Herakleides: Prelude to War

By Sean Patrick O'Mordha

Charlie Pendergast's adoptive family moved to Silverton, Colorado when he was six. His stepmother is a drunk, his stepfather an abusive philanderer. His only friend is Marc Taylor, who isn't liked in town because he's Black. Charlie's only escape from the abuse is the Taylor home or a wilderness on the other side of a pasture guarded by a huge bull with a bad reputation. Just after graduating from high school, home life really goes south and he determines to leave, going to his special place in the wilderness. It's a place devoid of people until meeting and falling in love with Penelope who lives on top of a mountain. Going to see her father about becoming married, Charlie is in for a really big surprise. Her father is the Greek god, Prometheus and Charlie's father is the great Greek hero, now a god, Herakles. In addition, the Oracle at Delphi has declared Charlie the one chosen to bring peace to Olympia. That seems a big challenge, especially when someone is making a serious attempt to end his existence and take control of Olympus, and earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean Patrick O'Mordha
• Release date: Oct 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311375872

Sean Patrick O'Mordha

Sean O'Mordha grew up riding horses through the mountains of SE Wyoming. Fresh out of high school and attending the University of Nebraska - Lincoln, he landed the job of cub reporter for a major newspaper there. During the next two years, he studied journalism and archaeology and came under the tutelage of writer, Rod Serling. That career path was interrupted upon receiving an all-expense, paid trip to Vietnam courtesy of Uncle Sam. Returning home, life took a decidedly different direction as he a Law Enforcement Officer, completing a career as a Federal officer and special prosecutor in his native Wyoming twenty-two years later. During this time he actively wrote for National and International police journals. Upon retirement, he continued writing non-fiction and short fiction until encouraged to write a novel. He has published a number of novels and many short stories. The father of three, he retired to southern Arizona to be near grandchildren when not traveling to the locations of the next novel under construction. He also is involved with operations at Celtic Publications of Arizona.

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A SMASHWORDS eBook Edition -- 2021

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Copyright: Sean Patrick O’Mordha 2015-2021

ISBN: 9781311375872

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This is a work of fiction. With the exception of familiar geographical locations and historical events, all names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business, companies, or events is purely coincidental or used according to US trademark and copyright law.

Illustrations obtained from open source, copyright free Internet sources with no discoverable attribution, or the author's personal collections. Photo manipulations by GIMP, an open source photo editor.

Portions of this story contain scenes of explicit sex and violence

Author's Note

The gods and customs of Ancient Greece portrayed in this novel are based on researched information found in historical documents and are conveyed with little or no writer's license.

(Chapter 1)

h

e epithet-laced argument between husband and wife downstairs was about Charlie, as usual. Without warning Carter Pendergast stomped into the boy’s bedroom, a wide, leather belt raised to strike. Seated on the bed, trying to ignore the altercation by listening to a music CD turned up loud, the fifteen-year-old rolled away to the other side. As Carter came around to catch him, he leaped back over the bed and out door, step-dad in screaming pursuit.

Clad only in boxers, there was no hesitation to exit the front door and down the street. Glancing over his shoulder to see how close Carter was behind, he failed to notice Marc Taylor’s Uncle Harun exit a pickup truck and step into the line of flight. The young man ricocheted off him as if hitting an immovable boulder to sprawl on the grass strip between sidewalk and curb. Carter was on him in an instant. Arm raised to lay on the belt, Carter found it locked mid-air. Uncle Harun had him by the wrist.

Carter was a big, strong man, but Uncle Harun was n o lidghtweight. Charlie suspected he worked out a gym by the way his shirt and sport coat strained at the seams.

Hold on. What has the boy done to deserve such treatment? Uncle Harun’s voice was deep, rumbling like distant thunder, commanding.

None of your damn business and let go before I . . . Carter yelled.

Charlie’s assumption about Uncle Harun’s strength was right when Carter found himself dangling a foot off the ground, held by one hand wound about his shirt collar.

