The Heir of Olympus and the Forest Realm (43 page)

He did a backstroke and spat water in the air like a fountain. Then he rolled over and swam a few circles freestyle. Then he dove down and opened his eyes. The water had the same exhilarating cooling and warming effect on them. He rotated slowly as he dove, somersaulted, then kicked for the surface. When he came up Bridget and his mother were chatting and laughing, which annoyed him for some reason, so he dove again. He kicked as he pushed downward and, just before he rotated to head back to the surface, he noticed something.

An underwater tunnel opened up beneath the submerged back wall. It was rough and twisted downward almost immediately, but it was definitely large enough to swim through despite at least one radial stalactite in view. Gordie remained suspended underwater, looking at the stone mouth wonderingly, until he started to feel the need for air rise in him like a panic. He kicked back to the surface. Once there, he took a deep breath and dove again, this time swimming right up to the underwater cave. The water grew warmer as he neared it and he thought, as he placed his hand on the rock wall, that he could hear a dull, rhythmic thud, over and over. All of a sudden, he felt a strange, prickling fear. He pushed away from the tunnel and torpedoed back towards the surface.

As he emerged, his concern melted away with one deep inhalation of the eucalyptus, and he milled toward the shallows. Then he remembered that Chiron
had
told him there was a tunnel beneath the pool, and it calmed him to know that Chiron was aware of it: he would have warned him of danger if any existed. He smiled dreamily as he came into the shallows. Rolling over onto his back, he lay on the stone, the water level just below his ears as he looked up at the distant ceiling.

“There’s a tunnel down there,” he said aloud to no one in particular. “It’s where the warm water comes from.”

“You didn’t try to swim through it did you?” his mother asked.

“No, Mom.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t exactly have SCUBA gear, do I?”

“Still, it wouldn’t surprise me if you tried,” she retorted. “You may be strong, but I doubt you can hold your breath forever.”

“Yes, I am aware, Mom,” he said more sharply, “which is why I
didn’t
try swimming through it.”

“All right then,” she said. “
Boys
. . .” Both she and Bridget snorted with laughter and Gordie felt another stab of annoyance.

“Well, I think I’m gonna dry off.” He stood up out of the shallows and tried not to smile as he saw Bridget give him a once over.

“Oh, c’mon! We were just messing around,” Ellie said.

“I know. I’m just tired of swimming.” Gordie walked past them and reached for a towel. “Pretty tired in general, actually,” he added.

“Well, you should be.” Ellie looked down at her watch. “It’s almost 8:30, old man.” The two giggled, and Gordie rolled his eyes again.

“Whatever, old lady,” he said as he toweled off. He grabbed his shirt and left.

He loped back through the blue light, muttering to himself as he went. As he neared the Great Hall he heard voices drifting to him. Soon he was so amused by what he heard that he forgot about his girl troubles. The voices were those of Atalo and Chiron singing joyously, his grandfather quite clearly deep in his cups.

I met my maid

In a fair glade

We rolled the day away!

The birds, the bees,

The flowers watched us

Joyously at play!

The sun went down

She rose I frowned

‘Don’t go’ I pled, ‘please stay!’

The moonlight lit her

From the back

As she turned to say!

‘We’ve rolled and played

I’ve been delayed

I fear I’ve lost my way!’

‘Indeed you have

But what’s the loss?

So blessed was this day!’

‘Blessed was this glade

We’ve now unmade!

These flowers were our prey!’

‘Yours was mine

‘Twas all I want

Now, please don’t go just lay!’

‘I will not lie’

Flame burned her eye

‘Now on your knees and pray!’

‘For what, my dear?’

I’ve no desire

To ‘lis you nag and bray!

Then the moon shone bright

I lost my sight

The goddess flew away!

Such is man’s plight

Eternal night

In this glade we’ll stay!

Gordie stepped into the firelight as the bellowers held the last note, each with an arm around the others shoulder, Chiron kneeling and Atalo standing. Gordie smiled, thinking,
Noah would be on the floor if he saw this
. He shook his head and blinked rapidly, wondering where that thought had come from. Allowing a moment for the mood to pass, he approached the singers from behind, slow-clapping. The duet wheeled around, first looking startled, and then laughing raucously.

“Well done, fellas! Although, I have to say, Chiron carried you, Grandpa.”

“Wha’s is you talkin’ ‘bout?” Atalo hiccupped. “I had’s it all the way!”

“Why don’t we away to bed, young Master Anastasios?” Chiron laughed. “I believe the drink has done you in on this night!”

“Meh! Justaz well!” Atalo waved his hand dismissively. “C’mon, Gordo, leads the way!” He pointed towards the back hall and started stumbling in that direction.

