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“Jason, wake up! We have to hurry, or we won’t get a good spot!”
Amazingly, it was Hercules whose voice awakened Jason. Most often it was he and Pythagoras who had to wake Hercules in the morning, and with the amount of wine their rotund friend regularly consumed, it rarely proved an easy task.
Once his mind cleared of sleep enough to remember why they were all about to leave the house while it was still dark, Jason scrambled out of bed and pulled on his sandals as fast as he could. He shared the enthusiasm behind Hercules’ impatience.
“Come on, Jason! We might be early enough this time to get free pies while they’re still hot!” Hercules called.
Well, maybe Jason’s priorities for the day didn’t completely match Hercules’…
His friend was propelling a stumbling, yawning Pythagoras toward the door. “Hercules, wait! Just let me get my cloak. It’s freezing outside!” the redheaded mathematician protested.
The cloak in question lay over the back of a chair next to the dining table. Hercules swept it up and shoved it at Pythagoras. It tangled and ended up draped over his head.
“Mmmph!” Pythagoras flailed blindly and tugged it off, all while still being pressed across the room.
Jason suppressed a chuckle as he followed his two housemates outside.
One thing that Jason liked about living in the city of Atlantis was the number of festivals to the gods that everyone celebrated. It seemed that every few weeks there was a round of contests, or a day of feasting, or a Temple ceremony.
Jason heard Pythagoras’ voice in his memory, explaining that this festival, the Panathenaea, was to honor Athena as well as Poseidon, and consisted of contests, feasting, and Temple ceremonies. The most unusual aspect of the Panathenaic Games was that all the competitors were women, vying for prizes of beautiful gold amphorae filled with expensive oils and perfumes.
Each morning of the festival had begun with a grand procession in which the Oracle carried the Palladium, the statue widely believed to ensure Poseidon’s magical protection for Atlantis, to the royal balcony above the arena. It was the only time every four years that the artifact was ever removed from the palace vault.
Over the last few days the three friends had then witnessed horse races, foot races, music and poetry competitions, and the initial rounds of the archery tournament. There had been banquets and dance performances, a brand new comedic play, and then more music and more food. Vendors from near and far had also filled the city streets, selling an overwhelming quantity and variety of wares.
Today, the last day of the festival, would see the final banquet and rounds of games. Then, with a final procession, the Oracle would return the Palladium to the vault.
The trio didn’t have far to go to the sidelines of the processional route, and soon they all stood munching pies as the sun rose. Jason did have to admit that the pies were at their best this fresh and warm.
The enticing scents of roasted nuts, sausages, pastries, and pies wafted past her, but Eris was too intent on her objective to feel hungry. The young woman had scouted out several locations to watch the procession from that would suit her, and anticipation quickened her heartbeat as she made her way through the growing crowd to the most convenient one.
Eris stopped short when she discovered that three men already occupied the place she had chosen, keeping warm near one of the braziers that for the duration of the festival lined the street. One of the younger ones was muscular and had dark and rather tousled hair, and the other was small, slender, and redheaded. Their older, heavyset companion was speaking to them, and none of them noticed Eris. She slipped away before they could. It didn’t matter. By the brazier across the street made just as good an alternative. Neither these three nor any other man was going to cheat her out of what she deserved. Not this time.
A faded memory of her father came into Eris’ mind. That was the first time she’d had what was hers unfairly taken away. She had been only six years old, barely old enough to have any degree of understanding of what was going on, when her father had become one of the unfortunate Atlanteans sacrificed to the Minotaur. She had stood with her sobbing mother and listened to King Minos say that the seven families should be proud of the honor their loved ones’ selection meant, words that dissipated into empty nothingness.
How Eris hated him.
Eris had lost her home that day as well as her father. Her mother had taken her and left Atlantis to live with her aunt and uncle outside the city. She had not returned for many years.
Then, four years ago, Eris had been in the very procession she was about to watch. A skilled archer, she had earned a place in the last Panathenaic Games, and she had made it to the final round. She smiled, remembering the happiest moment of her life, when her skill was finally getting her somewhere, and when she had the eye of the handsome Lord Heptarian. Her family was not of great importance, but just high enough in rank and wealth that a match between Eris and Heptarian could have been feasible.
Everything had then fallen apart.
Another girl had cheated at the final round of the tournament and beaten Eris, and no one would listen to her evidence because the other girl was of greater rank and a more influential family. Furthermore, King Minos had admitted that he was weary of the games and just wanted the matter over and done.
Eris’ molten hatred for the king had that day frozen and contracted into a small and hard black diamond deep at her very core.
Heptarian would not listen to her either. He had silenced her with a cold gesture and told her that he would not be matched with a poor loser, and worse, a loud, disruptive woman with no sense of court decorum. He had never spoken to her again.
The black diamond had darkened and expanded to include him.
