by Zachary Howe
Not surprisingly, a lone figure stood at the head of the war party. Three times the size of his fellow satyrs, Dasos stood in front of the troops like a general, slapping his club against his palm, his face split in a grim grin. Gordie stared at him with incomprehension, unable to grasp why the satyr hated him so.
And Gordie’s stare transformed into a glare, irate with the injustice of this treatment. The fervor of the marshaled mass that pounded his ear drums drowned as he became deaf with rage. His eyes were glued to the giant satyr so unwaveringly that they began to burn. Nothing but his enemy touched his consciousness. Nothing else in the universe existed. Dasos raised his club in the air and the chaotic war mongering ceased.
“Gordon Leonhart!” Dasos’s voice rang across the gap between them. The warriors tittered behind him with barely restrained blood-lust. The air was alive with it. “You have been charged with the slaying of an inhabitant of Dasos. Furthermore, you have returned to this land despite my command to stay out. The punishment for these crimes is death. Since you have proven yourself unwilling to cooperate—”
“ENOUGH!” Gordie’s voice echoed over the trees and Dasos fell silent. The satyr commander first looked at him with shock, then glared up at him with newfound loathing. Gordie did not care.
With the egg tucked in one arm, he jumped off his plinth. He plummeted a hundred feet and landed in a kneeling position on the back of the vanquished stone-giant. As he landed, his fist planted into the solid rock and the boulder cracked. The explosion reverberated over the masses and was replaced by a murmur of uncertainty. He rose to his full height, looking out over the would-be conquerors.
“I hold here the egg of the gryphon!” Gordie lifted it above his head in two hands and the murmuring grew louder. “I bested the mighty gryphon in combat . . .” He had no idea where these words were coming from—something inside him told him what to say and he belted it out to his enemies. “The gryphon commended me for my skill in battle and for my mercy in letting her live! My reward was her offspring! If you challenge me here,” he brought the egg back to his side and scanned the troops, “I will show you no such mercy!”
Gordie pulled his bat out over his shoulder and lifted it high in the air. “I am the Descendant of Heracles! I hold his club!” He brought the bat down and pointed it at Dasos. The satyr ground his teeth. “Disperse now and no harm will come to your people!” The fray was silent. “Fight me . . .” Gordie now spoke barely above a whisper, but every last combatant heard him as they watched him with bated breath. His eyes remained narrowed on Dasos’s bloodshot ones—the two foes tried to bore through one another with their gaze. “Fight me, and you will never forget my wrath.”
Dasos stood like a statue. His troops looked between each other and at him for reassurance. No such reassurance came, and their murmuring rekindled. A gentle breeze stirred the dirt at the foot of the mountain. Gordie felt the sun’s kiss on his face. He waited.
“Satyroi!” Dasos puffed out his chest, pointing his club at Gordie—all was still as they stared at one another. “Epitithemai!” he hollered, and began his charge.
After three thunderous steps, his troops rediscovered their courage and pelted after him. One of the stone elephants trumpeted and the rock monsters charged. A roar sounded from the tallest werewolf and they tore into the fray, quickly outstripping the satyrs. Gordie watched them come sprinting up the hill and he stepped back, overwhelmed by the sheer volume. Then he saw a disturbance in the body of the satyr host as Laktizon came hopping out of the angry horde. He ran alongside his father for a second, his pleas drowned by the thunder of the charge before he fell to the ground as the oncoming satyrs swarmed over him.
An eruption boiled to life in Gordie’s stomach. It rose through him, devouring like burning acid as it raced up through his chest. It clawed at him, eroding with burning hate as it mercilessly tore at his throat until, in an instant, it burst forth in an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream.
“DIIIIIIE!”
He jumped off the great stone torso of the giant, still bellowing as he fell, until he hit the ground and charged the heart of the party. He was virtually unaware of the transformation of his left arm: the Stygian ice had come crawling out of his skin, molding around the egg to form something resembling a wrecking ball—his arm had become a mace with golden treasure tucked safely inside.
