by Amy Wolf
Orion studied it closely.
“Hmm, we are here.” He thrust out a meaty finger. “It’s not really that far. If we ride due south, we should be at Mount Erymanthos as Helios lowers the sun.”
“‘Ride’?” Nick asked. “What do you mean, exactly?”
“Well, Centaur, it seems to be obvious.”
“I am not your beast of burden,” Nick growled . . . sounding just like a beast.
“Orion’s plan makes sense,” Helen said. “It’s much faster to travel on horseback.”
“Does the horse get a vote?” Nick asked. He found himself facing two disapproving faces. “I can’t exactly control—” he began, then was seized by yesterday’s feeling. As he threw off Orion’s cloak, he found he had four legs again!
“Yay,” said Helen, giving his back a pat. “I told you could do it.”
“Hooray for me.”
Maybe, if he was clever, he could manage to throw Orion while still keeping Helen
on . . .
These were Nick’s dark thoughts as they both climbed on his back. Helen took a seat before Orion, both her legs to one side.
“Now, that’s what I like,” crowed the hunter, putting his arm around her waist. “A modest, demure woman.”
“Unless she’s Artemis,” Nick mumbled.
“That’s right,” yelled Orion. “With a goddess, all bets are off!”
“Apollo doesn’t agree,” said Nick, and Orion kicked him—hard. “Do that again and I’ll summon him.”
It was hard for Nick to adjust to carrying more than one rider. All those dangling legs left him feeling confused. There was also the matter of Orion’s weight. Nick had to stop every few miles and make everyone get off. During one of these breaks, he watched Orion guide Helen to a spot overlooking a valley.
“Nothing like Mýthos,” said Orion, sweeping his massive hands over a postcard-like view. “Or our people,” he added, gently touching Helen’s hair. “Our hunters are supreme, and each of our women a goddess.”
Nick thought he heard Helen giggle. He trotted up to the two of them, snorting with disgust.
“Sorry, lovebirds,” he said, “but we need to get going.”
“You seem anxious, Centaur. Perhaps you have not had your daily ration of wine.”
Nick narrowed his eyes.
“It just so happens,” he said, “that if I don’t kill that boar, this land you love will be toast.”
“Give us a moment,” purred Orion, blowing into Helen’s ear. What totally unnerved Nick: she did nothing to stop him. “So,” Orion asked her, “what’s your favorite color?”
“Red,” she giggled, turning away with a blush.
Good gods, Nick thought, is he going to ask what her Sign is?
“I’m a Gemini,” he yelled, but they both ignored him.
“What do you do,” Orion asked Helen, “for pleasure?”
“Well . . .” Helen hugged her arms close. “I used to pray to Athena and light the candles of her altar. Before I became a priestess, I loved to sit by the sea.”
“My realm,” said Orion. “One of these days, I’ll tame the waves for you.”
“No more water,” Nick growled, trotting up between them. “You see, your dad nearly drowned us, then sent a fish to finish up.”
“Did you really think,” asked Orion, “that Poseidon himself would come? Of course, he dispatched his creatures.”
The hunter tossed his head as if Nick were some kind of fool.
“I’d stop there,” Nick warned, “or you’ll be surfing the rest of the way.” He gave Helen a hurt look, but she was too busy to notice: her whole gaze fell on Orion. “Okay, boys and girls,” said Nick, “let’s get this rodeo started.”
Once his riders got back on, he trotted (as rough as he could) down a path surrounded by rocks. This landscape was kind of boring, with not a glimpse of the sea. Still . . .
Helios flew overhead as he pulled the sun.
“Hey, isn’t his boss Apollo?” Nick asked. The two could have been twins.
“Yes,” said Orion, and he didn’t sound too pleased. “Let us proceed quickly.”
“Can’t hide from the sun,” Nick muttered. Or the moon either, he thought . . .
Before he even knew it, Orion was pulling his hair.
I see Mount Erymanthos ahead,” said the giant. “We should find a cave before dark.”
“Yeah, uh, we should,” said Nick. “Now, if you’d kindly get down . . .”
