by Zachary Howe
The Heir of Olympus
And the Forest Realm
By Zachary Elias Howe
ISBN: 978-0-9863709-1-5
Copyright © 2014 Zachary Howe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Acknowledgments
There is a pretty extensive list of people who deserve thanks for making this book a reality, so for those of you who aren’t named, know that I love and appreciate you. First I have to thank my guinea pigs who read the book when it was just completed, wading through all the grammatical errors and garbage-writing to give me honest feedback: Jeff Ingebritsen, Barb Ingebritsen, Calli Ingebritsen, Jeff C. Ingebritsen (notice any themes here?), Jenna Pakes, Gavin Stormont, Jackson Abbeduto, of course my lovely fiancée, Jody Ingebritsen, who had to read the book four times (sorry, dear), and my mama, Jan Howe—your baby boy’s an author! An extra special thanks to Jason Gracia for helping me with my media outreach in addition to reading the book. I have to thank all my friends and loved ones for their outpouring of support, with a special thanks to Chris Beardsley, Tamarine Westrand, Katie Sweeney, Tim Nelson, Laura McClure, Sam Walker, and Justin Rassier.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t take the opportunity to thank my future-wife once more. Jody, you are my rock. This book simply could not have happened without you. When I was overwhelmed, you pulled me through. You are my strength and my whole world. Actually, you and our Mickey Bear are my whole world, and he wouldn’t be in my life without you either. So, with all my heart, thank you, my love.
Table of contents
Chapter 1 – Gordie’s Last Day of School
Chapter 2 – The Messenger
Chapter 3 – The Family Secret
Chapter 4 – An Airport Surprise
Chapter 5 – Fateful Encounters
Chapter 6 – Layover in Hades
Chapter 7 – The Lord of the Underworld
Chapter 8 – The Trials Begin
Chapter 9 – The Realm of Dasos
Chapter 10 – Apollo’s Threat
Chapter 11 – Stars, Stripes, and Stygian Ice
Chapter 12 – Text Messages in Portaria
Chapter 13 – The Temple of Apollo at Delphi
Chapter 14 – Apollo’s Confession
Chapter 15 – The Promise
Chapter 16 – Goddess in the Moonlight
Chapter 17 – The Ascent
Chapter 18 – Gryphon on the Mountain Top
Chapter 19 – Escape from Dasos
Chapter 20 – Flight of the Harpies
Epilogue
About the Author
Connect with Zachary Howe
1
Gordie’s Last Day of School
“Gordie! Gordie, get out here!”
On the morning of May twelfth, Gordon Leonhart woke with a start. He had slept in and was late for milking the cows. Out of bed in a flash, he began dressing amidst the early morning gloom that filled his bedroom. He pulled on a pair of old jeans and grabbed a tee shirt that may have been white at some point, but had since faded to a shade of yellow uncomfortably close to mustard. He could smell the residue that had dyed the shirt, then shrugged and threw it on anyways. One advantage to his oversleeping was that Gordie had awoken feeling as invigorated as ever; it was one of those days where he felt like he could do anything, but right now he feared the wrath of his father.
“Gordie! Get out here!” Gordie glimpsed his dad outside the window, his hands on his hips. He sprinted down the stairs and out the back door. The morning sky was starting to lighten, though the sun wasn’t up yet. A few birds tweeted sleepily. His skin prickled from the morning chill.
There was an odd, reddish hue peeking over the horizon, but it only had a moment to register before his dad confronted him. “Morning, princess,” Robert Leonhart chuckled as his son approached the barn. Gordie was relieved to see that his father’s anger was only a show. “What took you so long? You have another one of those action-packed dreams?” He winked and smirked.
“What? I don’t even . . . Whatever, Dad!” Gordie could feel the heat rising in his face like the morning sun over his shoulder.
“Alright! Keep your pants on! I was just messin’ with ya.” Robert gave his son another infuriating wink. “Now come on in. The cows need milking.”
