The Heir of Olympus and the Forest Realm (3 page)

2

The Messenger

The lightning bolt
. For the first time, Gordie began to analyze the enigmatic nature of the attack, and this contemplation had a sobering effect. His breathing slowed and became more controlled. The heavy stream of tears flowing from his eyes began to stem and he was regaining awareness. With this newfound consciousness a sense of confusion swelled.
How is this possible?
This wasn’t some kind of military attack, but then, he never thought that from the moment of the eruption. He searched his mind and grasped at wild notions of electromagnetic devices, but could not fathom why rural Wisconsin would be a target, or why there would be a resultant frozen lightning bolt.

Is it just a lightning bolt?
Gordie had seen lightning strike the giant oak at the north end of his property with little or no effect. This couldn’t be normal lightning.
Is this global warming lightning? Is that even a thing?
These thoughts raced through his head as he grasped for a logical explanation for what he had witnessed—

“Rough day!”

Gordie sprang to his feet in alarm at the sound of a man’s voice behind him. If a normal man were to display such callous insensitivity in the midst of this devastation, Gordie may have tried to kill him. But this was no normal man.

In front of Gordie stood a very young man, barely older than himself, wearing a white toga sectioned by a golden belt that matched the fluttering golden wings adorning both his cap and sandals. In his left hand he was carrying a staff ornamented with two carved snakes intertwined around the rod topped, again, with a pair of wings.

Gordie’s shock at this character’s ludicrous appearance began to wear off and was replaced by reason and skepticism. At first glance he thought he was staring into the youthful eyes of Hermes, a member of the Greek pantheon. But he knew better. He was not a child and this was no Olympic god before him, taunting his wounded soul. But then, who
was
he?

“Who the hell are you?” Gordie asked.

“Who am I?” the newcomer asked in a falsely wounded voice. “Surely, I am Noah, returned to comfort my bestest friend!” Gordie’s eyes widened at this jab, but the jester continued before he could retort. “Or maybe I am little Judy Pritchett—you held me so tenderly while I passed.” He looked down upon an imaginary baby he was pretending to cradle in his arms, then peeked up at Gordie with a malevolent grin splattered on his face.

Fury was bubbling to Gordie’s surface, as was disbelief at this man’s audacity in mocking the dead.

“No, no.” He shook his head with feigned disappointment, but his smile widened ominously. “I am indeed your poor father . . . and I am so very
angry
with you, my son, for failing to save me.”

Too far.
Gordie had already begun his sprint towards him at the mention of his father with an unyielding thirst for blood. He no longer cared about the identity of this lunatic. His only wish was to inflict as much pain as possible. More than that, he intended to beat this wretched man-child to death. He crossed the gap between them in an instant and buried his fist into his enemy’s cheek just as he finished his taunt.

Blinded by his wrath, Gordie almost toppled to the ground when his ensuing left hook met nothing but air. He turned, searching for his prey, until he saw his limp body hurdling across the landscape like a missile. He pursued.

He closed the gap between them with remarkable speed and was near enough to attack again within seconds. He grabbed his enemy’s ankle and dug his heels into the ground, halting their momentum in an instant. Before the limp body could fall to the ground however, Gordie swung the motionless form above his head with one arm and slammed him face first into the dirt. A plume of dust exploded skyward.

As the dust cloud dispersed, Gordie stared down into a six-foot-deep hole where his opponent now lay quiet. Not yet pacified, he jumped into the grave, his knee aimed for the center of the spine. He reveled in the impending doom of this vile creature he was raining down upon, demonic glee carved into every inch of his face. But he did not get to experience a hunter’s satisfaction upon the kill.

Gordie crashed down onto dirt, and was yanked out of his craze as he tried to relocate his target, who had disappeared before his very eyes. He scratched and clawed in the dirt, wondering if he had somehow burrowed into the earth.

“You won’t find me in there!”

