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Leaving was hard: Nick just couldn’t feel joy at the touch of the sun on his skin or the view of vast, jagged cliffs. All he could think of was Dad: a stranger to him, really, until his appearance that morning. Nick wished they’d had more time—he could have asked him things like: What had he taught Achilles? How’d he get that Pelian spear? And why was he in charge of a herd of maniacs? Now, Nick would never know. His dad had agreed to be new Prometheus, still in a world of pain.
“See him?” Nick heard a voice. He recognized it as Helen’s. Who were they looking for again? Oh yeah, Orion.
His giant form wasn’t too hard to spot. He was jammed up against a cliff, his face as blue as the merman’s.
“Was it fun?” Nick yelled down loudly.
“Shhh,” cautioned Orion, putting a hand to his eyes. “Head . . . hurt.”
“Can’t run with the centaurs, eh?”
“I’d like to,” Orion whispered. “But I don’t have their—” He turned his head to throw up. “—stamina.”
“Ech,” said Nick, making sure his sandals were clean. “We have something to do. Or did you forget?”
“The Boar,” Orion groaned, trying to raise his huge body. He finally got up after two or three tries.
“You ready?” asked Nick.
Orion looked dazed, his eyes swimming so hard you could have put goldfish there.
“‘Course,” he said. “I never miss a hunt.”
“No matter the prey,” Nick muttered.
“Huh?”
Nick changed the subject.
“Have you seen it?” he asked.
“What?”
“The Boar.”
“No,” said Orion. “Trust me, you’d hear it. It likes to blast farmland and everything else. It is a fearsome creature.”
“But you’re not afraid?” asked Nick as the three of them walked downhill.
“Ha! I could fell it with my bare hands. Yet Artemis seems to like it.” He rolled his eyes, then winced. “Ow.”
“Great,” said Nick. “I’m supposed to kill it. Is she going to shoot me dead?”
“Nah,” said Orion. “Not if Zeus has decreed it. She must obey her father.” He frowned. “And her meddling brother.”
“Let’s not mess with the gods, okay?” Nick wanted to slay the Boar and then Exit, Stage Left. “So, where does this thing hang out?”
“In the foothills of Erymanthos.”
“Which is—?”
“Here.”
“Okay then.”
Nick gripped his sword.
“There’s the farmland,” said Helen, pointing to an abandoned field. Husks of dried-out crops lay sadly in their rows.
“The Boar,” said Orion as he bent over some tracks, “was here within the hour. And was carrying prey when it left.” He leaned back on his heels. “From the spacing of these prints, I’d say a person was taken.”
Nick jerked his head back.
“So it’s a maneater?”
“‘Course,” said Orion. “And nearly as tall as me.”
Nick swung round his shield. He needed to be prepared.
Orion, the great Hunter, motioned them downwind. He studied the field carefully, rose, and sniffed the air.
“Anything?” Nick asked.
“It will rain soon,” said Orion. “Beyond that, I don’t detect much. Besides the two little rabbits hiding behind that rock.”
Nick turned his head to look: sure enough, there were two bunnies.
“You’re good,” he said to Orion.
“I know. I am the best.”
“Hey . . . heads up, ‘cause my dad said to watch that ‘tude.”
“I missed Chiron?” asked Orion. “Darn.”
The hunter remained alert, his body as stiff as a bloodhound’s. But, after an hour, Nick found that he was bored. He knew he shouldn’t, but he kept chucking rocks . . . straight at other rocks.
“Shhh,” Orion warned, watching the bunnies hop off. “I smell it,” he said, throwing back his giant head. “The Erymanthian Boar comes at us from the east.”
He instinctively reached for his bow.
“No,” said Nick. “It has to be just me.”
Orion’s whole body slumped.
“What a waste.”
Nick slung round his own bow and loaded a poisoned arrow. His wanted to shoot from a distance so it would be the Boar, not him, who ended up as a ham. Nick squinted into the distance, searching for something awful. When he saw it trot up to them, he nearly turned away. This thing was way more gnarly than the ugliest pig, covered with matted brown hair, and, by its snout, armed with two huge curved tusks. To Nick, it looked like a hairy rhino.
Unlike the Nemean Lion, this Boar had a whole field to roam . . . and could attack from any angle.
As the creature came closer, Nick could see his own image in its blood-red eyes. When it gave a huge roar that echoed across the cliffs, he tried to take a deep breath.
“Okay,” he told himself, keeping his bowstring taut as the Boar stepped up its pace. Nick tried not to let his arm shake as the beast opened its jaw, showing Hydra-sized fangs. Nick managed to stand his ground as the Boar, as tall as he was, quickly switched into Charge Mode.
BAM!
Nick found himself eating dirt, and it was not very tasty. He wasn’t sure exactly what happened: only that a tangle of hair and what looked like an elephant’s tusks completely filled his vision. Again, his armor had saved him.
But the Boar knew his stuff—Nick cried out as it found the flesh of his bicep. Now he knew how matadors felt when their capes didn’t work. Still, he managed to load up an arrow, ignoring the pain—and blood—coming from his left arm.
But now, where was the Boar?
Nick saw him a few yards off getting ready to charge again.
Nick didn’t know whose cry was louder—his, or the Boar’s—but in all the noise, he managed to get off a shot. He saw that his wood shaft now hung from the boar’s sagging side. The creature reacted by snuffling, then thudding onto the ground. No match for the blood of its brother, it gave a last twinge, then expired.
