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They splashed from the water onto a narrow beach. Nothing strange here, but when they walked out further, all they saw was sand.
“Oh no,” Nick groaned. “A desert. My least favorite landscape.”
“It’s not all bad,” said Helen. “It’s not freezing and there’s no Eagle.”
“And Typhon’s not blasting me, but I still don’t feel any better.”
“You’re very negative,” said Helen.
“Hello, I spent my youth getting beat up by blonds.”
“Let them try now,” she said.
“Yeah. That’s a point.” Nick stepped off the beach, from sand onto more sand. “Okay,” he said. “Do you know where we go to now?”
“Well, Harold, my merman—”
“Harold?”
“—told me to head for the Atlas Mountains, which are southeast of here.”
“Great,” Nick grumbled. “We have to get through a guy who has mountains named after him.” He squinted and saw swirling dunes. “Guess I have to—”
“—Change?” Helen asked. “Yes, that would be best.”
Nick nodded, handing her his stuff. When she turned back, he had four legs and a tail.
“Hop on,” he said, already sweating. Now he understood why (Arabians excepted) the desert was no place for horses. That’s what camels were for.
“Fun,” said Nick, going up and down dunes and sinking up to his fetlocks. This went on for about an hour until he was covered with sand.
“I miss the ocean,” he gasped. He was starting to sound like a frog.
“Me too,” said Helen. “We need to find an oasis.”
Nick nodded, searching the desert for even for a single palm. Man, in L.A., they grew like—
“There!” said Helen, shielding her eyes and pointing south.
Was it a mirage?
Nick could only hope not as he trotted up to some date palms. Helen slid off his back, filling a skin with water. Man, that tasted good! Even though there was sand in his throat, Nick savored every drop. Though he wasn’t that hungry, he stood on his rear legs, bracing himself with one hand while plucking some fruit with the other.
A scatter of dates hit the ground.
“Hey,” Nick asked, “how come they’re not dried?”
“They’re fresh,” Helen smiled, peeling one like an expert and popping it into her mouth. “Hmm,” she said, “they taste like . . . actually nothing.”
“Great,” said Nick, after peeling his own. “Yeah, I uh . . . think I prefer them in fruitcake.”
They decided to stay and travel only at night. The shade was a blessing until the sun went down. Then, just like P.R., the desert got kind of cold.
“Let’s roll,” said Nick. Helen nodded, leaping on. He now sunk into a substance he could barely see. “What do you think,” he asked, “we’ll find if we ever we get there? In the Garden, I mean.”
“The Hesperides.”
“And they are . . .?”
“The ‘Nymphs of the West,’” said Helen. “They’re in charge of sunset and evening.”
“Sounds pretty harmless.”
“They are,” said Helen, “but Ladon the dragon isn’t. Did I mention he never sleeps?”
“No,” said Nick, silently thanking Artemis as the moon unhid from a cloud.
“Then, of course, there’s Atlas.”
“Anyone else?” Nick asked. “Hera doesn’t hang there, does she?”
“Oh no,” said Helen. “She’s too busy spying on Zeus.”
They continued their trek for three nights, resting during the day. Nick felt let down, since he’d hoped to see a vast caravan snaking over the dunes. Instead, there wasn’t even one snake.
Finally, he thought he spotted some green and heard the rush of the water. Nick almost neighed! He loped into a valley sheltered by drooping trees. Beyond them lay some mountains crowned by winter snow.
“I can’t,” said Nick, cringing. “No more climbing. I’m done.”
“It’s all right,” said Helen. “We’re seeking a Garden, remember? What are the chances it’s up on a mountain?”
“Hmmp,” Nick answered. “Not much.”
“So now, we should find Atlas.”
“Okay,” said Nick, Allagí-ing back to himself and fastening on his armor. “Don’t tell me—he holds up the world.”
“No.”
As always, Helen was right.
When they sighted the Titan at the edge of a grove, Nick saw that his burden was greater. What he held on his shoulders wasn’t just Earth but the Heavens.
“Yo, what’s up?” Nick asked the crouching giant. He had to lean down, but instantly turned away. This dude was practically naked!
“The Heavens,” said Atlas.
“Huh? Oh, ha ha.”
“Thanks,” said the Titan. “Here at the end of the world, I don’t see many people.”
“How long have you done this?” asked Nick, gesturing to the globe.
“Since Zeus overthrew us.”
“But that’s . . . forever,” said Helen.
“I prefer ‘always.’”
“Did you anger the gods?” Nick asked.
Atlas shrugged, then gave up.
“I led the revolt.”
