The Heir of Olympus and the Forest Realm (5 page)

Atalo’s shoes squeaked on the laminate floor as he bustled in the adjacent kitchen, separated from the dining room only by a particle board island. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Ellie said.

“I’m fine,” Gordie waved him off.

“You’re spose to give those in turmoil a hot beverage,” he replied with a smile. “It’s non-optional.” His audience smiled meekly. “That’s what I like to see.” His smile widened.

“Decaf, please,” Ellie said.

“Do you have hot chocolate, Grandpa?” Gordie asked, with a note of childish hopefulness in his voice. It was seventy-five degrees outside, but his grandpa and he used to sip hot chocolate in front of the fire during those cold Wisconsin winters—Gordie could have used some nostalgia at the moment.

“I think I can scrounge some up,” he said. Atalo busied himself in the kitchen with preparing their drinks for the next five minutes. Gordie sat in silence at the table, reveling in the calamitous activity as each clanging pot drowned out his thoughts. He thought his mom was experiencing the same relief—she at least looked less grief-stricken than a few minutes earlier. It was uplifting to watch Atalo work his way around the kitchen. The mundane commotion was a display of life and humanity, two things to which Gordie had been seldom exposed that day. It was a reminder that the world was still turning despite all the death he had seen of late.

Atalo finished his barista duties and joined Gordie and Ellie at the table, handing them their drinks. He sat next to his daughter and rested his hand on her forearm, then looked at Gordie, who knew what he was going to ask before he opened his mouth. “What happened, Gordie?”

Gordie took a deep breath to prepare for recounting the tale that pained him so—

“No,” Ellie interjected. She was holding her coffee in both hands, staring at it. Her gaze was very empty, which Gordie figured was why Atalo had addressed him and not her.

“It’s okay, Ellie,” her father said.

“No,” she repeated. “He doesn’t need to relive it again. I’ll tell you.” Gordie once again counted his blessings for his mother’s great strength.

“Robert was killed,” she said. Gordie struggled to reconcile the foreign proper noun with the image of his dad, while reading the shock on his grandpa’s face at being offered such a blunt statement.

“No!” he gasped. “How? By who?”

“He was killed by a lightning bolt. He is still lying in our pasture with it sticking straight out of his stomach.” Ellie’s effort to maintain a blank face looked a lot like Gordie’s own struggle. Meanwhile, Atalo’s expression was one of utter incomprehension. Gordie supposed, to hear it described as his mom had, without actually
seeing
it, would be hard to wrap your head around.

“I don’t . . . I don’t understand, Ellie,” he said. “What do you mean ‘there’s a lightning bolt sticking out of his stomach?’”

“I mean—”

“Mom,” Gordie blurted, “I need to explain it to him—the whole thing.” Ellie looked at her son searchingly, like she was trying to determine if he could handle it. “It’s okay,” he told her. She did not seem convinced, but she relaxed a little, indicating that she would allow his proceeding.

Gordie readied himself with another deep breath, knowing that this time no one would be speaking for him. “I was at school this morning and there was an explosion . . .” Gordie started into his story with his family looking on with rapt attention. His mother’s focus told him that Hermes had not given her an exhaustive account of the day’s events, so he spared no details.

Gordie described the mysterious appearance of the eruption—that dazzling blue illumination that set everything in motion. He described the scene in the school, including the carnage; the increasing severity of destruction between school and home; his return to their farm that stood as a smoking wasteland; and the discovery of his father, run through by a jagged dagger from the heavens.

He stopped there because the next part of the story was even more unbelievable, and it was clear that his grandpa still did not understand anything he had said. It hurt to recount everything, but at the same time it was relieving to get it off his chest without having to conceal the truth.

“Tell him what happened next,” Ellie said, and Gordie looked at her for reassurance. She gave him an exaggerated nod to let him know that it was important he continue.

