The Heir of Olympus and the Forest Realm

by Zachary Howe

  “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.

  “Give me time,” he said.

  “As you wish. Farewell.” Hermes flashed one last winning smile and turned about-face. He extended his arm with his hand open—the caduceus he held upon his arrival was resting on the ground where Gordie had first attacked its master. In response to his call it rocketed towards Hermes who snatched it out of the air. The little wings on his shoes and cap began to beat as he rose into the air and he suddenly streaked off due east, followed by Gordie’s slack-jawed stare.

  ***

  Gordie continued to stare into the rising sun. It had been less than an hour since a lightning bolt upheaved his life. He had experienced so many emotions since then, but still, the overriding feeling was one of grief and loss. He didn’t know what to do at the moment. He was standing in the middle of a barren landscape that had been his farm a few hours earlier. He looked down at his hands, contemplating the dormant power within them. They were clean. Not even a drop of blood stained them. Apparently he had done less damage to Hermes than he had thought.

  He was still skeptical; skeptical that he had been in the presence of a Greek god; skeptical that he truly possessed some type of super human power; skeptical that his father was killed by a lightning bolt thrown by the God of Olympus. But the evidence was mounting.

  “Seek out your mother,” Hermes’s parting words rang in his head. How could his mother know of any of this? Hermes said he had spoken with her. Did she believe he was a real god? His only option was to ask her. His ca
r was a hundred yards away. Between it and him was the concrete foundation of his house, or what was once his house. The structure had been eradicated. He was hesitant to approach the remains of his home, afraid of what emotions it would spark.

  There was nothing for it. He could not stand there all day, so Gordie decided to make for his car and inspect the basement on the way. He had to will his legs to carry him, but once he got moving, he was walking with purpose. He wondered how much of the basement was intact as it seemed that the eruption had only damaged the surface of the landscape.

  When Gordie reached the border of the subterranean chamber, he looked down upon its contents with a slight shock. It appeared everything that was in the basement that morning was still in its rightful place, undisturbed by the explosion. The Christmas decorations were in their usual corner; his old toy box and clothes from his childhood were piled against the far wall; even the boxes of his mom’s China seemed unharmed in their spot right below his feet. A little snort of laughter escaped him, for which he immediately felt guilty.

  But he received another pleasant surprise when he saw his grandfather’s baseball bat lying in the middle of the basement floor. This gave him pause, as he knew for a fact the bat had been in his room when he left that morning. Why, then, did it not disintegrate with everything else? To his left the cellar stairs seemed to be in one piece, although the doors had gone extinct with everything else above ground.

  Gordie descended the stairs and crossed to the middle of the room to retrieve the bat. He picked it up and inspected it. There did not seem to be a scratch on it, or any damage whatsoever. The bat was a family heirloom his great-grandfather had given to his son, who in turn gave it to Gordie, his daughter’s son. He could not understand why the bat was unscathed, but decided to take it with him.

  As he made his way back to the stairs, a picture sticking out of a nearby box caught his eye. He plucked it from atop the other loose photos and looked at his younger self holding a calf. It was his favorite cow, Io, who he now realized must have been killed in the explosion. A tear came to his eye, accompanied by another stab of guilt for not lamenting her loss sooner.

  Rekindled anger surged through him. He screamed and punched the concrete wall. His hand broke through the rock as if he had been punching a wall of sand. He pulled his hand out and wondered at it as it curled into a trembling fist. He closed his eyes and let the anger consume him. This anger was different though: it had the effect of fortifying his resolve. It was the desire for revenge on some ethereal being, to which he could only put a face due to his origins in lore. And he became confused again. Was there really some all-powerful deity out there towards whom this anger was directed? Gordie made a choice to embrace the fury. It strengthened him. If nothing else, it might keep him afloat in a sea of sadness.

  He climbed back up the stairs and started towards his car, giving the basement one last parting look. “Goodbye,” he whispered.

  He resumed his trek back to the car, and began to fear the drive to Madison. It was only fifteen miles away, yet the thought of being contained in a vehicle with nothing to accompany him but his thoughts was horrifying. He reached the driver side door and paused to collect himself. In a strange way it was almost a relief to be bombarded by so many terrible thoughts because it made it impossible to fixate on just one.

  As Gordie reached for the door handle, he saw a pickup truck approaching from the east. He recognized the truck at once as Coach Erickson’s and dread gripped him. He could not recount Noah’s death, and he didn’t even know if his younger sister, Jessica, had survived the blast. There was nothing he could say to console Noah’s father. Gordie envisioned his coach screaming at him for surviving when his son had not, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

  It was too late now, though. Gordie would have to confront him because he knew Coach Erickson would not drive by without checking on his well-being. As Gordie expected, the pickup began to slow, and in a few seconds was turning onto the lot and parking next to Gordie’s car. The expression on Coach Erickson’s face was difficult to read: it was as serious as Gordie had ever seen it, not at all consistent with his usual light-hearted demeanor. Erickson hopped out of the truck, left the door hanging open as the engine continued to rumble, ran around the Charger, and wrapped Gordie in a loving embrace. Gordie dropped his bat, wrapped his arms around Noah’s father, and began to cry once again.

