Artie awoke to the taste of fresh rainwater on his tongue and the smell of wet mud in his nostrils. He quickly sat up and gazed around, confused by his surroundings. He was in the middle of a rainforest, but not any rainforest. This particular one held great importance to him. He had spent months learning and fighting to survive here. What he learned here, had helped as he ran all over the rest of the continent and would continue keeping him alive. He sniffed the air to be sure. The scent was exactly as he remembered. There was no doubt about it in his mind. He knew the trees, dirt, and the creek only a few feet to his left.
Somehow he had been transported to Brazil, and if memory served him right, he was only fifty miles from Rio de Janerio.
I was off the coast of Florida, how did I get here?, he wondered. I remember being poisoned at the spa and — that's it, nothing else
"I must have passed out," he concluded aloud after a moment.
He remembered what Artemis had told him, years ago when he first met her. Your time in the wild and your natural constitution have allowed you to become resilient to most natural poisons, she had said. That does not mean you won't feel the effects of them. While you may not die, a poison that stops your breathing will cause you to pass out, as well as most paralyzing toxins found in nature.
And though Artemis did not say outright, Artie's resilience to poisons had limits besides the ones she mentioned. While he could shake off a rattlesnake bite with only a minor headache, a half dozen bites was another story. And his resilience hardly made a difference when it come to monster venom, like giant scorpions and the like. If ever came across monsters with venom, he would have to take care not be stung or bitten. Still, it was something to be grateful for when one did not carry an ample supply of anti-venom for every venomous animal known to man on one's back.
Artie looked down to see his clothes had changed, or rather he gained new clothes. He was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt with the Brazilian flag on the left breast. He turned the shirt around and saw the number 10 with the name Pelé written in bold across the top of the back. He looked farther down and saw he was wearing a pair of sky blue cotton shorts, not the ripped jeans he turned into shorts in the everglades. He was also wearing a pair of brand new soccer cleats, complete with shin guards, and bright white socks. He found this disturbing.
These were the exactly the same clothes he wore when his mother and brother were killed.
Barley a day old, still smells like the soap she used, he thought as he felt his new old shirt, This better not be some sick joke.
His thoughts were interrupted by voice. He closed his eyes and listened carefully. It was definitely a women's voice, she was singing a gentle melody in Portuguese. She sounded far off, like he was listening to an echo, but Artie knew sound could not carry that far. As he listened, the voice grew fainter and fainter until he finally ceased to hear it entirely. He guessed that, whomever was singing, she was walking deeper into the rainforest as she sang.
Não foi realmente pensando, não estava olhando
não foi à procura de uma resposta
À luz do luar
Quando eu vi seu rosto
Vi você olhando para mim,
vi-te espiando
sob feixes de lua
Através das palmeiras
Balançando na brisa
She's gonna get herself killed, Artie thought. I'll figure out how I got here once she's safe. Who knows? She might be able to help.
Artie set off at a sprint, but stopped after only two steps. He gazed ahead at the thick foliage — so thick he couldn't see how close the nearest tree was. His gaze went straight up. He knew it was much easier to move among the trees where the branches overlapped each other and strong enough to hold a car. It was also much safer — provided he didn't slip on a patch of moss and broke several important bones when he landed on the unforgiving ground below. He stripped off the shirt and began climbing the nearest tree. It was a small climb, only about a hundred surveyed ahead of him. There were plenty of thick sturdy branches forming an impromptu second level to the forest. It was also far from a perfect, he could see several gaps he would need a running start to span them. He also saw vines he could use to swing from landing to landing. In theory, he could traverse almost the entirety of the rainforest without touching the ground — as long as he took care and avoided showboating,
He took one step and nearly fell right then and there. His cleat slipped on a piece of moss and he went over the side. Luckily for him, his claws on his left had sprouted and dug into the wood. He saw the ground far below him as he dangled. He dug his claws with his remaining hand and pulled himself up. He sat with his back to the trunk of the tree and untied his cleats and shin guards. He's wasn't going to need them. If what had just occurred was any indication, they were liable to get him hurt or killed — whichever came first. He stood up — now only clad in a pair of shorts — and stared ahead at the moss covered branch which curved up slightly before dipping very low at a steep angle.
