by Zachary Howe
“AAHH!” they both screamed in unison before the adolescent horned-boy jumped into the air and kicked Gordie square in the chest with both hooves.
Gordie went flying backwards, landing on his back with a thud, and clutching at his sternum, which was searing with pain, in addition to the horrible sensation of having the wind knocked out of him.
Gasping for breath and eyes bulging out of his head, a curious visage popped into view above Gordie as he writhed on his back. His attacker looked down on him with concern, and Gordie realized with pain-addled fascination that his initial assessment of him was true: he did have little horns poking out of his forehead beneath his dun colored curls, which matched the hair covering his shaggy, hooved legs.
He was a satyr: half goat, half boy. A bacchanal and a cavorter with centaurs. Outside of Chiron—who was the exception to the rule—centaurs were legendarily rowdy creatures known for excessive drinking and extreme misogyny, activities in which the satyrs often participated.
His brown eyes peered down at Gordie, but he hopped back, startled as the human began to sit up. He looked rather defensive, and Gordie was afraid of receiving another donkey-kick, so he held out his hand. “Wait,” he said. “It’s okay, just take it easy.”
He rose to his feet, but kept his distance. He reached into one of his cargo pockets, which made the satyr flinch again into a combative position, but he pulled out a date and offered it to him. The young satyr made a gesture with his hand as if to say ‘toss it over,’ like they were negotiating a hostage situation.
Gordie tossed him the fruit and he snatched it, popping it into his mouth with the greedy satisfaction that children exhibit on Christmas morning, which was fitting because he looked no older than ten. Despite the satyr’s youth, Gordie still had a yearning to beat him down for the throbbing in his chest, but he decided to pursue diplomacy instead by introducing himself in the same manner as he did with the water nymph.
“My name is Gordie,” he said with his hand on his aching breast. “Gordie.” He patted his chest again. “What’s your name?” He was not confident this time that his attempt at courtesy would be met with understanding. The nymph had understood him, but Gordie did not read nor speak Greek. He was pleasantly surprised however, that he received a spoken response this time.
“Laktizon,” the satyr said, mimicking Gordie’s hand-on-chest identifying movement.
“Laktizon,” Gordie parroted, pointing at him. The satyr smiled, nodded his head emphatically, and started hopping up and down.
“Laktizon! Laktizon!” he chirped. His jubilation was endearing and infectious. Gordie smiled and repeated his name again.
“Can you help me find figs?” Gordie asked, and his excitement melted as Laktizon looked at him confusedly. “Figs,” Gordie repeated. To his right there was a cactus nestled in a patch of sand. He walked over and tried to draw a picture of a fig in the grains.
Laktizon waddled over and looked at the sketch with no apparent comprehension. Gordie pulled out a date and pointed to it. “Like this,” he said, pointing back and forth between the two.
Laktizon inspected it for a second until enlightenment shone brightly on his face. He hopped up and down again before running off deeper into the glade, beckoning Gordie to follow. Gordie broke into a sprint to keep up with the agile goat-legs. The little satyr did not seem to grasp the fact that he was much faster than his pursuer. Gordie was panting within seconds as he fell farther and farther behind.
Just when Gordie thought he was going to lose him for good, Laktizon stopped next to a big bushy tree. Gordie slowed to a jog and caught up with him in a few seconds before he doubled over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. The searing pain in his chest was not only a result of the sprinting, but an after-effect of his bruised ribs, and another twinge of annoyance towards this little creature skirted through his mind. Laktizon pointed at the tree excitedly where Gordie saw clumps of little purple fruits hanging off the branches.
“Wow, there are hundreds of ‘em!” Gordie gasped at the bounty.
He plucked one and took a bite to confirm that it was the sweet nectar he had been seeking. The juicy deliciousness burst in his mouth, making him smile widely in relief. Laktizon copied him, returning his smile as he partook in the scrumptious delights. Gordie snatched a couple bunches of the figs and filled his already strained pockets to the brim.