The first werewolf reached him and he flicked it away with ease, his mace smashing it in the face, sending it flipping through the air. He didn’t take his eyes off Dasos. A petrakeros approached at full speed from his right, but its head exploded in a shower of rock with one swing of Gordie’s bat. Its body ran ten more feet before it crashed onto its side and skidded to a halt in the gravel. Gordie continued to run pell-mell down the hill.
Another werewolf came in from his left, low to the ground and moving quickly. He swiped at it with his bat, but the wolf sprang aside before pouncing at him. Gordie’s momentum was stopped dead as it tackled him backwards. The pair rolled over in the dirt until Gordie came to rest on his back with a voracious wolf head trying to close its jaws on his face. He held it at bay with an arm-bar, brought his knees up, and kicked it in the chest with all his might. The werewolf launched into the air and landed on four unfortunate satyrs. All five went flipping and rolling down the hill.
Gordie hopped up, and jumped aside as a stone tusk tried to eviscerate him. He broke the elephants tusk with a chop of his bat. Then he jumped up, put his shoulder into its side, and sent it rolling down the hill. The satyrs screamed and scrabbled to avoid it. Some did. Others were steamrolled. An enormous body came flying over the top of the rolling mammoth—Dasos landed thirty feet in front of Gordie, causing a small earthquake.
Gordie no longer wished to have a showdown with the behemoth. All he wanted to do was get to the spot where he had seen Laktizon get enveloped by the army, hoping beyond hope that the young satyr was okay. He charged the King of the Forest Realm, fully intending to fool him once again with the tweener slide. As the big satyr came on, Gordie dropped and began his slide, but Dasos was ready. He slammed his legs together and swung his club out wide to bring it crashing in on Gordie’s skull.
Not knowing what else to do, Gordie sprang out of his slide and kicked the giant satyr in the face with both feet. Dasos toppled over backwards with Gordie twisting in the air above him. Dasos landed hard on his back while Gordie found his feet again and started sprinting, almost in spite of himself. The path ahead was relatively clear as he was not far behind the tumbling elephant, but the masses were swarming in from the sides.
Satyrs of varying size came crashing down on Gordie. Their wild faces were framed by their wild curls. They snarled and hollered, swinging little clubs as they came. He batted them away on both sides, and soon felt the rumbly pursuit of Dasos. A few feet ahead, the rolling elephant finally slowed to a stop. Gordie hurdled it, catching a green-haired satyr by surprise as he came flying over the top and landed on the goat-man’s chest, turning the satyr into a toboggan.
The satyr screamed in agony from between Gordie’s legs as he rode it down the hill. He ignored it, swinging his clubs on either side, smacking hairy goat legs as he went. He planted his Stygian club in his satyr-sled’s face and sprang off him, tackling a group of attackers before springing back to his feet and running through the throng.
His progress began to slow as satyrs swarmed over him in waves. Swinging and bashing, he sent the troops flying into other pursuers until two more replaced each buffeted attacker. Soon, Gordie found himself windmilling and whirling through the masses, occasionally hit with little clubs in the back, chest, and head.
He hurled them away, one after another, until his eyes fell upon one small satyr crawling through the fray, and he fought towards him. After he blasted one hapless satyr in the face with his bat, he knelt down and heaved Laktizon over his shoulder, sheathing his bat so he could stabilize him. Laktizon groaned as clubs caught him in his haunches, while Gordie frantically fought off the attac
kers.
“Just hang on!” Gordie screamed. “I’m gonna get you out of here!”
“Release my son!” Dasos bellowed from behind. Gordie turned in time to catch the massive club with his Stygian mace as Dasos tried to bring it down on his head.
“I’m saving him from you, you bastard!” Gordie screamed up at the insane face above him. Dasos was bent over him, his nose inches away. Spittle speckled Gordie’s face as the giant satyr growled at him.
“You will not defile my people any longer,” Dasos snarled. Gordie’s feet began to sink into the earth beneath the force.
“Look what you’ve turned them into,” Gordie bit back. The satyrs around them were clambering over each other, tearing one another apart for an opportunity to get at the outsider. Werewolves clawed at them and rock rhinos trampled them. Dasos looked around bewildered.
