by Zachary Howe
The werewolf held the boughs apart with its enormous hands, the pine needles appearing to frame its horrific visage like drapery. The snarl transformed into a toothy grin before the wolf licked its lips and pulled its head out of the pine. For one hopeful second, Gordie believed that the monster decided to leave him be, but then one of the massive hands shot back into the tree, grabbed one of the branches like it were strangling a boa, and pulled.
An explosion of cracking wood sounded over Gordie’s head as he was showered with splinters. The monster had ripped the fifteen-foot-long branch right out of the trunk, with the ease of plucking a flower, before it reached in another paw and repeated the process.
Gordie sat immobilized by fear as branch after branch was pulled out above his head, not even flinching as wood chips fell into his hair and eyes. Finally, the creature stood in relief, backlighted by the moon in an arched portal that had not existed in the pine’s perimeter until seconds earlier.
On its hind legs the werewolf stood seven feet tall, with veins bulging out of its enormous biceps. The forearms of the creature were disproportionately long and slender compared to the girth of the upper arms and bulbous shoulders that formed a straight line with the head, as the monster’s neck jutted forward, not up. Its torso was its most human feature, the only bestial element of it was the matted hair inching in on the chiseled abdominal and pectoral muscles. This hair ran down the sinewy legs all the way to the clawed feet, which Gordie then realized were more humanoid than canine.
The werewolf dropped to all fours and began to saunter towards him. The hunter seemed confident that its prey was paralyzed by fear. It took its time closing the fifteen-foot gap.
A tear ran down Gordie’s face as the monster approached, and he started to appreciate the truth of his situation: he was not a superhero. His life was never going to be about winning glorious battles over superhuman foes and standing atop their lifeless bodies as the media snapped pictures. He was not going to be celebrated by seven billion people who lauded him as a hero. These demons he was to face—the demon he was facing now was real, powerful, and deadly. It was not a game. None of it was. And he finally knew it. Gordie became furious with himself when he finally understood what his mom had warned him of, and now it was too late.
The werewolf fixed him with its bloodthirsty gaze and stopped three feet from him. Through the smell of fresh cut wood, Gordie also inhaled the damp mustiness of the monster, as well as a more frighteningly metallic scent emanating from its panting maw.
The werewolf cocked its head, almost as if to ask, ‘Are you really not going to defend yourself?’ and then it opened its mouth to release a throaty growl, its ears pinned back and its eyes narrowed.
Gordie wrung his hands on the clammy wood of his bat, angry with himself for being such a child, angry with Chiron for sending him here to die, angry with Zeus for killing his father . . . and he resolved to fight.
He met the stare of the werewolf, sending as much hate and fury into its eyes as he could muster, and the monster grinned again. Still seated, Gordie shifted the bat to his right hip like a samurai readying his blade, angry at himself again for not standing when he had the chance. His hands tightened on the handle as he prepared to take a seated swing, wishing that he just had his batting gloves. Both parties remained still, coiled like snakes, waiting for their opponent to make a move. The werewolf lunged first.
As the monster sprang, Gordie roared and swung his bat in an arc like he was trying to chop off the creature’s head. He felt the reverberations in his hands as the bat struck the beast in the jaw, sending it crashing into a branch with a roar of anger as Gordie spun in the opposite direction to crawl underneath a low-hanging limb. One of the werewolf’s claws tore through Gordie’s pant leg as he tried to escape, cutting open his thigh, but he didn’t register the pain as he scrambled out of harm’s way.
The werewolf snapped back to its feet, snarling as it tore after its prey. Gordie heard a branch behind him shatter as the monster broke after him, and renewed panic burst in his mind. He stood up between two thick branches, on the opposite side of the vast trunk, and started to climb.
At first his climbing was hampered as he held his bat in one hand, but he quickly got the hang of it—it helped that the branches were thick enough for him to stand on. He pulled himself up and up, rising through the boughs with stunning speed in his adrenaline fueled frenzy, ignoring the raw feeling in his palms. He climbed faster as he heard crashing branches beneath him, the powerful scent of pine filling his lungs as the needles smacked him in the face. He glanced down to see the salivating wolf-man picking his way up after him. Gordie screeched and climbed faster still.