Before you do what? Harun said in a deliberate tone of restrained anger. I believe you, and I shall have a private understanding behind Mr. Taylor’s house. He started up the driveway, still holding Carter’s kicking feet off the ground.

Herk . . ., Uncle Harun, I believe an accord can be reached without . . ., Mr. Taylor started to say.

Uncle stopped and glared at the struggling mortal. Carter’s eyes were so wide with surprise and fear Charlie thought they’d pop out. Pendergast found himself literally pulled nose to nose with Charlie’s savior as his feet slowly touched the ground.

Let me be perfectly clear. You so much as touch that boy again, I will skin you like a grape, pound your worthless mass of quivering flesh into jelly, and grind your bones into dust. Carter looked into Harun’s eyes and shriveled, knowing in his soul that was no idle threat and was inches from annihilation.

While watching Carter beat a hasty retreat back home, Uncle Harun laid an arm around Charlie’s shoulders and led him to the garage door for a private chat.

Placing a massive hand to gently cup his neck, he bent his six-foot six-inch frame to lean close. His voice was soft but no less stern. You stink of strong drink. Your excuse for such behavior no longer exists. You will put the bottle back where you found it and stop drinking. Is that clear?

Y-y-yes, sir. It wasn’t until later Charlie wondered how Uncle Harun seemed to know he’d taken to snitching from the family booze larder. He had used mouthwash as usual before having to escape Pendergast.

An occasional glass of wine is acceptable, but only during a meal. I will be watching . . . closely, both that man, Carter, and you for compliance.

Y-y-yes, sir.

The massive paw slid tenderly across the young man’s cheek as he straightened and smiled. Now, I came to take you and Marc for a hike and some fishing at a special lake in the wilderness. It will be an overnighter, so unless you plan to go dressed like this, I suggest you get more appropriate apparel. It will be cool tonight. I have everything else you will need and do not be concerned about that Carter fellow. He will no longer be a threat.

Uncle Harun was right. Carter sat at the dining table holding a triple shot of whiskey with both hands, shaking so badly the tan liquid slopped out. Not moving or say a word, Carter Pendergast glared as the young man walked into the house. Charlie was jittery but felt a new courage.

Dressed in jeans and long sleeve shirt, he stuffed some personal items in a backpack and tied hiking boots to one side strap. About to leave, his stepmom, Julia, asked, Where are you going?

Uncle Harun is taking Marc and me camping, and I need some rest from you two. Have a good fight. He walked out of the house. Carter obviously wanted to get up and resume the thrashing, except an invisible hand seemed to keep him pinned to the chair, causing a further display of fear in his eyes.

Seven years before, Charlie stood in the front yard of the family’s new home. Then, he was a gangling 30d nail, tall for his age and thin. Tingling with awe and excitement, he gazed up at the towering, snow-covered peaks in every direction. So beautiful and prodigious, begging to be explored.

Six months later, the wonder and excitement had turned into bitter ashes. Adopted, his stepmom spent much of the day on the sofa in front of the TV consuming increasingly more medicine and sleeping it off. His dad worked long hours managing rough, vulgar rustics at the log mill with increasingly less time for family. Before moving to Silverton, Colorado, life had been okay, but once settled in the Colorado Rockies, husband and wife charged off the deep end. Maybe it was the altitude. Maybe it was something brewing just beneath the surface. Maybe both. The first time they argued, Charlie hid under the bed, unable to stop crying and shaking. The next time he saw her slap his face, and he knocked her down. Frightened, he ran from the house, but where to go?

Marc Taylor’s family moved to town a week after Charlie’s family arrived. Both the same age and outsiders, they struck a friendship. Running from the house, Charlie spotted Marc playing with some Tonka trucks in the front yard of his home a few doors up the street.

A very different feeling came over the frightened seven-year-old as he passed through the white picket gate into the manicured yard. There were no words in his vocabulary to explain, but an instant feeling of warmth and safety seemed to settle over him. He barely noticed when a police car sped past and stopped at his house. After a time, an officer approached, stopped, and stared at the boys playing quietly.

