Upcoming Release

Lion’s Skin

 

 

The man’s great size dwarfed the little bundle that dangled from his rigid, bloody hand. The setting sun sighed over him and his deadened companion as they trudged toward the eight-cubit stone wall that wrapped the village. Skins tanned the same color as the chitons that hung on their bodies and the olives in the trees proclaimed the men farmers. A few goats trotted in front of them, their voices and steps equally noiseless as their wide eyes endlessly searched the steep, rocky landscape. The big man looked back to check the silent, slump-shouldered shuffler was still there.

            As they neared the wall, two women walked out the sturdy wooden gate to meet them. The taller one strolled, while the other jogged in spurts as hope pulled her forward and fear pulled her back.

            “Well, Zethus?” asked the taller woman, “What happened? Didn’t you find him?”

            “We found him, Phaedra,” said the tall man through stiff lips. The other man sobbed quietly.

            She glanced at the bundle in his hand. “Is that?”

            Zethus closed his eyes. “All that’s left of Staphylus.”

            The other woman ran forward and grabbed at the bundle. Zethus jerked it away. “Theano, no, don’t look at it.” She caught a darkened corner. “Don’t look at it!” Zethus shouted. With the strength of anguish, Theano snatched the bundle. Zethus screamed, “By Zeus, don’t look at it!”

            Theano pulled the cloak open just enough. She dropped to her knees and clutched the little bag to her breast. Noises that were neither screams nor sobs bubbled from her throat. The other man stumbled forward and threw his arms around her.

            Zethus watched the couple, misty-eyed. Phaedra gently turned him away. “This moment is theirs. Leave them be.” She stifled a sob. “What happened?”

            “The lion. The lion is back. It found Staphylus, ate what it wanted, and left the rest.”

Phaedra’s eyes widened. “The lion? Are you sure? There are supposed to be some wolves-”

Zethus’s lips stiffened. “It was the lion. We saw the tracks.”

Phaedra glanced back at the couple clutching the bundle as though they might wrest the contents away from Thanatos himself. “But the lion was in Pylide last. When it’s done in Pylide, it’s always gone to Sozoe next.”

“It’s here now.” Zethus looked back at the sobbing man. “Ask Maron, he’ll tell you.”

Phaedra said nothing. Zethus shook his head and said, “Sorry. Let’s get them behind the wall before the lion decides it’s still hungry.”

 

Sometime later, Zethus and Phaedra lay on a blanket next to the dying fire on the rough floor of Maron’s house. Maron and Theano sat together on the only couch, staring at the open door as though Staphylus might walk in.

Phaedra touched the baby that clung to her bosom. “How long do you suppose it’s been here? I heard a cow and a few goats went missing recently.”

“Does it matter?”

“No, I guess not.” She rocked the baby.

Zethus patted Phaedra’s shoulder. “You’re doing pretty good as a mother.”

“I guess so. I just hope she doesn’t get hungry. I’d hate to disturb Theano.” Phaedra glanced up at the couple on the couch, their eyes at last closed and their bodies slumped. “Zethus, I think we should stay here tonight. This was too much for them, they’re not thinking straight. And if no one’s here to stop them, I’m afraid, they might do something… drastic.”

Zethus gazed at his hands, still flecked with red from when he had scooped the scanty remains of Staphylus into his cloak. “How long is that bastard going to kill and eat whoever it wants? When is someone going to stop it? I’m half a mind to grab my bow and go kill the shit-eater right now.”

Phaedra shook her head. “You’re not the first one to think of that, Zethus. Many men have hunted the lion, and most of them never came back.”

Zethus threw a stick on the fire. “He was just a little boy!”

“I know.”

“It could have been our son.”

Phaedra paused. “We don’t have a son.”

“Not yet. What happens when we do? Should he grow up knowing the lion could eat him any time it wants?”

“Well what can we do about it? If someone’s going to kill it, let the king send someone. A soldier or a hunter. Why should it be some farmer? Why should it be you?”

Zethus snapped a sturdy stick and tossed it on the fire. “Someone’s got to bring that bastard’s skin back and show everyone it’s finally over. Why not me?”

The baby shuddered.

Zethus wiped his hands against his chiton. “Phaedra, I’ve got no cousins because the lion killed my grandfather’s sister.”

Phaedra sighed. “It killed my grandfather, remember? Just try to rest. Sleep is what we all need. We can worry about the lion tomorrow.”

 

The next day, the village buzzed with activity by the time Helios peeked over the horizon. Zethus stumbled out of the house, his brain full of too much turmoil and too little sleep, and almost bumped into someone who said, “Zethus! Had you heard? The lion’s come back! Aias saw it, and remember how its lair was sealed with that boulder? Pyrrhus saw it was open.”

Zethus pressed his lips together. “I heard.”

A hairless man who bordered on old stepped into the middle of the village, raised his staff, and called in a voice like a hawk. Those who were up gathered around him, and those who weren’t peeked out their doors.

“My people. I’m sure you’ve heard the lion is back. No one is to leave the walls for five days. After that, we’ll see what happens. Hopefully the lion will move on.”

Men and women tossed sickles and pruning hooks to the ground and shuffled back into the huts.

Zethus strode over and pulled himself to full height, but the man gazed up into Zethus’s eyes without wavering. Zethus said, “Stay in the village five days, Eumenes? That’s it?”

