Trapped

evaporated after a few minutes as Oberon wandered sideways to investigate a rustling noise. The accusatory clinking of Granuaile’s throwing knives resumed behind me, and I began to wonder when she would say something. Since we were by ourselves she couldn’t be waiting for a private moment, so I had to conclude that she was waiting for something else. I would simply have to wait along with her.
    Oberon halted abruptly as we approached the mouth of the cave; he laid his ears back flat against his head and grumbled softly in his throat.
    › Atticus, something about that cave doesn’t smell right. ‹
    I stopped hiking and so did Granuaile. She didn’t have to ask what was going on; she could tell Oberon was talking to me.
    What’s wrong with it?
    › Well, I should be smelling a nasty bird and dead stuff, and I do. Except I also smell a human. And a bear. ‹
    A human and a bear? That makes no sense. Unless the human is wearing a bearskin .
    › It’s kind of warm for that. ‹
    Maybe it’s a bearskin rug .
    › In a cave? ‹
    Well, let’s go check it out. Cautiously .
    I drew Moralltach as silently as I could from its scabbard and knew that Granuaile would be readying a knife and her staff behind me. I crept forward, the soft noises my feet made in the gravelly hillside unnaturally loud to my ears. I heard some scratching ahead and the soft, dry rasp of a bird’s throat.
    My sword crested the lip of the cave’s mouth first, and I paused to see if anything wished to attack the bare blade. When nothing did, I risked a peek.
    Two black eyes glared at me over a sharp beak. Oberon’s vulture was perhaps ten yards away, standing in a pile of bones and rotting tissue and watching me. There wasn’t anything suggestive of a nest; it was more of a mess hall, with an emphasis on the mess. It wasn’t convenient to water and it reeked, but it would work if we cleaned it out. The high ceiling was kind of a bonus. We had to convince the current resident to leave first.
    » It’s just the vulture, « I said. » Come on up, but watch out for the beak. «
    Vultures have no strength in their talons to speak of, because their prey typically doesn’t try to run away from them. Their beaks, on the other hand, are perfect for piercing skin. Strangely, the vulture showed no signs of alarm when I advanced to the lip of the cave. Even when Granuaile hauled herself up, I didn’t see a threatening display of the wings. The bird continued to stare as if it expected us to drop dead and provide it with lunch.
    It was when Oberon appeared that the vulture finally showed signs of alarm—and also showed signs of not being a vulture.
    Oberon barked and growled, showing his teeth, the hair on the back of his neck raised. › Atticus, that thing is a thing! ‹
    What?
    › It’s not normal! ‹
    As we watched, the vulture screeched, spread its wings, and grew—but not into a nastier vulture. It morphed into something else entirely. The neck thickened, the beak became a snout, and fur replaced feathers. Stubby vulture legs became stubby human legs, but what roared at us from the top half—
    › Gah! It’s a great big bear! ‹
    » Gods damn the Greeks and their unholy hybrid monsters! « I muttered, then addressed the creature in Greek. » Are you a talking bear-man or just hungry? «
    The bear roared again and Oberon tried to bark louder, but then the creature spoke in a malicious rumble: » I am Agrios of Thrace, son of Polyphonte. Who are you? «
    I was tempted to tell him » nobody, « but I wasn’t Odysseus and he wasn’t Polyphemus.
    » I am Atticus of … Attica, « I replied. Saying anything else would be meaningless to him. His myth was coming back to me. This fellow had been turned into a vulture by Hermes and Ares long ago; his mother and brother, because they were the » kind of nice « Thracian abominations, were only turned to owls. Agrios was the loathsome one. He’d been spawned because his mother, Polyphonte, had managed to tick off Aphrodite, so the goddess of love made her couple with a bear, and rawr , Agrios and Oreios were born.
    » Aren’t you supposed to stay a vulture? « I asked.
    » I was taught how to transform by Thracian witches. I served them for a time, until I opened their bellies and ate them. Olympus has forgotten me. As long as I don’t hunt the puny mortals and take only that which is given me, I am left alone. It has been many years since I was sent a sacrifice. Who sent you? «
    » Whoa.