The Twelve Labors of Nick Page 12

  “Maybe.”

  Nick sighed. He figured that this was the best he could hope for.

  “Well,” he said, thinking back to his last Labor, “I’m kinda glad I killed the Boar. “What a hideous—” He stopped himself. “Sorry. I forgot it was your brother.”

  “I don’t think,” said Helen, “that we had much in common.”

  “Yeah,” said Nick. “You don’t have fangs.”

  “Or tusks.”

  Nick took a deep breath.

  “You know how much I don’t wanna ask,” he said, “but . . . what’s the next Labor?”

  “Hmm.” Helen held up his shield. “Oh.”

  “Oh what?”

  “All I see are four horses.”

  Nick’s muscles untensed.

  “That’s it?” he asked. “Not even a centaur?”

  Helen shook her head. She leaned into the shield and read a Greek phrase aloud: “The Mares of Diomedes.’”

  “Who-medes?”

  “Heracles once sought his horses. They say they are in Thrace.”

  “Which is . . .?” asked Nick. “Man, I hope it’s not far.”

  “North of Thessaly,” said Helen. Nick spread his hands wide. “It’s about, uh . . . two days’ ride. If we stop for the night.”

  “Ride, huh?” asked Nick. “Guess that’s my cue.”

  He closed his eyes, but thought of something—for once.

  “Better turn around,” he said. “I fear this show will be ‘R.’”

  Helen hid her eyes as he stripped off his armor and sandals. Then, he hiked up his tunic.

  “Okay, Change,” he told himself. “Allagí.” Where had that come from?

  Nick didn’t have time to wonder as the flesh beneath his torso gave way to smooth brown hair. His own dark hair grew longer, he grew a tail, and, strangest of all, he suddenly had four legs.

  “It’s safe,” he called, and Helen put down her hands. “Better grab my stuff. Something tells me I’m gonna need it.”

  She picked up Heph’s handiwork, then jumped onto his back.

  “Ow,” said Nick. Helen was no Orion, but riders still felt weird. “Guess my people don’t normally carry people.”

  “No,” said Helen, locking her legs around him. “As you saw, most are wild . . . and were never men.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Like your father, you’re not a usual centaur.”

  “After what I saw,” said Nick, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  He trotted along for awhile until he barely felt Helen. By the time it was mid-afternoon, he was—naturally—starving. His human stomach growled.

  “We should take a break,” Helen said. “It’s been ages since breakfast.”

  “Now that’s a plan,” said Nick, stopping so she could dismount. “You got anything?”

  She nodded and opened a pouch which held Orion’s cured meat. In her other hand was a wineskin which she offered to Nick.

  Before he drank, he looked up.

  “To Orion,” Nick said. “May Zeus come to his aid.”

  He handed back the skin.

  “To Orion,” said Helen. “As brave in love as he was with the bow.”

  “Opa!” Nick yelled. He wished he had a glass to smash.

  After they’d both finished, Nick noticed that he was sweating: not only under his tunic, but all down his coat.

  “Are you aware,” he asked, “that Mýthos is frequently hot?”

  Helen laughed.

  “Yes,” she said. “But from what you’ve told me, Palos Rojas isn’t the North.”

  “True,” said Nick. “But when you’re a horse, it’s different. I should have a big water trough.”

  “Still,” said Helen, “You’re only half a horse. And the top half seems fine with just a few gulps of wine.”

  “Details,” Nick muttered, swishing his tail. That made him think of the Mares. “Are we close to Thrace right now?”

  “Nope,” said Helen, grabbing his stuff and hopping onto his back. Nick decided to try a canter. Ah . . . that was more like it. His body created a breeze as he moved between cliffs, and he even gave his old cry: the one he used in races.

  “I like this gait,” said Helen.

  “Me too.”

  There was something really freeing when all four of his legs left the ground. If he could just avoid his own kind, Nick thought, this centaur thing was a keeper!

  That night, thanks to his speed, they made it as far as Thessaly. Nick stayed outside the town while Helen went in for supplies. When Nick looked around, he saw mountains: and some of those ranges were gnarly. Not going up there, he thought. He’d have to be fitted with shoes . . .

