Spotting a rabbit lurking in the long grass, Atalanta took the bow off her shoulder and an arrow from the quiver, and in one swift movement bagged the creature.
Once they found a place to camp and had laid out the fire perimeter and the rabbit was cooking on a greenwood spit, Orion passed her his wineskin.
“Good shot,” he conceded.
Atalanta’s cheeks reddened, but she nodded her thanks. It was as if she and Orion had come to a kind of alliance. She smiled to herself. Rabbits were easy. Wait till he saw how she stood up to the mantiger’s charge.
She went to sleep to the drone of Orion’s voice, waking only when Evenor called her for her turn standing watch. Though with the din Orion made snoring, she doubted any animal—even the mantiger—would come near.
Over the next few days, Orion took it upon himself to instruct Atalanta in some of the finer points of hunting.
“A bow’s fine for rabbits and squirrels,” he told her, “but you need a proper hunting spear for bigger game.”
“This has served me well enough,” Atalanta said, patting her own light javelin.
“A weapon that does no more than wound can be the cause of your own death,” Orion cautioned her. “Especially hunting boar.”
She nodded. Her father had said the same.
“Boars die hard. Wounded, they’re as vengeful as the Furies. Evenor can vouch for that,” Orion added.
“I was young then,” said Evenor, running a finger down the long white scar on his arm, “and too eager to claim a trophy.”
“I have hunted boar,” Atalanta started to say, but Orion continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“A wounded beast is more enemy than prey,” he said. “If your shot doesn’t bring it down, it’s safer to miss altogether. If you’re trying to stop a boar with that bow of yours, little huntress, don’t aim for the heart. His hide is too thick and his breastbone will block the way. Aim for a vulnerable spot on the head: the eye or the ear. With a spot of luck you might pierce his brain. Otherwise that pretty skin of yours will get damaged.”
Evenor moved between them and pointed at an old bite mark on Orion’s left arm. “I see you’ve picked up your own share of wounds.”
“As I said before, a man who flinches from danger is no hunter,” said Orion. He pulled aside the lion skin and pointed. “See—there. And there. And there.” Each place he touched was a fearsome scar, some puckered like little mouths, others long white slashes. “But there is enough danger in the wild without taking foolish risks, little huntress,” he said, turning again to Atalanta. “No matter how helpless a beast may appear, don’t hold back from a final spear thrust or you could pay with your life. And if you corner a beast in its lair, be prepared to strike without hesitation.”
On the third night of their journey, during her turn at the night watch, a familiar scent caused Atalanta to stare nervously around before she realized it was the smell of bear.
Glancing over at Orion, she saw he was fast asleep and—for once—not snoring. Evenor also was deep in slumber.
Noiselessly, she slipped away from camp, gliding a short way through the shadows, before she found Urso crouched in the darkness. As soon as he saw her he let out a soft, welcoming growl.
“Hush, boy!” she whispered urgently, clamping a hand over his muzzle, “We can’t let Orion know you’re here. Who knows what he’d do.”
Urso rubbed his shaggy neck against her.
“I’ve missed you, too,” she said. “But we’re going off to King Iasus’ palace to round up enough men to hunt the mantiger.”
At the beast’s name, Urso snorted.
“No,” she told him, “you can’t come along. To Orion you’re just a helping of meat and fine fur cloak.”
Urso made a low, plaintive whine.
“Yes, it’s dangerous,” Atalanta confessed, “but if you want to help me, you have to keep out of sight. We’ll be in Tegea, the king’s city, soon. It won’t be safe for you there, so you have to stay out here, in the forest.”
Urso licked her hand.
“I can’t go home until this is done. The mantiger killed my father and it’s threatened my friends. We’re connected somehow, that beast and me. I don’t know why, but I know it’s so.”
She wrapped her arms around Urso’s neck and hugged him hard before pushing him away. “Go now,” she said. “I have to get back before somebody notices I’m gone. Besides”—she struck her fist to her chest—“I am standing guard.”
The bear stood up till he towered over her. Then he struck a paw to his own chest. Clearly he was saying that he, too, would stand guard. Then he bounded off into the trees, a great dark shape that was one minute there and the next gone.
Atalanta stood for a few moments, remembering the feel of the bear’s head under her hand, the shaggy roughness of him. Then she turned to head back, and walked right into Orion, who was emerging from the bushes, his long spears in his right hand.
Atalanta leaped back in shock.
“I woke and you were gone,” he said in explanation.
“I thought I heard something moving around. But I was wrong.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “None of us—myself included—is to leave guard station and go off alone.” He paused and sniffed at the air. Then his eyes scrutinized the hard-packed ground carefully.
“Probably just a rabbit,” said Atalanta, stepping into his way.
Orion lifted his head and raised an eyebrow. “A rabbit? With that musk?”
For a heart-stopping instant, Atalanta was afraid he’d insist on pushing past her, find Urso’s tracks, and set off after him. But instead, Orion just turned around and headed back to camp. Letting out a sigh of relief, she followed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE CITY
AFTER THREE DAYS AND nights, they passed beyond the trees and the green light of the forest, and came upon a long, parched road.
“A few miles up this road should be Tegea,” Orion said.
“How do you know?” Atalanta asked.
“Look at the way the tracks of carts and horses go forward. The city calls them,” he said.
Just then a cloud of dust came sweeping toward them out of the east. Atalanta could hear a great clattering of hooves.
“It sounds like a stampede of wild horses!” she cried.
Orion looked at her oddly. “Those are only chariots from the city.”
“She has probably never seen a chariot,” Evenor said. “I have only seen two in my life.”
In fact Atalanta wasn’t sure what a chariot was, but she’d never let Orion know that. Instead, she stepped to the side of the road and rested her hand lightly on her javelin.
As the dust settled, Atalanta could see that pairs of horses were pulling six small, open-sided, double-wheeled wagons, each carrying two riders made of bronze. The metal covered their chests and surrounded their heads, casting their faces into shadow.
Atalanta raised her javelin defensively. “What kind of monsters are these?” she whispered.
Orion laid a hand on her arm, forcing her spear tip down. “Not monsters. They’re warriors. From Tegea. King’s men.”
The chariots pulled to a halt in front of them and one of the warriors climbed down. His bronze breastplate was inlaid with elaborate silver swirls, his helmet ornamented with a great crest. Removing the helmet, he walked over to Orion.
Why, Atalanta thought, he looks quite normal. The man seemed in his middle years, with curling black hair and a small dark beard. He gazed with steady gray eyes at Orion, at the double spears, at the lion skin draped over his shoulders.
“Stranger,” he said, “who are you?”
“I am Orion, son of Hyrieus,” Orion announced grandly, striking himself on the chest.
“Orion!” exclaimed the man. “The gods be praised that our messengers found you. I am Ancaeus of Tegea, brother of King Iasus.” He, too, struck his chest. “My men and I are patrolling the land to keep our people safe from the Beast of Arcadia. With you here, that will no longer be necessary.”