Strains of music attracted Eris’ attention. The moment had arrived. The Oracle came into sight leading the procession, carrying the Palladium. Heptarian and the king followed right behind her.
Eris’ gloved fingers touched the means of her long-planned revenge that thanks to one of the witches of Colchis now rested in the pocket of her dress. It was so fitting that the games that had seen her misery would now see her enemies destroy each other.
She raised her hand to her mouth as if to stifle a cough, but instead whispered a quick incantation the witch had taught her to activate the spell on the object hidden in her hand. It glowed briefly, as did the leather of her glove where it touched.
Heptarian had no idea how disruptive Eris could be.
“I wish Medusa could be out here with us to see this,” Hercules sighed, “but at least we’ll see her later once she’s done helping serve the banquet.”
Jason acknowledged him with an absentminded nod. It was Princess Ariadne he couldn’t wait to see. She would ride by with Queen Pasiphae at the end of the procession, looking so stunning, so regal, so… out of his league. Maybe he could just meet her eyes for a moment. Maybe she would smile.
Something small, round, and bright abruptly flew into the air as if thrown, and arced over everyone’s heads and into the procession, right behind the Oracle’s back.
It fell directly between Heptarian and the king, and then began rolling away toward Jason and his friends, leaving a briefly glowing trail on the stones of the street.
It came to rest inches from Jason’s toes.
“What is that?” Pythagoras asked.
Jason bent toward it. “It’s an apple,” he said. It was actually more than that: a perfect apple, round, symmetrical, and showing no sign of a bruise where it had hit the ground. Only one thing marked its flawless yellow color. “It’s got some kind of gold writing on it.”
“Gold writing?” Pythagoras repeated. “On an apple? Jason, it would probably be a good idea not to touch - “
Jason already held the apple in his hand.
“Uh-oh,” Hercules commented.
Jason straightened to find himself face to face with a glaring Lord Heptarian. The procession had halted, and an apprehensive silence filled the air.
“What does the writing say, peasant? Or can you read?” Heptarian asked. He showed no recognition of Jason and his friends despite only recently having sent them to prison because Jason defended a luckless citizen from Heptarian’s bullying. Only by succeeding as bull leapers in an exhibition before the royal family had the trio been released. Maybe it just wouldn’t do in the arrogant Heptarian’s view to acknowledge any prior acquaintance. They were not worth remembering.
No, there was more to it than that. Jason noticed a strange, fanatical light in Heptarian’s eyes. Furthermore, a rapid glance revealed that the king had it too.
The warm pie rapidly turned to ice in Jason’s stomach.
“Well?” Heptarian demanded.
Jason looked back down at the apple. “For the Mightiest,” he read.
“Well, that’s clear enough.” Heptarian held out his hand with a satisfied smirk.
Should he give Heptarian the strange golden apple, Jason wondered, or would it only make things worse?
Hercules elbowed him in the ribs.
Jason extended his hand.
Heptarian snatched the apple with a lightning motion and stalked away.
“There’s undoubtedly witchcraft about that apple,” Pythagoras murmured, “but exactly what kind is anybody’s guess.”
“Who could have thrown that into the procession?” Hercules wondered.
Jason and Pythagoras just shook their heads.
King Minos stopped Heptarian before he reached his place back in the procession. He reached out and took hold of the golden apple. “Thank you, Poseidon’s Servant, for retrieving this prize for your king.” He smiled, but his eyes couldn’t be harder.
Heptarian resisted. “Your Majesty, this was meant for me!”
“It says, ‘For the Mightiest’, and that would be me!” Minos roared.
Both men reached for their swords. The crowd gave a collective exclamation.
The Oracle intervened. “Stop! There is powerful magic at work here,” she said. She paused, her eyes closed for a moment, and then she declared, “The gods have spoken. A contest of strength, wit, and oratory between all who have touched the apple shall show the true owner.”
“I accept,” said the king.
“So do I,” Heptarian added. Reluctantly he gave her the apple, which she grasped using her scarf. She wrapped it securely and handed it to the high priest.
The Oracle then glided over to Jason and looked him in the eyes. “And you?”
“What?” Jason exclaimed.
She took his hand, uncurled his fingers, and looked closely. “I can see the residue of the spell on you,” she said. She then met his eyes again. “The enchantment was not meant for you, but nevertheless all who have touched the apple must participate in the contest.”
“No way. I, um, forfeit. I don’t want this,” Jason told her, pulling his hand away.
“That will not break the spell,” the Oracle told him softly. “If you do not participate, its discord will strengthen and spread. The city will end up in chaos. I see rioting and flames. Many will die.” The Oracle’s penetrating gaze rested on Pythagoras for a moment in a look Jason didn’t like. Had she foreseen him becoming one of the victims?
Jason’s protective instinct toward his gentle, scholarly friend and his patriotic instinct toward the city that had become his home both rose. “All right. I’ll do it.”
The Oracle nodded. Her small smile said that she thought he had done right. She then walked away without another word.
