The Heir of Olympus and the Forest Realm

by Zachary Howe

  “No. Look, I just want to talk.”

  “Release me!”

  “I’m not going to hurt you!”

  “No, but I will hurt you,” she said, her eyes narrowing with each word she spoke.

  He felt her trying to break his grip. Sweat broke out on his face. It took all his prodigious strength to keep her subdued. Meanwhile, he couldn’t help but notice how smooth her skin was in his hands despite the sinuous muscles he felt roiling beneath. Her skin was silver and shone brightly, as if it were its own light source. She wore a leather vest and matching leather skirt, but they were not the dull tan of normal hides. These skins were the pure white of fresh snow, their brilliance only outdone by her luminescent complexion. He pushed these thoughts aside and searched for a way to mollify her. And an answer came to him, but he only wished to use it as a last resort.

  “Will you please listen to me?” he said. “I can stop you, but I want you to stop of your own free will. Please don’t make me. Will you listen?”

  “You cannot command me!” she screamed. Gordie’s heart sank. There was one way to stop her then, despite his uncertainty of the consequences—since the last task remained incomplete—he saw no alternative.

  “Artemis!” Gordie bellowed—her eyes widened with surprise, “I, Gordon Leonhart!”—she had been trying to bull-rush him before, but now Gordie felt her muscles change direction as she tried to pull away—“demand the opportunity to prove—”

  “NO!” she cried.

  “My worth!” The last words echoed through the trees. Artemis’s body went slack and her eyes glazed over and shone silvery like two tiny moons. Gordie released her, but they remained bound together. The floating gossamer strands shot out of Gordie’s chest and wound their way around Artemis. She floated inches above the ground, arms outstretched, body immobilized. The silvery strands circled around her and made their way back to Gordie, wrapping him in their gentle warmth. But then something different happened.

  A spray of golden strands—like the silver ones, but more substantial—shot out of Artemis’s chest. Gordie’s eyes widened with alarm, but he had no time to react. The golden ropes bound him, snapping his arms and legs to his sides. “Wait. What?” he spluttered, before his head snapped back and his eyes clouded as well.

  Images flooded his brain.

  A horde of angry Titan soldiers were charging him at his spot on the high ground. He looked down the shaft of a nocked arrow held steady in his bow by his slender, silvery hand. He released, sending the missile spinning through the nearest assailant’s forehead. To his right a lycanthrope was slashing and snarling at a group of enemies. The scene dissolved.

  He looked down at a small blue bonfire on the sand of a gray desert. He sat cross-legged with his hands poised on his knees. On the other side of the fire, also sitting cross-legged, a beautiful young woman looked into his eyes. Her lips were moving, but he could not hear her words. Her hair floated in the air behind her. Over her shoulder, very distant in the star-filled blackness, he could make out a hemisphere, mostly blue with large green splotches—ethereal whites roving over it. The scene dissolved.

  He was wading through a forest pool in the moonlight, the surface rippling away from him as he went. In the water ahead of him, a bare-chested, muscular man stood in the waist deep fount, his arms outstretched, awaiting him with a smile on his face. Then an arrow pierced the man’s head and Gordie’s point of view spun. Standing atop a rock wall next to the small waterfall that fed the pool, Apollo was lowering his bow with triumph etched on his features. The scene dissolved again and his sight went black.

  Then a powerful female voice rang loud and clear in his mind. I, Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, command you to best the mighty gryphon in combat. Bring me its body as a trophy and sacrifice. The voice echoed in his sub-conscience, then disappeared. The blackness remained. Then another voice broke the silence, a male voice, which Gordie knew. I, Apollo, God of the Sun, command you to find my sister, Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, and convince her to forgive me. The echo of the voice died and sensation rushed back to Gordie like the instant of a star’s death.

  Gordie fell to his hands and knees in the crisp grass. He panted. The air stung his lungs with each inhalation and clouded before his face with each exhalation. The sound of reality returned to him in an instant: the trees rustling in the gentle breeze, the call of night birds (some he recognized and some he did not), and the slow, steady breath of another nearby. He raised his head and saw Artemis sitting on her knees just feet in front of him, her head tucked to her chest.

