Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume One (66 page)

The huntress was helping her husband. Her tall legs were flexing in a beautiful curve of marble thew as she leaped high in the air and fell with all her tremendous weight on the middle part of the serpent's body. The stone girl was leaping twice her height and falling upon the giant snake, crushing the thick cable of bone and muscle like a gardener crushing a worm with a spade. Again and again she leaped and dropped, breaking her own body with every fall—until she lay motionless upon the mottled green coils, her stone carapace shattered. The pink mist of her spirit was fuming out and mixing with the hissing blood of the serpent.

All this while the great jaws of the stone dog were savaging the snake, striking here and there, driving stone teeth into leather body.

And the stone man still grappled the monster; it was now a death grip. Blood spurted from the lidless eyes. The tapered head lolled. The coils went slack. The stone man collapsed, tried to rise, but could not. Asclepius watched him drag himself toward the huntress. She pulled herself to her shattered knees and crept toward him.

They stretched out their hands. Both collapsed. With their last strength they reached toward each other. Their hands met, clasped, and were still. These two, hunter and huntress, whose marriage had failed, and whose shades had been frozen into stony shapes of reproach and remorse, staring at each other out of great scooped eyes—these two, wakened from rancorous stupor by the hot tears of a living man, had attached themselves to his deed, and, sanctified by generous risk, had, in their last gesture, annulled their failure. Shells shattered, they forgave each other before an expert witness, departed hell, and entered legend.

Asclepius had no time to mourn them. He ran toward Telesphora, leaping over the fallen statues, trying not to look down at them but unable to avoid a glimpse. He saw that the shattered stone, spirit departed, had lost luster and individuality, and had merged with the rubble of that penitential field.

Asclepius stepped over the coils of the dead serpent and reached Telesphora, who stared at him in wonder. He lifted his sword and struck twice. His blade sheared through her chains.

Tenderly, he drew her out of her shackles. They embraced. “Come … let us return to earth,” he said.

“Can we really leave?” she whispered. “They'll be after us, won't they, those horrible winged hags?”

“They can't be worse than that serpent. And we escaped him.”

“Yes, we did!” cried Telesphora. “Let's go, dear doctor. Let's start.”

Hand in hand, they began their journey out of the underworld. Harpies observed them, and reported to Hecate, who hurried to confer with Hades. He listened to her silently, then said:

“What do you propose?”

“To take them, of course,” said Hecate.

“Consider this, O Hag. If we keep them down here with their obsessive yen for easing pain and their combined skills, they will always be trying to disrupt our torments. They'll be a constant source of trouble.”

“But,” said Hecate. “If we allow them to return to earth they will continue to postpone death for their patients, and reduce our intake.”

“Only so long as they live,” said Hades. “And by the nature of things, that can't be much longer than the mortal span. So if we wait for a bit, they will fall into our hands in a natural way; no fuss, no family quarrels. Yes, we can afford to let them go. We'll get them back one day. When we do, we'll teach them to regret their damned good works, won't we?”

“We will, master, we will! And perhaps relish our vengeance all the more for the delay.”

So Asclepius and Telesphora were allowed to return to earth and take up their practice where they had left off. And, it is told, the doctor began by restoring the girl to full health. It is also told that they interrupted their labors long enough to get married. They had many children and grandchildren, and all of them, legend says, practiced medicine.

What happened later to their shades, we do not know. And, perhaps, we don't want to.

T
hings have shrunk since then. Giants are freaks; dragons are flies; heroes are sandwiches; monsters eat cookies. Demons have shrunk too, become so tiny that they are invisible, but still plague humankind, more expertly than ever, attacking from within. We don't know where Hecate is, exactly, but Harpies still fly.

A
nd sometimes, when the wind is right, and if we listen very, very, carefully, we can hear the voice of Orpheus singing of things that happened long ago.

About the Author

Bernard Evslin (1922–1993) was a bestselling and award-winning author known for his works on Greek and other cultural mythologies. The
New York Times
called him “one of the most widely published authors of classical mythology in the world.” He was born in New Rochelle, New York, and attended Rutgers University. After several years working as a playwright, screenwriter, and documentary producer, he began publishing novels and short stories in the late 1960s. During his long career, Evslin published more than seventy books—over thirty of which were for young adults. His bestseller
Heroes, Gods and Monsters of the Greek Myths
has been translated into ten different languages and has sold more than ten million copies worldwide. He won the National Education Association Award in 1961, and in 1986 his book
Hercules
received the Washington Irving Children's Book Choice Award. Evslin died in Kauai, Hawaii, at the age of seventy-seven.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Amycus
© 1989,
Anteus
© 1988,
The Calydonian Boar
© 1989,
Cerberus
© 1987,
The Chimaera
© 1988,
The Cyclopes
© 1987,
The Dragon of Boeotia
© 1987,
The Furies
© 1989,
Geryon
1987,
Hecate
© 1988 Copyright by Bernard Evslin

Cover design by Olivera, Omar & Andrea Worthington

ISBN: 978-1-4976-6706-8

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com

Also Available from Open Road Media

The Monsters of Greek Mythology: Volume Two
,
the Sequel to
The Monsters of Greek Mythology: Volume One

More Ebooks by Bernard Evslin