He grimaced. “That depends on if you ask the boar or the hunters. He’s got his back to the wall and there’s no way he can fight his way through so many of us. He’s got no choice but to surrender.” Another heartrending howl tore through the air. A hound as big as me went flying up and over the hunters’ heads, its body streaked with red. The cornered boar had tossed the poor creature as easily as if it were a wisp of straw. “Too bad he disagrees.”
“Where’s Atalanta?” I cried, clutching Iolaus’s arm. The blood underfoot, the unlucky dog’s fate, the uproar from the ravine all suddenly combined to strike my heart with terror. But I wasn’t afraid for my own life. I feared for my friend. Without thinking, I grabbed Iolaus’s shoulders and sprang up, desperate to see over the heads of the hunters in front of me. I would have clambered all the way up his back to gain a better view if he hadn’t shaken me off like water.
“Calm yourself, lad. You’ll see her if it’s the gods’ will. She’s the one who found the beast. The way that woman can run, no wonder! With the hounds, she drove him into that narrow spot, and her spear drew first blood.” Iolaus looked grave. “That was when he turned and attacked.”
“No!” In my head I could see the boar turning, charging, and who would be his nearest target? I threw myself forward, into the mob, and shoved my way through.
I struggled past men holding a whole forest of heavy boar spears—unwieldy weapons that were made to be braced against the earth, to meet the infuriated beast’s charge and let his own strength impale him. As I squirmed my way through, I encountered someone whose luck had run out. The body lay face to the sun, arms and legs flung out at strange angles, one hand still curled around a spear’s splintered shaft. His face looked like a smashed piece of fruit. The boar had trampled him, then ripped his side open. I saw the white slivers of exposed ribs just before I vomited.
Someone grabbed my shoulder and shook me. “Help or get out of the way, pup.” It was Theseus and he was unarmed. “The monster broke my spear,” he said tersely. “Get me another!”
“Get it yourself,” I growled, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand before lunging away from him.
Atalanta was standing at the entrance to the ravine, behind Meleager and about four other men. She had her boar spear in hand and was trying to elbow her way ahead of them. I was so happy to see her alive that my voice broke when I called out her name.
“What are you doing here, you idiot?” she shouted. She broke away from Meleager and the others to confront me. “Do you want to die?” She slapped my face so hard it made echoes.
Then she looked at her hand, smeared with blood, mud, and ashes from my face. Her anger turned to alarm. “What’s this? Are you wounded? Show me!”
I began babbling out a rapid explanation of what had happened, but she stopped me as soon as she saw I wasn’t hurt. “Never mind. I have to finish what I started. I’d have had that beast on my spear by now, except for Prince Meleager. He saw me wound it and thought I was in danger. The gods protect me from men who mean well! Those others with him got between me and my prize because they want to steal the honor of the kill. They’re too stupid to know what they’re up against. I don’t think half these men ever faced a boar on their own.”
“But there are so many hunters here—” I began.
She raised her hand to silence me: “No matter how many hunters set out together, we each face the boar alone.”
As if the gods heard her words, there was a fresh chorus of screams as the boar broke through the mob of armed men. He was a moving mountain of flesh, blood, and bristle, draped in shredded hunting nets. Foam streamed from his mouth, and a wake of blood sprayed out behind him from the dozen shallow wounds on his flanks. Hounds held on to his ears, throat, and haunches, their jaws locked. Only death would make them lose their grip. Their ferocious loyalty to their masters’ orders was a gallant, tragic thing to see.
“He’s heading up the mountain!” Atalanta shouldered her spear and took off, her feet flying fast as dragonfly wings. But instead of rushing up the steep, naked slope after the boar, she raced back into the trees and down through the forest.
“What are you doing?” I gasped as I tried to keep up with her.
She paused. “Trust me. He’s gone up the mountain, but he’s got to come down again. I know where to meet him when he does.” And she was off.
I don’t remember the path we took. I was too anxious about keeping up with Atalanta to notice much. Twigs scratched my face, and brambles clawed my legs. I panted for breath as I ran and inhaled a spiderweb. While I stopped for a moment to spit out the sticky strands, I heard the sound of the hunt up the mountain, dogs and men making an uproar loud enough to shake boulders from their beds.
“Not much farther!” Atalanta called over one shoulder. I wanted to shout back that I didn’t care how much farther we went, I could do it, I wasn’t tired at all, except…I was too tired. By the time she stopped and wedged her spear into the earth, I was ready to collapse.
I didn’t dare. Atalanta’s eyes were fixed on the trail, a steep, twisting, narrow path marked by the prints of cloven hooves and the smell of boar droppings. The clamor was getting louder.
This is real, I thought, staring at Atalanta. My mind filled with images of the dogs, of the dead man I’d seen. I stood frozen, feeling danger rolling down on me like a flood and unable to do anything but wait for it to wash me away.
“Here!” Atalanta’s shout shattered my trance. “Get behind me. Hold the spear straight and steady. The slope will give him speed and power. Hold him until the spear point reaches his heart!”