The Heir of Olympus and the Forest Realm (47 page)

Again the path wove through the mountainside, but not nearly as long as the first leg, much to his dismay. Soon, he found himself facing another glistening walkway. He looked up and saw the bottom of the path he had so precariously crossed minutes ago, scowling at it before looking down over the edge of the new route. There were still many series remaining.

Gordie kept one foot on the solid rock of the dark corridor while he tested the traction of the crystal path with his other. He tapped it a few times—discovered that he could place his foot down without falling. With his free arm stuck out to the side, he placed his other foot on the track. Stability. He stood there for a moment, stock-still, then began to shuffle his feet. Inch by inch he made his way down the path.

As he continued the slow-going, he estimated that the walkway was a hundred feet long. This cautious approach had its pros and cons: While it lacked the utter terror of sliding at breakneck speed with no rails to hold him from falling thousands of feet, it also meant he had to spend a lot more time looking down into the nothingness. His brain screamed at him to run while he tried to keep calm and shuffle on. After an eternity, and one near slip, he made it to the other side. This was his world for a matter of hours.

Down and down he went until he finally stepped out of a dark tunnel, and breathed a sigh of relief when he was not greeted by a Slip ‘N Slide. Above he saw dozens of these pathways sparkling in the crystal cavern.

“Suckers.” He sneered at them, and then looked down to see what the trail had in store for him. His triumphant smile faded. A few hundred feet below waited a field of stalagmites, glittering in the moonlight. One of them held a horned iron helmet on its point. Gordie squinted to see a broad collection of armors scattered amongst the spikes, some of them still containing skeletons, with the spires poking between their ancient ribs. He gulped.

The path led away to the right and hugged the wall as it spiraled downward. It was, of course, as crystalline as those above. He pressed his back against the wall and began to shimmy. The light in the cavern transformed as he went. It had already begun to dim as he made his way across the treacherous paths above, but now it was lightening again—only, instead of the silvery glow of moonlight, the crystals burned with the golden glow of the morning sun.

He realized this as he inched his way down the slippery slope, and started to fear the clock. There was no way for him to know what time it was, but he was certain that morning had begun to dawn, and shortly thereafter, his Herculean blood would cease to burn. He inched faster.

Down and down he went until the horrid spikes reached eye level. The path curved along the wall and led to another passage. Gordie could see sunlight pouring into it.

Looking at the scattered remains of those unfortunate souls who found their demise on the crystal teeth, he felt pity for them. They had been so close. One skull lay inches from his feet, facing straight upwards, its jaw frozen open as it chided the glistening catwalks above. It would denounce them until it crumbled to dust.

Gordie turned towards the next corridor. Starting to feel sleepy, he exhaled sharply. He looked down at his left shoulder and recoiled when he saw that his entire sleeve was soaked with blood. There was a baseball-sized hole in the shoulder of his shirt and a slightly smaller hole in his actual shoulder. Fighting off a wave of nausea, he gently set the egg between his feet, then ripped off his sleeve. The backside of it was drier so he wrapped that around the wound and under his armpit a couple times, cinching it with a knot that sat atop his shoulder like a bow. He nodded at his handiwork, picked up the egg, and stepped into the lightening passage.

The path curved for a moment, but soon he strode out into daylight. He was greeted by the deafening roar of the army below.

19

Escape from Dasos

Gordie stepped out of the cave into the niche left behind by the giant, whose enormous body still lay motionless in the dirt a hundred feet below, its head relocated to the trees. The tree tops of the forest basked in the early morning sunshine, and a few miles down the straight, wooded corridor, the glimmering ribbon of the river awaited him. But he could not appreciate the beauty of this landscape because he was staring at the bottom of the slope where an angry horde beckoned him to his death.

To this point, Gordie had only been acquainted with two satyrs, and thus assumed that only a small band actually inhabited the plane of Dasos . . . he could not have been more wrong. Hundreds of the goat-men were packed like sardines into the mouth of the forest corridor, spilling out onto the delta that was the mountain. They pounded their hooves and roared incoherently. Gordie thought he could feel the mountain tremble. Unfortunately, these were not the only hostiles.

To their right, a pack of werewolves snarled, foam dripping from their jaws. Some stood tall on two feet, others were on all fours, clawing and scratching at the ground, waiting to charge. On the other side of the satyr party, a line of quadrupeds stamped their many feet. These consisted of large mammals, elephants and rhinoceroses, with the added evolutionary advantage of being comprised of stone. Gordie knew the rhinos on sight: they were the Petrakeri that Chiron had spoken of, but he didn’t know the proper term for their pachyderm counterparts. He wondered if they were there to avenge the loss of the rock-giant. He could only assume the answer was yes. Steam puffed out of the rhinoceros’ nostrils in the morning chill. Their anger was palpable enough: Gordie felt this added display was heavy-handed.

As if this weren’t enough, the tree tops nearest the mountain were splattered with every color of the rainbow, looking like a kindergartner’s finger-painting. The two-tailed chromatic monkeys chittered and chattered as they hopped up and down on the boughs, some making rude faces at Gordie.

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 attackers.

“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.