Hey, white kid. Are you Charles Pendergast?

The boy looked up, a bit fearful of the big man glaring at him. Yes. It wasn’t his real last name, but that’s all he knew.

Is there a problem, Officer Franks? Mr. Taylor asked as he rose from a chair on the front porch.

Yeah. Been looking for him. Ran away from home.

Charlie and my son as best friends and he frequently comes, especially when his stepparents get into one of their arguments. He knows it is safe. He’s been playing right here in plain sight for nearly an hour.

A woman joined Franks. She wore a uniform of sorts, too, khaki slacks and shirt buttoned at the collar with a maroon, crossover cravat. Good evening, Mr. Taylor, she said.

Good evening, Mrs. Hanson. Is there a problem? He walked to the fence to talk with the Social Services representative so the entire neighborhood couldn’t listen in.

The boy’s parents got into an argument. A real knock-down affair. They’re alright, but I don’t think it suitable for the child to stay there until things cool down. I’m going to take him and his sister to a shelter until their parents get some counseling.

Why don’t you leave him here? Charlie and my son are good friends.

Well, if you don’t mind. It would be better than at . . . well, you know.

The police officer stared at Marc, wrinkling his face in displeasure. Mr. Taylor looked at him. We are disease-free, Officer Franks. The rotund city cop hitched up his gun belt, issued a kind of muffled snort, and walked away.

I’ll bring some of his things over, Mrs. Hanson said, relieved that at least one problem was satisfactorily resolved.

Perhaps the girl could stay with Mrs. Southworth across the street? She’s been very lonely since her daughter went off to school. The only problem is that she might spoil the girl.

The social worker thought on it a moment and smiled before shrugging agreement and crossed over to speak to the stout woman standing on her front porch.

Carter Pendergast begrudgingly attended mandated counseling sessions with the local parish priest. That did little good as the altercations resumed less than a month later. Subdued at first, they gradually returning to the former intensity, although less physical. He had a violent temper, but the run-in with Uncle Harun kept him from applying physical discipline on Charlie; however, nothing was mentioned about psychological attacks, which he was well capable of using liberally.

While Uncle Harun made frequent, unannounced visits to check for compliance about physical abuse, he deliberately ignored the verbal attacks.

Seated by a campfire, Uncle Harun said, A belt can cause pain, but words can not unless you allow them to. Become a duck and let them roll off like rain drops.

Marc couldn’t let that pass. Yeah, Charlie. When he does that just go quake-quake and waddle off. Marc stuck hands in his armpits, flapped elbows, and waddled in a circle.

I do not recommend antagonizing Pendergast by quaking, but walking away would be appropriate, Uncle Harun admonished.

Charlie and Marc eagerly looked forward to Harun’s visits and adventures in the wilderness. He taught them how to hunt, fish, hike, and live off the land. He taught them to wrestle and shared philosophical wisdom and history, in particular Greek history.

This gave the boy a sense of power that begged to be tested. Some weeks after the encounter with Uncle Harun, Carter came home on time for a change. After a double shot of whiskey straight, he just couldn’t restrain himself.

This is a delicious meal, Nan, their mom said to their step-daughter.

Charlie helped.

No doubt, Carter began.

Oh, and thank you for vacuuming and dusting the parlor, Charles.

Saw one of those frilly aprons and matching bonnet little servant girls wear. I’ll get one. Would you like it in pink with matching high heels? His chuckle was offensive.

That’s not nice, Carter, his mom said. He helps me around the house.

So you have time to slosh around in a bottle.

He picks up your messes, too. Who does that at your secretary’s house?

That ignited the fuse to escalate a verbal war, which by custom would accelerate into a full-blown, screaming match with broken glass to pick up later. Charlie decided to opt-out.

A great diner, Nan, he said in a loud, clear voice to override the adults. But I’ll eat later . . . in peace. His disgust was evident.