Alright, lets try that again, he thought to himself as limbered up, I hope I'm not that rusty, it has been a year or two.
He began sprinting and stopped just as the branched dipped low. Like he had learned years before, the moss made footing difficult and dangerous, but also very useful — if one knew who to properly apply it. This breifly went through Artie's head as he stuck out his left leg and bent his right, putting most of his weight on it. His momentum carried him over the curve and he slid down the branch like a snowboarder down a mountain. He saw the branch had been broken just it began to curve upwards again. Artie let his instincts take over as he brought his feet together and jumped, using his built up momentum to carry him through the air. He grasped a branch as he flew towards the thick trunk of another tree. He had calculated perfectly. The leftover momentum had been enough to swing him up and over the branch so he landed on the top with a squat. He stood up gazed back and marveled at the maneuver he had just performed.
Where's Phil Collins when you need him?, he playfully wondered before he listened for the voice. There you are!
After what felt like an hour of climbing, swinging, and sliding through the rainforest, Artie paused to listen for the voice. He would stop every few minutes or so, so not to lose her if she should change direction. So far she hadn't. She just continued heading due north, singing the same song over and over in Portuguese as she walked. Artie was beginning to have doubts. No matter how fast he moved, the singing women always seemed to be far off in the distance — just barely within earshot. There were no paths, so this woman would have to walk through thick branches and foliage that proved quite cumbersome — unless one had machete handy and chopped their way through. That was not the case as Artie had continued to search for a trail the woman should have left behind. Artie knew there were ways to change a trail, to make it seem like whatever one was tracking went one way when it really went another, but this was different. There was no trail. No foot prints, bent leaves, or even broken branches. It was if he was chasing a ghost. His thoughts drifted to the legend of the sirens, he had been in the Sea of Monsters after all — but he wasn't sure this was it. For one thing, he knew the myth and he only heard one voice not three — and it sounded normal, not overly alluring like the stories suggested. He continued listening and was glad the voice had stopped moving. He was about to set off when another sound mixed in with the voice.
A guitar! , he realized after a moment. She was probably carrying the guitar the whole way and just didn't play it. He sniffed the air, Water? She must have stopped near a river or something to rest.
He ran forward and leaped. He caught a vine just as he began to drop and swung to the nearest tree. He continued running forward and descended by swinging from high branches onto those much lower. He miscalculated, and descended much faster than he intended — so much so, he had land into roll to avoid falling flat on his face and swallow a mouthful of dirt. When he sprung to his feet his jaw dropped at what was in front of him.
It was a huge clearing — with three beautiful freshwater waterfalls hundreds of feet tall. At the base of each waterfall, the rock formations formed a large pool. Artie saw they were not normal waterfalls, none of pools fed into a river nor did they overflow. It was as if the pools only took the water they needed to stay full and the rest simply disappeared. He guessed the excess water must have flowed below ground somewhere, into a underground river most likely. He saw that both pools opposite each other had a large animal drinking from them. Drinking from the pool on the far left was a Ceryneian Hind, the sacred golden deer of Artemis. Opposite the deer — on the pool to the far right — was large silvery white panther, cautiously watching him as it lapped up water. But what caused him to stand there, too shocked to even breath, was what sat on the rocks at the edge of the middle pool — a singing woman and a child strumming an old guitar.
It was his mother and brother — just as he remembered them.
Artie's mother, Maria Gallezi, still had her long black hair tied back in a ponytail. The way she always did whenever she found the weather just a little too warm. This allowed Artie to see her full face. She had a tired look, but Artie knew it was only a song or smile away. Whenever she sang, years seemed to disappear from her. It was that face and voice Artie knew that had caught Apollo's eye. He could still recalled the countless times she would sing him and his brother to sleep after sneaking into a horror movie. She had scolded and yelled, telling them it was their own faults, but she couldn't stay mad long. She would sigh, take out a guitar her mother had given her, and sing until they both fell asleep. Artie instinctively sniffed the air and the scent brought tears to his eyes. It was exactly as he remembered, the slight aroma of coffee and pastries— the same scent she always had when she came from work.
His brother, Jacob Gallezi, was also just like he remembered. He still looked twelve — the age he had died. His dark hair matched his mother's, though only in color. He wore his hair like Artie had before he entered the wild, short and well combed. He wore clothes similar to Artie, a shirt and a pair of shorts, but he wore sandals in lieu of soccer cleats.