“If the lion can’t find men or livestock to eat for long enough, it’ll move along.”

“That’ll take longer than five days.”

Eumenes tapped his staff against the earth. “That’s as long as we can hide. There’s work to do in the groves and fields. If it doesn’t get done, we’ll starve when Persephone goes underground.”

“People are going to die when the lion gets hungry.”

“They always do. There’s no way to stop it.”

Zethus bristled. “So send people to the fields and the meadows, and just let them die? Are we even safe here?”

“Yes, we are.” Eumenes pointed at the stone bastions. “Our ancestors built those walls higher than the lion could jump.”

“But we can’t just hide behind them and hope.”

“What else can we do?”

“We track down the lion and we kill it.”

“The lion’s immortal. It was here before Hellen walked the land. You think you can kill it?”

“By Zeus, I’m going to try.” Zethus turned to face as many of the huts as he could and shouted, “I’m going to find the lion! I’m going to face it! And I’m going to bring its skin back! Who’s with me?”

Faces appeared in the doorways, frightened faces, cold faces, even hopeful faces, but one by one they disappeared again.

Eumenes toyed with his ear as he spoke quietly. “Zethus, if you hate the lion so much, don’t deliver dinner to its doorstep. That’s all you’ll do.”

“Someone has to do something.”

“Zethus. The stories say no weapon can hurt the lion. You’ll be throwing your life away for nothing.”

“I’ve heard the stories. But it’s been fifty years, and you know how stories grow.”

Eumenes’ staff dug into the ground. “Then Phaedra will be a widow after three years.”

“No. Phaedra will sleep with me every night under the lion’s skin.” Zethus spun on his heel and stormed into his hut. He flung open the chest next to the couch, tossed his spare chiton aside, and lifted out the big horn bow wedged between the opposite corners.

Phaedra watched as he tested the bow, too wise to say anything. Zethus flexed the bow once more and nodded.

A bearded face poked in the door. “Zethus? Are you really going to hunt the lion?”

Zethus set the bow against the wall and reached under the couch. “Yes, Biton. I am.” He slid out a bundle of arrows.

Biton stepped inside. “You want some help?”

 “You want to come?”

“By Zeus, yes. I’d be a rich man if that shit hadn’t eaten all my grandfather’s sheep. I owe it a lot. Maybe I can return the favor.”

Zethus regarded the slight man whose sinews were reputed to be metal and whose aim was famed. “Get your bow, then. We start today.”

“What’s the plan?”

“We find a sturdy tree outside the lion’s lair. We wait there until it comes home, and then we shoot it until it dies.” He looked at Phaedra. “If it doesn’t work, we’re safe up in the tree. We wait until it leaves, and then we try something else.”

“I like it.”

 

As they walked out the village gate. Biton carried a single-curved bow, a contrast to Zethus’ double-curved one. Both wore quivers stuffed to the fullest.

They marched straight for the lion’s lair, a place everyone knew, for the lion had no secrets. It feared nothing, walked where it pleased, and chased down whatever it spotted; no one and nothing could outrun it. On the way, they heard a roe deer rattle its alarm bark, then shriek in agony. Afterward, something called with a sound like a moaning titan. Neither man recognized the call, but that meant it had to be the lion. The lair, then, was empty. For the moment.

Soon the lion’s cave gaped in front of them in a craggy rock face across a field of shaggy grass. The lion had uprooted and shoved aside the big slab that had taken six men to move in Zethus’s grandfather’s time. Apart from the lion, the place was ideal for grazing sheep. Several big stones and a huge oak stump stood at the center for the shepherd to watch from, three green olive trees spread their branches overhead for shade and snacking, and the cliff beyond loomed to keep the sheep from wandering, but it was messy and overgrown because no one, man or beast, dared go within ten stadia of it.

“Well?” Biton asked.

Zethus pointed. “I’ll take the tree closest to the cave.” His finger shifted. “You can take that one. Climb as high as you can, at least six cubits, but make sure you’ve got a good shot in any direction.”

“Okay, then what?”

“Then we wait. The lion’ll come back to its lair, but no telling when. I figure it’ll walk through the center of the pasture, cause it’s not afraid of anything. When it passes the stump, we start shooting, and we don’t stop until it’s dead.”

Biton nodded grimly. “I like it.”

As tall as he was, Zethus clambered up the lowest branches with ease. But his bulk worked against him then, and seven cubits up he found the tree’s branches choked any chance to see or shoot. He dropped down and switched to the third tree, where the sparser leaves opened shots in all directions, but the thinner branches and trunk trembled against his legs.

Biton picked a branch four cubits up in his tree. Zethus hissed “Higher!” at him, but Biton called back, “Any higher and I can’t shoot!”

And then they waited. Neither had anticipated how long a wait it might be. Both were hunters, but the difference between waiting for a deer to go past and waiting for one particular animal to go past hadn’t figured into their calculations. Helios’s chariot rotated the shadows from west to east in its track across the sky, but no movement, color, or sound betrayed the lion.

Day succumbed to evening, and still the lion didn’t come. Soon night would settle, and shooting would be impossible. Zethus realized he’d outsmarted himself. The lion hadn’t obliged them, and now they had to walk back through the lion’s territory in something approaching complete darkness. But sitting in a tree all night would give them chills and cramps in exchange for nothing. Zethus whispered, “You win this time.”