April climbs unsteadily to her feet. She presses both hands against the inside of the crystal ball and peers out. Percy and the ringmaster are sharing a rare tender moment, the ringmaster tracing a finger down one side of the clown's face. Percy grips the ringmaster's slender hand in his own and kisses her painted fingertips one by one. Once that task is completed, he moves on to her painted lips.

  The relationship between these two is hard for April to flesh out. It is both beautiful and frightening. One moment, Percy is passionately kissing the ringmaster's throat, causing her to sigh and stroke his oddly fashioned hair. The next moment, the ringmaster is raging and storming away, hurling curses in the clown's direction.

  More than once, the clown has wandered to where April's crystal ball sits on the circular eating table. Each time, he stares down at her with a sorrowful expression. Taking the crystal ball up, into his pancake makeup covered hands, Percy examines it from every angle. It is as if he is searching for something.

  During Percy's moments of inspection, April crawls into a corner of the crystal ball and stays perfectly still. Eventually, the purple clown replaces the crystal ball on the table. Almost without fail, a heavy sigh usually escapes the clown's purple lips and he ambles slowly away.

  This time is different. The ringmaster and her clown servant do not pay April any attention. The ringmaster seems to be deeply in the moment, as Percy tenderly kisses her lips and throat. April catches snatches of conversation. The pieces of conversation not smothered by Percy's enthusiastic smooches.

  "It is not yet time, Percy...Soon," the ringmaster sighs.

  "You always say such things, Master. When? You have had your fun. You have had many lovers. The one you promised to me...You made her one of your own..."

  Percy breaks off conversation to nearly swallow the ringmaster's full lips. April watches the love fest with artistic interest. Wouldn't that make such a romantic portrait? Even better if they were more tumultuously entangled. It is exactly as she suspected upon first seeing this woman in purple. This woman's sensual energy is very strong and contagious. She is like a siren in heat. A most interesting seductress.

  April finds herself studying Percy as well. Something about the purple clown is not quite right. Unable to put her finger on exactly what is wrong, April settles for simply watching the clown as he romances his presumed lover. He seems to be very good at it. They have done this before. Many times before.

  Percy effortlessly lifts the ringmaster into his arms and carries her to another area of the tent. An area April is unable to see, no matter how much she strains. However, her imagination is able to fill in the blanks.

  "And she won't even let me paint her," April pouts.

  ====================================

  Frank finds himself plummetting toward the sand. He hits the ground and rolls, eventually coming to rest on his stomach. A creature's loud screech brings chills to Frank's prone body. Turning over onto his back, Frank stares up at the sky, expecting to be attacked.

  A large bird circles above, getting lower and lower with each pass. Frank watches its slow descent with a heavy heart. Here comes the next challenge. Oh joy. It's not a plane. It's a bird.

  Frank gets yet another surprise when the bird lands. The bird has two enormous vulturelike heads. Frank gapes in wonder. You have to be freaking kidding. A stymphalian bird? Or was it a roc? Very similar stories. Very different endings. Not unlike the amalgamated white whale. How will he be expected to defeat this wild thing? Can he defeat it?

  Frank gets his answer when a large boar charges into view, causing the giant bird to take flight. The bird screeches again. This time, it is screeching at the approaching boar.

  "The erymanthian boar!" Frank mutters aloud. "How strangely...Beautiful."

  The mythical boar charges onto the sand, head lowered and massive tusks sweeping the air in wide strokes. The boar's long bluish-black hair billows behind it, reminding Frank of a stallion's mane. The bird up above circles, intent on snatching Frank up. He is certain that if the raging bird manages to grab him, it will take him to its nest to be fed upon by young hatchlings. Like in the story.

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  The charging boar is having none of the bird's nonsense. It comes to a halt nearly at Frank's feet and releases a hot stream of air from its oversized nostrils. This boar is not the enemy. Better keep it that way.

  Frank goes back in his mind, to every little thing he has learned about this majestic beast. A lot about the erymanthian boar is straight up hyperbole. As is true of most myths and legends. Obviously, much of it is not. The boar towers at least fifty meters high. Its green eyes stare down at Frank with what can only be described as intelligence.