“Not such a great idea?”
“In retrospect, no.”
Nick wanted to find out more, and turned to Helen.
“So,” she asked, “you are father to the Hesperides?”
“Yes.” Atlas smiled. “Such lovely girls.”
“Well, I’m Helen. And this is Nick. We’ve come over land and sea to ask you a favor.”
“Um . . . I’m not exactly in a position—"
“Right,” said Nick. “We hear you’re the only guy who can fetch those golden apples. And we seriously need them.”
Atlas tried to not to laugh, since for him it must be painful.
“Do you now?” he said. “And I want to be Zeus.”
Nick rolled his eyes to the Heavens . . . actually, their globe.
“So, you’re saying you won’t?” he asked.
“I can’t,” answered the giant. “For Heracles, I was able to hand off my burden while I went and stole the apples. But Nick, I’m sorry, you’re extremely small. From where I crouch, you look like a bug.”
Nick sighed. The muscular Titan was right.
“What would you suggest?” he asked.
“Go to the Garden and seek my daughters. They really are quite sweet.”
“Yet,” said Helen, “they hold the apples for Hera.”
“True,” said Atlas. “But then there’s Ladon.”
Nick slammed down his shield in disgust.
“That’s it,” he said. “This Labor is just impossible.”
“But we’ve come so far,” said Helen. “Is this really much worse than the Lion? Or the Eagle of the Caucasus?”
“Hey,” said Atlas, “sorry I called you a bug.”
“That’s okay,” said Nick. “Helen, you’re right. The least I can do is try.”
She nodded and turned to the Titan.
“Which way to the Garden?” she asked.
Pointing was not an option.
“It’s three stadia to the left,” said Atlas, “then two to the right.”
“Thanks!” Nick cried, taking Helen’s arm. “Catch you on the way out?”
“Only if you survive.”
It didn’t take long to march across those stadia. Nick tried to imagine football and all those cheering crowds. When they finally reached the Garden, he wanted to cry out: it was just that lovely. He saw a number of fresh springs springing, heard flocks of songbirds warble, and marveled at rows of sheltering trees. Here, even the grass was perfect, hosting insects who smiled and waved!
“Wow,” said Nick, breathing in the sweet scent of hyacinths. “Makes you never want to leave.”
“That may be so,” said Helen, “but we need to find those nymphs.”
“How?” Nick asked. “Is there some kind of nymph spray?”
Helen rolled her eyes, then called, “Aegle, Erytheia, Hesperia, Arethusa.”
“You know them?” Nick asked.
Helen shook her head.
“No, I know of them.”
It was then that they heard a sound like the rush of a brook.
“Here,” said a voice, delicate as the breeze.
Helen and Nick moved toward it as flowers turned their tiny heads.
“We’re here,” said a second voice, this one tinkling like wind chimes.
“Hey,” Nick said, stumbling onto four women who formed a dance-like circle. They all had long, flowing hair; and even longer robes, each stained in a deep earth tone. But what stood directly behind them earned most of Nick’s attention: it was a huge spreading tree bursting with golden apples!
“Hesperides?” Nick asked the women.
“Yes,” they all said, like the gentle notes of a flute.
“I’m sorry to be so rude,” said Nick, “but um . . . those apples? Zeus sent me here to grab some.”
“Oh, no,” said the nymphs together, now sounding like a bassoon. “We are Hera’s guardians. Neither god nor mortal shall pass.”
“No offense,” said Nick, “but you guys aren’t that scary.”
Helen poked Nick’s shoulder and pointed.
There, from around the tree’s trunk, came the heads of a dragon, each making the Hydra’s look sweet. It was true there were a hundred, all bobbing from a single neck and displaying rows of sharp fangs. On the other side of the trunk, there emerged a spiky tail and the edge of a batlike wing. Oh boy, Nick thought, this thing was as big as the Lion!
“Nice monster,” he said, ducking behind his shield.
Ladon’s wings were bad news, since of course the dragon took flight, dive-bombing straight for Nick as he flamed from his many heads. Nick silently thanked Heph for making his armor scorch-proof.
What can I do, he wondered, to avoid being flambéed? As the dragon roared down, worse than a squadron of Stukas, Nick shakily raised his sword. When Ladon came in for a landing, Nick furiously tried to charge him, but just got in a slight poke. Then, he gripped his ash spear and hurled it, striking the beast on its breast. Ladon barely reacted. Desperate, Nick ran behind the tree, seizing his bow and an arrow. It was then that he heard a beating accompanied by a strong wind: Ladon was airborne again. Before the dragon gained height, Nick shot, striking it square in the belly. Ladon screamed, but still belched fire from his many mouths. That’s it, Nick thought, I’m cooked. I hope he likes well-done. As he prepared to be pounced on, he felt the air cool around him. Sneaking a peek, he saw Ladon crash to the ground, his black claws cutting a line in the grass. Man, thought Nick, that Hydra’s poison! It’s worth like a million gold talents.