Where do you think you’re going, little bitch?

Out.

Carter stood, leaning knuckles on the table on either side of his plate. Sit down or I’ll. . .

"You’ll what? Hit me. I don’t think so, or did you forget what Uncle Harun said.

He ain’t gonna get a chance. I’ll own him before he takes one step toward me.

Uh, huh, and he’ll take that six-shooter away and shove it where the sun don’t shine. See you later, Nan. Leaning down, he kissed her cheek and walked out, hoping Carter’s red face would explode like the bulb of an over-heated thermometer.

There was one more confrontation between the two men about a month after this incident. Uncle Harun unexpectedly appeared while Charlie was raking leaves in the front lawn. He’d come to invite the boy on another camping trip that weekend. Carter came flying out the front door, brandishing a long-barrel revolver and pointed it at Huran. Giving Carteer an annoyed looke, his hand snapped out like a Diamond Back Rattler to wrench it free. Taking the six-shooter in both hands, he literally broke it in half with seeming ease before handing it back. Carter retreated into the house to peak through the front blinds until Uncle left.

Charlie turned eighteen two weeks before graduating from high school somewhere at the bottom of the class. With no money and only low-paying, dead-end jobs, there was no way to move out on his own. He gave serious thought to joining the Army as a way out from under Carter’s thumb. Unfortunately, the military escape route was out. That required taking the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Test and passing with at least a score of thirty-one. He managed to squeak out a twenty-six.

Charlie wasn’t stupid. His IQ scores hovered in the upper 130 range. The problem was years of tuning school off and earning more holes in his education than a piece of plywood shot with buckshot—several times.

Salvation loomed when Julie Pendergast petitioned for a divorce. He’d be placed in her custody, get her permission to join the military, and pass that test or else. Unfortunately, the Catholic Church refused the petition, so she had to remain married to the brutish philanderer. Her drinking increased. Pendergast’s verbal assaults continue.

Pulling a pillow tighter over his head failed to muffle the mind-piercing war downstairs while amplifying the rapid pounding of his heart. That also cut off the supply of oxygen to render unconsciousness or death, but he was so frustrated and angry to not care. He’d endured the arguments for eleven years and only wanted the noise to stop. If dying was the result, so be it. Burning in hell would be a Hawaiian vacation. He sat up, hurled the tear-stained pillow at the door, yelling, Shut up! A meaningless gesture as the adults downstairs couldn’t hear the complaint over their own noise.

Pulling on a pair of Bermudas, he moved next to a crib, lift the crying baby out to cuddle on his shoulder. Also exhausted, it quieted almost immediately. Looking around the semi-dark room, the clock on the bedside table displayed 4:43 a.m. At best, he’d gotten two hours of repeatedly interrupted sleep. His eyes then fell on a couple things he would miss but didn’t dwell on it.

Sorry, Benji, I can’t take any more of this. Maybe you’ll be lucky and get taken to a real family.

He saw himself mirrored in the frightened, little round face he’d cared for as if his own. It was his step-sister’s child by another but could have been Charlie’s except for timing. Their first encounter three years earlier wrapped around his mind like the tentacles of an octopus as if happening again.

A soft knock on the bedroom door brought Charlie’s eyes off the page to look over the top of the book. The door opened enough to allow Nan’s head to poke in.

Can I come in?

Yeah.

His step-sister slipped in, closing the door quietly before coming over to sit on the edge of his bed where he lay, back against the headboard.

Sorry about your birthday party.

He shrugged.

Whatcha reading? She tilted the book so to see the cover. Poetry, Odes, and Pastorals of Classic Greece? Are you kidding me?"

The Taylors gave it to me, he replied, feeling defensive.

She tipped it down to make sure there wasn’t something else hidden behind the cover. That’s not even in English.

It’s Greek.

You can read that?

Mr. Taylor and Uncle Harun taught me. It was pretty easy to learn.

Jeez. A geek book and underwear. Some birthday presents. If I had money, I’d buy you a real gift for someone who turned fifteen.

