Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast by Jane Yolen Page B

home now.
    Evenor appeared at last with Labrius. Spying Atalanta, he hurried over. In a low voice no one else could hear, he said, “A prayer to swift-footed Hermes might be a good idea, Atalanta.”
    “Why? Because you think I can’t win without the gods’ help?” She felt cross. “Isn’t that just the same as cheating?”
    “Not if they’re helping Orion as well.”
    “Well, they would, wouldn’t they,” she said.
    Evenor couldn’t help it. He began to laugh.
    “Why are you laughing?”
    “I am reminded of a race run in our village many years ago. A man named Charmus ran for three miles with five others, and he came in seventh.” He chuckled as he spoke.
    She looked puzzled. “How seven?”
    “A friend of his went along crying, ‘Keep it up, Charmus!’ and arrived ahead of him. If he’d five more friends, he would have come in twelfth!” He began laughing again.
    It took Atalanta a moment to get the joke, and when she did, she began to laugh, too. Soon they were howling together, till tears ran from their eyes.
    When the laughter passed at last, Atalanta handed Evenor her bow, spear, quiver, and belt. Then she took the leather thong from around her neck with the boar’s head ring.
    “Will you…” she began.
    “Of course.” He gathered them to his chest. “As if they were my own.”
    Atalanta looked over to where Orion was stripping down to his loincloth and sandals, leaving himself as unencumbered as possible. Seeing his swelling muscles and powerful legs, she wondered for the first time if she had simply made a fool of herself by challenging him. Yes, she’d chased Urso through the forest and more than held her own. But she’d been told Orion’s speed was legendary. Poets sang of it.
    Orion approached her and towered over her. “Do you still wish to go through with this?”
    “Why? Do you want to back out?”
    A few of the villagers chuckled, and Orion laughed as well. “I like your spirit, child.”
    Labrius cleared his throat, which effectively silenced everyone. Pointing to a rough, narrow road leading to the next village, he said, “The girl, Atalanta, and the hero, Orion, will race down that track.” He cleared his throat again. “We’ll place a marker two miles down, attended by a judge. Once they’ve reached the marker, they’ll turn and run back. The first to reach the well will be the winner.”
    Looking down the long straight track, Atalanta again felt her heart sink. This was not how she raced Urso. They went through the forest—over trees and through rock clefts and wading across streams.
    Suddenly that thought gave her an idea. Perhaps there was a way to even the odds just a little, to turn Orion’s great size and strength against him.
    “What sort of a race is that for a hunter?” she asked.
    Orion raised an eyebrow.
    “Does a hunter chase an animal along a straight flat track?” Atalanta continued. “Does a hunter run halfway then turn around and go back before catching the prey?”
    Orion smiled. “What do you suggest then, little huntress?”
    “Let’s go through the woods,” she said, gesturing toward the thick woodland to the north of the village.
    “And what will be the object of the race?” he asked.
    Squinting, Atalanta used the flat of her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “What’s that up there?” she asked, pointing. “Up on that hill beyond the trees.”
    Orion’s sharp eyes followed her finger. “A statue.”
    “That’s our shrine to Artemis,” Labrius said.
    “Make that our finishing post then,” Atalanta suggested.
    Orion smiled fully, showing his white, even teeth. “Agreed. The first one to touch the statue is the winner.”
    Atalanta nodded and held out her hand.
    Orion took her hand in his but was careful not to squeeze her fingers too tightly. “It looks to be at least a mile and uphill the whole way,” he observed. “Are you sure those spindly legs of yours will carry you?”
    They must, Atalanta thought. I have to