The Heir of Olympus and the Forest Realm (33 page)

“What the hell?” he whispered to his empty corner of the shop. His sense of foreboding mounted to a panic until it reached its peak when he found the first text, which read, “I have taken her to Delphi.”

Alarm bells exploded in his brain and he looked around the shop, expecting to see a foe lurking somewhere to attack him. All was normal. Three patrons were scattered around the room at various points, the baristas chatted in fast Greek and laughed, the various cappuccino machines gurgled and whirred as they prepared drinks. Gordie looked at all of these with wide-eyes before looking back at his phone. He stared at the message.
I have taken her to Delphi
.

Who did? Why?
He racked his brain and searched for answers.
Delphi. Oracle of Delphi. Temple of Delphi where the oracle resides. Temple of Apollo at Delphi
. Understanding dawned. He looked up with widest eyes. “
I know of the boy and I know his weakness,
” Apollo’s threat reverberated in his mind, along with the question his brain repeated frantically:
What do I do?

His heart raced and he tried to think through his panic. He opened a browser on his phone and searched ‘Delphi,’ then opened a map. He saw it, but couldn’t figure out where it was in relation to his current location. Clicking on ‘directions,’ he typed ‘Portaria, Greece’ as the starting point. When the page loaded his heart sank: “198 kilometers south-southwest.”

“Crap.” He looked at the blue line that highlighted the route and thought frantically. It was a winding route and he thought a straight line could knock off a fair amount of total distance—maybe 40 kilometers,
however far that was
. He searched ‘kilometers to miles conversion’ and typed in ‘40.’ “24.8548,” the converter told him. Then he plugged in ‘198 kilometers.’ “123.031 miles.” Subtract 25. He had just under one hundred miles to travel if he could follow a straight line from Portaria to Delphi. Studying the map again, he saw that a straight line would take him through the nearby Pagasetic Gulf, then the Malian Gulf before Delphi.

“Crap,” he repeated. He was fast, but he doubted he could run on water. The cogs turned in his head again. “Run along the coast?” he asked aloud. “I could do the tree thing,” he offered to no one, but then thought that might be too conspicuous, and Chiron had told him to hide his powers. But wasn’t this an emergency? He stared at his phone, willing it to give him answers.

“You ready to go?”

“WHAT THE!—” He jumped out of his seat and stared at his mom with bulging eyes as his heart pounded almost audibly in his chest. He placed his hand over it as if to calm it by touch.

“Jeez, relax.” Ellie raised her arms in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture.

“Sorry, you just startled me,” he stammered.

“I see that. You hear from anybody?” She nodded towards the phone in his hand.

“No! Who would I hear from? Jeez!”

“All right, I was just curious.” She smiled knowingly without realizing that her son’s defensiveness had nothing to do with embarrassment over young love. “We were thinking about taking a little walk. See what there is to see.”

“My phone’s not charged,” Gordie said, as if that put leaving out of the question.

“Who cares? You can charge it later. You don’t really
need
it do you?”

“What? Of course I do.” He looked at her, trying to hide the alarm in his eyes. “It’s my phone,” he said, ending the debate.

“We can charge it again when we stop for lunch. Come on, your grandpa and I are tired of sitting.” She made a beckoning gesture. An idea started to form.

“You guys go!” he blurted out. “I’ll stay here and charge my phone and then I’ll catch up with you.” She looked at him with concern etched all over her face.

“I don’t know . . .” She scanned the room as if there were potential dangers around every corner. “How would you find us?”

Crap
. He thought quickly. “I’ll just wait here! You guys come get me in a bit,” he offered. She looked down at his phone, and her expression softened.

“Okay, fine,” she breathed, then smiled. “But you stay here, understood?” Her smile disappeared, and she stared at him, waiting for assent.

“Got it.” He stared back into her eyes and tried to ignore the guilt eating at him—he had no intention of staying where he was. She smiled again.

“All right. Have fun with your phone.” She winked at him and turned back to the door. He watched her go and stared at the door for a full minute after it had closed behind her.

Now what?
He looked around the room again to ensure he wasn’t being watched. He could feel eyes crawling all over him, even if he couldn’t see them. Sitting back down, he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He took another. His heart began to slow and clarity returned to his thoughts.