Jason fully expected his two housemates to chime in, arguing that he shouldn’t go through with it, but they remained silent. He looked at each of them, and both wore pensive, worried expressions.
“It’ll be fine,” Jason told them. “I’m technically going to be in this contest, but I’m not going to try to win. This whole thing is completely crazy.”
“You’ve got that right,” Hercules agreed.
A bewildered Princess Ariadne sat in the royal balcony and gazed out at the arena as the contest of strength was announced. She watched as a pair of guards carried an ornamented chest through the amphitheater and brought it up to the royal box for display. Ariadne knew it would contain the contest’s enigmatic prize. Where had that golden apple come from, and what had gotten into both her father and the loathsome Heptarian about it? Most bewildering of all, how had Jason gotten involved? From the back of the procession Ariadne had not been able to see or hear what happened clearly, but the Oracle had said the apple was enchanted, and this new contest usurping the women’s Panathenaic Games was necessary to break the enchantment.
Ariadne cast a glance beside her at her stepmother. She believed the rumors that Queen Pasiphae knew black magic, though Ariadne had never seen any direct evidence of this. She also knew that Pasiphae hated Jason because of the attraction between him and Ariadne. However, Pasiphae seemed just as taken aback by the turn of events as everyone else.
King Minos, Lord Heptarian, and Jason entered the arena and faced off. All three carried identical swords. To Ariadne’s relief, the Oracle had said they were only to disarm each other. The last one holding his sword would win the three-way match. Ariadne still couldn’t help but worry about both Jason and her father. She didn’t trust Heptarian to follow the rules. For that matter, would her father, in this strange state that had his face in a feral grimace, follow them?
Only Jason seemed to be in his right mind, and from his expression, he clearly had some kind of plan. He stood back as Heptarian and the king attacked each other. The young courtier was fitter and more agile, and though the king was experienced and cunning and put up a decent defense, Heptarian disarmed him.
It was all Ariadne could do to keep her seat and not rush to her father as several priests quickly escorted the king out of the arena. Her father was a proud man, and his bent, defeated posture now broke Ariadne’s heart. Some supporters from the Royal Guard approached him, but he dismissed them with an angry gesture.
Heptarian turned and faced Jason with a savage grin. Ariadne couldn’t hear what he said, but it was no doubt an insult.
Jason met his eyes steadily and didn’t reply.
Heptarian snarled something else, and then charged with just as much ferocity as any bull in the bull-court.
As Heptarian struck, Jason twisted aside and deliberately let his adversary knock his sword from his hand. He then backed up several steps, out of Heptarian’s immediate reach, and bowed to him. The crowd thundered.
Ariadne managed to read Jason’s lips as he then said, “You win,” to Heptarian with a shrug. Ariadne found Heptarian’s confusion and frustration despite the cheers of his admirers quite gratifying.
No one paid much attention to Medusa as she moved about the banquet hall of the palace, helping to serve a lavish meal to the Panathenaic contestants and their female friends, relatives, and supporters. The royal family and the royal council were eating elsewhere, so the women felt at liberty to speak their minds. Outraged and heartbroken contestants complained bitterly that a new tournament between men had suddenly supplanted their games. Some of the more religious women feared that the disruption of the festival would anger Poseidon or Athena. Most of all, the assembly wondered where the magic golden apple that had started the whole incident had come from. Rumors flew, each more outlandish than the last, but no one knew anything for certain.
Medusa then noticed one face with a different expression from everyone else’s. The young blonde woman in the dark green dress sat among the rest but apart from them, letting the chatter swirl around her without participating. She ate slowly and scanned the room, but with none of the urgency of trying to find someone; it looked more like she was watching the others in general and taking in the atmosphere of discord that had so unsettled Medusa. Instead of anger, confusion, or disappointment, satisfaction, even anticipation shone in the eyes of this girl.
“How dare you! That’s practically blasphemy!” someone cried from behind Medusa.
“It isn’t if it’s true,” a second voice replied with a saucy lilt.
Medusa turned as the argument between the two women, a religious devotee who Medusa had heard earlier worrying about the city angering the gods, and a very young brunette dressed in the white gown of a Panathenaic contestant, degenerated. Luckily a few of the others interceded and began to calm them down.
Medusa turned back to her work in relief. She glanced once more at the mysterious blonde in the green dress, and to Medusa’s shock the girl was smiling, though she tried to hide it, in response to the argument they had overheard. Medusa tried to give no sign that she had noticed. The girl in green lingered, toying with her dessert as the banquet drew to a close and the hall emptied out. She was among the last, though not the last, to leave, and she left alone.
What could this mean? Did it in fact mean anything? Medusa wasn’t sure what to do as she finished her work and then maneuvered through the crowd to go meet Hercules and Pythagoras. All her instincts told her that something wasn’t right about the girl in green, but she had no real idea why.