  “Are you okay?” he breathed, his words labored and pained.

  She did not respond for a few moments. Then she whispered, “You fool.”

  She raised her head and a tear stained her cheek, glimmering brighter than a diamond. Although her words were hostile, Gordie sensed her aggression towards him had gone. He thought he even recognized a look of pity on her face.

  “What? What did I do?”

  “You have doomed us both,” she said, looking at him with mild interest, as if she were seeing him for the first time.

  “How so?” he asked, rocking back on his knees. They stared at each other, knees in the grass, just feet apart. Gordie shivered as the night air pulled at his damp clothes.

  “You demanded a task of me before completing your last. You have made me complicit. We are bound now.” Her eyes narrowed on him—they were the shiny gray of the moon, but deeper than the silvery sheen of her skin. Then she adopted an even tone and said, “You will never complete his task because I will never forgive him. And when you die—as all men do—you will have died without completing the task. Penalty for failure of completing such a task is death, and so, I will die too.”

  Her eyes never left his as she spoke. Gordie just stared back in awe. He knew he would be having a panic attack if the tables were turned. Her detached resignation broke his heart.

  “I-I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know. I-I didn’t mean to.”

  “It does not matter. It is done.”

  “But you could forgive him,” Gordie said, pushing himself up with one hand and rising to his feet. “You could just forgive him, and then we’re both set!”

  “Forgiveness is not a choice.” She rose to her feet with one fluid movement and looked down at him.

  “Of course it is—”

  “NO!” she said. Gordie recoiled. “It is not so simple.” Her voice reverted to its even keel. “What is done is done.” She turned and walked toward the mountain in which she was silhouetted. Gordie stepped briskly to catch up.

  “Well, I can at least complete your task,” he said from beside her, looking up reverently and taking two steps for each one of hers.

  “You can certainly try, but none can kill a gryphon. Even Heracles nearly fell to the Nemean Lion, and that beast had not the cunning of the Eagle. You will likely die and I with you. So be it.” She walked on. Gordie looked down at his shuffling feet with his eyebrows knit together.

  “Yeah, well, I’m starting to think Hercules was kind of a moron,” he said. He took four more steps before he realized that Artemis had stopped, and he turned to look at her. She was looking at him with a half-smile.

  “Maybe there is hope for you after all, young Leonhart.”

  “Thanks,” he smiled with pride. “Hey, how did you know I was coming here anyways?”

  “I lured you here. Have you forgotten your dream?” She looked at him as if doubting the intelligence for which she had just praised him.

  “You made me dream that?” he asked. He looked down and shuddered, remembering the fury of the storm pounding him against the rock.

  “Indeed. After your meeting with him,” she snarled the last word, and Gordie knew she was referring to Apollo, “I knew you would be itching to seek me out . . . I gave you a push.”

  “Did you know about the task that Apollo gave me?” Gordie asked, ignoring her scowl at the mention of her brother’s name.

  “Of
course—we are twins. I know of all of his dealings.” She walked past Gordie in the direction of the mountain again.

  “Then why did he ask me to find you? Shouldn’t he know where you are if you have some kind of telepathic connection?” Gordie trotted alongside her. A nearby bush rustled and he glanced at it, but saw nothing. He turned back to Artemis and awaited her response.

  “I have closed myself off to him,” she said. “Of course he has not done the same, desperate as he is to win me back. He thinks he can lure me with his internal turmoil. Pathetic!”

  “He really is sorry, you know.”

  “Good. He shall remain so for eternity.”

  She stopped in the middle of the glade and knelt down. Her back was turned to Gordie so he could not see what she was doing as she hunched over the grass, but when she moved aside, a small bonfire was crackling over kindling that hadn’t been there moments earlier. She crossed her legs in front of the fire and stared into the flames. He watched her for a second, feeling uncomfortable in the silence, then joined her at the fireside.

  “It may not be wise to dawdle,” she said without taking her eyes off the embers. “You have a long journey ahead of you.” She inclined her head in the direction of the dark mountain. Gordie looked up at it.