Gordie took advantage of his distraction. He flung the giant club away and punched the satyr in his gut with his ice club. Dasos doubled over with an “Oof!” as Gordie took off down the hill again, bowling over fighters.
He was close to the trees now, close enough for the rainbow primates to compound the chaos. Rocks and pinecones and multicolored crap pelted him. Gordie spat out the projectiles with disgust and pummeled more satyrs with fresh ire. He was close enough to the forest corridor to begin to hope, with the vast majority of the host behind him.
He broke through the back line after dispatching two satyrs with one swing, and pelted down the grassy lane. The monkeys hopped through the trees, pelting him with whatever they could find, but he didn’t care. He was free and he felt it. All he had to do was make it back to the river where he could meet Artemis. Then he slammed on the brakes.
“Where’s Artemis?” he yelled to the forest as he looked around. A second later he was tackled from behind by a werewolf and Laktizon went sprawling, his unconscious body rolling into the underbrush just inside the tree line. Claws dug at Gordie’s back and he yelled out in pain. He rolled over and shoved his rock hand into the open mouth of the rabid wolf. There was a crack! and he kicked the werewolf with two legs like the first, sending it back into the pursuers.
Gordie rolled over and scrambled to his feet. He ran to where Laktizon had gone careening into the bushes, but just before he reached him he was knocked aside. It was the massive form of Dasos who had bent down into the underbrush to gently lift his son in his arms. He looked down at Laktizon and whispered something that Gordie couldn’t hear. Then he looked over his shoulder at Gordie.
“Get to the river. I cannot stop them,” Dasos said.
“Is Laktizon okay?!” Gordie asked as he looked back at the approaching horde.
“He will be fine. Now go,” he said, and stepped into the trees.
Gordie was hit in the head with a pinecone and he looked up. A fluorescent orange monkey jumped up and down with glee. He pulled out his bat, and when the monkey tossed a rock, he whacked it right back at him. The monkey fell to the ground with a thud. Gordie looked back over his shoulder and saw the army closing. The front line was comprised of every manner of beast he’d faced. He turned and sprinted for the river.
He ran unmolested for the first few hundred yards, but the werewolves were fast, and soon he was fighting them off. As they slowed his progress, the other attackers began to catch up. He sidestepped a charging petrakeros, which missed him by inches, impaling a werewolf on its front horn as it blew past. A satyr jumped on his back, but he spun just in time so that the mallet of another goat-man caught his brethren in the head, and the piggy-backer collapsed onto the ground. Gordie took off again.
He ran ahead of the pack until less than a mile remained to his goal. With no idea where Artemis was, he decided that his only option was to take the river back to Pelion and return for her when things had died down. Occasional pursuers caught up with him and he fought them off with fading vigor. The tide continued to flow.
As the sun rose ever-higher, Gordie’s anxiety began to mount. Before he knew it, the golden egg was once again tucked into the crook of his arm, its Stygian shell absorbed back into his skin. He pounded the ground with a stitch in his side screaming at him. Despite his effort, he began to slow. The thundering footsteps of his pursuers grew louder. His eardrums threatened to burst. His legs quivered as the earth trembled.
Gordie was tackled again and the egg rolled away. He could smell the fresh grass as his face was pressed into it. It was almost pleasant—some part of him thought he could nap here. His head was pulled back by a large, hairy hand cupping his chin. Gordie was so tired that he almost welcomed the long, curved nail glinting in the morning light. He heard the monster growl in his ear as the nail was brought to his throat.
Then the cry of an eagle split the air. A second later, he felt the weight of the werewolf lift off him. Gordie dropped back to the ground, but he looked up in time to see the beast be thrown from the gryphon’s beak into the trees. The gryphon wheeled around and spread her wings, the feathery tips brushing the trees on either side of the clearing. She looked him in the eye.
Go now! her voice urged in his head. Gordie scrambled to his feet feeling ashamed.
Right. Sorry. Thanks. He grabbed the egg and ducked under the outstretched plumage. Behind him he heard shrieks of terror and agony interspersed with triumphant screeches.