“Nicely done,” said Helen, retrieving the Pelian spear. “Now, you must seize the apples.”
“Never,” said the Hesperides, and Nick watched as they Allagí -ed: into creatures much like the Bird Babe!
“Harpies!” Helen yelled.
They responded by flapping their eagle’s wings and squawking from still-human faces.
“Ech,” said Nick. “I liked them better before.”
The four of them took to the air, pecking down at his helmet.
“Ouch!” Nick cried. “Why’d you have to be birds?”
Lucky for him, their beaks and claws bounced off him, thanks to Heph again. That gave Nick time—to wave his spear and ruffle some feathers. As the Harpies regrouped, Nick ran toward the sacred tree.
Yes! He stood on tiptoe and plucked off some apples until he held four in his hands. The Harpies went nuts as they screamed their way toward him, trying to pluck out his eyes.
“Hey, I need those!” Nick yelled, striking out with his sword and raising a shower of down. He could fill a pillow.
“Nick,” cried Helen, running from their pursuers. “We need to get out of here!”
He tried, but those four black shapes still hovered over his head.
“We can’t outrun ‘em!” he called.
“We must,” Helen panted. “They’re not permitted to leave the Garden!”
This gave Nick a rush like that of the eight wings above, and he picked up his pace as he thought about Allagí-ing.
Better not, he decided, without my armor I’m bird food . . .
“Ow!” Nick shouted as one sharp claw raked his flesh. “That’s my arm, not a swing!”
The Harpies—who weren’t stupid—split up and veered in pairs. They used their enormous wings to try to strangle Nick.
“Mmf!” he said, getting a throatful of feathers. Did these things ever bathe? Nick managed to hack his way out, then ran to free Helen as well. How long could they keep this up before they were torn to pieces?
“Go away!” Helen cried as a Harpy went for her head.
“Get off her!” Nick yelled, trying to hoist his spear. But the cursed things were so close, he couldn’t pull back his arm.
He and Helen kept running: away from this gorgeous garden. Once they leapt over a hedge, Nick could no longer hear wings. The Harpies had hit a clear wall, and, faces flattened against it, they looked like four smashed parakeets.
“‘Bye!” Nick yelled back, glad to be free of their shrieking. Aside from the Bird Babe, these chicks with wings could be nasty.
“C’mon,” urged Helen, not breaking her run even though they were free.
“I’m not . . . a Titan,” Nick gasped.
Speaking of which, there was Atlas, who hadn’t moved since they’d left him.
“Hey,” Nick called, finally slowing.
“Got the apples, I see,” said Atlas.
“Your daughters . . .” Nick breathed, crouching by the giant’s side. “Think . . . you need . . . to have a family talk . . .”
“I heard squawking,” said Atlas with pride. “They can’t help it, you know. Otherwise, lovely girls.”
“Yes, they seemed nice,” said Helen, “when they didn’t have wings.”
“As far as those apples,” said Atlas, “Nick, you must give them back.”
“Huh?”
“If you don’t, Hera will send a monster to rip you into small parts.”
“Hmm,” said Nick, “that goes on a lot around here.”
“I’d take them back,” said Atlas, “but . . . ” He nodded up to his globe. “What I can tell you is that after Heracles stole them, Athena gave them to Hera.”
“Sweet,” said Nick. “Helen, that’s our cue.”
They both bowed their heads. This time, Athena’s voice did not resound in Nick’s head; instead, the apples were torn from his hands to sail on a swift wind back into the Garden.
“Hurray!” Nick exulted, pumping a fist.
“Looks like it worked,” said Atlas.
“It did,” Helen told him, raising Nick’s sword to point to a new ‘ύ.’
“Was that really the Eighth—uh, Seventh—Labor?” Nick asked.
“Yes,” said Helen.
“Heracles took twelve years,” said Atlas, “ to finish all his.”
“I don’t have that kind of time,” Nick said. He turned to Helen. “So, what’s next?”
“Well,” she said wryly, “I have good news and I have bad news.” Nick closed his eyes.
“The good news,” she reported, “is that we get to visit Cumae.”
“And the bad?”
“There’s something there that could kill us.”