Twenty feet. Thirty feet. His hands were sticky from sap. They climbed and he could feel the beast closing. Gordie planted his feet on a thick limb and wrapped his arm around another, freeing an arm to wield his bat. The monster sprang from ten feet below him and he took a golf swing at its face. But the werewolf was prepared this time. It bit down on the wood of the bat, tearing it out of Gordie’s hand with one violent neck-jerk and spitting it out. They watched as the bat tumbled downward, careening off branches, until it made a harmless plinking sound as it rattled to rest on the ground.
The wolf looked back at Gordie with a devilish smile, showing every jagged tooth. Gordie gulped and climbed again. The werewolf hopped from limb to limb behind him until Gordie could see it in his periphery as he climbed, leaping almost monkey-like through the branches. He saw the wolf stop and coil ten feet to his left before it sprang at him, now fifty feet above the forest floor.
Gordie saw the bogey coming in on his flank and looked around wildly. Ten feet to his right a sturdy branch beckoned him and he launched towards it. His arms windmilled through the air as his eyes widened and his mouth opened in a silent scream of anticipation. He stretched out his right arm as his left arm circled around back once more, propelling him onward. When his fingers were less than a foot away, he knew he was going to make the leap, until his left arm was yanked downward, pulling the shoulder out of the socket with an audible pop as he whipped around in midair to face his doom.
For a split second, Gordie and the wolf made eye contact as they began to tumble. Gordie was pulled towards the werewolf like he was a marlin being reeled into a boat. Furious triumph burned in the wolf’s eyes, its jaw clamped on Gordie’s left wrist and forearm, while its arms reached out to wrap him in a bear hug. Gordie felt terror and anger and sadness before he felt the confusion of an impossible victory.
Large, jagged, black crystals erupted out of the wolf’s snout in every direction. They tore through bone, sinew, and skin, stabbing into its brain, killing it instantly. Gordie felt the pressure of the powerful jaws release, and examined his freed hand in midair as the black ice sank back into his skin, leaving his arm drenched in a tar-like fluid. He watched as the hulking body of the beast started to fall away from him, as if in slow-motion, and he unwillingly followed.
Unable to grab any branches with one useless arm, Gordie clawed and scratched at limbs on his way down as the wolf cleared the way for him like a fullback, its momentum slowing and increasing intermittently as it broke through branches of varying thickness.
Gordie twisted and spun in the air as he fell in the lifeless monster’s wake, becoming nauseated and panicked for lack of a lifeline. Then the wolf hit a thick branch and Gordie landed on its massive chest with a thud on his knees and elbows. The branch had caught the beast square in the back, and would have held if not for Gordie’s added weight. Together the living boy and dead werewolf broke through, and Gordie wove his fingers through the wolf’s long hair as he began to ride it down through the tree. His hands clenched the thick fur just above its chest with his knees tucked on the abdomen, while he tucked his head underneath the elongated chin. He was repulsed by the monster to which he clung, but he knew that he needed it to shield the blows.
Gordie’s nausea increased as he heard the bones of this beast shattering with ever
y new limb they hit. He could feel the monster’s powerful form breaking beneath him and prayed that the body would remain intact long enough for him to ride all the way to the ground.
Just when Gordie thought they would never stop crashing through that mighty pine, he felt the solid earth beneath his hairy chariot and, with a stabbing pain in his shoulder (as well as most other body parts), he was launched off the beast, flipping over its head until he landed with a dull thud on his back. The impact knocked the wind out of him and he rolled onto his side just in time to vomit over his shoulder.
Gordie lay on his side next to a pool of his own sick for some time. He felt the pain of his dislocated left shoulder on which he was resting, but was too exhausted to roll onto his back. He felt the sting of the gash in his thigh, but was too drained to assess the damage. His left arm lay limply in front of him and he inspected the sludgy blood congealing on his hand. He realized now that beneath that viscous substance his arm was unscathed, and he thought back to his encounter with Cerberus and the power imbibed by the River Styx. A twinge of loneliness hit him as he remembered his three-headed companion.