Hercules stood waiting with Pythagoras for the second part of the contest in the Temple courtyard among the gathering spectators. His attention soon focused on a familiar figure approaching.
His smile at seeing her though soon turned to concern. “Medusa? What’s wrong?” Hercules asked as soon as he saw the puzzled, distracted expression on her lovely face. Whatever it was, he was going to fix it.
“I’m not sure,” she said. She looked at him, and he saw with pleasure the moment she decided to confide in him. “I saw something strange at the banquet,” she quietly disclosed so that only he, and perhaps Pythagoras, could hear. “There was a girl acting oddly, like she was enjoying all this chaos over the Panathenaea. It was as if she knows what’s behind it.”
“Who was she? What did she look like?”
“I don’t know who she was. She was young, and tall and blonde, and wearing a dark green dress. Her clothes were of fine material, so she must come from a wealthy family.”
“Is that her, over by the entrance to the alleyway?” Pythagoras unexpectedly put in.
Medusa looked. “Why yes, that’s her!”
Hercules turned as casually as he could to follow Medusa’s gaze. He saw the girl, and somehow she looked vaguely familiar. She stepped toward a nearby brazier, and Hercules recognized the aspect of an archer in the way her shoulders moved and in the deliberate way she planted her feet. He turned back to Medusa, trying hard to remember –
Then it hit him. “I know who she is,” he told Medusa softly. “Her name’s Eris. She nearly won the archery tournament four years ago at the last Panathenaea. There was a rumor about someone else cheating in order to beat her, but it was all hushed up and nothing came of it.”
Medusa looked at him in amazement. “How on earth did you remember that?”
Hercules hesitated, embarrassed, but decided to tell her the truth. “I’d placed a wager on her winning that tournament. A rather large wager. It seemed a sure thing… and then it wasn’t. It, uh, wasn’t easy paying that debt.” He figured she didn’t need to know the minute detail that ‘paying that debt’ had resulted in several days spent in bed with an alternately worried and annoyed Pythagoras patching him back together.
“I see.” Medusa looked over Hercules’ shoulder again and frowned. “What is it she’s doing now?”
Hercules turned back just in time to see Eris looking around as if checking to see that no one was watching her. She did not see them as she slowly drew an expensive-looking pair of gloves out of her pocket. Suddenly she dropped the gloves into the fire of the brazier behind her, and then lost herself in the crowd before the resulting smoke could draw anyone’s attention.
“What did she do that for?” Medusa wondered.
“I don’t know,” was all Hercules could answer.
The contest of wit commenced. Hercules joined the crowd’s cheering as the Oracle, and then Jason, Heptarian, and the king, emerged from the Temple entrance and stood at the top of the steps. Two guards followed them and placed the chest containing the golden apple at the Oracle’s feet.
“For this challenge,” the Oracle declared, “the three of you must solve a riddle. The one who gives the best answer shall win.” The crowd murmured, but she did not pause long. “Two men, Tarax and Nomos, each accuse the other of stealing his prize horse. To settle this, their overlord has them hold a race, and the owner of the last horse to cross the finish line would be victorious. However, once they begin, the two ride so slowly that they spend an entire day with neither of them nearing the finish line. How can the situation be resolved?”
The crowd began to talk, and thoughtful frowns creased Lord Heptarian’s and King Minos’ brows. Hercules saw that Pythagoras too was lost in thought.
Jason simply stood there, looking a bit impatient. His gaze lingered on the chest containing the golden apple.
Next to Hercules, Pythagoras suddenly brightened. “I know the answer!” he burst out.
Hercules clapped a hand over his friend’s mouth. “Quiet!” he hissed. Knowing Pythagoras, he probably had the right answer, but that would not help break the enchantment of the golden apple. “Sorry, but you can’t reveal the answer to them.” Pythagoras subsided, and Hercules let go of him and turned his attention back to the contestants.
Jason stirred, and the Oracle asked him, “What is your answer?”
“I don’t know,” Jason replied.
A disappointed muttering moved through the crowd.
Heptarian answered a few moments later, with a wide and unmistakable grin of pride. “Tarax should get on Nomos’ horse and finish the race. The rule is that the owner of the slowest horse would win!” Heptarian’s arrogant grin grew even more.
“I actually think he’s got it,” Hercules murmured to Medusa. What he didn’t say was how much it surprised him. For all his wealth and power, Heptarian was an idiot.
“I don’t think so…” Medusa murmured back.
With a swagger Heptarian started toward the ornate chest. “That’s two out of the three challenges, so I believe that wins me the golden apple!”
King Minos’ expression became triumphant. He blocked the younger man’s way. “Slow down, Heptarian. I haven’t answered yet. Your answer is incomplete and does not address the real issue. The goal of the overlord is to identify which man is the horse thief. If Tarax takes Nomos’ horse, as you say, then yes, he wins the race, but he also then reveals himself as the thief. He can then be imprisoned, or branded, as the laws of that land require.”