Gordie looked up to see his enemy floating in midair fifteen feet above his head. His smile had returned, instilling in Gordie a fresh helping of rage. He crouched and sprang upwards. He was buoyed by the sight of the ridiculer’s faltering smile as he ascended towards him. Gordie wrapped him in a vice-like embrace and registered his fear with grotesque satisfaction as he slammed his forehead into the youthful face. 

The force of the attack sent them hurtling towards the ground at a forty-five-degree angle, Gordie’s arms still wrapped around his victim. They crashed into the dirt at breakneck speed and their bodies bore into the ground, carving a long ditch.

Time stood still as they lay in the ground, their bodies entangled. After a few seconds of regrouping, Gordie lifted himself up amid a cloud of dust. He looked back on a twenty-foot-long track in the ground that grew progressively deeper until it came to an end beneath his curly haired antagonist, who once again rested in an earthen cradle. Looking down upon him, Gordie began to regain his senses, and a twinge of regret started to creep its way into his heart. He had never been one to harm others—in fact, he’d never even been in a fight before—but his emotions overcame him after so many overwhelming experiences this day.

His remorse was interrupted when the young man’s eyes fluttered and then opened. “That was quite a show,” he coughed, as he looked up at Gordie with a slight smile reforming on his face. His infernal smirk reawakened the fury within Gordie, whose eyes widened again. The defeated fighter must have recognized the rebirth of his abuser’s anger though, because he raised his hands in defense. “Wait! Wait!” he said. “I concede. I just had to ensure that you are the one whom I seek.”

Gordie paused. “The one you seek?”

“Of course . . . What vexes you? Do you not know who I am?”

“You’re Hermes,” Gordie responded without hesitation, and was surprised to hear this from his own mouth. He knew mythology was just that: myth. Why then was he so ready to accept that a god of Olympus stood before him? He had no other explanation for recent events. Or was this even real? Had he been dreaming the whole time? Would he soon wake up in his bed to hear his dad’s beckoning? The thought of his father tore at him again. The pain must have registered on his face because Hermes took a softer tone.

“Yes, I am Hermes, Messenger to the Gods.” He placed his hand on his chest and fixed Gordie with a sympathetic stare. “And I am deeply sorry for the losses you have experienced today. More still, must I apologize for my disrespectful remarks towards your friends and family—my only intent was to draw you out . . . the real you,” he added with a soft smile. Gordie was leery of this sudden change in demeanor; nevertheless, his spirits were lifted a little.

“What happened here?” Gordie’s voice cracked.

“That is a very long tale. Suffice it to say that my father happened here,” Hermes answered. Gordie racked his brain, recalling his mother’s accounts of Greek mythology that she had shared with him as a boy.

“Zeus?” he asked.

Hermes nodded.

But that was not enough. This was
not
real, and anger started to consume Gordie again. “Who are you, really? Myths aren’t real! There is no Zeus and there is no Hermes! What happened here?! I want the truth!” Without realizing it Gordie had closed the gap between them and grabbed Hermes’s robes, lifting his feet from the ground.

“My boy,” Hermes said, maintaining his composure. “You have seen the truth. This is real. Look at that bolt of lightning. It is just that, hurled by the King of the Gods. Search your heart. You know this to be true.” His paternal tone calmed Gordie, who released Hermes from his grip.

“I-I’m sorry,” Gordie muttered. “I just don’t understand.”

“I know. This has been a trying day for you. But your trials are only just beginning. Tell me, what do you know of Heracles?” he asked.

“Heracles?” Gordie looked puzzled. “You mean
Hercules?
I know all his stories,” he said with pride.

“Hercules?” asked Hermes. “You use his Latin name? Curious. But yes, they are one in the same.” Gordie waited for him to expound, but he remained silent.

“Why do you ask? Are Hercules and Zeus in cahoots to destroy Wisconsin?” Gordie asked with a scoff.