The river was within sprinting distance. Gordie’s newfound hope spurred him onward and he stood on the glorious bank seconds later. He stopped and spun around. Hundreds of yards away the gryphon clobbered his foes. Satyrs were smacked by the massive paws and sent flipping into the trees. A werewolf was whipped by the corded tail and crumpled to a heap. The gryphon rose up on her hind legs and blasted the charging front line of warriors with a gale that sent them tumbling into one another. Brightly colored monkeys were flung unceremoniously from brightly colored wings.
Gordie whipped his head from side to side, peering into the trees, hoping that Artemis lay in wait. “Artemis!” he shouted. “Artemis, I’m here! Where are you?!”
Hostiles were managing to sneak past the gryphon and were coming for him. A werewolf sprinted low to the ground next to a charging petrakeros. The tree tops were chattering, a multicolored wave roving across them, coming nearer and nearer. The gryphon screeched and rose into the air—scrabbling creatures fell off her as they tried to claw and maim her. A gurgling noise arose behind Gordie as he watched in horror. He disregarded the bubbling sound until he was sprayed in the back of the head by a jet of water.
Gordie turned and saw Pompeia standing on the current, beckoning him. He looked back over his shoulder as a snarling werewolf approached in an all-out sprint. Swearing, he leapt into the river. Pompeia grabbed his wrist as he grabbed hers. He was pulled underwater like a torpedo and, just as everything began to blur, he felt a hand close on his ankle.
Gordie kicked and flailed as he tore through the waves, but the grip on his ankle was vice-like. He didn’t know what had hold of him. Everything beneath the waves was a blur. He gasped as he bounced above the water, but he was submerged again too quickly to make out his tagalong. He felt the consistency of the water change as it became crisper and cooler. Then he was shot out of the stream. His back crashed into a thick trunk and he slid down it head first.
When Gordie’s head hit the ground, he toppled over sideways, then jumped to his feet. Sunlight glimmered through the trees. He looked around wildly. Pompeia stood in the shallow spring with her head down in a show of contrition. He watched the light shimmer inside her, dazed and confused, until he felt a presence to his left. In one fluid movement, he pulled out his bat and swung as he spun.
Long, silver fingers curled around the barrel and stopped the club’s momentum cold. Gordie stared at her with his mouth open, panting as comprehension oozed into his consciousness: Artemis had returned to Pelion with him, opening the barriers between the realms.
20
Flight of the Harpies
“You? You can’t be here. The barriers—”
“No longer exist, thanks to you.” Artemis smiled.
“You tricked me!” Gordie said, flushing with anger.
“Yes. And you forced me to be complicit in your task. I would say we are even.” Artemis released the bat and it fell to Gordie’s side.
“But do you know what you’ve done?” His voice began to rise and crack. “The borders are open! You can all get through. He can get through!” Gordie pointed to the sky with his bat, tears stinging his eyes.
“Yes, well, he should be no match for Gordon Leonhart, the Gryphon Slayer,” she said, with a wry smile. “Or did you fail your task?” She glared at him with all the frostiness in the world.
“I-I didn’t kill the gryphon,” Gordie muttered and looked down. The egg rested against his side, infusing its warmth into him. “But I got this.” He held it out to her and she looked down. Her cold expression melted. She looked at the egg with reverence. She reached out and grasped it with both hands before bringing it to her face. She closed her eyes and placed her ear against the golden shell. She remained this way for a time.
Gordie heard a plop and turned to look at the stream. All that remained of Pompeia was a few ripples. He was sad that he did not get to say goodbye, or to thank her. He looked back at Artemis who opened her eyes as she lowered the egg.
“How did you get this?” she asked, fixing him with a stern look.
“She gave it to me.” Gordie shrugged. “I beat her, but I refused to kill her. She told me I had proven myself. She told me to take it.” Artemis stared at him for too long without speaking and he began to fidget.
“That is why she defended you,” Artemis looked away as she whispered to the trees.
“Yeah. I guess we’re friends now.” He smiled tiredly. And then, with the weight of the world, he felt supreme fatigue crash down upon him.
Gordie fell to his knees as the woods around him blurred. Artemis’s face swirled in front of him, looking wrought with concern, but he could not care. He felt a gentle hand on his chest as he began to fall forward. From a thousand miles away he heard a woman’s voice.