The crowd cheered, and the Oracle declared, “His Majesty the king is the winner.”
Heptarian looked at her in profound disbelief. He then threw a murderous glare at the king and stormed away. The king too stormed off in a different direction, back toward the palace. Jason eagerly started making his way toward Hercules, Medusa, and Pythagoras.
The Oracle addressed the crowd, saying, “The third challenge will begin in one hour.”
Eris knew exactly where Heptarian was heading. He was a creature of habit, and she remembered the place he always went when he needed to calm his temper. She smiled to herself as she threaded her way through the agitated crowd. Her spell of discord was working perfectly.
The only factor Eris hadn’t anticipated was that blundering fool called Jason accidentally getting himself involved in the situation. She supposed it didn’t matter. He clearly wasn’t trying to win, and at this point there wasn’t much she could do about him anyway, except what she already intended to do now: fan the flames that her magic golden apple had ignited and that would soon incinerate her two enemies, no matter which of them won the contest. If this Jason ended up in the way, what was that to her? In fact, the more damage the spell could do to this city by the time it burned itself out the better. Atlantis was a city of injustice, as proven when she had been cheated out of her Panathenaic victory and not one person had spoken up for her or even listened to her. It deserved to burn.
Eris found Heptarian exactly where she expected to: the palace stables, where he was grooming his horse. Something surreptitious in his aspect made Eris look closer. He had prepared his saddle, she saw, and his full saddlebags lay on the ground. He was planning to travel somewhere quite soon, then. Eris hadn’t expected this. Where could he possibly be going, and why right now, and where were the inevitable attendants who would accompany him? Then she realized what he was doing, and Eris could barely contain her glee. Heptarian was planning to steal the golden apple and try to escape the city with it! Oh, that was delicious! The king would have him hunted down and punished for that, as he so well deserved! This would then, in turn, anger Heptarian’s powerful allies, and turn them against the king!
Heptarian heard Eris’ footsteps and whirled in alarm. When he saw her, his expression changed to such extreme surprise that she found it comical. “Eris?” he gaped.
She managed not to laugh. Instead, she said, “Lord Heptarian,” and curtsied.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. It wasn’t because he cared; he turned away from her dismissively as he spoke.
Eris tried to act a bit shy. “I… I’ve been watching the competition… and I just wanted to say that… I thought you got cheated regarding that riddle. You really should have won.”
“I certainly should have,” Heptarian grumbled. He continued brushing his horse.
“I’m sure you’ll win the oratory challenge,” Eris said. “You’re more of a man of action than the king. He’ll waste time trying to script something, and meanwhile you’ll be out there winning.”
“And that peasant Jason is no match for me. He’s already lost, as he deserves.”
“Who cares about him? He’s a nobody,” Eris agreed. “Really, you are the mightiest. I hope you win the golden apple.” At those words Eris could see the magic smolder in Heptarian’s eyes.
“I will. All of Atlantis will see it soon,” Heptarian bragged.
“Indeed.” She went back to playing shy and ducked her head. “Well… may the gods be with you,” she said. Eris then turned and walked away. Let him think this was a flirtation, that she hoped to resurrect the relationship they had begun four years ago.
In reality all that was left of her former attraction to him was the black diamond of hatred deep within her.
“What’s wrong, Jason?” Pythagoras asked upon seeing his friend’s face as he rejoined the group.
“Nothing,” Jason responded. “I just feel… unsettled. Impatient with this contest. I shouldn’t have to be doing this!”
“Only one challenge left, and then it’s over,” Hercules reminded him.
“Easy for you to say!” Jason snapped. “You’re not in it!”
Pythagoras, Hercules, and Medusa all stared at him.
“Sorry,” Jason muttered. “I’m just not in a good mood.”
“That won’t do for the next contest,” Pythagoras said, with a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s –“
“I’m not trying to win!” Jason shrugged him off, more forcefully than necessary.
“We know,” Medusa put in, “but you’re still going to be in the public eye.”
“Which is the last place I want to be!”
“She’s only trying to help!” Hercules protested.
“Hercules, just stop!”
Hercules glared at Jason but only grumbled low in his throat in reply.
Pythagoras opened his mouth to try to defuse the situation, but before he could get a word out, Jason rounded on him. “Pythagoras, enough!” Jason actually shoved him, and he stumbled backward a few steps. Hercules caught him, and would have shouted at Jason again, but Pythagoras hastily whispered to him, “No, Hercules. Don’t.”
Something wasn’t right here, Pythagoras knew. He’d never heard Jason be this snappy with anyone, and Jason had definitely never shoved him before. Pythagoras caught a glimpse of Jason’s eyes before Jason turned his back on him, and what he saw mirrored how Heptarian and the king had looked earlier.
Pythagoras nearly gasped aloud. The magic from the golden apple was spreading.
