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After a meager breakfast, they set off to reach the wide valley where Athena had first dropped them. Happily, it wasn’t far.
Once they got there, Nick looked around. There was nothing but grass and trees.
“How do we leave?” he asked Helen. “Think Athena would help?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “We can’t keep asking for favors. One doesn’t annoy the gods.”
“Tell me about it,” said Nick. “I’ve seen Heph in action.” He heaved a sigh. “Well, we can walk or ride—that is, you ride, and I trot.”
Helen pursed her lips. That was not a good sign.
“Would you like,” she asked, “to know where we’re going next?”
Not really,” he said, “but shoot.”
“The next Labor is in the Garden of the Hesperides.”
“That sounds nice,” said Nick. “Where is it?”
Helen spread her hand.
“That’s the problem. Nobody knows.”
“Oh well,” said Nick, shrugging. “Guess it can’t be done then.”
“It must be!” cried Helen. “Think of your father and mine.”
“Mkay,” said Nick, “but you said there’s no ‘there’ there.”
Helen tried to ignore him.
“Your shield shows golden apples.”
“Sweet.”
“But they’re guarded by a dragon.”
“Harsh.”
“His name is Ladon. He has a hundred heads.”
“Nine wasn’t enough?”
“Ladon is a son of Typhon.”
“Who isn’t?” Nick asked. “He’s probably my uncle.” He started to think about Ladon. “Hmm, you know, I never expected a dragon. I thought that was Middle Ages.”
“Most cultures have them,” said Helen, “and we need to find him.”
“How?”
She thought.
“Uh . . . maybe go to village and ask?”
“A little weak,” said Nick, “but I guess it’s the best we’ve got.”
He handed over his stuff, commanding himself to “Allagí.” As his hooves hit the ground, Nick found himself smiling. Seeing his dad again had made him proud to be a centaur.
Once Helen leapt on his back, he trotted out of the valley and onto a path filled with snow. Since it was pretty hard-packed, he managed to stay above it. Good thing his hooves were like rock: they didn’t feel the cold.
Nick felt a sense of elation as the air became pleasantly brisk. He almost felt like a sleigh horse . . . all he needed were bells!
“Giddy-up, Giddy-up,” he sang.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” said Helen.
Nick continued mangling the song until they arrived at a village. He saw that a ring of small houses was made strictly from wood: not the bricks of Athens or Thebes. Before entering, he Allagí-ed and put on his armor. No need to freak out the locals.
He and Helen walked until they found a farmer. When he spoke, what Nick heard was way different from Greek. Still, after Helen mimed for some minutes, the man went to a cellar and offered them some veggies.
“Yay,” said Nick, crunching down on a carrot. He just wished he had some Ranch dressing.
“From what I could gather,” said Helen, “he was trying to tell me that a sea lies to the west. I think we should head there.”
“No water,” Nick insisted, nibbling leaves like a rabbit.
“But,” she said, “I also think he was also saying that some of our people live there. He kept pointing to my peplos and throwing his hands to the heavens.”
“Maybe,” said Nick, “he thought your peplos was made by Zeus.”
After thanking the farmer, they walked to the edge of the village, where Nick changed back again. Against his better judgment, he kept heading west. He and Helen spent four days at the mercy of strangers: scoring a bit of cheese here; a bowl of grains there; some secret special wine; and plums that were like no other. The whole time, they ran into people who were definitely not from Mýthos.
Despite his upcoming Labor, Nick felt almost relieved when they reached a wide shore.
“What is that?” he asked, pointing to sparkling water. This lake—or whatever—seemed to be pretty huge.
“I’ll find out.” Helen walked down to some fishermen. When she came back, she said, “They tell me this place is Colchis, which is well-known back home.”
“Okay.”
“The people are Greek, and they say we’re on the Black Sea.”
“Is that good?”
Helen shrugged.
“They told me something else, which I think is not good.”
Nick waited.
There is only one being who knows the way to the Garden.”
“And where is he?” asked Nick. “Eating baklava in Athens?”
“He is Proteus,” said Helen, “the Old Man of the Sea. He likes to walk up to beaches so he can rest. This one is a favorite.”
“Why is that bad?” asked Nick, turning around to change before he was spotted.
“Think,” said Helen. “Proteus is a sea creature. And—"
“Don’t tell me: his boss is Poseidon.”
“Exactly. You must force him to give you directions.”
“How?” asked Nick. “Threaten him with a seahorse?”
“The fishermen told me that Heracles first wrestled him, then held him down to the ground.”
“Do I look like Herc?” Nick asked. “That guy’s Vin Diesel squared!”
“Regardless, you must try,” said Helen, slipping two fish from her pouch. “Otherwise, no lunch.”
“Man,” Nick groaned, “this Labor’s already a pain.”
“It can’t be helped,” said Helen. “Why don’t you spear these fish?”
The Pelian spear was put to its strangest use ever. Helen kindled a fire, cooking the meat to a crisp. This might, Nick thought, be their last meal for awhile . . .
He took a final bite.
“Ready?” asked Helen. “We need to search the beach. Why don’t we split up?”
“That didn’t work so great with the Hind.”
“True.”
“Or in any horror movie.”
They both set off down the sand, which was nicely warm. The waters of the Black Sea were not as blue as Mýthos’, but still pleasantly turquoise.
“So,” said Nick. “Does Proteus have a fave spot? Like, where he puts his cooler?”