Gordie and his father stepped up to the large barn doors, each grabbing one of the great silver rings. The door groaned in protest as Robert started to drag his open. Gordie tugged at his handle—both he and his dad jumped at the sound of exploding wood.
Robert stared at his son who was holding the handle in his hand, which he had ripped clean out of the barn door, shards of wood still dangling from the screws.
“Jeez, Gordo! Too many Wheaties this morning?” Robert laughed.
“I-I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened!” Gordie stared at the ring in his hand and at the place where he had pulled it out of the door. The wood wasn’t rotted and the screws were just as shiny as when Gordie had helped his dad install the rings the previous summer. He unfurled his fingers and recoiled at the indentations they had left in the crushed metal.
“No problem. You can fix it later. Let’s get a move on.”
Gordie shook his head and dropped the door handle before they pulled the doors open and stepped onto the straw-strewn floor of the cowhouse.
“Morning, sweetheart.” Gordie patted his favorite cow before he plopped down next to her, breathing in the scent of musty hay. He had named her Io after one of his favorite Greek myths, many of which his mother had told him as bedtime stories when he was young. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together to warm them before squeezing the udder more gently than usual.
After Gordie finished with his first client he worked his way through five more cows as his dad fluffed hay around the barn. The patch of sunlight at the entrance had stretched halfway down the floor. Gordie pulled his cell phone out and jumped. “Dad, I can’t finish. I’m gonna be late for school.”
“Wait! Gordon, you still need to help me bale hay!”
“But it’s almost eight and I haven’t even showered! I gotta go!”
“Fine, but I was gonna head into Madison with your mother so I could get some supplies, and I won’t be able to do that now ‘cause I gotta finish your chores.” Robert fixed his son with a stern gaze.
Feeling slighted, Gordie hurried back to the house to grab a bite before something caught his eye. The sun was up, but it was still redder than usual. For some reason he was able to look at it without hurting his eyes and as he gazed, he saw a blue light streak through it, moving upwards towards the sky. He had never seen anything like that before, and made a note to ask his dad about it when he was in a better mood.
Inside, Ellie Leonhart was busy in the kitchen. “Bacon and eggs are on the table, sweetie,” she tweeted at him. “Eat up and hop in the shower.”
The living room TV was tuned to one of the twenty-four-hour news channels, drawing an occasional snort of disbelief at the reports of political incompetency strangling D.C.
“Thanks, Mom.” Gordie scarfed down his breakfast and scooted off to the bathroom to shower. He scrubbed his body and short black hair all in one fell swoop—having a buzz cut was a serious time saver. He checked his reflection in the mirror to search for imperfections. His dark brown eyes scanned his face, taking in his squaring jaw and plump lips. His straight, unremarkable nose held the dying remnants of a legendary zit which would not be missed. Pleased with the passing o
f this nuisance, Gordie deemed his appearance acceptable and redressed, not in work clothes, but a pair of cargo shorts and a white tee-shirt (that was actually white). Down the stairs and out the door, about to hop into the ’68 Dodge Charger his father and he had restored the previous summer, when the old man stopped him.
“Hey, Gordo!”
“What, Dad? I gotta go,” Gordie said through a clenched jaw.
“I just wanted to say sorry for giving you a hard time. You do a great job with your work every day. I’m just spoiled I guess. How ‘bout we go to a Brewer game on Saturday? They’re playin’ the Cubbies.”
“Oh. Thanks, Dad, but I don’t know about this weekend. Scott Anderson’s throwing a party. Maybe next week.”
“All right, then. Next week. You’re not gonna do anything stupid at that party are you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Gordie smiled before he hopped in the car and turned the key.
“I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain . . . coming down on a sunny day?” With John Fogerty singing over the roaring engine, Gordie tore out of the driveway and began the two-mile drive to school. He lived on the outskirts of a small town in southern Wisconsin. Gordie’s farm was just east of town, but the bus didn’t come out there. He celebrated the fact that he could finally drive himself to school instead of his mom dropping him off on the way into Madison where she taught high school English.
