Book One of the Aetherian Gods: The Trail to Olympus

By Kenny Earl

The novel follows the adventures of a teenage boy answering what seems to be a challenge to conquer a mountain and his personal fears in doing so. In the background, mysterious characters plot to influence the young boys adventures, guiding him and placing obstacles before him. As the boy searches for an explanation to the mountains grip on his soul, he draws in close friends to assist him in his quest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524601362

Kenny Earl

Kenny Earl is a retired high school science teacher. His interest in adventure and mystery, his expertise in wilderness survival methods, and his experiences in the awesome wilderness setting prompted the writing of this novel. Kenny Earl has overcome many tremendous challenges throughout his own life. His material is carefully chosen and personally experienced before being put to paper. He hopes to draw the reader into the world of the characters as if actually present in the scene.

Book preview

THE TRAIL TO

OLYMPUS

Kenny Earl

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2016 Kenny Earl. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/29/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5049-8727-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0136-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1: The Mountain

Chapter 2: Mount Olympus

Chapter 3: Matt Finds Support

Chapter 4: Meeting the Challenge

Chapter 5: The Battle

Chapter 6: Marcie

Chapter 7: Family Camp, Base Camp, and Eagle's Nest

Chapter 8: Mount Olympus Awakens!

Chapter 9: The Fate of Olympus

PROLOGUE

The babbling brook's hypnotizing sounds could not be heard beneath a thunderous roar of waters pumped from below the ground and shot from hydraulic cannons to flow furiously down the canyon. Chainsaws buzzed like angry hornets as the saws bit through tree bark hundreds of years old. The trees, once green and majestic while rising from the valley floor, cracked and groaned, falling with a mighty thud, causing great tremors in the rocky base. Bulldozers clamored endlessly, cleaning up the debris of the fallen trees. Smoke, thick and acrid, blanketed the lower levels of the valley, caused by roaring flames eating away at great mounds of tree, brush, and various-sized cuttings. Terrific explosions echoed ominously down the canyons and neighboring valleys, followed by the mighty crashing of boulders and rocks loosened from the mountain's walls.

It seemed an army had declared war upon the mountain and its domain, as indeed it had. Blamed for the mysterious and deadly forces of nature, the mountain and surrounding scenery had become the target of an angry mob with military intent. The object of this devastation was total destruction of the mountain's mysterious power.

Night fell, and the horrendous sights and sounds had stilled. Late into the night, one solitary soldier strode out into a clearing and gazed up at the few stars that could still cast their brilliance through the haze of dust and smoke left from that day's vicious attack. Calmly he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his sweat- and dust-laden shirt pocket and struck a match. While he was bringing the match up to light the end of his cigarette, the flaming match fell to the ground, and the man stopped as if frozen in time.

He gazed in fearful fascination upon the jagged peak of the mountain towering above. His hands shook uncontrollably. His body twitched with tremors. Newly formed beads of sweat glistened everywhere upon his brow. He blinked. He blinked again. He slowly shook his head from side to side, denying the image that had imprinted itself upon his mind. Turning and walking away, his cigarette unlit and forgotten, the lonely figure strode back to his quarters. Shutting the door behind him, he found he could not shut out the frightening vision as easily.

A cruel, sadistic snicker wafted softly through the aetheric and mystic heavens, a hint of some evil intelligence.

The sun had not fully risen when the sadistic raiders began again. Methodical slaughter rained upon the scene for several weeks. Waters, once so pure and clear, now churned with mud and foam. Air, once so sweet and clean, now turned acrid with smoke and dust. Trees, once an unbroken blanket guarding the precarious ecology of the valley floor, now lay like gigantic telephone poles strewn about the ground, unless already eaten by the consuming flames. The valley floor now lay prey to the ravaging forces of rain, wind, and sun. Animals that once hid from predators beneath the near-solid greenery now were forced to flee elsewhere. The stream that had babbled down its path for hundreds of years now had to painfully wind its way around giant mounds of rock and gravel blown free from the mountain. The open wounds and scars glared out from the mountain like slashed and twisted flesh. The mirrored reflections off the rocky cliffs were lost in the torn rubble left from the endless blasting. Holes of all sizes gaped out from the sides of the mountain, looking like mouths screaming out the apparent pain felt by the towering mountain.

Night fell again at last and was not replaced at dawn by the ominous sounds of the mighty battle. Animals of all sizes, including birds and insects, had been crushed and destroyed or otherwise frightened and driven away. When the sun had finally crested above the mountainous terrain, all was silent except for the occasional tumble of stray boulders. These last few remnants fell like drops of blood from the dying body of the once-beautiful and majestic peak.

The spell of the mountain, with all its power and mystery, had been broken. The mighty and legendary throne of gods had been beaten. The mountain was dead!

Or was it?

A week passed, and still the silence was unbroken, till at last the form of a young man topped a nearby ridge. Close behind followed a female companion. Minutes later, a third person slowly mounted the ridge to join the others.