This was not good.
Pythagoras tried to clear his head and restrain the surprisingly intense worry that was grasping at his heart with icy fingers. The Oracle had implied that the contest would break the spell. Logically that meant all he had to do was buy them some time until it was over.
He took a deep breath, and a moment later, Pythagoras had an idea. A dose of chamomile ought to calm Jason down some, he thought, and I think I could use some too. Maybe we all could.
Medusa was watching him. “Pythagoras, are you all right?”
Pythagoras supposed that made a good enough opening for him to begin his little plan. “I’m getting cold,” he said. He wasn’t, really; his winter cloak was warm enough, but saying so would let him take a casual approach to this. Otherwise Jason would likely just yell at him to stop fussing and refuse his attempt to help. “There’s a vendor right over there selling hot drinks,” he said. “How about I get us all some chamomile tea?”
“Yes, please,” was Medusa’s answer.
“Fine,” Jason responded dully.
“I’ve brought my own fortification,” Hercules replied, indicating the flagon of wine at his side. Then he changed his mind. “On the other hand, maybe something hot is a good idea.”
“Then I’ll be right back,” Pythagoras told them. I’m going to ask the vendor to make the tea extra strong, he decided.
He soon returned with four steaming mugs. He handed two of them to Hercules and Medusa, who thanked him, and a third to Jason, who didn’t.
Pythagoras then produced and shared a packet of grilled chestnuts he had also just bought. His friends’ delighted exclamations made him smile. “The other thing I think we could all use right now is a good story,” he then suggested. “Hercules, can you tell us something heartwarming, something funny?”
Hercules grinned. “I know the perfect thing. Did I ever tell you about the time the mountain nymphs competed to see who could give Pan the best birthday gift ever?”
Pythagoras observed his friends as they all listened to the story and sipped their tea and nibbled at the chestnuts. Soon they all seemed more relaxed. Pythagoras felt it too. Jason had stopped scowling and laughed with them at the truly hilarious tale. As Jason then left to meet the Oracle for instructions for the third challenge, Pythagoras fervently hoped this fragile sense of peace would last until the end of the contest.
As she and her friends headed back toward the Temple to watch the oratory challenge, Medusa suppressed another fit of giggles at the story Hercules had told. She noted that Pythagoras was still mirthful too, and Hercules looked rightly proud of himself. He really did have a gift for storytelling. She smiled at him in admiration.
The crowd was growing thicker, and someone suddenly jostled past Medusa. When she looked up, she nearly choked on the chestnut she had just put in her mouth.
There was Eris.
The blonde archer didn’t look back as she purposefully hurried off. Medusa swallowed hastily and tugged on Hercules’ sleeve. “Hercules!” she whispered. “It’s that girl, Eris!”
Hercules looked, and his expression darkened. “She looks like she’s up to something. We had better follow her,” he murmured back.
“Pythagoras!” Medusa hissed.
The mathematician, lost in thought, didn’t hear her.
Hercules grabbed his friend’s elbow and tugged him along.
“Wha-?” Pythagoras yelped.
“It’s Eris! Come on!” Hercules said in his ear.
Pythagoras followed them.
Medusa led the way until she saw Eris position herself among the crowd. At that point Medusa slowed her pace to a nonchalant and easy ramble, and her two companions followed suit. They stopped far enough away to avoid catching Eris’ attention, but close enough to keep an eye on her, and they settled in to watch the competition.
Soon the Oracle appeared at the top of the Temple steps, along with the contestants and the guards with the chest containing the golden apple. “This final event is a test of oratory,” the Oracle announced, “and, you, citizens of Atlantis, shall have a voice in determining the winner. Each contestant shall tell us all why he should be declared the mightiest, and your response shall show who is the most convincing.”
Without waiting for an introduction, Lord Heptarian strutted forward and began. Medusa had never heard a more bombastic, self-important, and overblown speech in her life. She cringed inwardly at the pomposity of every word and every gesture as he enumerated his many victories in the arena and his political importance to the city. When he was at long last done, Medusa forced a smile and clapped politely, but she made sure her hands made almost no actual sound.
The rest of the crowd seemed almost as unenthusiastic, except for Heptarian’s personal cronies in the front of the audience.
Heptarian scowled.
Jason’s turn came. He stepped forward and gave the crowd an unassuming smile. “I know I’m supposed to tell you all why I ought to be named the mightiest,” he said, “but the truth is I shouldn’t be. I’m not the mightiest. I don’t have the accomplishments that Lord Heptarian and King Minos have. I’ve only even been in Atlantis for a few months, and I’m still learning how things are done here. So, let that make your choice a little easier, and in the meantime, I’ve just heard one of the best stories I’ve ever heard in my life, so I’ll tell you that instead.” Jason then began retelling Hercules’ story about the mountain nymphs who tried to outdo each other in giving birthday gifts to their patron deity Pan, resulting in a lighthearted and unpredictably shifting comedy of errors.