  Tears streaming down his face and shuddering, Gordie managed to choke out, “I’m so sorry, Coach.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize to me, son. I’m just glad to see you’re okay.” Gordie realized that the coach must have known about Noah because he understood the apology.

  “Jessica?” Gordie asked.

  “She’s fine. I got a call from school about her . . . and Noah.” His voice quivered with the mention of his late son.

  They stood there entwined for what seemed like hours, Gordie’s head buried in his coach’s chest as the middle-aged father of one held him. Gordie felt a warm drop land on the side of his neck and realized that his coach was crying with him. After a few minutes, Coach Erickson spoke.

  “Have you seen your mom and dad? Are they okay?”

  “Mom’s fine. She’s in Madison. Dad is . . .” Gordie’s voice trailed off. Coach Erickson tightened his grip, while patting Gordie’s head.

  “He was a good man,” Coach said aloud. He had grown up with Gordie’s dad. It was kind of ironic, Gordie thought miserably: he had lost his best friend, his Coach’s son, and Coach Erickson had lost a close friend in Gordie’s father. It was a strange and terrible balance.

  “What happened here, Gordie?” Coach Erickson asked after a few more minutes of silence.

  Gordie knew he was going to ask this at some point, but he did not have an answer for him. What was he supposed to say? Well, Greek gods might actually be real, and Zeus is trying to kill me so he threw a lightning bolt at my house. Something told him that his coach might not believe such a tale.

  “I don’t know,” Gordie said. “There was some kind of explosion.”

  “That was no ordinary explosion. It damaged our house a mile away.” Fortunately, it seemed Coach Erickson had assumed Gordie knew as little as he did on the subject.

  “What are you gonna do now?” Gordie asked him.

  “I’m heading to town to pick up Jessica,” he said. “Do you wanna come with me?”

  “No thanks.” Gordie appreciated his invitation, but had too much on his plate. Besides, he didn’t want to see that school ever again. “I need to go see my mom.”

  Right on cue, her car came barreling down the highway from the direction of town. Gordie’s heart rose like a balloon. For the first time since that morning, his cheeks lifted in a genuine smile, and he was flooded with relief.

  “Good timing,” Coach breathed. Gordie thought that his coach was relieved to see her too.

  In a few seconds, Ellie was pulling onto the lot next to Coach’s truck, gravel crunching beneath her tires. She slammed the door as she hurried around the vehicles to get to them. She was not crying, which surprised Gordie at first, but his mom had always been very stoic. Pulling him into a deliberate hug she asked, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  “I’m okay, Mom.” If she could be strong, then he could, too. Her composure was infectious. She wrapped her hands around Gordie’s neck and kissed his forehead. She did not need to stretch as she was a couple inches taller than her son.

  She turned to address Coach Erickson. “Thank you, Jerry. Are the kids okay?” Gordie’s nerve wavered in anticipation of his coach’s reaction.

  “Jessica is fine, but Noah . . . didn’t make it.” The anguish of this admission had shown on Jerry Erickson’s face and Gordie faltered, but Ellie pulled the coach into a hug, and he felt confident that her strong, reassuring embrace would strengthen him. A single tear rolled down his face as she held him. Gordie looked away. Ellie said nothing—she just waited for Jerry’s cue. After thirty seconds they broke apart, and
Jerry looked her in the eye.

  “Thank you, Ellie.” Coach Erickson’s use of his mom’s name was strange to Gordie. Under such circumstances he could only view her as Mom, not an individual of a community.

  “No problem,” Ellie patted him on the shoulder. “Go pick up Jessica. If you need anything don’t hesitate to call.”

  Jerry nodded and turned to climb into his truck. The door groaned as he pulled it closed, and the struts squeaked as he shifted his weight inside the cab. Gordie and his mother watched as Jerry Erickson pulled onto the road and drove towards town.

  Ellie turned back to her son, put her hand up to his face, and stroked his cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay, honey?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I’m all right.” Her arrival had improved his mental state. But just then, he remembered that he would have to inform her about his dad, and his mood plummeted again. Gordie steeled himself.

  “Dad—”

  “I know,” Ellie cut him off. They locked eyes and there was a moment of silent understanding between them. “Let’s go say goodbye.” It was not a question. Gordie wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her that he could not see his father again, but as strong as his mom was he knew that she still wanted him with her. “Lead the way,” she said.

  Resigned to his fate, Gordie turned back towards the lightning bolt, which stood like a beacon of horror glistening in the sun. They walked in silence towards his father’s body, save for the crunch of charred ground beneath their feet. They reached the ring of grass that encircled Robert Leonhart sooner than Gordie wanted. Ellie was standing to his left and he heard a nearly imperceptible intake of breath. In fact, it was so subtle that he wondered if he had heard it at all, or if he had just sensed it. He focused his entire will on maintaining composure.