Ninety-eight miles, that’s really not that far. Not for me, at least
. He smiled and opened his eyes. He looked back at the map and saw that Volos lay directly in the path to Delphi from here. He considered taking a bus from there, but figured that would take at least two hours, and he had no idea what was happening to Bridget. As her name echoed in his mind, he resolved to make the trek on foot.

Tugging the charger out of the wall, he wound the cord around his hand before stuffing it in his pocket. He walked out the door as the chimes tinkled overhead. He looked at the map on his phone again and stuffed that in the pocket of his blue cargo shorts, as well. He looked right, down the street in the direction he assumed his mom and grandpa went. The flagstone path curved away and descended past his line of vision. His family was out of sight. He looked left towards the main road and saw a couple little cars pass each other. He walked briskly towards the road.

13

The Temple of Apollo at Delphi

Gordie started uphill back the way they had come into town, walking on the side of the street as cars occasionally passed. He passed the town’s welcome sign and checked both directions before crossing the road to the guard rail. Looking over the edge, he saw the distant tide flowing in and out a number of miles away at the bottom of the steady slope. There was a large cluster of buildings on the coast line, which he figured to be Volos.

The slope before him had some vegetation. As his eye followed the decline he saw a few spots with heavy greenery, but it was mostly brown, indicating dry, dirty earth, like the stuff stretching away from the highway towards the trees behind him. Roads cut through the hillside below him, winding toward sea level. Large villas speckled the hillside, their red roofs catching his eye like those of the town. He looked down the highway and saw no cars coming in either direction. After a deep breath he exhaled sharply before he grabbed the rail and hurdled it.

He fell ten feet before his feet met earth and immediately started running involuntarily because of the slope’s grade. His arms windmilled as he tried to stay on his feet instead of tumbling down the mountainside. When he entered a patch of trees he didn’t dare close his eyes despite branches whipping him in the face. He spat out a couple leaves as he shot out the other side of the copse, where he ran on dirt again before reaching another patch of forest.

A large pine tree stood in his path. As he neared it he planted his foot and launched off it, springing aside before resuming his sprint. He approached another highway after a couple minutes of frantically maintaining his footing. A handful of cars rolled past and he hoped no one noticed the quickly approaching adolescent for fear that they would be alarmed and try to help. Fortunately, the road had become momentarily abandoned as he neared. The terrain leveled a few feet before the asphalt and he hit the flat earth hard, digging his heels in to slow his momentum before the next slope. He skidded to a halt and grabbed the guard rail.

Gordie’s heavy breathing was more from the adrenaline rush than exhaustion. He turned and looked up the hill to see his starting point. He was alarmed by the grade of the slope he had navigated and could barely see the rail that marked the starting line. Looking back down towards the gulf, he smiled. Volos appeared to be twice the size from his new vantage point. He checked both ways again and prepared for the next stage of his descent. It did not go as smoothly.

The second his feet hit the next slope, he stumbled and began to roll. Up was down and down was up as his baklava threatened to make a forceful escape from his stomach. He screamed as he tumbled, only stopping when he was dazed by hitting his head on a rock, or to spit out dirt. The world was a blur of brown, blue, and green, and the green was growing, which told him he was approaching another thicket. Rolling through a bush a few seconds later, he snatched at its branches. He wasn’t able to stop his momentum, but he did slow his pace. An ashy birch lay directly in front of him, and he planted his feet after his next revolution to spring towards the tree. The slender trunk met him immediately and he wrapped his arms around it as tightly as he could. The tree lurched, but remained rooted.

Gordie panted as the world around him spun. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on slowing his breaths. After a minute he was successful. Reopening his eyes, he watched the world revolve again, but slowly, until it finally came to a stop. He waited for the nausea to fade. When it did he looked down and saw that the earth was ten feet below him, and that the tree he clung to jutted away from the mountain at a forty-five-degree angle.

He shimmied down the trunk; some of the papery bark peeled away from the tree. He dropped to the ground and fell backward on his butt after twisting in midair. His fingers dug into the dirt at his sides as he stared down the mountain. Not far below, another patch of asphalt awaited him, and he was grateful that he was able to stop before reaching the road. He sat there looking down for a while, a little apprehensive about resuming his descent.