He tilted his head back and flinched upon seeing the gaping mouth of his attacker. The werewolf stared at him upside-down through dead eyes, its mouth open and tongue lolling out the side, hanging upward toward earth. Black blood dripped from numerous wounds on the snout, and some even rolled off the long tongue. Gordie scooted away from it in disgust, but only putting a couple extra feet between he and the slain beast before he fell onto his back again, limbs sprawled in every direction.
He lay there, staring up into the demolished boughs. As far up as he could see in the gloom, limbs dangled, hanging by splintered strands of wood. Some branches that had fallen teetered on lower branches like needled Lincoln Logs. Gordie heard a soft crack and watched needles float downward leading the way for a small branch.
Too tired to move, he closed his eyes and allowed the piney limb to fall on him. He breathed in the scent of evergreen as the soft branch rested over him, sheltering him in a flawless camouflage. He smiled, grateful for the disguise, as he drifted to sleep.
10
Apollo’s Threat
Gordie awoke to birdsong. He blinked the morning haze out of his eyes, confused about his pokey blanket until some of the previous night’s memories came back. He pushed the light pine branch off him with one hand and sat up, the interior of his pine-house flooded with rays of morning light. He felt the needles crunch beneath his palms as he placed his hands at his side to push himself up. Then he fell over to his left side when his shoulder did not respond to the command, and felt a stab of pain as he remembered the injury.
He rolled over to his right and rocked himself to a side sit, then winced as he rose to his feet. His left thigh burned as well, and he looked down to see the gash swollen and caked in dried blood. Gordie held his left elbow in his right hand, thinking it best to stabilize his shoulder as he stepped over the body of a werewolf he had killed hours earlier. He knelt down to retrieve his bat, but had to release his arm to do so, leaving it to dangle so he could carry his only form of defense. Stumbling around the prodigious trunk of the tree while dragging his bat at his feet, he walked out the makeshift doorway created by his vanquished foe and blinked in the full morning light.
He looked left and then right in a stupor, and decided to make for the nearby river. Two birds floated down to have a look at him and tweeted their cheery tunes as they hovered alongside him, chaperoning his victory lap.
“I hate you,” he snarled at them, and they flew away in a racket, clearly offended.
He stumbled towards the water, desperate for a drink, and fell to his knees when he reached the bank. Looking at his reflection, he noted the road map of scratches and bruises painted on his face with indifference. He dipped his right hand into the water and brought the cup to his mouth. The cool river water enlivened him as it had the day before, and a stupid grin spread across his face. He dunked his whole head in the river, gurgled the water like a toddler in the bath tub, and pulled his head back out, laughing to the blue morning sky.
He fell back onto his rump and giggled until the fit passed. Then the water in front of him began to gurgle and take form as a young female rose out of it, the river water flowing over and through her as if she were part of the stream.
“You?” Gordie shouted. “Where were you yesterday?” he asked, throwing his good arm in the air. “I was almost killed last night!”
The naiad tucked her chin and looked down in what was clearly a show of remorse.
“I’m sorry,” Gordie mumbled. “It was just a long night.”
She raised her head again and smiled, holding out her hand to beckon him. Desperate to get back to his mom for some comfort and reassurance, Gordie leapt to his feet and held out his right arm. She looked at it and washed her ethereal hand over it before looking back at him, shaking her head, and pointing at his other arm.
Gordie looked down at his limp left arm and shook his head, afraid that if she dragged him along by it again, the pain would be unbearable. She nodded, and he sighed. He stooped to pick up his bat, lifted his left arm in his right, and handed the limp limb to her. She smiled her sinuous smile before grabbing his hand and pulling him into the water.