  “I have to go there?” He pointed up at the mountain.

  “Indeed. That is where the gryphon roosts.” She gazed into the flames.

  “That sucks,” he said, feeling very discouraged as he looked at the towering peak.

  “Indeed,” she repeated. “It may behoove you to remove your clothing and dry them by the fire first. It would not do for you to freeze to death. That would be an unfitting end to my existence.”

  “I wouldn’t be too crazy about it either,” said Gordie, blushing at the prospect of disrobing in front of this enchanting goddess. He unslung the bat-sheath from his shoulder and took off his hoodie, laying it by the fire. Although his skin prickled, he was warmer without the sopping sweatshirt trapping the cold against his body. He scooted up to the fire and rubbed his chest, feeling the warmth spread. If only he were brazen enough to remove his trousers too: his legs felt like ice cubes.

  They sat there in silence for ten minutes. Then, still without looking at him, Artemis broke the silence. “Your arm—that is from the River of Souls, yes?”

  “Yep, Styx,” Gordie said, bristling with pride.

  “A very useful tool,” she said. “Hand me your garments.” She held out her hand and he gave her his sweatshirt. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting it with interest. “Very thick,” she muttered. Holding it away from her body, she wrung it out. A torrent of water flowed out of it. She did this twice more. Then she swiped it through the flames, held it above the orange tongues for a moment, and then swiped it through again. She handed it back to him.

  “Wow, this is damn near dry!” Gordie said. “Thanks!”

  “You are welcome. You should do the same with your lower coverings.” She nodded toward his sweatpants.

  “Um, that’s okay,” he said, blushing.

  “Suit yourself. You should go now. Time is short.” She did not look at him.

  “I suppose so.” Gordie lumbered to his feet and donned his sweatshirt. It was damp, but warm from the fire, as if he had taken it out of the dryer a few minutes early. He slung the bat back over his shoulder. “Well, I’ll see you soon.” He smiled weakly.

  “I hope so,” she said.

  “Any advice for gryphon hunting?”

  “Be wary, be wise, and most of all, be quick.”

  “Noted,” he said, feeling let down. “Will you be here?”

  “I cannot say.” She didn’t look up.

  “I’m sorry about the werewolf,” Gordie said, and she finally looked at him. “Or the lycanthrope, if that’s more accurate.”

  “Kynigos,” she said. “That was his name.” Gordie was shocked: he hadn’t imagined the creature as a being with autonomy, much less a name. An owl hooted.

  “It was an accident—”

  “It is no matter. It was a good kill. He would have wanted to die at hunt.” She looked back down at the fire. He stood there for a moment, but she said no more.

  Gordie turned and walked towards the distant mountain. A large, birdlike creature soared around its peak. He guessed if he were a little closer he might see four legs tucked beneath its massive body instead of two. A shrill cry rang from the dark sky, and this time his goose bumps had nothing to do with the cold.

  17

  The Ascent

  Gordie had begun his journey in a brisk walk towards the mountain, but he realized that if he wanted to still possess his power when he reached the peak—and preferably for the return trip—that he better adopt a sense of urgency. Furthermore, he had no idea what time he had awoken from his dream (which turned out to be a clever ruse), and still did not know how much time remained before 8:00 am when his power would be drained. He broke into a run beneath the star-filled heavens.

  Sprinting helped fight off the cold that seeped into him, especially in his numbing legs, which were trapped in a pair of drenched sweatpants. It also helped abate the sense of fear that prickled inside him, as he always had the sensation that he was being watched. He was confident, however, in his speed, and did not believe that any hunters would be able to catch him as he tore past every plant species in the known universe.

  Every breath fogged out in front of his face and dispersed as he rushed through it. The droopy leaves of a willow rushed upward as he passed, as if calling after him, but then dropped to their usual torpor. At one point he heard a familiar squalor, and looked up to see the multi-colored monkeys chasing after him from above, cackling like children playing tag. Soon he outstripped them, and gladly.