Gordie rose to his feet. He started to slide and stuck his arms out to the side for balance as he leaned back. He froze in that position. He took a step downward. Then another. After a few more his speed increased until he was once again running against his will and releasing a constant stream of curses.

His feet slammed onto asphalt and he pressed his heels into the road to stop. When he reached the next railing he spat over the side and watched the saliva fall down until it hit the dirt of the next slope. He decided he was more than halfway to the water, a slight comfort in the face of the anxiety over his next descent.

“Here goes . . .” Taking another deep breath, he leapt over the rail.

A short while later Gordie reached the last railing and looked down at the waves; he could now hear them crashing. The slope below him ran until it met the beach: rocky dirt with patches of tufty grass disappearing into billions of white grains. This time when he leapt the rail he slid on his butt for a while, not caring about his already stained clothes. Rocks bruised his cheeks as he went.

Eventually he tried to come out of his slide and regain his footing . . . and he started tumbling again. The colors of the world swirled together into a vibrant canvas as he bounced and rolled down the mountain.

“This. Is. Ri. Dic. U. Lous!” he complained to the gods and nature.

One last stretch of highway awaited him, which he was able to vaguely make out as a black streak in the living artwork of the mountain. Dust kicked up and clouded around him, filling his mouth and stinging his eyes. At the last second—more out of desperation than spatial awareness—he kicked both of his feet into the earth as hard as he could.

He made eye contact with a driver of a car through her windshield as he flew overhead. Her eyes bulged and her mouth opened into a perfect ‘O,’ mirroring Gordie’s expression. This seemed to happen in slow-motion, but soon he was out of sight, and he watched the dirt and grass flying beneath him as it began to level out, before it turned into brilliant white sand. He then realized that the sand was getting closer as his height dropped, until he crashed face first into the beach.

Boring into the sand, it was hot at first, but quickly cooled the deeper he dug. He came to a rest with his face in the ground and salt water lapping at the top of his head. After a few seconds he pushed himself up and spat repeatedly, trying to get the grains out from between his teeth. On all fours he shook his body like a dog drying off; granules flew in every direction. He rocked back and sat on his knees.

For a minute he listened to the whisper of the waves rolling in and sweeping away. Gulls cried overhead. Salty spray misted his face. The spinning world soon slowed and then stopped, and he looked out across the water. He saw buildings across from his location, heard the bustle of the nearby city—mostly car horns. He smiled dazedly.

Gordie clambered to his feet, stumbling in the uneven, shifting sand. He looked around to see that his beach was deserted—he stood in front of the sparkling waves alone. His face was crusted with sand and he brushed at it, feeling each granule scrape across his skin. He stood for a minute looking out over the water. Thinking about his path ahead, he was daunted by the distance to his destination. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the map. Twenty minutes had passed since he walked beneath the chimes of the little café.

“Good time,” he chuckled to himself, but he knew that he had been aided by the topography to this point and the rest of his trip would not be so efficient. A small part of him longed to text his mom and tell her where he had gone, maybe even ask her for help, but a voice inside told him he had to do this on his own. Nevertheless, he knew that she would be searching for him, and soon. He turned off his phone.

Westward down the coast laid the city where he considered going to take a bus.
Maybe a two-hour bus ride would be the fastest way to Delphi
. He had no way of knowing how long it had been since Bridget was abducted, and he started to panic.
What is he doing to her? Why did he take her?
“What do I do?!” he asked the sea.

And the answer came to him. He took off his shoes and stepped into the surf.

The water was cool, but not cold. The waves covered his ankles, then flowed out. After his next step the tide was at mid-shin. When the bottom of his shorts dipped into the brine he stopped. He glanced around, feeling like a fool for what he was about to do.

“Um, Nereids?” he tried to call the nymphs of the ocean, but it came out as less of a call to assembly and more of a timid request. “Nereids!” he tried again, more confident and demanding, but still no response.

“Nereids, assemble! . . . Come, Nereids! . . . Here, Nereids! . . . Water ladies, I need you!” He became increasingly frustrated, and his hopes faded as he looked around. The tide ebbed and flowed as usual. He slumped and, beneath hunched shoulders, looked down at the pellucid teal water lapping at his knees. The white sand glowed beneath it. Watching his distorted features shifting in the surf—his dark hair flowing above a dirt-smudged face—he had a revelation.