Thanks for the thought. He feigned resuming to read.

I did get you a gift, though. Something for a man. She handed him a small, square, white box.

Earrings? He opened it. Condoms?

Carter and Julia don’t use them anymore. At least Julia doesn’t. Carter has his own stash.

Charlie stared at the half-dozen, small, blue foil packets, saying nothing for a time, and then, Thanks. I guess.

You really deserve more after all you’ve gone through. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. Charlie startled, looking at her, mouth open. Nancy smiled, leaned forward again to kiss him on the lips. Let’s use one, she whispered.

You’re my sister. That wouldn’t be . . .

We aren’t related. We’re adopted. Two people from different towns. His body tingled with fear and sudden nervous excitement. Carter left and won’t be back until tomorrow night, if then, and Julia is passed out on the sofa. Besides, I locked the door. You don’t want to be a teenage virgin, do you? She engaged his lips as fingers cruised a breast. She could feel him tense and then slowly yield.

That morning Charlie awoke to see Nancy slipping on his bathrobe. Hi. Sleep well?

Uh, huh, he replied groggily, swinging feet out of bed to sit on the edge. Pulling the sheet over his lap was a silly gesture considering how they’d spent the night. Despite the activity, it had been ages since he slept so well.

It’s six-thirty. Shower and get dressed. The school bus will be here in an hour. I’ll make breakfast. Cupping his chin with one hand to lift it up, she bent down and kissed him. We shouldn’t tell anyone about my birthday present. If Carter found out, he’d beat the crap out of you despite what Marc’s Uncle said, then throw us both on the streets.

Charlie stared as she walked to the door, turned the latch, and faced him again. You shouldn’t say anything to Marc or his parents, either. And for God’s sake, don’t go to confessional, or we’ll get lambasted by Fr. Francis. Let’s keep this our little secret.

The sound of breaking glass from the war downstairs ratcheted Charlie back to the present. That had been one helluva birthday present, but as he showered that fateful morning, a heavy burden felt to press down on him. How often had the priest sermoned about what they had done?

"Sexual relations outside of the marital covenant are morally wrong. It is a grave sin against the sixth commandment, which says, Thou shalt not commit adultery.

The words burned in his mind as they rolled over the rest of the congregation. How much he wanted to slip into the confessional and say, Father forgive me for I have sinned, but couldn’t. It was their little secret. A guy, a few years older than he, was caught having sex with an underage girl. It didn’t matter that he was seventeen, she sixteen, and they admitted it was consensual. When she became pregnant, her parents went ballistic. Expelled from school destroyed any chance for a sports scholarship; he had to register as a sex offender and spent a year in jail, never to be seen or heard of again. Would this be worse? He and Nancy weren’t related by blood but lived under the same roof as a family—of sorts.

"Satan exists to tempt us to do immoral things. Sexual relations between members of one’s family is morally abhorrent and a violation of God’s natural law."

Fr. Francis must have felt something amiss and tried to approach Charlie, who artfully dodged any confrontation. He certainly kept as far from the confessional as a Jew would from a Christian baptismal font. Church attendance grew less frequent as his stepmom’s drinking increased. He couldn’t attend church because she was ill and needed his help.

Charlie struggled with that first tryst. Everyone said such things were wrong. When he looked at any girl who reminded him of Nancy or wore perfume that smelled like hers, the event flashed into his mind. He couldn’t concentrate on schoolwork. And then the first blackout happened.

The teacher’s voice droned on about something that happened during the American Civil War when he happened to look over at a girl sitting two seats ahead in the next row. Her T-shirt had ridden up to expose the small of her back and the top of her anal crack. Almost immediately, his mind switched to when he saw Nan’s back.

Charlie? You can wake up now. It was the voice of his teacher. The bell rang several minutes ago.

His heart sprang to high gear as he quickly stuffed the class text and a notebook into a backpack.

