Atalanta

by Jennifer Saint

Across the water, Callisto had leapt out too, seeing my panic, and our eyes met. The nymphs on the other side sat up, puzzled but wary in the shattered peace of the gathering twilight. And then Arethusa screamed. Arethusa, who had leaned too far over the river that all at once seemed composed of a dozen watery hands, all of them slithering over her flesh. She twisted away, squirming free on to the slippery mud, screaming again as we heard his voice gurgling from the depth, a thick growl of rushing water shaping the words, ‘I am Alpheus, god of this river.’ A shudder ran down my spine. Artemis was the goddess of our forest, but these minor gods sprang up at every brook or pool. Most would not dare to incur her wrath, but some were brasher and bolder. Arethusa dragged herself to her feet and ran, but as I watched, a flurry of bubbles broke the surface and a shimmering, dripping form began to rise. Without thinking, I plunged back into the water, swimming to the other bank, where I yanked myself up on the muddy edge and tore after her. But he was following her too, his footsteps squelching at her back. If I fired my arrows, they’d slice right through his waters into her flesh. My breath was sharp and ragged in my lungs, but I called out to Artemis as he reared up over Arethusa like a wave, the emerging moon reflecting in his glistening crest.