Orion helped Helen off in a way that Nick didn’t like. The son of Poseidon seemed reluctant to let her go.
“Hey,” Nick said, approaching his non-friend “friend.” He got in Orion’s face. “You do that again and I’ll kick you. I’m not shoed, but trust, it’ll hurt.”
Orion smirked while patting his bow.
“Remember, Centaur,” he said, “you are not immortal.”
“Could you two stop?” asked Helen. “Nick, aren’t you hungry? We should find some food.”
“No need,” said Orion, slinging his quiver forward.
“I suppose you can shoot us an eagle?” asked Nick.
“Of course,” said Orion. “But I cured some venison.”
Nick rolled his eyes as Orion led them to a cave.
“This seems good,” he said.
“Ya think?” Nick asked, not too happy to follow along. He watched the couple enter, then stamped his hooves sharply.
“Change!” he commanded, and—just like that—he was himself again. With a grin, he entered the cave where Orion was starting a fire. “Your cloak?” he asked, and the giant threw it to him.
“Good thing you’re back!” he roared. “Otherwise, you’d have to stand in a field.”
“I’d rather,” Nick mumbled, tearing into a salty steak. As the shadows deepened, he tried to fight against sleep since he wanted to be on his guard. Sure, he thought, Helen had said she loved him, but that was when they were alone. Had she switched her affections? Nick slumped against a rock wall.
When he woke up, the cave was in semi-darkness, and his two companions were whispering.
“So,” Orion was saying, from the corner where he sat—too close, Nick thought—by Helen. “You’re from Athens?”
Another great line, Nick thought. This guy should sit in a bar . . .
“Yes,” said Helen. “That’s where I grew up.”
“Well,” said Orion, and Nick could just picture his face, “you sure grew into a beauty. I’d rank you just short of Artemis.”
Ick, Nick thought. What was this: a contest for Miss Mýthos?
From his fake-sleep position, Nick turned his head slowly. He could see that Helen’s was bowed.
“Anyways,” said Orion, “you and the horse. What gives?”
“Nothing,” said Helen, and Nick felt his heart plunge. But her next words revived him. “I am in love with Nikólaos. He is kind and gentle, and—”
“So he’s a woman,” laughed Orion. “Not all of us are. You can see I’m all man.”
What Nick saw was Orion pinning Helen, and—against her will—trying to kiss her!
“HEY,” She and Nick yelled together.
“Like father, like son,” Nick snarled, crawling toward Orion with menace. “You’re a true son of Poseidon. Which means—you get out now.”
“Who’s gonna make me?” taunted the giant, flexing his giant arms. “Don’t you have to change so you can kick me like an ass?”
“Then that would make two,” said Nick, reaching back and grabbing his sword. In the near-darkness, Heph’s metal flared gold.
“Very well, Centaur,” said Orion, raising a hand. “My Artemis is a goddess. You can keep your mortal.”
“Helen isn’t just anyone,” said Nick. “She has the power to do things you wouldn’t like very much. Now . . . next time I see you bothering her, I’ll bother you with this.”
He hefted the Pelian spear.
“Nikólaos!” Helen cried, looking both relieved and horrified.
“My dad,” cried Orion, “had nothing to do with it. I always meet Artemis in Keryneia. That’s where we go hunting.”
“Sure,” said Nick. “Well, if you won’t leave, just know I’ve got eyes on you. Anything sketchy, I swear, you are so gone.”
“Fine,” said Orion. “You don’t have to be so touchy.”
Nick rolled his eyes as Helen slid toward him. Putting an arm around her, he made sure she was protected.
“I’m sorry, Nikólaos,” said Helen, taking his hand. “I couldn’t stop him. Just like—”
“Don’t worry,” Nick said, bringing her close. “But I feel bad for Artemis. Think she knows he’s a player?”
“I doubt it,” Helen answered. “I am sure she trusts him.”
“Well, you can trust me,” Nick said. “I’m a one-man woman, I mean—”
“I understand,” said Helen. “And I really am that. I want no one but you. I only wish that
. . . in my mind . . . I could forget Poseidon.”