As he rolled into town, the middle school bus pulled right in front of him, matching and impeding his route. “Dammit!” he said as he slammed his hands on the wheel. Now he was definitely going to be late. A pudgy kid in the back of the bus pressed his rosy face against the glass with his mouth open. Saliva speckled the window. Gordie gestured angrily at the kid, who turned to convey his harrowing experience to his friends, holding up his middle finger like a trophy.
Gordie parked in the school lot two minutes before class started. He rocketed out of his car and sped through the front door, then on to the opposite side of the school where he had tenth grade World History with Mrs. Blatt. He tried, unsuccessfully, to sneak in just after the bell.
“You’re late, Gordon.” She was a small woman with short, bouncy hair. Contrary to what her floral sundress might suggest, she could be quite intimidating, and this morning was no exception; Gordie figured that came with thirty years of teaching.
“By like a minute!” he argued, but he gave into her stern look and stammered, “Sorry, Mrs. B.”
“That’s all right. Now take a seat.”
Noah Erickson’s shaggy brown mop caught his eye from the back of the room and Gordie weaved his way towards him. Noah was Gordie’s best friend and teammate, and the son of his baseball coach, who happened to be good friends with Mr. Leonhart.
As Gordie made his way to the back Bridget Clemens scoffed and rolled her emerald eyes. She was the most popular girl in school and a fairly unpleasant young lady, but Gordie also thought she was painfully hot. He sneered back at her and grabbed a seat next to Noah.
“What’s her deal?” he asked Noah, jutting his chin towards Bridget’s mocha-colored hair.
“I heard her talking to Jenny before class. Apparently Christy Johnson has the hots for you, but Bridget doesn’t approve ‘cause you’re ‘just a farm boy,’” he ended with air quotes. Gordie brushed off the farm boy jibe because he was more intrigued by the other news. Christy Johnson was part of the popular clique, so Gordie was surprised to hear she had noticed him. Although, now that he thought about it, she had been chatting him up lately.
The previous week in gym they had talked before class started while she twirled her blonde hair around her finger. He didn’t remember what they had talked about, but he did remember what she was wearing: short pink shorts and a white tank top. They played volleyball that day . . . everything was bouncing.
Noah jolted Gordie out of his daydream. “So I take it you aren’t too upset to hear about Christy?” he taunted with a smirk. “Just make sure you give me all the details when you—”
“Am I going to have to separate you two?” Mrs. Blatt asked, glaring at them.
“No, Mrs. B.,” Noah and Gordie chimed in unison. Mrs. Blatt returned to her monologue about World War II, scratching Axis Powers and Manhattan Project on the board—Gordie’s cue to zone out. He found himself gazing eastward through the ground floor windows, thinking of the many ways he’d like to spend time with Christy. He could smell the sweat from gym class lingering beneath a tropical scent that emanated from her imagined hair as it touched his face.
Class was nearing an end while Gordie was still staring out the window in a trance, ignoring the dusty scrapes on the chalkboard. The sun hung low in the sky—a pale white disc, no longer a red inferno. He vaguely noticed that the students nearest the windows were likewise daydreaming, tracking the puffy clouds. He smiled.
A blue laser appeared on the horizon, streaking downward towards the school. Gordie’s smile faltered. For a second he began to panic, thinking the beam was going to travel right into the classroom and slay him. He breathed a momentary sigh of relief as it disappeared into the ground a number of miles away.
Then a brilliant light erupted from the contact site, burning his eyes, but he couldn’t look away. He slowly rose, as did some of his classmates, while others just looked around in confusion.