  Helen returned, her arms full.

  “Hey,” she asked, “how about some bread, roasted fish with cheese, and gastrin?”

  “Never say ‘hay’ to a horse,” said Nick. “As far as the other stuff: Yay.”

  Since he wanted to sit, he willed himself to Change by murmuring “Allagí.” Sliding down his tunic, he ate like a starving man. Man, that canter took serious energy. No wonder Sophie and Johnny wanted their dinner on time!

  Helen offered him wine, but Nick eyed it with caution.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s diluted.”

  “Good,” said Nick, taking a mouthful. “Even though Chiron’s my dad, I’m still a centaur.”

  “Athena,” Helen told him, “would approve of your wisdom.”

  Nick bowed slightly.

  “My kind sure likes to party.”

  “If that means kicking and fighting,” said Helen, “then yes, they do.”

  Nick sighed as he finished his meal. He saw that the outskirts of Thessaly weren’t exactly Las Vegas. There were no caves in sight, and the sparse trees just looked sad.

  “Oh well,” he said, heading for a grove anyway. “Guess we’ll just have to rough it.”

  “I was in exile,” said Helen, “for hundreds of years. One more night outdoors does not scare me.”

  “Would you hold my hand then?”

  She shot him a wry smile as he slumped against a rough tree. Coming over to join him, she rested her head on his chest.

  “Listen,” she said, and Nick heard the screech of birds: big ones, from the sound of it. He made sure his weapons were close.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t let ‘em carry you off.”

  He felt her body tense.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Now that you’ve brought that up, I find I cannot sleep.”

  “Count sheep,” Nick advised.

  “But I don’t see any here.”

  “In your mind. One, two, three. . .”

  Before that fourth little lamb could leap over its gate, Nick felt himself nod off.

  “I’m guessing you want some breakfast,” Nick heard, then opened his eyes to see Helen already up.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

  “Yes. But I replaced the sheep with satyrs.”

  “To each his own.”

  They both munched on leftovers until Helen lifted Nick’s stuff.

  “It’s time,” she said.

  “Okay.” He started to pull up his tunic. “Better close your eyes,” he said. After she did, he willed himself to Allagí. “You know, I’m kinda enjoying this.”

  “That’s good,” said Helen, climbing onto his back.

  Nick shook out his long hair.

  “Let’s just hope,” he said, “those mares respond well to a centaur.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” asked Helen. “You’re quite a handsome one.”

  Nick smiled as he started to trot his way north. Those mountains he’d seen at a distance were soon beneath his hooves. How, he wondered, did you keep horses on these kinds of slopes? If that guy Diomedes was smart, he’d have a big ol’ barn.

  What he had, Nick discovered, was an enormous palace. As he rounded a bend, he saw its imposing outlines. Best to avoid it, he thought. Galloping a fair distance, he spot
ted a squat stone building with hay strewn at its sides. Ah. The barn.

  As Nick came closer, he saw a solemn scene: A circle of men all huddled over something. Helen leapt off his back, walking up to them slowly. When she came back, Nick thought she looked slightly sick.

  “Ech,” she said.

  “What is it? What are they looking at?”

  “A-a body. One that’s been torn apart.”

  “Uh oh,” said Nick.

  He had a sinking feeling this would end up involving him . . .

  Helen went back to the men, who, Nick noticed, treated the sight of him as if he were a plow horse. What was that all about?

  Helen came scurrying back.

  “Bad news,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “A groom was eaten alive by the, uh, the mares of Diomedes. It seems the king has trained them to feast on human flesh.”

  “Blech,” said Nick. “What ever happened to oats?”

  “The groom,” Helen told him, “was careless and got too close.”

  “Silly him,” said Nick.

  “It wasn’t expected. The mares are tied up to a bronze manger.”

  “It should be tungsten,” Nick said.

  “One more thing.”

  “That’s never good.”

  “Since you’re a centaur,” said Helen, “they want you to deal with the mares.”

  “So they can eat half of me?”

  Helen sighed.

  “By Athena, I have no idea.”