“Me too,” said Nick. “I just want to be done with him—and his fishy family.”
The Merry Herd
The next day, when Nick got up, he saw Orion hunched in his corner, with Helen outside the cave. Good, he thought, easing into his armor. His words—and weapons—must have had an effect.
He walked out and stretched, then heard a welcome sound: the clatter of nearby hooves. From around a cliff came a centaur about as old as his dad. This one’s coat was light and his arms clutched a wineskin.
“Son of Chiron!” the centaur cried, giving Nick a muscular bow. “Your father has sent me to you since my cave lies nearby.”
“Sweet.”
Did that mean his dad cared?
“I am Pholus.”
“Nice to meet you.” Nick extended a hand as Orion emerged. “This is Helen, and that’s Orion.”
“Son of Poseidon, eh?” asked Pholus.
“None other,” said Orion.
He smiled, revealing perfect teeth.
“Come,” said Pholus, gesturing. “Please be my guests before you face the boar.”
“Well . . .” Nick hesitated.
“You must eat!” the centaur insisted. “And I have a newly killed deer.”
“I’m in!” cried Orion, striding up to Pholus.
Nick and Helen reluctantly brought up the rear.
“I don’t want to stay long,” Nick told her.
She nodded as they passed a line of deeps caves. Pholus swept into one of them, bidding them all to enter.
Wow, Nick thought, once he had, his folk must be into simple living. There wasn’t a stick of furniture and Pholus’s breakfast was . . . strewn all over the floor.
“Come!” cried the centaur. “Eat!”
He picked up a chunk of meat and tore at it with his teeth. Nick couldn’t help but notice that it was bloody and raw. He had to turn away as Helen went out again: he hoped, to gather wood for a fire.
“Wine?” Pholus asked. He gave Orion a wink. “Shall I dilute it with water?”
“NO,” the giant roared, taking up the large skin and emptying it.
“There’s more,” Pholus said merrily, trotting up to a bag on the floor which contained nothing but wineskins. He raised one to his lips, and, like Orion, drained it in one gulp.
“To Pan,” he yelled. “And Dionysus, God of Wine.”
This, Nick thought, is what Helen warned me about. He pretended to take some big sips, and, when she came back, beckoned her into a corner.
“What should we do?” he asked, nodding toward their . . . increasingly lively friends.
“I’m not sure,” she whispered. “Once a centaur starts, I don’t think they can stop.”
“Great,” Nick hissed. “They’re worse than the kids in my school.”
Helen shook her head as she bent to unload some twigs. The two drinkers were getting loud, and, Nick thought, singing would surely follow.
“Good times!” Orion roared. “Artemis frowns on drink, but not this Demi here.”
Nick rolled his eyes. More wineskins hit the floor, enough to rebuild a cow.
“Take it easy, huh?” he said to Orion.
But the hunter was totally gone. He threw back his shaggy head and started to howl like a wolf.
“Thas’ th’ way!” cried Pholus, and, in a sing-song, shouted: “Paaarty . . . Fi-eesta!”
Two drunks were bad enough. But the smell of wine must have drawn Nick’s “people,” for, out of nowhere, a whole herd came charging in.
“Yas!” cried Pholus, “enou’ fer all. Drink up, my fres’!”
They didn’t need to be told. The party spilled outside, and Nick saw centaurs do things he never could have imagined: trying to ride each other; kicking back like donkeys; biting, bucking, and wrestling like the world’s worst-behaved kids. The sheer level of noise was starting to hurt Nick’s ears: if that Boar was around, he had probably fled.
Nick shook his head, keeping a close watch on Helen. He didn’t want to hurt his own kind, but, the way they were acting, he might have to kick a few tails.
“Look, I’m Nick!” roared Orion, getting down on all fours in the dirt. He “loped” into the herd, which had formed into two drunken circles.
“And I’m Orion,” said Nick, pointing to his rear.
Helen tried to laugh but Nick saw her concern.
“I wish I had some bits—and spurs,” he growled.