Maria turned to Jacob and asked in Portuguese, " Would you give us a minute dear? Your brother and I need to talk. "
Jacob nodded and set down the guitar. He casually walked up to Artie. He only stood a few feet from him as he looked Artie up and down like he was meeting his brother for the first time. Artie just stood there, still to shocked to move as Jacob stepped towards him.
Jacob wrapped his arms around Artie's waist, " Good to see you again. Stay a little longer this time, will you? "
All Artie could do was nod weakly as he watched his brother disappear into the rainforest. He wanted to stop him, to warn him it was too dangerous for him to wander alone. But he could not form the words, let alone get them past his throat to speak them.
" He'll be fine. " assured Maria, now standing in front of Artie. She then brought him closer in a tight embrace. " Oh we missed you so much. How about you filho? "
It was then it hit Artie like an avalanche. He felt it coming and fought against it, but he could not stop the tears. He began to sob. He buried his head in against he chest, like he did when he was very young, feeling the tears streaming down his face and onto the floor. He dropped to his knees, unable to stop the endless stream of hiccuping sobs or his cheeks becoming stained with the endless stream of tears from his glossy eyes, enduring the emotional pain that continued to engulf him. Throughout all of it, Maria did not release him from her embrace. She fell to her knees with him and held him tighter, not daring to let him go for even the briefest of moments.
She stroked his hair as she whispered gently in his ear, " Shh . . . I know . . . just let it out. Just let it all out. "
" I'm . . . so . . . sorry! " he managed to choked between sobs." All my fault! "
She continued stroking his hair, " Is that what you thought? Oh you poor boy, how could we blame you? "
Artie did not lift his head to face her, preferring to let it rest on her shoulder. " But if it wasn't for me . . . you and Jacob . . . would still be . . . still be . . . "
" No one could have known. " She assured. " These things happen. Its not your fault or anyone else's. "
" You're just saying that. " he whispered. " It came looking for me. You should have just . . . "
She took his head from her shoulder and looked him in the eye, not even showing a hint of surprise for his new eyes, " What? " she demanded. " Just let it have you? Listen to me and listen to me good Artemis Raposo Gallezi! I love you and I always will. I couldn't give you up any more than Jacob. And the sooner you get that through your thick head, the sooner you can move on with your life and be happy. "
Artie laughed reluctantly as he wiped his eyes, " Kinda moot at this point, isn't it? "
" What do you mean? " she asked, cocking her head to the side like she often did when she did not understand.
" He means since you and his brother are here, " said a deep voice in perfect Portuguese. " He must be dead. "
Artie turned to see his old friend.
Like always, he was clad in a dented and scratched bronze breast plate over a red Greek chiton. He wore no pants, leaving his legs bare — except bronze greaves on his shins and leather sandals on his feet. In one hand he carried a large bronze shield with the Greek Lambda (Λ) painted on in red. In the other hand, he carried a worn wooden spear with a blood stained iron tip that match the thirty centimeter long double-edged single-handed sword made of common bronze. His face was also the same with a rough beard flecked with spots of white that matched his hair. His hair was the same length it had always been — not long enough to tie back but long enough to be blown back in wind. His face could be considered handsome, in brutish like way, with the only blemish being a scar over his right eye, like someone ran a blade down his face.
It was hero-king of Sparta, Leonidas.
"What are you doing here?" Artie asked, then he realized what he had said. "Wait, I'm not dead?"
Leonidas smiled at Maria, " Sorry to interrupt, but can you give us a moment? "
Maria returned the smile politely, " Yes, please go ahead. " And began walking to the edge of the clearing.
" Wait! " Artie called.
Maria stopped and looked back.
" I can't lose you again. I . . . " his voice trailed off.
Leonidas put a hand on Artie shoulder and told Maria, " He'll be in capable hands, I swear on the Styx. "
Maria smiled at Artie, " We'll see each other soon enough. Then you can tell me all about that little girlfriend of yours. "
She disappeared in the rainforest just like Jacob had before.
Leonidas steered Artie towards the waterfalls, "Come on boy, we've got work to do. And by we, I mean you."