For the second time in twenty-four hours, Gordie raced along behind the water nymph. Fortunately, he did not fear drowning on the whitewater-tour-from-Hell this time. Unfortunately, he was only preoccupied from that carnal fear because of the screaming pain in his shoulder as he was dragged along like a tuna.
Gordie was launched out of the stream unceremoniously before he landed in some pokey shrubbery. With only one good arm he struggled to untangle himself, but finally stood panting in the direction of his gondolier. She cocked her head and looked at him sideways which, for one horrifying second, reminded him of the werewolf. However, her friendliness shone through when she smiled at him, and his legs turned to Jell-O.
“Thank you,” he said.
She raised her fluid hand to her lips and blew Gordie a kiss before sinking back into the current—the heat that flared up in his face evaporated the spring water.
He stood there for a minute watching the gentle brook babble, pondering the science behind its ability to transform into a roaring torrent. Water dripped off him, down his limp and pained left arm, down his right arm and off the end of his bat. Little droplets splatted on a rock beneath his feet as they fell from his torn cargo shorts.
The forest was quiet. Every now and then he heard a lone warble, but it had not a fraction of the life abundant in the magical wood he had left behind. Despite his near death experience in that place, some part of him missed it. He lifted his eyes from the stream and looked around. The trees were lush, but again, it felt like something was missing, some light that could not exist here. He sighed before he started looking for the path, and realized with a start that this was not the spot where he had first met the naiad.
He spun around hoping to see a familiar landmark, but the forest was too thick. However, he noted that he stood on a slope and hope flared that he might be near the mouth of Chiron’s cave. He turned around and started uphill. There was no visible path, so he trundled through undergrowth and bushes, just focused on climbing. He swiped at the brush with his bat trying to clear the way, but this weapon was more apt for fighting werewolves, and he was repeatedly whapped in the face by swinging branches.
The slope increased and he picked up the pace, excited that he might be nearing his destination. His shins were being scratched up as he pushed on, but he ignored the stinging. Then he stopped as he heard something whisper in the dense wood. He stood still listening until he was sure of what he had heard.
“Gordie! Gordie!” His mom’s voice was calling for him from ahead, and he smiled as he started barreling through the thicket.
“Mom! Mom, I’m here!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, ignoring the points of burning pain on his body.
“Gordie! Go
rdie, I hear you! Where are you?” Her voice grew louder.
They shouted back and forth until he broke out of the undergrowth and fell face first in the dusty path. He heard running footsteps as he clambered to his feet and was thrown into a bone-crushing hug the instant he stood.
“Gyah!” he groaned as pain rifled through his shoulder.
“Oh, Gordie! Are you okay? I was so worried about you!” He could hear the tears in her voice.
“I’m fine,” he breathed through collapsed lungs as he patted her on the back with his right hand. “But you’re hurting me a little,” he moaned despite himself.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry,” Ellie said as she pulled away, inspecting him from head to toe with her hands grasping his shoulders. She saw the gash on his leg and the left arm dipping lower than it should. She pulled her hand away quickly and asked, “What happened to you?” her voice suddenly stern.
“It’s a long story,” he sighed. “Are we close to Chiron’s?”
“Yeah, just a couple minutes. I can go get him and have him give you a ride.”
“No,” Gordie snapped without thinking, before softening his tone. “No. Thanks, Mom, but I have to finish this on my own.”
She nodded curtly and knelt to retrieve his bat before grasping his right hand and leading him onward. Normally, Gordie would have been repulsed by the idea of holding hands with his mom, but at the moment it was all he wanted, and he squeezed her hand in a show of gratitude.
They walked up the winding trail and reached Chiron’s cave in a matter of minutes. Gordie wasn’t limping exactly, just dragging his entire body along in beleaguered exhaustion. He couldn’t say for sure if he would have had the strength to make it back without his mom. As they stepped through the stone archway and out of the morning light, he smelled something delightful roasting within.
They wound their way through the cool, dark rock, until the sound of a crackling fire met his ears. As they rounded another bend, the mouth of the Great Hall yawned before them, and he smiled as he saw his grandfather sitting at the table, large mug in hand.