Medusa smiled. Jason was proving a decent storyteller, though not as good as Hercules, and the crowd was completely drawn in.
“He’s brilliant!” Pythagoras beamed as the crowd broke into hysterics at one of the story characters’ antics. “He’s both throwing the contest and breaking all the tension in the air!”
Hercules was grinning too. “And he’s telling my story! I seem to have taught him well!”
Medusa joined her two friends in applauding Jason. She also stole a glance at Eris. The archer was not applauding, and her expression showed confusion, not levity.
When Medusa looked back toward the contest, she saw that the king was laughing just as hard as everyone else.
After the story’s conclusion, King Minos approached the grinning Jason, and actually clapped him on the back. “I had prepared what I was going to say to everyone, but now, I don’t think I’ll say it. Jason, that was the best story I’ve heard in a long time. I haven’t laughed like that in ages, and judging by the people’s reaction, I’d say they would agree. Therefore, I will concede that you have won this challenge.” He raised the stunned Jason’s hand into the air, like what was done in the arena, and the crowd’s roar rose to a deafening volume.
Only two people were not pleased by this outcome, Medusa observed through her own cheering. One of them was Eris, who had stubbornly crossed her arms.
The other was Heptarian. The disbelief on his face was rapidly transmuting into rage.
“Jason wins the oratory challenge,” the Oracle declared, to yet more cheering.
When the crowd’s clamor had mostly faded, Medusa heard Pythagoras’ soft voice. “This means the contest is a three way tie,” he fretted. “What is this going to mean for the spell?”
“Maybe there’s going to have to be another challenge,” Hercules conjectured.
“I hope not,” Medusa opined.
At that moment their attention focused back on the contestants, for Heptarian was moving across the stone step toward the king, his face contorted in uncontrolled rage. “I do not concede! This unworthy peasant didn’t follow the Oracle’s directive in what he said, and he even admitted his unworthiness! How can he possibly have won? I have won! I am the mightiest!”
The crowd fell utterly silent.
King Minos drew himself up to his full royal height and took one step toward Heptarian. “Have you no respect for the gods?!” he roared. “Poseidon’s Oracle has named him the winner!”
Heptarian fell silent but continued glaring.
“I don’t know what has gotten into you, Heptarian,” the king said. “This is not at all like you. However, it doesn’t much matter at the moment. You will concede the oratory challenge.”
Heptarian remained still.
The king drew a dagger from his belt and pointed it at Heptarian’s throat. “Kneel!” he commanded.
Medusa held her breath.
Heptarian finally, slowly, bowed his head and knelt.
The crowd cheered once more.
The Oracle smiled unreservedly. “I declare the contest of the golden apple a tie!” She bent down, and with her key unlocked the chest, and then she carried the apple over to the contestants.
Jason looked at it in confusion. “The gold writing on it is gone!” he said. “It looks like an ordinary apple!”
“One that can be split three ways. All of you are the winners,” the Oracle said.
“Don’t split the apple, not three ways,” objected Jason. He knelt before the king. “May I address Your Majesty?”
“Speak,” the king replied.
“When Your Majesty said what you did just now, and conceded the oratory challenge, the people cheered for you even more than they had for me. I didn’t want this in the first place. I give my share of the apple to you.”
The king smiled, and looked thoughtful for a moment. Then a twinkle appeared in his eyes. “I think then that perhaps the apple should go to the one who has wanted it the most this entire time.” He held out his hand, and the Oracle gave him the now ordinary apple. “Heptarian, congratulations. The apple is now yours.” He tossed it lightly to the young courtier, who caught it clumsily, a comical bewilderment on his face.
An overwhelming sense of relief washed over Medusa. Something had changed, and changed for the better. By the sigh that escaped Pythagoras, the smile on Hercules’ face, and the reactions she was hearing from the people around her, it was clear they felt it too.
“The enchantment is broken!” the Oracle breathed. Somehow everyone seemed able to hear her.
“NO!” came a scream from right near Medusa and her friends.
Eris.
All eyes turned toward her.
The girl took a few rapid panicked breaths, then bolted, pushing people aside, and ran in Medusa’s general direction.
Medusa had to stop her.
Pythagoras suddenly interposed himself, and Eris ran headlong into him.
He managed to stay on his feet, and he caught her wrists firmly. “Are you all right? I have some skill as a healer. If you’re hurt I can help you.”
“No! No! The spell wasn’t supposed to break this way!” Eris shrieked. Then with a violent jerk, she broke free of Pythagoras’ hold and tried to bolt again.
She didn’t get far. Hercules simply stuck out his foot and tripped her. She fell flat on her stomach with another shriek. Hercules hauled her to her feet and expertly locked her in a wrestler’s hold. Eris soon had to stop struggling. By this time the crowd had also circled around them, forming an additional human barrier against Eris’ escape.