“Well, I was lying there next to Dad when somebody came up behind me.” Gordie could feel anger rising in his chest and he tried to suppress it. “I turned around and there was a young guy standing there. He had curly blond hair and he was wearing a toga. He was holding some kind of scepter, and his sandals and hat had little wings on them.”

Gordie looked into his grandpa’s eyes expecting to see bewilderment, but instead comprehension dawned on his face for the first time. Gordie recognized it and it both excited and scared him.
He knew
. His mom had been right. Atalo definitely knew
something
because a normal person would be as confused as ever at this point. Atalo’s expression of enlightenment was replaced by a look of resignation. “And what did he have to say?” he asked in a low voice.

Gordie dove into the tale of his encounter with Hermes in excruciating detail. The same fury he had felt on the battlefield was rising in him once again and, without realizing it, he was gripping his bat. When he got to the part where he had head-butted Hermes, Gordie slammed the bat down with gritted teeth and white knuckles, cracking the wood of the table. He regretted his loss of control as it startled his mom, causing her to spill coffee all over her hands. His anger was replaced with concern and he jumped to his feet, ran to the sink, soaked a towel with cold water, and brought it back to her in an instant.

“I’m sorry, Mom!”

“It’s okay. I’m fine.” Gordie started to realize that his grandpa had remained silent through his outburst. When he looked at him, he found Atalo deep in thought, staring at the baseball bat. “Continue your story,” Ellie said.

Gordie sat back down and began to relay the conversation that had taken place between Hermes and himself. At the mention of Hercules, Atalo released a deep sigh and shook his head. Gordie went on to tell them that Hermes had admitted to watching him for some time. He even told his grandpa that Hermes had met Ellie before, at which Atalo cast a sideways glance at his daughter. Gordie then finished his story with retelling the surprising discovery of his bat. They sat in silence for a minute.

“So it
is
true,” Atalo breathed.

“What?! Dad,” Ellie sounded suddenly angry, “are you telling me you knew about all of this? How do you even know that any of this is real?”

“Well, there’s a piece of evidence sitting on the table,” Atalo motioned towards Gordie’s bat. Gordie looked at it questioningly.

“How is my son’s
baseball bat
involved?” she asked. Gordie thought this was a good question and was eager to hear the answer.

“I gave you that bat when you found out you were having a son. It’s been in our family for generations and it seems that it was meant for Gordie.”

“‘Meant for me?’ What is so special about my bat?”

“You said it yourself.” Atalo pointed at his grandson. “The bat was one of the only things that survived the eruption. If it’s just a wooden bat then why didn’t it get destroyed inside the wooden house?” Gordie ran his hand over the smooth, unadulterated wood grain of the club, considering his grandfather’s suggestion that this bat was no ordinary piece of sporting equipment.

“You know the stories.” Atalo interrupted Gordie’s reflection. “What was Hercules’s weapon of choice?”

“His knotted club,” Gordie answered mechanically. Atalo nodded. Wondrous excitement flooded Gordie’s brain. But just then, he remembered that his bat was not knotted, it was as smooth as could be, so the two could not be one in the same.

“Wait.” Gordie started to formulate his thoughts into words. “If Hercules had a knotted club, and this bat is indestructible, then where did the knots go?”

“That’s a great question because that bat is indeed indestructible,” Atalo said. “It so happens that my father was the first in our family line to play baseball. He thought he would get a leg up on the competition, so he sent this family heirloom off to have some work done.”

“But who could possibly change it if some kind of magical explosion didn’t harm it?”

“Well, it would take a very good carpenter, wouldn’t it? Or maybe a weaponsmith . . .” Atalo’s smile was fraught with deeper meaning.

“You mean Heph—”

“Enough!” Ellie yelled, and pounded the table. In truth, Gordie had almost forgotten she was there, he and his grandfather having gotten lost in their enthusiasm about his bat. But that was quickly erased from his mind as he stared up into the livid face of his mother who had risen to her feet in a rage that he had never seen. Even with all the strength coursing through his body, Gordie shrunk beneath her glare.