“They didn’t say,” said Helen. “But I must tell you this.”
“Uh oh,” said Nick.
“Proteus can take any form. That is his power.”
“Great,” said Nick, instantly feeling uneasy. “What if he decides to be a Hydra—or another Boar?”
“One step at a time,” said Helen. “First, we need to find him.”
Nick sighed, walking beside her, then started enjoying himself. Unlike the harsh Caucasus, Colchis was sunny, the sound of the waves was calming, and the feel of sand on his toes waaay better than ice . . .
“Kind of hope,” Nick muttered, “this dude doesn’t show. I could get into this beach thing.”
“Remember,” said Helen, “he is the key to the Garden, and we must get there soon.”
“Mkay,” Nick answered.
He wished that like Helen, he could stay on track.
Three more hours, and he just wished he could leave.
“Time to go?” he asked hopefully. All he was seeing was sand, driftwood, and the occasional crab. Nice life, he thought. When things didn’t go well, you could just bury yourself. Nick was about to declare his intention to quit when he noticed something onshore: Nah, it was just trash. But as he and Helen came closer, he saw what the pile was: an old man, his body wrapped in kelp, his long white hair strewn with seaweed. Ick, Nick thought, this guy could be served with sushi!
Helen made the “shush” sign and motioned for Nick to approach. He crept up with no weapons since he needed to hold this guy.
“Gotcha!” Nick cried, lunging toward the guy’s neck and using a wrestler’s grip. It was then that he felt smooth hair since he was holding a stag. “Stay still,” Nick yelled, grabbing the thing by the antlers. This was worse than the Hind!
But it didn’t last long as antlers morphed into wings.
“I don’t think so!” Nick shouted, trying to hold down a seagull. The bird just laughed as it became a lizard which flicked its red tongue at him. “Stop licking me,” Nick insisted, and the reptile did, to be replaced by a giant crab whose pincers went for his hand. “Ow!” Nick cried, trying to grab a leg. If he just had some had lemon and butter . . .
Still, those wouldn’t work against a slippery dolphin . . . a seahorse the size of Johnny ... and, darn that Proteus, the world’s biggest and meanest porcupine!
“Hey,” Nick groaned, trying to find a handhold. He finally swung round his shield, smashing it down on quills which bristled, then went still. Now, Nick found under his metal that same old man, out of breath.
“Who are you?” gasped Proteus. “What do you want of me?”
“I’m Nick, son of Chiron. I’ll let you go in a sec if you just tell me one thing.”
Proteus nodded.
“The Hesperides’ Garden—where is it?”
Proteus, slimy with kelp, groaned.
“I’d gladly tell you,” he said, “but my master, Poseidon, would drown me a thousand times!”
This was an opportunity.
“Do you know why he hates me?” asked Nick.
“No,” said Proteus. “Only that he wants you dead.”
“We figured that,” said Helen.
Nick loosened his grip. His arms were getting tired.
“Look, I don’t want to hurt you. Can’t you just whisper it?”
Proteus slumped.
“I have,” he said, “powers of my own, you know.”
“Tell me about it,” said Nick. “You’re the original shifter!”
“Not just that,” said Proteus, waving a green-laced arm. “I am also a herdsman.”
“No offense,” said Nick, “but I don’t see how goats can help.”
“For Triton’s sake,” yelled Proteus, “my beasts are from the sea!”
“Oh,” said Nick.
Helen moved in.
“Do you think, Old Man,” she asked, “they can herd us close to the Garden?”
Proteus blinked.
“After, that is,” said Nick, “you reveal where it is.”
The Old Man thought, his kelp-tinged beard looking sad.
“Very well,” he said. “I am loyal to Poseidon, but I also value my life.”
“Good choice,” said Nick. “So, where are we headed?”
“Across the Black Sea,” said Proteus, “then, the Mediterranean, and finally, to Aethiopia.”
“Ethiopia?” Nick cried. “Couldn’t you make it closer?”
“No,” said the Old Man. “That is where Hera sent the Hesperides to guard her golden apples.”
“And they’re guarded by a dragon?”
“Oh yes,” said the Old Man, “but first, you must get past Atlas.”
“A Titan,” Helen added.
“You mean,” asked Nick, “there’s two guards who guard the guards?”
“Exactly,” said Proteus. “That’s why it’s so dangerous.” He sighed. “I suppose I could help you. Unlike Heracles, you didn’t try to kill me.”
“Thanks.”
“I will,” he went on, “summon my mermen to help you. They are mighty swimmers and can bear you above the waves.”
“Uh, wait a sec,” Nick objected, “the last one tried to—"
Too late. Four muscular mermen appeared at the water’s edge. Nick looked for the blue one with the big fork: happily, he wasn’t there.
Proteus spoke to his guys in a language that sound like bubbles. They nodded, their manes of long hair flowing over their backs.
“Go,” said the Old Man to Nick. “They are sworn to obey me, and I have sworn them to secrecy. Treat them like men, not beasts, and they will serve you well.”
“I know the feeling,” said Nick. “Thanks, Old Man, uh . . . Proteus. Here’s hoping Poseidon doesn’t turn you into a squid.”
“I can always turn back,” said Proteus, waving them toward the sea. “Do not trust Atlas,” he called. “He has a bitter heart.”
“Okay,” said Nick, shrugging. He didn’t care about the dude’s heart as long as he showed them the apples.