“I think that what she just said is proof that she was behind the magic apple,” Pythagoras observed.
At that moment, a number of Atlantean soldiers charged in. People called to them and pointed at Eris, calling, “She’s the one who did it! She cast the spell! We heard her say it!”
Hercules released her into the guards’ custody.
The guards brought Eris before the king and pushed her down on her knees. King Minos glared down at her. “You are accused of using black magic against the city of Atlantis, Lord Heptarian, and your king. What do you have to say?”
Eris refused to say anything.
The Oracle interjected, “Your Majesty, I believe I can determine whether she is guilty of this crime. The kind of spell she used leaves a residue for a time. That is how I knew Jason had touched the apple and had to participate in the contest.”
“Very well,” the king replied. “Examine her.”
The Oracle raised Eris to her feet, then took her hands and looked closely.
“That would be why she burned her gloves earlier!” Pythagoras realized in a whisper.
“Ah, that makes sense now,” Medusa whispered back. “But she may still have gotten some on her when she took the gloves off!”
The Oracle released Eris’ hands. “I do see a small amount of magical residue on her. She is guilty, Your Majesty.”
Eris made an exclamation of shock.
“Then take her to the cells,” the king ordered the guards. Then he turned to address the crowd. “People of Atlantis, this means that the Panathenaea can resume. The games that would have taken place today shall now take place tomorrow. The festival shall be extended for one more day!”
The crowd, Medusa and her friends among them, let out their loudest cheer yet.
Eris found herself alone, collapsed on the floor of a dark and dirty Atlantean prison cell. The only light came from a few dim torches in the corridor, and from one small barred window high above her. That she had lost everything didn’t even come close to expressing what had just happened to her. Eris knew that the failure of her plan would most likely mean her execution. She was falling into a deeper despair than she ever would have thought even possible.
The sound of approaching footsteps made her look up. Of all people, Lord Heptarian had come to see her. Eris stood and moved toward the front of the cell. If her enemy came close enough, she was going to spit at him.
He didn’t come close enough. He just gave her a gloating smile and said, “I believe you dropped something early this morning. I’ve come to return it to you.” He held up the apple that she had so depended on for her revenge, now reduced to an ordinary fruit. Then he tossed it between the bars of her cell and walked away.
The only reaction Eris could give was a long, loud scream.
Pythagoras followed his two housemates into Hercules’ favorite tavern. It was getting quite late, and half of him simply felt exhausted. The other half, however, was restless, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He probably couldn’t even concentrate on his mathematical work on triangles. When Hercules, in a celebratory mood, had urged him and Jason to come with him to the tavern, Pythagoras had figured perhaps a cup of wine would help him relax later on when he did go to bed.
The tavern suddenly erupted into cheers at their appearance. They were quickly swarmed by well-wishers who ushered them to the best seats in the house, and a large cup of wine was thumped down before each of them.
Hercules took a long swig of his, and declared with gusto, “Ohh, this is the good stuff! Thank you!”
Pythagoras smiled as taverngoers kept congratulating Jason on the oratory contest and complimenting the story he’d told, while Hercules earned plenty of hearty backslaps for his capture of Eris.
Jason finally got a word in edgewise after someone said he’d liked the story. “Thank you. It was Hercules’ story, actually; I’d just learned it from him.”
“Yes, yes, that’s quite true. I taught it to him,” Hercules corroborated proudly. “And there’s a lot more where that came from, let me tell you! Have you ever heard the one about…”
Pythagoras sat back and sipped his wine as his friend launched into an adventure tale that he had heard before and had enjoyed. Hercules’ audience was attentive and growing, and the tavern owner placed a second drink before him. Jason received one too. Pythagoras, having barely touched his first drink, politely declined the offer.
The tavern door then creaked open, and Medusa a bit tentatively entered.
“Medusa!” Hercules cried in delighted surprise. “Come join us! I was just telling these good people a tale that I think you’d appreciate as well! And it’s a true one, too, every word of it!”
Medusa smiled and came to sit next to him and across from Pythagoras. She soon had a drink in front of her.
“You’ve got a bit of flour in your hair,” Jason told her.
“Oh,” Medusa replied, brushing at it with her hand, “I just got off work in the palace kitchen helping make the pies for tomorrow. That’s why I’m late.”
“Ah, pies!” Hercules grinned. “I am looking forward to that!”
“Even though you’ve had pie every day for the past week?” Pythagoras pointed out. “Sometimes more than once?”
“Some things you never get tired of!” Hercules shrugged.
“Let’s hear the story,” Medusa urged.
“Ah, yes, where was I?” Soon the whole gathering was engrossed in Hercules’ narrative.
Pythagoras couldn’t help but smile softly and fondly at his friends. He felt a warm glow of contentment simply at being there with them and seeing them all happy after what they had just been through. Yes, this was the perfect ending for the tale of this day, he decided, and he was going to savor every word.