“Of course not,” chuckled Hermes. “No, they are not in league with one another, to my knowledge. This destruction is of Zeus’s own doing, and it was meant only to destroy you.”

Gordie was taken aback. Hermes held his gaze as if he were trying to read his reaction. This had become utterly ridiculous: Zeus, the venerable, lightning-yielding master of Mount Olympus, was supposedly trying to destroy him? Gordie’s interests had been piqued just moments ago, but he had come back to his senses.

“Okay,” Gordie began to back away. “That’s totally bonkers. I think I’m gonna take off.” He turned to leave, but Hermes’s next request halted him in his place.

“Ask your mother,” he said. “She will tell you.”

My mother.
For the first time since breakfast she had come to his mind. It was not that Gordie cared less about her than his father: he just knew she left for Madison right after he ate breakfast. She was already gone when he left for school.

“Is my mother okay?” he asked, his voice trembling again.

“She is very well! We met just this morning, shortly before her son tried to maim me.”

“Actually, I tried to kill you,” Gordie said, “but what do you mean you met this morning? Do you know her? Does she know you?”

“Surely I know her, for I have just confessed to such a relationship. Fear not. She is unharmed. She waits for you in the city of Madison, and you must seek her out immediately, but we have one more point of order to discuss. It is clear that your mother has not explained your heritage. Do you not wonder why you are capable of such feats of strength like those you have shown today?”

Gordie did wonder. He had wondered. Two weeks earlier in his spring baseball league he had caused a baseball to explode with one swing of the bat, for which he received a number of off-base steroid accusations. Noah’s father had defended him at the time, while Gordie just stared at the cloud of dust that had been the ball. Then he thought about the door handle he had ripped off the barn earlier that morning. Countless other inexplicable superhuman feats started to flood his brain, but he had never given these occurrences much thought. He looked down at his hands. He was surprised to see that his forearms bulged. He was normally a slender five-foot-nine, but there was no doubt that his muscles were now throbbing with new mass. He replayed the Battle Royale that had just taken place between this self-proclaimed god and himself. How could he do such things? A flicker of excitement ignited in his chest.

“What do you mean, ‘my heritage?’” Gordie asked, trying to control his excitement.

“Ahhh,” breathed Hermes with that glimmering light of mischief returning to his eyes. “It seems I have your attention once again. I don’t want to ruin the surprise, though. Ask your mother. She will give you the answers you seek. All I will say is that there is a reason you have survived on this particular day. You are in my calendar, marked every twelfth day, like a clock.”

“What?” One of Gordie’s eyebrows lifted near his hairline and his face twisted. “Every twelfth day? Like I have more birthdays than most people?” Gordie asked. Hermes guffawed.

“Not quite. Use your brain, you brute,” he said. “Do you possess such strength regularly?”

Gordie tried to think. Do
I possess such strength regularly?
It happened on occasion he supposed . . .
Every twelfth day?
His baseball incident was a couple weeks earlier—well, now that he thought about it, it had been exactly twelve days.
What does that mean?
The number twelve resonated in his head, but he could not imagine why.

“I still don’t understand,” Gordie said in frustration.

“In time you shall,” Hermes smiled. “Seek out your mother. Now I must go.” He turned to leave.

“Wait! Why did you come here?” Gordie asked.

Hermes turned to face him again. “Well, I am the messenger of the gods. Someone must report to Zeus that you are dead.”

Gordie was baffled once again. “But I’m not dead,” he spluttered, staring at Hermes with a blank expression.

“True, you are alive indeed,” Hermes grinned, “but if I report that to Zeus, then he will not rest until you are destroyed. You need time.”

“Time?” Gordie asked. “Time for what?”

“Time to prepare yourself for what is to come. Unless of course you do not wish to avenge these atrocities, in which case I will tell Zeus where you are and send him with his unending wrath.”

Gordie thought for a moment. Of course he wished to avenge his family, his friends. And maybe, just maybe, he had the means to do so.