There was now an early-evening orange glow in the mystical jungle. Gordie looked around with fascination as he noticed the plants seemed to change color with the fading sun. Green leaves darkened, their veins pulsating blues, reds, and purples. A band of creatures, which sounded simian in nature, chattered in a grove of yew trees, but they were hidden in the dense foliage of the boughs. It was more than a cackling debate—it sounded as though they were speaking some unknown language. Gordie noticed his hairy-legged friend observing him out of the corner of his eye and he turned back to him, feeling uncomfortable.
“Well, I guess I should go now,” he said. “Thanks for the help.”
Gordie turned to hike back to the river when his face met a great, round, sweaty, squishy belly. He bounced off the abdomen like a trampoline and fell onto his backside, completely caught off guard. Gordie looked up to take in the mass of his confronter—eyeing with revulsion the black hole of a belly button that had nearly swallowed him—and was astounded to see that this new arrival was nearly as tall as Chiron, which was impressive because his hairy goat-legs were naturally bent at the backwards-knee. The new satyr’s enormous girth did not only portray a tremendous appetite—his broad chest and titanic arms exuded power, reinforced by the look of stern authority on his full-moon-sized face. Like his kinsman, the horns on his forehead were proportionally small, but due to his great size, each protrusion was a good six inches in length with a menacing curve that made Gordie wonder if they had ever been used to eviscerate someone.
The great satyr leaned over to observe Gordie more closely as he cowered under him. The top of his head was bald, his curly locks wrapping around the sides—a look that was even more comical because of his horns. But Gordie was not in a laughing mood. He was blatantly aware of his mortal strength on this day, and prayed the satyr was not hostile, though his gaze suggested otherwise. What was most intimidating about this character, however, was the club he was wielding.
In one of his massive hands he was holding a knotted club that was as long as Gordie was tall. It was a weapon worthy of his legendary ancestor. He had no doubt that this satyr could shatter every bone in his body with one swing if he chose to do so, and he started scooting backwards like a crab in silent fear.
“Halt.” Gordie froze at the undeniable tyranny of his command—not shouted, just spoken, but still possessing absolute supremacy. “Why are you here, human?” His voice was slow and controlled, but Gordie sensed anger beneath the surface.
“I’m sorry. I just came to get some fruits, but I’m leaving now, I promise.” He was hopeful that this would be an option, but was disappointed.
“You believe you can simply harvest my food and leave?” He chuckled humorlessly. “How did you come to this place? Speak quickly for I grow weary.” His eyes narrowed as he slapped his club into his free hand.
“I don’t know,” Gordie began spurting words, “I was just in the forest and I met a naiad and she brought me here! Chiron just told me to get some fruit! I didn’t try to come here!” The panic in Gordie’s voice was clear to himself, and he guessed the satyr sensed it too. He hoped the behemoth didn’t thrive on fear.
“Chiron sent you? So he has returned,” he added ponderously. “That must make you one of his heroes, then. You smell like a mortal, though, and you quiver like one too.”
“I- I’m not a hero, I just . . . well, I guess technically I might . . . I don’t really know. But I’m in training!”
“Well, let us see how well trained you are.” He raised his club above his head, preparing to pound Gordie into oblivion.
Gordie’s eyes
flung open wide as he started to scramble backwards before Laktizon hopped in front of him with his hands raised above his head.
“Pauou, Pater!” he shouted in a squeaky little voice. Gordie didn’t know what the words meant, but it had halted both his would-be attacker and himself in place.
A gentleness that he would not have thought possible slid across the large satyr’s face as he lowered his weapon. He patted the young goat-boy on the head with a massive hand and turned his attention back on Gordie.
“It seems you have befriended my son.” His voice was calm, but still not devoid of anger. Gordie exchanged looks with Laktizon, hoping he understood his gratitude through the look of bewilderment. “You may leave this place, but go at once and do not return. Tell Chiron not to send his puppets here again. I shall not be so forgiving next time. Come, Laktizon.” He guided his child by the arm through a grove of trees, and the young boy looked over his shoulder at Gordie sadly.