“Goodnight, Chiron,” Gordie said, as he stepped in front of Atalo who put his hand on his grandson’s shoulder for stability. Gordie led him into the corridor and past his room.

“You’re weavin’, Gordo! Wha’s a matter? You drunked?”

“Almost there, Grandpa.” Gordie rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh. He walked past his mom’s room, then turned into the next where Atalo fell into bed, snoring immediately. Gordie went back to his room and changed into dry sweatpants and a sweatshirt before he climbed into his own bed.

He looked up at the ceiling. Blue light flirted with the darkness, the line between the two dancing and shifting on the stone. Pondering over how chummy his mom and Bridget seemed to be, he found himself wondering if his mother was betraying some deep-seated desire for a daughter. He supposed he didn’t really mind that they were getting along and once again felt foolish for his behavior. Casting his mind elsewhere, he landed on his journey earlier that day. He reflected on his trip to Delphi, baffled that it was only a few hours earlier as it felt like a decade-old dream.

He lifted his left hand to his face and concentrated on the Stygian ice lurking under the skin. His mind found the molecules of it and, with little effort, he forced them out, his hand once again transforming into a reflective black blade. The light danced on it as he waved it in front of his face. He caught a brief glimpse of his reflection and noticed a couple hairs growing on his chin. They were scraggly and unbecoming so he scraped them away with the blade. He twisted it again until he found his reflection, and smiled when he saw that they were gone.

His hair was barely visible in the blackness of the ice, but it was longer than he was accustomed. Used to a weekly buzz cut, it had now been a couple weeks since he last held a pair of clippers, and the hairs were at least half an inch long. He wasn’t even sure what he would look like with long hair. Did it curl? Or would it just grow straight and eventually hang down in curtains? He decided he didn’t care. There was nothing he could do about it anyways. It was one thing to slice a few chin hairs—there was no way he could shave his whole head with this bionic blade.

He visualized absorbing the ice back into his arm, and as he did so, watched it happen in reality. With just one thin pillow, he crossed his arms behind his head. He looked over at the blue flame on the wall and watched it burn. He strained his ears, hoping to listen to the rain, but he couldn’t hear it this deep in the cave. All he heard was the gentle pop of the fire from time to time. He looked up again and breathed deeply through his nose, starting to feel sleepy. He lay motionless as sleep approached. His eyelids drooped once, twice, and then closed for good.

16

Goddess in the Moonlight

Gordie’s unconscious body jerked in his bed as he dreamt.

Spears of lightning flashed across a smoky night sky as a downpour pelted him against the side of a rocky cliff. Thousands of feet below, a forest canopy stretched as far as his eye could see during the milliseconds that the world was lit ablaze with each lightning strike. Dark winged creatures circled below. He couldn’t make out the species, but he felt their malevolence and knew they were not merely birds. More and more of the winged demons flocked in until they became a roiling feathered tornado. Their shrill cries pierced the night in the lulls left by the deafening thunder cracks. He stood with his back pressed against the rock, horrified, staring down through the cyclonic eye created by the whirling bird creatures. A scream rose on the wind.

Some part of his consciousness told him that the scream came from the bottom of the avian maelstrom, but he could not find the source. Slowly, its volume grew as a pale light rose from amidst the circling vultures. As the light drew closer its pace quickened. It sped toward him and the scream grew louder and louder. Soon, he saw that the light had a human shape and that the shape was feminine. It shot straight upward through the cloud of preying harpies until one last lightning strike eroded Gordie’s sight, just as an ultimate thunder boom shattered his hearing.

The world was a white nothingness scored by an eerie, piercing, steady ringing, but he still felt the rain spray him and the wind whip him. He wrenched his head from side to side, trying to regain his senses. The dusky blackness of the night began to sprinkle its way back into his vision and as it became whole, a moonlight-white face appeared inches from his and screamed, “HELP!”

Gordie fell out of his bed and wrestled with the sheets. Thunder roared outside the cave, making him jump, his shriek melting into the rumble from the clouds. He panted as he backed against the bed, planting his hands on the floor to ensure that he was indeed anchored to the earth.

Artemis’s face remained emblazoned on his retinas and he shook his head to clear her image away. Thunder rumbled once more and he flinched again.

With his elbows on his knees, he grasped the back of his head, pushing it between his legs. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Her face burst into life on his eyelids and he threw them back open. He leaned back against the bed, regaining his composure. He looked down at his hands, palms to the ceiling, and froze. His veins stood out, blue and scared on his right arm, but the blood beneath the skin of his left forearm coursed jet-black with anger. He clenched his fists and watched his muscles bulge. He was sure Artemis was in danger . . . and he had to save her.