I’ll expect a one-page report in small print on my desk at the start of class tomorrow about the results of the Battle of Antietam, or you’ll stay after school to do it. And go to bed early. I don’t like my students sleeping in class.

Marc was waiting in the hall when he came out and picked up that something was wrong, but Charlie evaded the inquiry, saying he didn’t feel well.

Why don’t you come by the house? Mom can fix one of her teas to make you better.

It’s okay. I got a bunch of housework to do before Carter shows up.

He wanted to tell but couldn’t. His stepmom was staggering through the motions of preparing dinner. How she managed with a glass of wine perpetually adhered to one hand was interesting. Upstairs, he sprawled on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling until realizing he was massaging his genitals.

"Masturbation is not a filthy habit that makes people dirty. It only reveals the dirt that is already in our hearts. It says that we are feeding the wrong desires. It is a lustful action symptomatic of deeper problems. The person who does this is focused only on themselves. They are self-centered and less than fully human."

Charlie almost swore the priest knew what was going on because the few times his stepmom got on a go-to-church kick and dragged him along, the sermons focused on things he was doing, and the priest seemed to look straight at him. But he couldn’t stop.

The first time he pleasured himself was with Marc while staying the night following a parental altercation.

You had a wet dream yet? he asked.

No, Charlie lied, not knowing why because they had an open relationship. He had the experience a few weeks earlier. Perhaps the rantings of the priest caused him to feel ashamed, but the red splotches on cheeks were a giveaway.

After watching Marc relieve himself, Charlie yielded to the prompting before exploding. He did it again several days later, alone in bed.

"Okay, maybe Fr. Francis is right. I’m not fully human."

The calming euphoria was the first such feelings experienced in a dysfunctional house on the edge of an abyss filled with hate and fear. It became a ritual during or after a parental quarrel which happened several times a week. In fact, an erotic episode had started begging for relief the evening Nancy appeared with her birthday present. That event reinforced his personal struggle late one night a week later during another knock-down battle between the stepparents.

He lay naked on the bed, beginning to masturbate to relieve the stress when the door opened, and a figure eclipsed the bright hall light. He clawed to cover himself but was lying on the sheets. Struggling to get buried, his heart jumped into his throat and set up a furious pounding.

Sh-hh, he heard Nancy’s voice. He’d managed to pull a corner of the sheet over his hips. I can’t sleep. He noticed a slight quiver in the voice as the bathrobe slide from her shoulders, dropping in a pile around her feet. Lifting the sheet, Nan crawled next to him. She was naked, too.

Wrapping an arm around his chest, she pulled them close. Just hold me. He reached around her shoulders and held tight.

He wanted to say, This isn’t right, to say, No, but was already aroused. That Nan felt frightened was obvious. Both found feelings of security and love in each other’s embrace. After passions peaked, they slept soundly, holding one another tightly as the war below raged on.

A week passed with no parental discord, mainly because Carter wasn’t home. Still, Charlie continued self-pleasuring to organism, soothing his mind before falling asleep. That’s when a nightmare brought him upright in bed in a drenching sweat. It took a long time to realize he was alone in the room and dwell on what had awakened him.

The dream felt so real. Carter had burst into the bedroom, discovering the two in bed together. The man became an enraged monster wielding a wide leather belt. When Nancy came to visit the next night, he wanted so badly to end the liaison. Becoming too stimulated, Charlie said nothing, wanting the wonderful feelings of release, of secure comfort as her body pressed against his. When the nightmare next invaded sleep, he brazenly walked across the hall to Nancy’s room and entered without knocking. He needed to be held.

Seated on the bed, legs drawn up, she was reading a glamor magazine. Looking up, she smiled. Walking to the side of the bed, he stood staring at her, his body quivering as if cold, the front of his boxers pushed out. She tossed the magazine aside and turned off the bedside lamp. He stepped out of the boxers and crawled onto the bed.

When their foreplay had each well aroused, she said, Did you bring a packet?

No.

There are some in the dresser. It was across the