  Nick tried to smile as the men approached, addressing him in their language.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said, and something in his face must have made them feel better since they went off, relieved. What did you do, Nick wondered, with four flesh-eating beasts? “I need time to think,” he told Helen. From the barn, they heard loud screams: inhuman and pitched to a frenzy. “One against four, no fair,” said Nick, pacing on his four legs. “If I get one with an arrow, the rest of her squad will find me.”

  “Yes,” said Helen. “You must deal with them all at once.”

  “How?” Nick asked.

  “Well, they are tied up,” she said, fast-walking to keep up with him. “What if you stand at a distance and shoot them one by one?”

  “Not bad,” said Nick. “So long as they don’t get loose.” He swung round his bow, loading it up with an arrow. “If your guys could let me in.”

  Helen conveyed his wishes, and the men, looking scared, wrenched open one huge barn door. Then they were off like a shot. Glancing down at the mares’ last victim, Nick could hardly blame them.

  “O . . . kay,” he breathed, treading lightly past huge stone walls. He even stopped moving his tail so he wouldn’t make any noise. Nick passed the usual barn stuff, though this was pretty ancient: reeds filled with hair used for grooming, and water in oval clay barrels. He had to stop himself from bending and taking a drink.

  Oh boy. There they were in a corner. Lit by a stray beam, the four fabled mares stood together. Their coats were all different hues, but, as they rolled their eyes, Nick saw that these shared the same color: red. From each mare’s throat came those high piercing screams which nearly shattered his eardrums.

  “Stop,” he pleaded, bending to put some hay in his ears. Maybe not the best plan, since it itched. “Nice horsies,” he said, shaking as he held his bow.

  Something about him seemed to be driving them mad: and Nick knew it wasn’t his charm. Tied to that bronze manger, the mares jerked their heads so hard that—SNAP!—off came the lead ropes.

  When Nick saw all that horseflesh coming at him at once, he stupidly dropped his bow, wheeled, and galloped off for his life. As he passed Helen outside, he tried to shout, “They’re loose!” but it was a wasted effort: all those mares wanted was him.

  Unlike centaurs, they didn’t need wine to get crazy. With all their shrieking and stomping, they did just fine on their own. Nick reached speeds normally reserved for thoroughbreds, but he couldn’t shake those mares who practically stood on his tail. They—and Nick—raised choking clouds of dust as they thundered into a gully. Nick could barely see through all the flying rocks.

  “Help!” he yelled, but no god or creature came. As Nick cantered blindly, he tried to think: What would Chiron do? Reason with the mares? Quote them Aristotle? Nick didn’t feel up to it, and besides, he was getting tired. Would he have better luck as a guy? He was about to give the order to Allagí when someone put it in for him. He felt himself morphing: but not back into Nick. Instead, his human half shifted into . . . into a horse, and Nick found he could see all the way back to his tail. Instead of long hair, a black mane whipped down his neck, and his torso’s muscles had swelled. Why? Nick wondered. How could being a horse help him?

  The mares answered for him: their high-pitched screams became whinnies, and—thank the gods!—they actually came to a stop. Exhausted, so did Nick. He stayed in one place, panting, and, as the mares circled him, and he could have sworn they threw him come-hither looks!

  Nick tried to say, “Yuck,” but all that came out was a neigh. That’s when he realized: all those girls in school he pursued for only a week . . . that was when . . . blech . . . he thought they were in heat. Or maybe—he was.

  Nick stuck out his tongue, which was now large and rough. He couldn’t be more disgusted, but the mares weren’t having it: to them, he was a stallion and why was he taking so long?

  Now, girls, Nick wanted to say, but only managed a snort. He’d never had one girl fight over him, not to mention four! The mares became wilder, circling him like pioneer wagons. All Nick could see was a blur: of tan, white, grey, and black.

  What should he do? If he changed back to himself, he’d be somebody’s snack. And, as a centaur, he’d just have to keep racing. Nick longed to cover his eyes with his hands, then remembered he didn’t have any.

  That’s when he heard wheels.

  “Stop, thief!” a bass voice roared. “There he is—I recognize his rear!”