Springing to his feet, he pulled two pairs of socks out of his bag, tugging them on before he squished his feet into his sopping sneakers. The sensation was unpleasant, but he ignored it. His bat rested against the wall in the leather scabbard Chiron had molded for it. He slung it over his right shoulder, reached over his head with the same arm, and unsheathed his Excalibur. He smacked it against his palm once, twice, then deftly replaced it in its casing.

Before he left, he took his bag and stuffed it under his blanket, fluffing everything up so at least a passing glance might suggest he was curled up beneath the sheets. It wasn’t foolproof, but he deemed it acceptable before sliding into the dimly lit corridor outside his room.

As he approached the Great Hall, the blue light melded with the yellow, and he slowed his gait to listen for any potential night owls. All he heard was the dying crackle from the dining room fire. He swept into the open space. Running on his toes across the vast room, he tried to ignore the streaks of lightning in the skylights high above. He spared a glance at the hallway leading towards Chiron’s room and pushed away the stabbing guilt: he knew he was doing the right thing. Reaching the corridor that would lead him out into the wild night, he pressed on before he could second guess himself.

Gordie spread his arms wide and let his fingertips brush the stone as he wound his way toward the cave mouth. When he reached the tunnel’s outlet he stopped, inches from the pouring rain, and looked out across the roiling green sea of trees. The boughs shook with the violence of the storm. Thunder cracked and so did branches as the trees crashed into one another. He looked up and watched lightning bolts chase each other in the sooty clouds. Scowling with anger, he pushed out into the tempest.

Gordie was drenched at once. His full-body sweat-suit tripled in weight with the inundation. The earthen ramp down which he sprinted was nearly a mudslide until he reached the head of the path that turned into the forest where he ducked in under the trees.

Suddenly, he was in a different world. Being under the canopy had the same muffling effect as being underwater. He saw the tree tops swaying overhead, but the storm seemed far less violent from below. The rain was far less penetrating, too. In here it was a light sprinkle, almost pleasant. The lightning still lit the under-forest, but the light produced was more comparable to a candelabra than a flood light. His feet squelched on the muddy path as he sprinted through the forest. The smell of damp wood was fresh, not rotten.

Winding his way through the dark wood, he ignored the menacing shapes he thought he saw in the trees. He didn’t understand why he was so angry, but he was grateful for it. If not for the anger, he was sure the fear would turn him around, or immobilize him.

The muddy path tried to swallow his sneakers as he pounded it with heavy footfalls. The night air stung his throat as he sprinted. He was searching for the point in the path where he could step off and find the stream inhabited by Pompeia, but he didn’t recognize any landmarks. He opened his ears, listening for the gentle trickle of the brook. The world was cacophonous.

Millions of leaves argued in hushed tones, but the cumulative effect was a screaming rustle. Branches cracked and exploded like shotguns. Occasionally, a disgruntled hoot would penetrate the clamor. A yowl responded to the birds, and although it didn’t sound very imposing, it still made Gordie’s skin prickle. On five separate occasions he was certain he heard the murmur of the spring, but each time he stuck his head off the path to locate the stream, he realized, with mounting disappointment, that it was only the splattering rain.

His spirits began to sink and the anger that had driven him began to wane. Soon his run was slowed to a brisk walk while he glanced nervously from side to side. A few minutes later he was creeping along as if to avoid detection. Shortly thereafter he stopped in the middle of the path and dropped to his knees.

Frustration ate at him. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. He was afraid for himself; afraid for Artemis; angry at the lightning above and the caster of those spears; angry at himself for wandering out into the night.

“Pompeia!” he screamed, his head thrown back, his fists clenched. “Pompeia! Where are you? I need you,” he whispered the last as his head drooped, chin tucked to his chest. He sat there, cold drops of rain splashing on his head, rippling on the mud beneath him. Then he heard a deep groan, not a human groan, but one of old wood—ancient wood. He looked up, then fell back on his hands and butt, scrabbling like a crab.

A great elm tree was leaning into the path where it had stood tall off the trail seconds earlier. The boughs creaked as they scraped against the neighboring trees; the leaves hissed at each other like a million snakes. Two knots nested in the wood high up on the trunk, just below the point where the limbs began to branch out, forming the bough-proper. As the tree leaned in, bending over Gordie, the two adjacent knots transformed. They swirled and spiraled and became two large egg-shaped protrusions with a heavy line segmenting each across its equator: eyelids. Slowly, the lids parted and two large amber eyes looked down at Gordie, who gaped back.

The eyes continued to stare at him. They did not rove—they remained fixed. Two dark yellow orbs flecked with deep greens and pungent browns and a bloody red. The irises were the exact color and texture of the bark. The tree was still. Even the leaves had ceased their discourse. Gordie began to come to his senses despite the fright and incomprehension that fought his ability to reason.