He could barely look as the party swung out of control. Now two centaurs came into Pholus’, rummaging for snacks.
“Hey, wass this?” asked a slurred voice behind him.
“NO, DON’T—” Nick yelled.
But it was too late. Pholus, having seized an arrow from Nick’s quiver, stabbed himself through the leg.
“Oops,” said Pholus, then stiffened and fell over, dead.
Word flew among the herd, which quickly went silent.
“The poison,” Helen told them. “Dipped in Hydra’s blood.”
They didn’t care if it had been dipped in nectar. The centaurs gathered tightly, then hurled themselves at Nick.
“You must shoot them!” Helen cried.
With great reluctance, Nick let his arrows fly, bringing down three. The sight of their motionless bodies filled his eyes with tears.
“Enough,” said a voice clearly used to command. “Centaurs, disburse. Nikólaos, come with me.”
Son of Chiron
Nick felt mixed emotions as he followed the voice’s owner. Sure, he was glad that the guy had stepped in to stop the carnage, but what right did he have to give orders? After seventeen years, who’d died and made him a father?
“Here.”
With an arm as ripped as Orion’s, Chiron pointed to a large cave. Nick paused before going in, then dragged his feet behind Helen.
“I didn’t want to kill them,” he said.
“I know,” said Chiron. “Alas, there was no choice.” He stared down at Helen, betraying the trace of a smile. “Medusa,” he said, “how you’ve changed.”
“Wait,” said Nick. “You know each other?”
“It was centuries ago,” said Chiron. “I happened upon her isle and we had a good talk.”
“Yes,” said Helen, blushing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nick asked her.
“It didn’t seem that important.”
“Take a deep breath,” his dad told him, sitting down to a meal which was thankfully cooked. “Dare I offer wine?”
“Only if it’s watered,” said Helen, and Chiron, nodding, filled two gold goblets.
“My son,” he said, “I could not be more proud. I told Zeus you could do it. Four Labors achieved, and you don’t have a scratch on you.”
As Nick took some bread, he said, “You know that one doesn’t count.”
“A trifle,” said Chiron. “You’ve dest
royed three children of Typhon.”
This caused Helen to sigh.
“I am sorry,” Chiron told her, “but they were truly monsters.”
Though she nodded, Nick saw her eyes mist. He decided to change the subject: to his favorite, in fact.
“So,” he said to his dad. “Thanks for not being there when I landed.”
“You did just fine on your own.”
“Sure,” said Nick. “It’s not like I needed advice.”
“As you well know,” said his dad, “I cannot help with your Labors.”
Nick crossed his arms.
“Athena seemed to come through. So did Heph.”
“They are gods,” his dad said. “They may do what they like.”
“I don’t buy it,” said Nick. “I think . . . I think that you just don’t care.”
So many years of not having a dad caused his voice to break. When he thought of his mom—alone; struggling to raise him—he wanted to flip this guy off.
“Nikólaos,” said Helen, “you must show your father respect. He is in charge of all centaurs, beloved by the gods, and immortal.”
“But ignores his own son,” Nick said bitterly. He turned to his dad. “So, how many of us kids are there? Enough to run the Derby?”
Chiron shook his head sadly.
“You are my only child. And so it shall ever be.”
The pounding in Nick’s ears quieted.
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
Helen took his hand.
“Nikólaos,” she told him, “now that your father is here, perhaps he can guide us.”
“Yes,” said Chiron, shaking his long dark hair like a mane. “Beware Poseidon,” he warned. “He does not mean you well.”
“We figured that out,” said Nick, “when he tried to kill us twice.”
“Have a care with the son. His hubris will be his undoing.”
“I can’t wait,” said Nick. “I totally hate that guy.”
“Try not to hate,” said his dad. “The object of it does not care, but you will tear yourself up.”
“Do you write memes?” Nick asked.
“I have lived long,” said Chiron. “Experience counts for much.”
“He’s right,” said Helen. “I learned a lot as Medusa.”
“Well,” Nick told them, “what I learned as a centaur is that I run really fast. And, as a guy, I make a terrible drunk.”
