Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Suddenly light was flooding back into Philipp’s eyes, and they weren’t liking it much. Had he died? No—too bright for the Underworld.

Remembering why he had taken such a jump, the boy quickly sat up and scanned the gorge floor. No sign of the wolf. No sign of the lamb.

“No, no, no!” he cried angrily. Grabbing a rock that lay near his hand, he hurled it at the far wall. It fell helplessly into the brook.

Sinking down into himself—he ran his hands roughly into his hair and felt hot tears boiling up behind his eyes.

Then he heard it—an inquisitive bleat.

His head jerked up. There—out from behind a scraggly bush—on the far side of the water bounded Achilles—a dance of victory in his step.

“Achilles!” cried Philipp. He jumped up, barely noticing that his legs were still functioning.

“How did you do it, boy? How did you get away?” The lamb had stopped now and cocked its head. Philipp plunged knee-deep into the stream.

“Wait a minute, Achilles,” the boy stopped confused midway. “How did you get over there?”
The lamb looked at him coyly as if it were about to answer.

“Well, it’s very simple, Sheepboy,” said Achilles. “I simply jumped onto those two rather slippery rocks over there and came across.”

Somewhere far away a frog croaked.

It took Philipp’s somewhat-jolted mind a second to process what had just happened.

“What did you say?” he asked.

Achilles stared at him dumbly. “Bah?”

Philipp laughed at himself. “I must have hit my head,” he thought and shaking it, continued his wade.

As he began up the far bank, he suddenly remembered the other two wards that he had left in the patch above. He glanced over his shoulder. There on the summit of the cliff he saw three sheepish heads peering down at him—wagging in recognition.

“Three?” he said breathlessly to himself. He spun around to face Achilles.

The lamb was gone.

It’s hard to say what happened next.

From the empty air around him, Philipp heard popping coming from every direction—popping, like the sound of old joints—only happier—popping for joy. Immediately, it was turned into a sort of twanging—as if invisible lyre strings were snapping in a musical circle about him—some louder, some further away.

Phantom candles began to appear in the edges of his sight—all flame and no tapir—swinging to and fro like tiny drunken suns.

Then all of the brightness of the world was constricted—pushed down, down, down into the tiniest point of light imaginable—floating in midair.

Philipp stared at it transfixed—all around him the world had become dark, but the ball of light glowed brighter and brighter and began to move toward him—inch by inch.

In a second, it was so close that he could have reached out his tongue and caught it there—but he did not get the chance. It exploded.

Philipp was knocked from his feet.

There he lay for several minutes stunned in silence. The placid blue sky filled his vision.

Someone close by was coughing violently.

“Oh Dear,” a strange voice said to itself.

Then—without warning—the strange face that went with the strange voice snapped into view—too close for comfort.

It was the oddest face he had ever seen. Two huge green eyes filled up most of it—some strands of brown hair peeked out from beneath an orange cap—a nervous smile was almost invisible beneath an overbearing nose.

Phillip suddenly came to the realization that he might need to be scared.

“The shepherds!” he cried frantically, rolling away from the encroaching face. “The shepherds are near!”

The strange face, which he could see now was attached to a somewhat normal body, was giving him a confused look.

“No, they’re not,” the man said incredulously. “That’s why I brought you down here. We don’t want those beastly shepherds interfering.”Philipp had heard stories about people like this. This stranger had him hemmed in.

“If there’s one person who knows about shepherds it’s me,” said the man absentmindedly. “Disgusting people really—they’re always nudging at you—winking at you like you should know what they’re talking about—getting at something—something…”

“Dirty,” said Philipp to his own surprise.

The strange man beamed. “Exactly! Dirty! Beastly people…” He shuddered.

“Wh-What are you going to do to me?” stammered Philipp, but the man hadn’t noticed.

“Y’know, they’re almost as bad as those things they keep—what are they called?” The strange man groaned and started knocking himself in the head with his palm. “Work! Work!”

“Sheep?” the boy volunteered once again. He brought his hand to his mouth in surprise. Why was he talking to this man?

“Yeah,” said the stranger with another genuinely happy smile. “Sheep! Vile things! Running around—breathing fire—eating men alive and not even apologizing for it…”“Sheep don’t eat men!” shouted Philipp, almost offended. “They eat grass!”

The man snorted. “That’s what they want you to think—but they’re man-eaters. Doubt me if you want, my friend, but don’t be surprised if you wake up with a pair of lamby fangs in your neck.”

“Sheep don’t have fangs!” This stranger was obviously insane. Man-eating sheep?

“Cheeky thing, aren’t you?” The man stared at him intently as if expecting some response—then laughed and turned away.

This was his chance. Philipp bolted past him—tearing through the stream.

But even though the boy saw the yellow of the man’s traveling cloak flash by, the stranger was now seated in front of him—resting neatly on the lip of the ravine path—ten feet up. He was plucking at something that looked like a tortoise shell.

“I can tell you one thing,” he said cheerfully. “Their guts make an excellent string. Do you hear that?” He picked at something within the shell. “Not even the guts of the Chimaera could produce such a nosie!”

The man glanced down at Philipp. “You look like you’re going to be sick, Sheepboy. Haven’t you ever seen one of these things before?”

“My father’s a soldier!” the boy violently shouted. “He’ll be here any minute!”

The man did not seem to hear him. “A Lyre!”

Philipp felt his insides crush together. He knew—somehow he knew. It was hopeless now.

“I prefer the four strings, but certain snootier people say they absolutely cannot play without ten.”

The boy knelt down in the grass and began to cry softly. “Goodbye, Mother.”

The stranger looked up from his work and cried out—jumping down and kneeling beside the child.

“What are you doing?” the man asked—shocked and confused. “You’re getting the ground all wet!”

“I—can’t—help—it…” said Philipp between stifled sobs. “You’re—going—to—kill me…”

“Kill you?” The man laughed nervously and coughed. “Gods alive, boy, I’m not going to kill you! I’ve never killed anything in my life!” He suddenly noticed the hollowed turtle shell still cradled in his arm and hastily threw it aside.

“You’re not?” asked Philipp timidly—wiping his eyes with the edge of his tunic.

“You certainly have a high opinion of yourself if you think I have nothing better to do than to kill you.”

“But—but—why would you—“

“I hate to be rude,” the man said hurriedly, “but if we wait around here for you to ask the right question—or any question for that matter—we’ll never get done. So, why don’t you pull up a rock and try to keep from doing that salt thing with your eyes.”

Phillip grudgingly raised himself from the ground—keeping his gaze fixed on the newcomer. “It’s called crying. Don’t you cry?”

“No,” said the man dryly. “Can’t say that I have. I’ve been sad, sure—but never cried or whatever you call it. I don’t take my frustrations out on others.”

“What do you mean?”

“You killed a cubit of grass back there—grass that never did anything to you—now, what did I tell you about asking questions?” The man coughed irritably.

Philipp grimaced and crossed his arms.

The stranger swept himself up, straightened his cap, cleared his throat, and grandly said, “Now, mortal, I shall reveal myself to you!”

“I think I need to be going—“ the boy began worriedly.

But the booming voice held him in place—or perhaps another power. The figure before him began to emit a strange inner light. “Behold! Before you stands Hermes, the fearsome Messenger of the Gods!”

That’s when Philipp noticed the other’s feet. There was six inches of daylight between them and the ground.