“H-hi, um, I don’t-don’t know if you could help me, but I was looking for a-a stream where a nymph named Pompeia hangs out?” He smiled, but the smile melted away as the tree continued to stare. Seconds passed that felt like minutes and nothing happened. Gordie was becoming antsy—a voice in the back of his mind instructed him to run. The impulse grew louder and louder. He was about to give in when the tree finally responded.

A long branch that jutted out a foot below the steady eyes began to move. It rotated backwards until it came to a stop, pointing into the thick of the woods. The tree stared. Gordie looked into the darkness where the branch pointed, then back up at the eternal eyes.

“So, uh, is that where the stream is?” he asked, annoyed at the tremble in his voice.

Very slowly, the woody eyes blinked, and Gordie took that as a ‘Yes.’

“Um, thanks?” he said. The tree blinked once more and began to rise back to its upright position. When it reached its full height, the eyes closed and then swirled. Two blind knots replaced them.

Gordie stared a minute longer, then pushed himself back to his feet and looked into the gloom where the tree had pointed. He took a deep breath and stepped into the underbrush, skirting the living tree in case it decided to grab him. After walking in a few yards he looked back. The tree looked unremarkable, standing straight against the storm—its leaves had resumed their argument. He pressed on.

In less than a minute he came across the stream. It was not the same spot where he had first met Pompeia, but his spirits lifted when he came upon it all the same. Gordie followed the stream uphill with his eyes. Its flow was heavy in the downpour. A little shelf created a miniature waterfall at knee-height a few feet up the spring. His eyes tracked the gentle downward slope of the stream. He wondered if he should walk along it until he found the rock that marked their first meeting place, but he thought it wouldn’t hurt to try contacting Pompeia from here. He was not disappointed.

Seconds after he placed his face in the flow and gurgled the nymph’s name, she rose out of the water in front of him. Gordie stood facing her swirling features and grinned.

“I’ve missed you,” he said. She smiled back and flicked her hands at him, splashing him with water. “Hey!” He laughed, and she did as well. Her giggle was intoxicating, and it took him a minute to remember what he was doing there in the first place.

“I’m sorry to call you up like this, but could you take me back to Dasos?” he asked. Pompeia looked away. “What? What is it?” he prodded her, but she just shook her head and continued to look away. “Look, I really need to get there. It’s important. Can you please take me?”

She lifted her hand and looked at him, obvious concern on her face. And fear. He reached out his left hand and grasped her waist. When he touched her, the water constituting her hips swirled madly for a moment before resuming its lazy buffeting. She looked down at the point of contact, then back up at him.

“Please?” he whispered.

Her features hardened with resolve and she nodded curtly. She grasped his wrist, lifted his hand to her face, and kissed his palm. Gordie’s face flushed with the heat of a volcano. She lowered his hand and held it firmly with both of her own. She gave him one last sad smile before she pulled him into the current.

Water rushed into him, a sensation that he would never grow accustomed to: how many times would he have to drown? Fish darted out of his path as he bounced in and out of a wide river until he was tossed ashore.

He was immediately aware of a few things.

It was colder here, by fifteen to twenty degrees, and he felt the chill at once. It wasn’t raining in Dasos—something that he may have been grateful for if not for the temperature drop. It was nighttime, but a full moon shone in a cloudless sky and the land was completely lit—the mountain loomed, as visible as midday. And he was acutely aware of the immediate threat.

He had landed on his side, facing the river and Pompeia, who was pointing frantically behind him. He pushed off the ground as the whistling sound approached and, as he gained his feet, an arrow quivered where his head had just been, its shaft half buried in the cold soil. Another whistling sound followed and he lifted his left arm in front of his face—a shield of Stygian ice burst outward just in time to send the second arrow glancing away.

“Go!” he yelled, waving his free hand behind him—he heard the splash that meant Pompeia had ducked back into the current. He pulled his bat free while keeping his shield up, peering over the top to find the direction of the next arrow. Another whistle reached his left ear, and he wheeled to block the next shot. It hit the center of his shield and the force of it pushed him backward, but the arrow fell to the ground. He looked into the trees from where it had come and saw a silver blur streaking away from the water. Then she stopped to loose another arrow, and he darted forward.

He had only taken one step by the time the next arrow arrived. The silver archer was already working her way around his flank to the right, still some eighty yards away. She stopped again and he lunged forward, but the next arrow stopped him immediately, and she was moving by the time he lowered his shield. This continued.

She made her way around him in a semi-circle, working her way back when she reached the river. Gordie was standing in the middle of the tree-lined corridor in which he had arrived on his first two trips to this realm. His position left him completely exposed, but from here he could see her unobstructed when she broke into the clearing ahead, and he was awestruck.