“What did I tell you, Gordon?” Ellie started on her son. “We are not going to get carried away with this!”

“Ellie—”

“No!” She rounded on her father. “My husband is dead, Dad! And you two want to gab about a goddamn bat?! I want some answers! How can any of this be true?” Her chest was heaving up and down and there was a frenzied look in her eyes. Even Atalo shrank beneath her furious look.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “I realize I was being insensitive. I am very sorry about Robert. He was a good man.” Ellie retook her seat, looking worn. Atalo’s face darkened, looking pained as if he were preparing to do something taxing. “I have always known that the gods of Olympus are very real,” he began.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Ellie asked, sounding like a hurt little girl.

“I told you the stories, but would you’ve actually believed me if I said they were facts?” Atalo asked, and she responded by casting her head down, silently conceding his point. “Besides, there was another reason I didn’t tell you—I wanted to protect you.” Ellie looked at him quizzically. He sighed again and continued his story.

“The day after you were born, Ellie, I got a visit from the same god the two of you met today.” This story sounded familiar to Gordie, but Ellie did not yet admit to her dad that she had shared a similar experience. “My dad had proven to me at a young age that we were in fact descendants of Hercules by showing me the truth about this bat . . . and through various other means,” he added. “So when I saw Hermes I knew immediately who he was. He told me I was the father of the first female in the line of Hercules and that this was gravely significant. He warned me that if my daughter grew up to mother a son that that child would possess within him the power of his heroic ancestor. He stressed to me how this could spell out danger for my daughter and her family, but didn’t go into detail. ‘All I ask is that you make an effort to maintain anonymity,’ were his last words,” Atalo finished with his eyes cast down upon the bat.

“Small world,” Ellie said. “A couple days after Gordie was born I got a visit from a similar young man. Misinformed as I was, I assumed he was crazy when he claimed my boy was superhuman, especially after proclaiming himself a god.”

“Well pot, after you called the kettle black I did
not
expect such a tale from you.” He grinned. “It seems you’ve kept some information from me, as well.” Ellie was looking at her father with unresolved anger, but her mood softened when he jibed at her.

“I didn’t think it was a story worth repeating,” she retorted. “Why should I have believed we are descendants of gods?”

“In time I’ll put your doubts to rest, but right now we have to assume that it’s all true so we can prepare ourselves for what’s to come. If it
is
true that Hermes has told Zeus you’re dead,” he looked Gordie in the eyes, “then we’re safe for now. What do we know about Zeus?” Atalo asked his grandson. Gordie thought hard for a minute, running over all the stories his grandfather and mom had told him growing up.

“Well . . .” Gordie lifted his shoulders to his ears like a turtle preparing to duck into its shell. “He’s arrogant,” he said, hoping this was relevant.

“That he is,” Atalo nodded. “And due to that arrogance, I’m sure he’ll accept the tale of your death with no doubt whatsoever. Which is very good for us.” He smiled. An image of Zeus laughing at his perceived triumph popped into Gordie’s head. He clenched his jaw and pounded his fist on the table again, splintering the wood more. He spluttered his apologies to his grandfather, who waved him off. “That’s okay, Gordo. I know how ya feel.”

Gordie privately disagreed with him—he was only trying to help, so he didn’t argue, but his grandpa couldn’t know how he felt. Just then, another thought popped into his head.

“Do you have powers too, Grandpa?” Gordie asked with boyish excitement. He imagined his grandfather battling gods and monsters alongside him.

“No,” Atalo said. “I’ve got good genes, which explains why I’m in such great shape at this age, but I don’t have any kind of superhuman strength.” Then he changed his tone to a cautionary one. “But let’s not call your abilities ‘powers.’ You’re occasionally stronger than most people, but don’t let that go to your head.” 

“’Stronger than most?’” Gordie repeated. “I just beat the crap out of a god!”