A great column of light stretched to the heavens, enveloping the entire landscape, growing wider every second. It pulsed, a radioactive blue at its edges melting into a blazing hot white towards its center. Great sparks of electricity danced around it, crackling like lightning. The room seemed to go dark as the beam pulsated and flickered, its brilliance consuming all the light from the world. Gordie’s mouth fell open as he stared at a rolling gray cloud eating the landscape as it raced towards him. Trees bent violently in his direction, some ripped clean out of the ground before they were swallowed by the hungry dust cloud. The shrieks of his classmates reached him as if from a great distance before he realized what was about to happen.
“Get down!” Gordie’s terrified scream came too late. The windows exploded. Glass cut through the air and skin indiscriminately as students were hurled out of their desks, towards the back wall. A small girl next to the window was thrown from her seat and towards Gordie, who caught her out of self-defense. Her neck snapped and her head drooped over his forearm. Judy Pritchett was dead. Before he could process what had happened, her desk followed and pelted towards his head. Unwilling to drop her, he braced himself for the impact.
The seat of the desk hit him square in the face and split down the middle, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as he had anticipated. He heard the wood cracking as if his head were inside the chair. Then the two halves continued their natural paths beyond him where he heard a sickening crunch: the sound of so many bones being broken.
In a matter of seconds, the powerful winds ceased just as quickly as they had sprung into being. Gordie was frozen. He didn’t want to look down at the lifeless body in his arms. He didn’t know her well, but he knew Judy Pritchett enough to say that she was a sweet, quiet girl. Pain and sadness welled inside him.
After what seemed an eternity, he turned, making sure to continue supporting Judy’s head like a father holding his newborn. As he pivoted, he began to take in the aftermath of the disaster. Mrs. Blatt’s desk had been hurled into her body and they both lay slumped against the wall. Students and desks were piled on top of each other in what would be an almost comical manner, if the scene were any less gruesome.
His heart sank and his legs threatened to collapse. In the back corner Noah’s body was splayed next to half of a desk chair. His throat caught again as he noticed the dark brown hair of his best friend resting on an unrecognizable face. The crunching bones he had heard must have been Noah’s. Why didn’t that desk just kill me? He trembled with grief and anger, confusion and shock.
He stared at a hand wriggling out of the pile of bodies, then came to his senses and laid Judy’s body on the floor. He stumbled aroun
d overturned furniture and grasped the hand. He pulled and looked away as a head lulled to the side to stare at him through dead eyes. The hand he was tugging belonged to Bridget Clemens. She gasped as she broke free of the pile. She glanced at him, then turned away to brush her clothes and wipe a tear from her cheek.
“Thanks,” she breathed.
“Are you okay?” Gordie asked.
“Yeah.”
The pile began to stir again and Gordie and Bridget helped several more students climb free. Seven students in all had survived, a few in rougher shape than others. The last boy they pulled from the pile groaned, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. Until they had laid him on the floor the students didn’t realize his side had been impaled by a branch.
“Danny?” Susie Thompson’s voice shook as she held her friend’s head in her hands. Gordie watched, his face a blank mask as he stared at the place where the branch entered the body. A teardrop fell onto Danny’s forehead as Susie wept over him.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Bridget whispered to Susie as she rubbed her back. Gordie silently disagreed—Danny’s face was quite pale. Gordie pulled his gaze away and looked around the room. A bike, a traffic cone, a soccer ball, a number of branches, and a stroller were scattered amongst the shattered remnants of desks, glass, and students. Through the windows he glimpsed a desolate landscape. What had been green and vibrant just minutes earlier was brown and barren. He looked away.
“I’m gonna go see if anyone needs help in the other rooms,” Gordie said as he started toward the door.
“I’ll go with you,” Bridget said, appearing eager to leave. Gordie considered her for a second, then led her out into the hall.
The hallway was eerily intact. Their footsteps echoed off the tile and the lockers as they made their way toward another classroom. Gordie took a deep breath to steady himself as he reached for the next doorknob.
“Wait.” Bridget grabbed his wrist. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked. She couldn’t possibly think he was worried about their rude exchange that morning.
