He hissed in pain, stomping his legs to make sure they still worked.
He roared, “NEVER INTERRUPT A PROPHECY!”
Then he barreled toward me like a hungry freight train.
I leaped to one side, somersaulting through a pile of carcasses as Python bit a chunk out of the cave floor where I’d been standing. Baseball-size debris rained down around me. One chunk hit the back of my head and nearly knocked me unconscious.
Python struck again. I’d been trying to string another shaft, but he was too fast. I jumped out of the way, landing on my bow and shattering my arrow in the process.
The cave was now a whirring factory of snake flesh—conveyor belts, shredder apparatuses, compactors, and pistons, all made of Python’s writhing body, every component ready to grind me into pulp. I scrambled to my feet and leaped over a section of the monster’s body, narrowly avoiding a newly grown head that snapped at me from Python’s side.
Given Python’s strength and my own frailty, I should have died several times over. The only thing keeping me alive was my small size. Python was a bazooka; I was a housefly. He could easily kill me with one shot, but he had to catch me first.
“You heard your fate!” Python boomed. I could feel the cold presence of his massive head looming above me. “Apollo will fall. It’s not much, but it’s enough!”
He almost caught me in a coil of flesh, but I hopped out of the snare. My tap-dancing friend Lavinia Asimov would have been proud of my fancy footwork.
“You cannot escape your destiny!” Python gloated. “I have spoken, so must it be!”
This demanded a witty comeback, but I was too busy gasping and wheezing.
I leaped onto Python’s trunk and used it as a bridge to cross one of the fissures. I thought I was being clever until a random lizard foot sprouted next to me and raked my ankle with its claws. I screamed and stumbled, desperately grasping for any handhold as I slipped off the side of the reptile. I managed to grab a leathery wing, which flapped in protest, trying to shake me off. I got one foot on the rim of the fissure, then somehow hauled myself back to solid ground.
Bad news: My bow tumbled into the void.
I couldn’t stop to mourn. My leg was on fire. My shoe was wet with my own blood. Naturally, those claws would be venomous. I’d probably just reduced my life span from a few minutes to a few fewer minutes. I limped toward the cavern wall and squeezed myself into a vertical crack no bigger than a coffin. (Oh, why did I have to make that comparison?)
I’d lost my best weapon. I had arrows but nothing to shoot them with. Whatever fits of godly power I was experiencing, they weren’t consistent and they weren’t enough. That left me with an out-of-tune ukulele and a rapidly deteriorating human body.
I wished my friends were here. I would have given anything for Meg’s exploding tomato plants, or Nico’s Stygian iron blade, or even a team of fast-running troglodytes to carry me around the cavern and screech insults at the giant tasty reptile.
But I was alone.
Wait. A faint tingle of hope ran through me. Not quite alone. I fumbled in my quiver and drew out Ye Olde Arrow of Dodona.
HOW DOETH WE, SIRRAH? The arrow’s voice buzzed in my head.
“Doething great,” I wheezed. “I gotteth him right where I wanteth him.”
THAT BAD? ZOUNDS!
“Where are you, Apollo?” Python roared. “I can smell your blood!”
“Hear that, arrow?” I wheezed, delirious from exhaustion and the venom coursing through my veins. “I forced him to call me Apollo!”
A GREAT VICTORY, intoned the arrow. ’TWOULD SEEM ’TIS ALMOST TIME.
“What?” I asked. Its voice sounded unusually subdued, almost sad.
I SAID NOTHING.
“You did too.”
I DIDST NOT! WE MUST NEEDS FORMULATE A NEW PLAN. I SHALL GO RIGHT. THOU SHALT GO LEFT.
“Okay,” I agreed. “Wait. That won’t work. You don’t have legs.”
“YOU CAN’T HIDE!” Python bellowed. “YOU ARE NO GOD!”
This pronouncement hit me like a bucket of ice water. It didn’t carry the weight of prophecy, but it was true nonetheless. At the moment, I wasn’t sure what I was. I certainly wasn’t my old godly self. I wasn’t exactly Lester Papadopoulos, either. My flesh steamed. Pulses of light flickered under my skin, like the sun trying to break through storm clouds. When had that started?
I was between states, morphing as rapidly as Python himself. I was no god. I would never be the same old Apollo again. But in this moment, I had the chance to decide what I would become, even if that new existence only lasted a few seconds.
The realization burned away my delirium.
“I won’t hide,” I muttered. “I won’t cower. That’s not who I will be.”
The arrow buzzed uneasily. SO…WHAT IS THY PLAN?
I grasped my ukulele by the fret board and held it aloft like a club. I raised the Arrow of Dodona in my other hand and burst from my hiding place. “CHARGE!”
At the time, this seemed like a completely sane course of action.
If nothing else, it surprised Python.
I imagined what I must have looked like from his perspective: a raggedy teenaged boy with ripped clothes and cuts and contusions everywhere, limping along with one bloody foot, waving a stick and a four-stringed instrument and screaming like a lunatic.
I ran straight at his massive head, which was too high for me to reach. I started smashing my ukulele against his throat. “Die!” CLANG! “Die!” TWANG! “Die!” CRACK-SPROING!
On the third strike, my ukulele shattered.
Python’s flesh convulsed, but rather than dying like a good snake, he wrapped a coil around my waist, almost gently, and raised me to the level of his face.
His lamp-like eyes were as large as I was. His fangs glistened. His breath smelled of long-decayed flesh.
“Enough now.” His voice turned calm and soothing. His eyes pulsed in synch with my heartbeat. “You fought well. You should