  Should Nick be insulted or flattered? At the moment, it didn’t matter, since he found himself surrounded: by a boatload of chariots!

  OMG, Nick thought. This was just like Ten Commandments.

  A big guy in front slapped down his reins. Based on his bulk and armor, Nick assumed he was King . . . Diomedes.

  “Hey!” Nick tried to yell, but all he heard was a squeal.

  “Men!” Diomedes shouted. “Do not be deceived by this stallion! He is really a centaur—and a thief of horses!”

  Well, that was Nick’s cue: to run. Sadly, the mares he was trying to shake set off in a dirt cloud behind him.

  This is so not good, he thought. If I outrun them, will I just be smashed by Ben-Hur? He tried not to dwell on the future as he lowered his head and barreled back to the barn.

  All the king’s horses and all the king’s men were now hot on his tail. Nick saw archer’s arrows bounce harmlessly to the ground: they must have been aiming high so they didn’t hit their prized monsters. Finally, Nick galloped into the barn, but he wasn’t alone: he was soon joined by the mares, Diomedes, and a host of twenty chariots.

  “Show yourself, Centaur!” said the king. He didn’t look like a guy who was used to hearing “no.”

  Nick, still panting, let himself cool down. In any of his forms, he thought, he was totally hosed. Closing his eyes, he muttered “Allagí” in Horse. He should have been more specific, since he now stood there, human . . . and naked from the waist down. The mares weren’t having it, rearing and screaming their displeasure.

  “So.” Diomedes leapt off his chariot, approaching Nick with a swagger. The king’s armor was burnished and he wielded a nasty blade. “You’re just a man.”

  “Actually—”

  “Quiet! You shall be a feast for my mares.”

  He gestured to where the four huddled. They obeyed his command, trotting over as one. Nick tensed all his muscles, throwing a last glance at Helen, who stood watching in horror.

  “NO,” Nick heard her shout as
the mares rolled their red eyes.

  Nick saw them open their jaws, moving in for the kill, going directly for . . . the man who had trained them so well.

  Nick closed his eyes and plugged his ears. Just let it be over, he prayed. Mercifully, it was. When Nick dared to look, he saw the last chariot leaving. That left him with Helen, the mares, and what remained of their brunch.

  “Look,” Nick told the herd. “No more people, okay? From now on, it’s horse food.”

  Demonstrating, he picked up a handful of oats and munched them. Not bad.

  Of course, the mares said nothing, but bobbed their heads in tandem. Nick let out his breath, thinking this Labor was very L.A.: what it was all about was putting the mares on a diet!

  “Later,” he told them, running out of the barn. Helen followed, but to his surprise, she turned away, blushing. Oh, yeah. He wasn’t exactly dressed.

  Nick slid down his tunic and put on his armor with haste. Helen, who held his bow, gave it to him without looking.

  “I forgot,” said Nick. “Thanks. I am now decent.”

  She turned to pick up his sword. They both watched the letter ‘λ’ form beneath the others.

  “Looks like math,” Nick said. He glanced down the road to see a gossiping circle of grooms. “Hey, could you tell your guys the mares no longer eat meat? From now on, they’re vegan.”

  Helen nodded, tapping on one of their shoulders. After she spoke, he slumped to the ground in relief.

  “All good?” Nick asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Man, that was scary.”

  The shock of what had happened hit him like a sonic boom.

  “Because you were nearly eaten?” asked Helen.

  “No,” said Nick, “because I was nearly ravished!”

  A Reluctant Hero

  Man, that dude Diomedes was not exactly loved.

  When, inside the palace, Helen announced his fate, all his retainers cheered. Nick guessed that feeding people to horses was not a popular past-time. In any case, he and Helen were treated like royalty, and, for the first time in ages, he got to sit in a chair. The king’s men were really cool: they plied them with food, wine (diluted), and this funky dessert made of beans. For the first time since the Hydra, Nick got to clean up, and boy, did that bath feel good. He was given a new chiton—and an honest-to-gods real bed covered with comfy skins. Helen, housed next door, looked radiant in her new peplos, and Nick even snuck in a kiss before she went to bed.