Together the three friends stood in silent awe, tearfully spying the heart-wrenching scene before them. The mountain they had come to know so well, the mountain they had come to know as theirs, now lay torn and defeated. Their wildest nightmares could not compare to the freezing horror they now felt.

The young man, the last to top the ridge, now slowly crumpled to his knees. It was as if he had been robbed of his life's force, his very soul! His two friends could find no words to comfort him. There were no words to comfort even them. Silence still reigned unbroken. The sun continued to beat down upon the bodies and heart-lost souls of Stu, Marcie, and Matt.

CHAPTER 1

THE MOUNTAIN

Matt's pale-blue eyes widened with disbelief. His mouth gaped as he emitted a short, almost-silent gasp. His body, barely topping four feet, three inches, trembled with excitement. He couldn't believe what he had just heard his father say.

Really, Matt, you're old enough to go, though your mother took some convincing. Matt's father raised his chin and smiled with fatherly pride. He was a man of thirty years and quite handsome. His dark hair complemented his green eyes and six-foot height. He turned slightly to note the disapproving look on his wife's face.

John, do you really have to gloat? she complained, resigned to unwilling acceptance. She was as pretty as he was handsome. John was a bit taller than she, yet she held herself with a dignity envied by some of the tallest of people. Her eyes of blue sparkled from behind a wisp of wavy blonde hair. Her silky red dress swirled as she turned to leave the room to busy herself with trivial but convenient chores.

Father and son were now alone to talk man to man about the coming adventure. Matt still couldn't believe the news. Honest, Dad? It's okay?

In response to Matt's reference to his mother's solid stand against the idea, his dad continued. Your mother will get over it; she just has to let go a little and trust us. We're men! We can handle it!

On that note, Matt rushed to give his father the heartiest hug a ninety-two-pound boy could muster.

Ah! Enough of that now. If you're going to go camping in the wilderness, you'll have to act like a man and be strong. John beamed again as Matt stepped back, stood up straight and tall, and smiled.

I am a man! the boy exclaimed. I'll show you I can do it! I'm eight years old ... well ... I'll be eight on Friday.

John could almost see the boy's chest rise with pride following those words. I was eight years old when your grandfather took me on my first trip back into the mountains. It's tough, but I know you'll make it just fine. We're leaving Friday morning and won't be back until Monday night. Now off to bed with you. I need you to get right to sleep. We'll start getting ready tomorrow. John could barely hold the secret, yearning to tell his son about the surprise he'd find when the sun came up.

The next morning came quickly for Matt. The sounds of clinking cups hinted at the brewing of coffee and hot, steamy cocoa. The aroma of eggs and sizzling bacon found its way upstairs and tantalized Matt's sensitive nose, begging him to investigate. Matt leaped from his bed, hurriedly dressed in light-blue cotton sweats and tennis shoes, adjusted his San Francisco Giants ball cap firmly on his head, and dashed down the stairs to be brought up quickly by a confusing barrier blocking his path. Gifts of all shapes and sizes, neatly wrapped and carefully stacked, barred his way. Hey, what's this? he hollered. Each gift was tagged with a label and a bow. Each label bore his name and a message: Love, Mom and Dad.

Two smiling faces peeked around the corner of the staircase. Happy birthday! they called.

But it's not until tomorrow! Matt exclaimed, bewildered.

We're leaving tomorrow really early, John explained, so we thought you might want these today before we go.

Evident eagerness propelled Matt forward. Papers and ribbons of bright red, green, and white savagely flew from his fingertips as he tore into the pile of presents. The final tally revealed quite a birthday treasure. There was a shiny silver-colored fishing pole complete with reel and a tackle box filled to overflowing with the latest in fishing tackle. Next he received a fancy instamatic camera, followed by a backpack, a pair of binoculars, and some new hiking boots. Finally he pulled a flashy green jacket from its carton, a child's version of the United States Army's field jacket. Matt's eyes and fingers explored each pocket, each zippered enclosure, and each Velcroed recess. Standing quickly, he tried it on.

Great, it fits fine, his mother remarked. Kelly's eyes began to sparkle, and a tear escaped to run slowly down her cheek and rest near her upturned chin. I'm glad you like it, Matt.

Matt, forgetting his father's words from the night before, gave each parent ample hugs and kisses. Thank you! he said over and over again, as if he couldn't remember having just said it.

John pulled away and placed his hand firmly on his son's shoulder. Let's get packed. We have a lot to do before morning.

Matt's feet ached terribly. After hiking several miles through rugged mountain terrain in his new boots, he and John had to stop and rest. Gulping some cool, refreshing water from his canteen, Matt let a small amount dribble down his chin to fall soothingly upon his parched throat. Next he tugged a fresh pair of boot socks from a pocket on the outside of the pack and hastily pulled them on. His bootlaces now firmly tied, Matt prepared to go on.

Whoa, what's your hurry, young man? called John. We're almost there.

I'm ready, Matt lied, not wanting to disappoint his father. The truth was, his feet were killing him, still sore from newly formed blisters. The fresh socks helped, but Matt still had to