  As Gordie ran, it occurred to him that his bat remained perfectly still in its holder, not slamming against his back as he went—the sling was made with expertise. He made a note to commend Chiron when next he saw him, and remembered for the first time since he left, the promise he had made to stay inside the cave. He imagined Chiron’s disappointment upon his return from the forest, whether he was triumphant or not. This fear conjured the memory of another he had disappointed recently: he remembered the day of his father’s death when he had failed to complete his chores, forcing Robert to stay home and finish them for him before Zeus’s attack ended his life. Gordie’s eyes stung. He mustered all his concentration to sprint faster, hoping he could escape the pain.

  The mountain drew ever-closer. Within minutes he was standing at the base looking up. No mythological beast circled the peak as he had seen from his first vantage point. The mountain was eerily still. He looked right and left, and noted with interest that the trees formed a perfect circle around the base—no foliage grew on the slopes. Loose brown dirt gave way to gravel as the incline increased, and then rock as the mountain rose in earnest.

  First, the ground rose steadily, and he jogged until the slope became too steep, forcing him to lunge his way uphill. He stopped for a moment and looked back. The corridor that led from the river to the mountain was so straight that he knew it could not be natural. Many miles back he saw an orange glimmer that told him Artemis remained by the fire, waiting—that was good. As he was looking back in that direction, he noticed a disturbance in the tree line and froze.

  When he was with Artemis earlier he thought he had heard a rustle in the bushes—this time he was positive. He drew his bat, and watched the thicket where he had seen the commotion.

  The night was silent. Gordie shivered as the wind brushed him, but he kept his eyes trained on the spot. With a flurry, a smallish figure came bursting out of the undergrowth and bounded up the lower slope. His hooves were well-suited to navigating this terrain, reminding Gordie of a mountain goat, which was no surprise, considering the creature leaping toward him had goat legs. He smiled and breathed a sigh of relief before he replaced his bat and awaited Laktizon’s arrival.

  “Hey . . . er, buddy!” he called, struggl
ing to remember his name, as he waved hello.

  “Gordie! Gordie!” Laktizon said. Gordie became suddenly aware that the satyr was distressed.

  “What’s wrong?” He slid down the slope a ways to meet the young goat-boy, and put his hand on Laktizon’s shoulder as he approached. “Is everything okay?”

  “Pheuge! Pheuge!” He was waving his arms and breathing rapidly.

  “I don’t understand,” Gordie said, shaking his head. “What is it?”

  “Ithi oikade! Pheuge!” Gordie couldn’t understand, but then Laktizon pointed back in the direction of the river and waved his hand, then mimed swimming. Gordie finally understood, and Laktizon must have recognized it in his eyes because he added softly, “Nai, ithi oikade.” He looked at Gordie with big, sad eyes.

  “I can’t go.” Gordie shook his head slowly. “I have to go up there.” He pointed up the mountain.

  “Ouk!” Laktizon pleaded. “Ithi oikade.” His big eyes were glossy.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t go. But you could do me a favor.” Gordie grabbed Laktizon by both shoulders and looked him in the face. “Can you stay there,” he pointed at the trees, “and be my lookout?” Gordie pointed to his own eyes and then pointed a finger outward, waving it back and forth across the landscape. Then he pointed at Laktizon’s eyes and repeated the gesture. Laktizon opened his mouth as if to argue again, but then shut it tight and nodded with resignation.

  “Good boy.” Gordie smiled wide and patted the satyr on the shoulder. Laktizon turned and scrabbled down the dusty hillside. Gordie watched him until he ducked into the trees, then turned and looked up at the looming mountain. Half the moon was cut off by it from his vantage point, and the face he was on was not as well lit as the surrounding landscape. He knew the darkness would only increase as he walked further under the mountain’s shadow.

  He stared at the rock face, wondering if climbing it would even be possible. He had no mountain climbing equipment: what if he came upon a sheer rock wall with no handholds? Thinking this way, his confidence started to wane. But then, with his fists clenched, staring at the distant peak, he whispered into the night, “If there aren’t handholds, I’ll make handholds.” And with that he trudged on.