. And I guess we get lunch.”
Molorchos laughed like a child. He spoke gibberish to other townsfolk, who gathered in awe behind him.
Helen turned to Nick.
“They say you’re the equal of Heracles, though you won’t wear the pelt.”
“Tell them it’s too hot,” said Nick. “Plus, it’s not my size.”
The townsfolk dragged him to a dusty square where a ram was already roasting. They plied Nick with wine until the main course (which smelled heavenly) was taken off whole from its spit.
“Got any chops?” Nick asked Tomaso, which Helen repeated in Greek. Spread lightly with fresh honey, they almost made that First Labor worth it!
“Delicious,” Nick tried to say, but his mouth was full.
Helen too seemed happy as she sat and munched.
“You see?” she said. “Once you finish a Labor, all the people love you.”
“Reminds me of P.R.” Helen gave him a smile. “Everyone loves you after you’ve won a meet. Before that, you don’t exist.”
“So,” she puzzled out, “you only come alive when you’re crowned with the wreath?”
“In the eyes of others, yes.”
She sighed.
“It is not so different here.”
Nick nodded, downing another chop. Wiping honey from his chin, he looked down at his propped-up shield. “Hey, I hate to ask, but what does that thing say is up next?”
“Oh,” she said, bending over a raised image. “Oh, no.”
“Oh no,’ what?” he asked. “Is it worse than Leo?”
“Well . . .” she said, straightening. “You need to-to slay the Hydra.”
Nick nearly choked.
“Isn’t that the snake with three heads?�
�
“Close,” said Helen. “This one’s the Lernaean Hydra, and it has, um, nine heads.”
“Nine?” Nick asked, spitting out pieces of meat.
“And, well, there’s one more thing.”
“Don’t tell me,” said Nick. “It can’t be killed?”
“Almost. You see, the center head is immortal.”
Nick dropped his plate in the dirt.
“You have got to be kidding!” he shouted.
“I seldom do,” she said. “Turning men to stone was not humorous.”
Nick didn’t know what to say. He just got up and starting pacing in the dirt. Now, the pungent smell of ram was making him want to throw up.
“‘Bye,” he called to Molorchos, giving him a big wave. “Thanks for all the sheep! Gotta move on; be a Hero.”
The townsfolk set up a cheer as he and Helen walked back to the path.
“About this snake,” said Nick.
“The Lernaean Hydra.”
“Okay. First of all—where is it?”
“The myth says it lives by a swamp outside of Lake Lerna.”
“I’m not too anxious to get there. Are you?”
“Not really,” she said, looking down. “I could use a break from monsters. Especially having been one.”
“What do you mean?”
“In a way, I am sorry for them. I know how it feels to be hated and shunned.”
“Me too, but I wasn’t a monster: just Greek.”
“That,” said Helen, “is something to be proud of.”
“Heck yeah!” Nick agreed, looking into her eyes. Man, they were something, like a place you wanted to visit . . . then stay there forever.
“Mýthos to Nick,” she called, waving a hand in front of him. “As much as we want to delay, I fear that time is the enemy. If my father returns, it will mean the end of our world.”
“And mine,” Nick reminded, thinking of Mt. Etna. “Or does that not concern you?”
“Of course it does!” she cried. “Without your world and its worshippers, ours could never exist. There would have been no Zeus to create it.”
“Okay, sorry,” Nick said, though he was getting irritable. Maybe it was the heat—and the prospect of fighting nine heads.
“Look, if you don’t want me here, I’ll leave,” said Helen, flinging back her red hair. All that Nick could see was the bare white flesh of her shoulder. “Hello?” she asked, bringing him back to eart—Mýthos.