“Well done!” cried Orion, striding up to examine the kill. He bent and whistled. “This must have the weight of four horses.”
“And I’m just one,” said Nick.
“Don’t you mean a half?”
“Nikólaos!” cried Helen, running up beside him. “You’re hurt.”
“Just a scratch,” he said between clenched teeth.
The truth was: the pain was blinding, and his wound spurted blood like a geyser.
“We need pressure,” said Helen, desperately looking around for something to staunch the flow.
“Let me see,” said Orion, tearing off a piece of his cloak and winding it round Nick’s arm. “You should wash that,” he said, “and I know just the place.”
Nick felt his feet leave the ground as the hunter hoisted him up. Slung over one shoulder, he felt like a fallen deer.
“Does it hurt?” Helen asked, her face more pale than usual.
“Only when I laugh,” Nick winced. Man, those tusks had been sharper than even the tip of his sword. Speaking of which . . .
“The sword,” Nick gasped, as swirling dirt jolted past. He didn’t really like being held upside down.
Helen seized the hilt, then examined the blade.
“Another letter,” she said. “This one is ‘ε.’ So we have ‘Τετε.’”
“I don’t want to go there,” said Nick.
Orion continued his clomping until the air cooled slightly.
“Are we near water?” asked Nick.
“Only the best lake in Mýthos!” Orion sighed. “Artemis’ favorite. Very well, Centaur. Let us bathe that arm.”
The hunter swung Nick down, unwinding his makeshift bandage. Blech! thought Nick. Blood—especially his—made him want to faint.
“Now,” said Orion, and, to Nick’s surprise, he helped Nick to the lake and began to wash his wound. “You’ll live,” the hunter said. “I’ve had cuts that were worse.”
He re-wrapped Nick’s arm with care.
“Thanks,” said Nick. He felt himself fill with guilt. “Hey, I-I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick. You really are a good guy.”
Extending his right arm, he shook Orion’s hand.
The hunter smiled.
“Guess you are a true son of Chiron.”
“And I’m happy to say,” said Nick, “that . . . uh . . . you’re not a good son of Poseidon.”
Orion threw back his head and laughed. Then he walked back toward the lake.
“Now that we’re done,” he said, “I must seek my love.” He sighed. “We’ve had such wonderful times here.”
“Just be careful,” Nick warned. “Remember, for the price of one, you get two: Artemis and Apollo.”
“Thanks,” said Orion, and, in a casual move, proceeded to walk on water.
“OMG,” said Nick.
“He wasn’t lying,” said Helen.
They both watched, amazed, as he strode over the lake.
“Artemis!” Orion called. “Please appear, my love. I hope you are not angry that my friend slew your Boar.”
No goddess came to Orion, but Artemis popped in lakeside. At her side—again—floated the perfect Apollo.
“Oh no,” Nick groaned, grabbing Helen’s hand and ducking behind some trees. Luckily—or not—they were right behind the two gods . . .
From between trunks, Nick tried to spot Orion. Thank Zeus, he had halted his scary stroll, and—maybe wanting to cool off?—now swam, with only his head above water.
“Artemis, my sister,” said Apollo, and Nick had to admit that his voice was like music. “You have often claimed to excel with the bow.”
“Of course,” she said, and Nick thought she sounded annoyed. “Is there any question?”
“I have often thought,” said Apollo, “that I am better than you.”
“By our father, you lie!” cried Artemis, and Nick heard the stomp of a sandal.
“No,” said her brother, “I am God of Archery, and hence, the best by default.”
“Prove it!” Artemis shouted.
As Nick snuck a look, he saw her swing round her bow. Then, Apollo smiled as he lifted his own.
“That guy,” Nick breathed. He had a horrible feeling . . .
“I will bet you,” said Apollo, “you can’t even hit that ball that lies across the lake.”
Nick felt a wrench in his gut as the god pointed . . . straight to Orion’s head.
“I accept,” said Artemis, pulling her bowstring taut.
“NO,” Nick cried, but the goddess, quick as Hermes, let her silver shaft fly.
THWACK.
Her boasts were not in vain, for, even over the large lake, she managed to score a bullseye. Nick watched in horror as Orion’s head slowly sunk.
“Ha!” cried Apollo. “Your vanity has undone you. For that was none but your lover, the insolent son of Poseidon.”
“By the gods,” whispered Artemis, casting aside her bow. “What a trick you have played. I will never forgive you.” She looked forlornly out at the lake, now calm and unbroken. “You will pay, brother,” she said, emotion clouding her voice. “I swear by Olympus.”
With that, she popped out.
Apollo, crossing his arms, flashed a perfect smile.
“Farewell, Demi,” he said. “You should have known never to cross me.”
He snapped his fingers, vanishing as well.
Nick and Helen ran to the shore where water was quietly lapping.
“I can’t believe it,” said Nick. “Shot by the woman he loved.”
“She didn’t mean to!” cried Helen.
“Yeah.” Nick looked mournfully at the trees. “Tell me: Why do I always lose people just when I start to like them?”
Helen shook her head.
“He wasn’t a spy,” she said. “I think we both know that now.”
“He was honorable,” said Nick. “In most things. I just hope he ends up someplace good.”
“If there’s justice, he’ll go to Elysian Fields.”
“But,” Nick said, “if it’s up to Apollo, he’s headed straight for—you know.”
They both looked down and sighed.
“Let us hope,” Helen said quietly, “that Artemis pleads with her father. And gets her sweet revenge.”
