She showed him the rope, and he understood at once that it tethered her to the stake. Digging his claws into it, he ripped the fibers apart shred by shred. When the last few cords snapped, Atalanta jumped to her feet. She took hold of the leather collar and tried to pull it loose, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Time for that later,” she said.
He gave her another rumbling answer. Then, all at once, he reared up on his hind legs and sniffed the air. His head tilted, his lip curled to expose the fangs on the left side of his maw.
Atalanta knew what that meant.
Danger!
CHAPTER TEN
A SMALL HERO
HER EYES DARTED ABOUT, but there was no sign of any of the villagers. They were tucked into their houses, sleeping. So where was this danger?
“What is it, Urso?” she asked.
Nose down, he faced toward one of the houses.
Then she spotted what was worrying him. Even by the dim light of the quarter moon she could see the brightly colored zigzag pattern that ran down its back. Those markings were clear: The snake was venomous and deadly.
Slithering silently, it had now reached one of the cottages and slid under the ill-fitting door.
Evenor’s house.
Atalanta hesitated. For all that she’d surrendered herself to the wildness of the forest, it was one of her father’s teachings that still sang loud in her heart: Help those who need help.
She warned herself. You have time to escape. You owe these people nothing.
But this was Evenor’s house. Of all the people of Eteos, he’d been the one to bring her blankets and food. He’d spoken kindly to her when he needn’t have taken the time.
She sprinted headlong across the open ground toward the cottage, the bear only a few steps behind.
As she ran she thought: The door is probably barred. Everyone knows to be that careful.
Then she noticed a small window beside the door, covered only by a curtain of sackcloth and half lifted because of the softness of the night. She launched herself through the little window, brushing the frame on both sides as she tumbled in. Both her arms felt scraped raw, but nothing could stop her now.
At the thump of her landing, the two children who’d been asleep near the hearth sat bolt upright. The little girl squealed.
Atalanta lunged forward. The snake’s fangs were only an inch from the child’s bare foot.
“Aieeeee!” Atalanta cried as she pinned the serpent to the floor with both hands on the back of its head.
“It’s the wild girl!” the boy exclaimed.
Atalanta recognized that voice. He was one of the boys who’d tormented her only the day before. But there was no time to think of that now. She had to kill the snake. And quickly.
Her father had shown her how to do this. With one hand she gripped the serpent firmly behind the head so it could not turn and bite her. At the same time, her other hand seized it by the tail. Then in a lightning swift motion, she flung the head away from her and whipped the snake through the air by its tail. Its head hit the edge of the stone hearth with a crack that split its skull and knocked a water jar onto the floor, where it shattered.
Atalanta tossed aside the dead creature and was turning to go, when she heard the sound of a curtain being yanked aside.
The hanging that separated the little cottage into two cramped rooms was pulled open, and there stood Evenor with an axe in his hand, his wife cringing behind him.
“She did it!” the boy called out.
“What?” Evenor was baffled.
“She killed the snake!” The boy’s voice suddenly cracked, as if he’d just realized the danger.
“What snake?” Then Evenor spotted the dead serpent coiled on the dirt floor.
“Papa, she just flew in through the window and killed it,” the little girl added. “It would’ve ate us.”
“Blessed Artemis,” her mother cried and ran over to embrace both her children. Then she put them behind her, staring at Atalanta for a long moment with a lessening fear in her eyes.
There were sudden deep-voiced cries of alarm coming from outside. Atalanta understood at once what must be happening. Turning and lifting the heavy beam that barred the door, she bolted outside.
Villagers had heard the noise—of the child’s scream or the shattered jar. Coming out to investigate, they had spotted Urso. A pair of men were already advancing on him with spears.
One was Goryx, who was urging his companion, “Finish him! Finish him now!”
Standing upright, Urso slashed the air with his claws, a stance that was clearly threatening. But the men stood their ground and soon the rest of the villagers joined them, forming a semicircle of spears, pitchforks, and torches around the beleaguered bear.
Evenor had come out of the house to see what was going on, his axe still in his hand.
Turning, Atalanta seized his scarred arm.
“Please,” she cried. “He won’t hurt anyone. He only came to help me.”
“So she talks after all,” said Phreneus, rubbing his beaky nose.
Just then Urso swung a great claw and dashed aside the nearest spear point. The men moved back, well away from his reach, muttering uncertainly to one another.
Evenor lowered his axe. “Don’t provoke him,” he called out. “Can’t you see it’s the girl he’s concerned about?”
“They’re both equally dangerous,” said Goryx. “Press on!” As if taking his own advice, he darted forward and scraped a gash across the bear’s shoulder with the end of his spear.
With a roar like an avalanche, Urso lunged at him, trapping the spear beneath his paw and snapping the shaft in two with his weight.
Staggering back, Goryx squealed as if he—and not the bear—had been blooded. “Bring up the nets! Bring up the nets!”
Two men ran up, unrolling a rope net between them.
“No, stop!” Atalanta screamed, but she was too late.
The villagers flung the net over the bear. Its rope coils covered him and soon Urso flailed about, bellowing his rage, struggling to get free.
One man tried to press home too soon. His spear sailed harmlessly over the bear’s hump. Urso reached out with the one paw that was not trapped and clubbed the man to the ground.
Atalanta moaned and tried to run forward, but strong hands held her, almost throwing her to the ground.
“No!” pleaded a voice. “Let her be!”
It was Evenor’s wife, a long dark cloak around her nightclothes, running forward with her children right behind.
“She saved our children.”
All faces turned away from the struggling bear to look at the family with astonishment.
“It’s true,” Evenor confirmed in a commanding voice. “We owe her a debt. She killed a snake in our house. She’s a hero, that girl.”
There were some disgruntled mutterings from the men, and Phreneus called out, “A hero? Awfully small for such.”
“She did. She did,” called out the little girl from under her mother’s sheltering arm. “Caught a serpent and killed it. With her hands! It was ready to eat me.”
Her brother, braver, stood in front of his mother. He held the dead snake by the tail. “See! She could have just run off. But she saved Daphne instead.”
“You heard them,” said Evenor. “Let go of the girl. And let the bear alone. It’ll be tame once she’s loose.”
The villagers were reluctant to obey, but Atalanta broke free and ran straight to Urso.
“It’s all right,” she told him, punctuating her words with reassuring snorts and growls. “Nobody’s going to hurt you now.”
“She’s mad,” came Goryx’s voice. “That’s plain enough. As soon as we’ve killed the bear we should dig a pit to keep her in.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A SIGN FROM THE GODS
CAN’T YOU SEE THE gods have sent us a sign?” Evenor’s wife demanded. “We were never meant to harm this animal or the wild girl.” Her hands tightened on her children’s shoulders.