  "Help me!" Frank says. "Help me to defeat the stymphalian bird. It is our common enemy. Help me defeat it...And you can be free. I will not bind you as Hercules bound you. The bird will no longer stalk your territory...Carrying away your young. Help me."

  Frank is going with the assumption that the beast is actually a beaten contestant of the purple woman's weird games. Why else would the beast have come to his defense? Like the old man aboard the Roman ship, and like the brave Brewster. This is no boar. This is a man.

  The boar snorts loudly a second time. It studies the circling bird above and then snatches Frank up with its large right tusk. The boar charges across the beach, heading for the trees far off in the distance.

  ====================================

  Frank studies the boar from across a large bonfire. The boar also studies him. After a time, Frank continues fashioning his weapons. The boar yawns and rests its large head on its front hooves.

  "You're a beautiful creature. I wish...I could truly communicate with you," Frank laments.

  The boar's eyes narrow and before long a loud snore escapes the mythical beast's mouth. The snore is so loud it causes Frank's ears to ring. Frank, grateful that his migration to this world has given him back his original clothes, reaches into his pants pocket and removes a facial tissue. He tears the tissue in half and balls both halves up. Placing the balled up pieces of tissue in his ears, Frank goes back to his arduous work.

  ======================================

  The next morning

  The bird has returned to its dizzying vigil, circling the sky in search of prey. Frank sits atop the ginormous boar, weapons at the ready. They are positioned at the edge of the treeline, out of obvious view of the two-headed bird. The boar's tail flicks back and forth as it awaits Frank's signal. The sight of its enemy patrolling the skies has agitated the wondrous beast. Frank pats the boar's side and clicks his tongue.

  "Soon. Soon. Not yet. Let our enemy come closer. Just a little closer."

  Once the bird reaches the predetermined point, Frank tugs on the boar's long hair and hollers one word:

  "Now!"

  The erymanthian boar charges out of the trees, sweeping its enormous tusks from side to side. The stymphalian bird screeches in reply and curves sharply to dive at its charging foe. The bird is hungry, as are its offspring. If it must battle the charging behemoth in order that its young may eat, that is what it will do.

  The bird comes in low and fast. Using one hand, Frank carefully climbs to his feet on the boar's back. He slides both feet into the standing supports he installed the previous night. Things are about to get crazy.

  Another loud screech. The boar grunts and screams in answer. The makeshift earplugs in Frank's ears muffle some of the noise, but not enough. He grimaces in pain.

  Pulling back his arm, Frank launches his first spear. The spear catches the stymphalian bird in its right neck. The large bird's head on that side rotates wildly, pain causing the head to move jerkily. The head on the left screeches and turns the body around. It climbs toward the sky, before looping back and dropping like a dive-bomber.

  Screeching more loudly, the left head yanks the spear from its companion head. The right head screeches and pecks its companion. They squabble briefly before returning their attention to the boar and its rider below.

  Frank hurls his second spear, but misses. The bird avoids damage to its heads and body by banking left. The boar screams in disappointment.

  Frank watches the bird as it approaches, staying only meters above the ground. Perfect. Just perfect. If the legend is true, the moment of triumph quickly comes. When the stymphalian bird is less than fifteen meters away, Frank gives the second signal.

  "Do it now!"

  The erymanthian boar turns around and lifts its tufted tail. Releasing a enormous cloud of methane and other noxious gases, the boar utterly stuns its opponent. The bird flails and rapidly flaps its wings. Frank grins evilly as he tosses the lit torch in his left hand, igniting the expelled gas and the stymphalian bird.

  The two heads of the bird jerk like a bobblehead doll, as the avian attempts to gain altitude. Before the bird is more than a hundred meters in the air, it is completely engulfed in flame. The bird does a death spiral and slams into the sand, throwing debris up in a wide circumference. No more screeches. The stymphalian bird is dead.

  "Yes!" Frank cheers, pumping his right fist. "That's four!"

  To be continued.............