Gordie was still shaking from the encounter as they disappeared into the leaves, and although he was pleased with their departure, he now feared this darkening forest when facing it on his own. The cackling monkeys having their evening war council were no longer intriguing but threatening and frightful.
Gordie rose to his shaky feet and looked around. For the first time since arriving here, he was aware that he had left his bat sitting on the banks of the stream before the naiad took him. Not only was he afraid to wander back through this wood without protection, but he was doubly afraid that the bat may be gone if and when he returned.
Gordie broke into a slow jog, leery of the strange shapes in the twilight, but desperately wanting to return to the normal forest. His only thought was to get back to the river, hoping that the naiad would be waiting for him there; if not, he had no idea what he would do—most likely panic.
A turtle with a stained-glass shell watched Gordie lazily as he hurried past. A family of raccoons with azure stripes and masks sat in a half-circle, passing fruits back and forth. They looked up from their dinner party as he dashed by.
Two flaming-pink hummingbirds flittered next to his head like they were escorting him, but then they flew past him, weaving in between one another like an aerial stunt show. Their twirling synchronization was so fast and precise it appeared as though a strand of DNA was leading Gordie onward. Amazed by this show, he was momentarily relieved from his frenzy, until they both shot off like bullets in opposite directions—one flying into the shrubbery to his right, the other blazing past a line of birches to his left, its pink trail only visible when it streaked past the snow-white bark of the trees. Coming to his senses, Gordie realized that he had stopped to spectate. He shook his head and broke into a jog again.
After running for twenty minutes his breaths became ragged and he slowed to a reluctant walk. The plants and animals here were more recognizable, giving him a sense of hope that he was nearing the river and the known-world. After five minutes of walking he had recovered enough to speed up again.
The last rays of rainbow-hued sunlight faded into darkness, and the sky started to display the twinkling cosmos above. Gordie’s fear grew with the approaching gloom, giving him flashbacks of the oppressively dark tunnel he had recently escaped.
But the stars and the large moon were both visible in all their glory here, and soon his path was illuminated as fully as if it were midday. Growing up in a small town, he thought he had been privileged enough to see the galaxies in their completeness, but being out here, eons from the lights of civilization, he was aware of how little he had truly seen.
The duskiness of space was nearly eradicated by the absolute blanket of burning diamonds. Gordie gazed in wonder, incapable of even finding a single constellation due to the great density of the astrological envelope. The very real fear he had felt was gone again, dispersed into the heavens.
As he searched the star field, Gordie finally landed upon a familiar grouping: the same stars that led him out of the Underworld twinkled in his eyes. He could not be sure, but they somehow seemed brighter than the other stars, so he followed them. The constellation almost looked like a mouse, with a long tail raised up, as if in alert. Some small part of his brain told him that it was not a rodent, but whether or not he knew its true essence, he could not recall.
Gordie walked on, not even looking down at the earth beneath his feet, but placing one foot in front of the other, striding towards his stellar guide. A flock of bats fluttered overhead, squeaking at one another. An owl hooted in a nearby tree, coming to life and preparing for a night of hunting. The next sound to reach his ears made him smile blissfully as the rushing water of the river sang to the night. Ahead he saw shimmering lights bouncing off the ground, writhing and dancing, and he realized it was not the earth, but the water of the river reflecting the starlight.
As Gordie approached the bank, he experienced another jolt of excitement as he saw his bat lying in wait. He snatched it up and inspected it, looking at the smooth wood grain and running his hand over it to ensure it was unharmed. It appeared to be intact and he wondered how it might have arrived there. Unable to come up with a reasonable conclusion, he gave it up and moved closer to the river, hoping to see a naiad floating beneath the surface, waiting to give him a ride home.