He dunked his entire head in the water and shouted, “Nereids, to me!” Pulling his head out of the water, he felt blood rush to his cheeks, embarrassed by his heavy-handedness. But the next wave buffeted him, rolling in five times stronger than the last without even swelling. The next flow was just as strong, but he was prepared, and braced himself with one leg set back. Two more waves tried to force him back to no avail, and then a crest began to rise off shore.

It was not the crest of an ordinary wave, however: it was one bulge rising out of the water, almost as if it were riding atop it. It approached quickly, very quickly. A glare shone off it from the midmorning sun, and the swell seemed to be even more crystalline than the waters of the gulf that bore it. Then without warning, a jet of water burst from its bow like the greatest fire-hose on earth. Gordie shrieked and brought his left arm up to block his face, which worked well, as a shield of black ice now protruded from his forearm.

The force of the blast was immense, but Gordie stood his ground, his teeth bared behind his Stygian shield, his toes curled into the soft sand of the shore bed. The pressure on his arm grew, and he took this to mean that the source was approaching, nearly upon him. Just before he thought he would be blown backward, sprawling onto the beach, the pressure ceased. He opened his eyes (not realizing that he had even closed them) and waited for his quickened breaths to slow. As his breathing returned to normal he lowered his shield, apprehensive about what might be waiting on the other side, until he peeked over to see a towering woman.

She was no ordinary woman, as he expected, but neither was she like the coquettish nymph that bore him to Dasos not so long ago, except for the swirling torrent of water that formed her body. Even this was unlike the naiad, however. The water that had constituted Pompeia was a swirling eddy like the flow of a lazy spring. This water nymph’s body told the tale of an angry ocean, both beautiful and terrible to behold. Waves collided within the frame of her body: some the brilliant teal of the surf in which Gordie stood, some a raging indigo that swallowed the light of the other as they crashed violently together. She was twice the size of Pompeia, as well; a good two feet taller than Gordie himself. Pompeia was a girl. This nereid was a woman. His eyes crawled over her form until they met hers, and he recoiled under her furious gaze.

Her pupils actually reflected light that looked like lightning bolts over a virulent sea. The scene depicted in those angry eyes was so honest that Gordie believed it was really occurring somewhere, and imagined a tiny fishing boat being thrashed around at this storm’s mercy. His mouth hung open. He tried to speak, but only gurgling sounds came out. Then her tremendous voice filled the silence.

“Who are you to beckon me so, mortal?” Gordie watched her mouth move, but the sound rose as if it came from every molecule of the sea around him. The voice sent shivers down his spine and goose bumps erupted all over his body. It was deep, but not masculine. It spoke of endless depth, in every meaning. “Speak!” The lightning in her eyes flashed as the water around Gordie jumped and crashed.

“I-I’m sorry,” he spluttered. “I am Gordie. Gordie Leonhart. I-I just wanted to ask for help,” he chuckled, but his sheepish smile faded as her eyes narrowed.

“And why should I help you?” she asked, quieter, but more fierce.

“I’m not sure I have a good answer to that.” He tried to smile again, but his lips quivered and then fell. “Because I’m a descendant of Hercules!” he said in a stroke of brilliance. Her eyes widened and she leaned over him, bending at the waist, her face coming within inches of his, at which point her eyes narrowed again to pinpricks.

“Yes, that is apparent. You are as much a fool as he was.” Water sprinkled Gordie’s face as she spoke, but he remained transfixed. “He also learned that I am not to be beckoned like a cur, but it seems he did not pass this wisdom along. You are only a boy so I will spare you this once. You have been warned.” She rose back to her significant height and turned away. Gordie’s heart began to sink.

“But wait! I have to get to Delphi. Please.” He reached toward her, but pulled his arm back as she whipped around.

“Then swim!” she snarled before she turned back to the open water and began to drift away. Gordie’s head dropped in defeat. He shivered as the sea breeze swept across his damp shorts. The waves resumed their normal ebb and flow over his shins. And then he felt a strange sensation.