“Hello?” Gordie called over the water. “Naiad lady?” he asked, wishing that he had been able to read her Greek name when they had met. There was no response, so he dropped to his hands and knees, took a deep breath, and stuck his head in the water.
“Herrrooooo!” he called into the current. Gordie pulled his head out and waited, but again no response.
“Crap.”
The old sense of discomfort returned. He looked around and saw no movement, no living things to help or harm him. He crossed his legs and waited in hopes that the water nymphs would return. Hunger gripped him again and, after taking inventory, he decided he had enough fruit to treat himself, so he munched on a couple of each variety. And he waited some more.
After what seemed like an hour, Gordie gave up on waiting for a guide to arrive and reluctantly started searching for shelter. A large pine tree nearby lifted its skirt far enough off the ground that he could slide underneath. When he got inside he released an awed whisper in spite of himself, “Whoa!”
The diameter of the tree between the most distant needles had to be forty feet—being inside the canopy felt like he had stepped into a circus tent. Great, powerful branches radiated from the center like the spokes on a bicycle tire, and spiraled upwards into the dark green gloom.
The needles beneath the tree were soft and forgiving, making a cozy little bed. Gordie rested his back against the trunk and looked out through the branches, still eying the river in case a rescuer came searching for him. He was comforted by the covering, feeling confident that he would have a much easier time observing whatever shuffled around outside the tree without being discovered in his hiding spot.
A sliver of the moon was visible through the dense branches above and he was grateful for the night-light. He remained on watch with a steady fear lingering, but he was still in control. After the moon had shifted its position above him, he began to feel more uneasy, hoping that Chiron and his family were out there looking for him.
Fear started to wrestle with fatigue and soon the pendulum shifted from wanting to remain on guard despite tiredness, to wanting to rest despite anxiety. His lids started to droop, but he fought for some time to remain vigilant.
“Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes,” Gordie whispered aloud, trying to convince himself that he would not fall asleep. He nestled down into the cushy needles and spooned his bat like a child cuddling a teddy-bear. His eyes flickered open with every creek of the wind or scuffle of small creatures, but more lazily every time, until he fell asleep.
Unidentifiable horrors populated Gordie’s dreams. Dark shapes, dark shadows, following him as he ran through thick darkness, unable to escape his hunters. He tried to scream as he ran, but his voice was swallowed by the nothingnes
s. Running through a thick pine forest, dark needles scratching him in his angst, a prowler running a parallel path on the other side of a piney thicket, just out of reach, but always too close for comfort.
He jolted awake. A little puff of steam escaped his panting mouth before it evaporated into the crisp air. He heard the rustle of needles and twisted around, but breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it was just the wind. And then he heard a snarl.
Gordie went rigid. Every hair on his body was standing up, trying to run from their follicular prisons. His skin erupted with goose bumps. He could hear a gravelly panting coming from outside his needled hideout. His eyes widened as he glimpsed four thick, black, hairy paws under the pine’s skirt, stalking the outside of the massive tree. He could hear sniffs and snuffles as the creature searched for the origin of his scent. Some instinct—however unrecognizable in Gordie’s terror—told him that the distance between the front and back paws of this canine was too great for it to be an ordinary wolf, especially because the front paws were not paws at all, but giant, shaggy hands.
Gordie gripped his bat so tightly he thought it might crack, holding his breath as his panic rose with the rapid tune of a death march drummed by his heart. Then the front legs of the creature disappeared. The back feet pivoted until the yellow curving nails pointed directly at his location and the boughs just above his head began to part. He sidled back against the tree trunk as his pants filled with hot liquid that immediately started to cool in the late-night chill, leaving him feeling colder than he had ever been in his life.
Unable to move, unable to think, Gordie sat, looking up as the needles rustled. “Please, God. Please, God. Please, God,” he chanted to his bat, almost as if he were whispering into the ear of a lover. He was unsure of what he pleaded for, but he continued to do so until his voice was stolen by the appearance of a wide, dark snout, baring its many teeth beneath menacing yellow eyes.
