Mount Olympus - Chapter 4

From what little he had seen of the school, James couldn’t quite describe the overwhelming atmosphere of it all. The main hall was much more massive than he thought it would be. The whole situation felt utterly surreal, as if at any moment he would wake up and be back at Karen’s with Joey banging on the door wanting to hang out. But, no, James knew this was not a dream; it was just beyond anything he had ever expected to experience. 

    “Ready?” Blakeney said.

    “Huh?” James started, noticing that they had pulled into a small parking lot in the midst of massive trees. He shook his head to clear it. “Oh, yeah . . . right, I’m good to go.”

    “Great. Come on, then,” said Blakeney, laughing softly.

    They climbed out of the car and made their way onto a small cobblestone path a patch of trees. The large branches shadowing the path blocked the view, but he could see emerald green grass just beyond the edge of the trees and glimpses of some kind of immense, white building with pillars wrapping around it, almost directly ahead of them. Emerging from the smattering of trees, his mouth dropped and his eyes flared wide. “What in the world is that?” James asked, now seeing that the massive building looked more like a small version of the Roman Colosseum with two large marble statues flanking the entrance.

    Blakeney flicked a sideways glance at James. “That is Olympic Amphitheater. It’s where the school holds quarterly plays and musical concerts. See those two statues there?”

    “Yeah,” he nodded.

    “Dionysus and Apollo. The gods of drama and music, respectively. But come this way, you can check it out another time. The main hall is just over here along the path.”

    They walked left, continuing on the shaded path, before making their way to a view that James could barely describe. He had to swivel his head left and right just to be able to take in the scope of the building that was facing them. Great Olympus Hall, vast, geometrically squared, and made entirely of white granite. The massive columned portico with broad sweeping steps, the pillars climbing up into beautiful archways that lined the covered walkways wrapping themselves around the building, and the uncountable number of windows, each with their own distinct adornments and casings, all for a structure that’d be at home in a nation’s capital—or Rome or Athens, even. 

    It took a moment for James to remember that he was supposed to be following Blakeney and not standing there with his mouth agape like some foreign tourist gawking at the skyscrapers of New York City. Taking a second to reorient himself and regain his composure, he closed his mouth and hastened to catch up. 

    Blakeney didn’t notice that James had fallen behind—or if he had, he didn’t let on. “Before I give you a proper tour, we’re going to head to my office and discuss a few things, if that’s okay with you?”

    “Yes, sir. That’s fine with me,” replied James, feeling dazed.

    “Don’t worry. Most people, when they see the Academy, look exactly like you do right now. Every time I return from a trip of a few days, it’s like a homecoming to me, but even then, I sometimes forget how beautiful and extraordinary the whole place is,” Blakeney said, with that same loving tone of voice.

    Blakeney led him up some side steps onto a covered walkway leading to a tall, solid oak door with STAFF carved into it roughly at eye level. Walking through the door, James stepped into a hallway paneled and floored with rich dark woods and lined with exquisitely drawn artwork. Continuing along, they made their way to another oak wood door with Director set into it in gold leaf, just before a hallway that lead to the right. “This is my office here. You noticed all the artwork, I see.” Blakeney opened the door and waved James in.

    “Of course. All of it was so good. Who did all those?” James asked in awe.

    “Various students over the years. With a school as old as ours, I’m sure you could imagine all the talent we’ve had come through over time.”

    “Yeah . . . I guess. But, I mean, that stuff is good enough to be in a museum,” James said.

    “Every piece of art is the possession of the student who made it, and sometimes they do commit them to galleries, but those works of art that are donated to the school are treasured greatly. Please, take a seat.” Blakeney gestured to a chair before sitting in his own behind the desk.

    James quickly glanced around the room taking in the wainscoting, rich carpeting, antique grandfather clock, pictures, and the large painting of George Washington observing a battlefield from atop a mounted horse situated behind Blakeney’s desk. 

    As soon as the director was seated, he pulled up a document on his computer and faced James. “Okay. First things first. I want to get a few things out of the way before continuing because knowing them will aid in our . . . discussion. Where to begin, where to start,” he mumbled before going on, “All right. As you’ve seen so far there is a bit of a recurring theme here at the Academy. The name, the designs of the buildings, the statues, some of the artwork, link it together and tell me what you think?”

    James thought a moment before responding. “Um . . . I don’t know. It’s all Greek and Roman stuff and the statues of course are gods from Greek mythology. The name is the supposed location of the throne of the gods from that same mythological idea. Uh, I don’t know what else you want me to say,” he paused. “It’s all a bit incredible if you ask me.”

    “Hmm. You are correct. That is exactly how everything is linked. Now stay with me for a moment and think before answering: what if I told you none of that was a myth and the gods and goddesses of Greece did—do, in fact, exist?”

    Blakeney might have been joking—but he looked serious. Huh? “I would probably say that I’m all for freedom of religion and all that, but that you’d be a bit crazy to think it was real.”

    The older man studied James, and a silence filled the room as if being immersed under water. James finally broke it. “I mean, right?”

    Blakeney rested his elbows on the desk and brought his fingertips to a steeple point. “James, it is not a myth. The reason for the statues, for the art, for the names and design, is because we celebrate that they do in fact exist and that they are very meaningful to us.” Seeing the look on James’s face, Blakeney continued, “This is no joke. This is very real, and I wanted to get this out of the way first before I said anything else so that you might understand it all a bit more. I misled you before when I was at your house. Yes, you do excel in history and science and lacrosse, but that was not the main reason for bringing you here. The actual reason was because you belong here. With others like you.” He paused. “Others with the same bloodlines as you.”

    James wasn’t sure he had heard correctly, but his ears were ringing. The first vestiges of anger, hurt, and confusion welled up. “What are you talking about?” 

    Blakeney met James’s accusing glare placidly. “Everyone who either goes to this school or has graduated from this school is a descendant of a demigod. That makes them descendants of the gods themselves. You belong here, James, and they are like you in that you, yourself, are a descendant of the gods.”

    James shook his head and felt his face contort as he took this in, sweeping from anger, to confusion, to hurt, before eventually landing on utter disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”

    Blakeney smiled for the first time in minutes. “That’s perfectly understandable, given your upbringing. Tell me this. Aside from the fact that you’ve been an orphan for the majority of your life, did you ever feel that you were different from everyone around you? Did anything that couldn’t be explained away rationally ever happen around you or to you?”

    “I don’t know. I mean, I never paid all that much attention.” James paused, grasping for any answers. “Now that you mention it, people have always been drawn to me even though I never, and I mean never, sought attention. And, sometimes I could swear it would rain whenever I was angry or depressed, though most people just brushed it off as a coincidence. Stuff like that?”

    The older man nodded. “Yes, things like that. What else? Anything ever happen directly to you?”

    “Well . . . hmm. . .” He searched the insides of his mind for any unusual happenings. “Oh! There was this one time when me and another foster boy decided to jump off the roof of a second-story house with wings that we had made from sheets, wood, and glue. We thought we were Batman, I guess. Anyway, we both launched ourselves off, and he ended up with a broken arm and some broken ribs. But I didn’t. I just got a few bruises, cuts, and a gash that turned into this small scar here on my chin. None of the doctors could explain exactly why I didn’t get injured more than that. Is that what you’re talking about?”

    “Exactly. Don’t you see, James? No normal little boy could jump from that high and remain uninjured. Normal people don’t attract attention when they are actually seeking the opposite. Weather patterns do not change just to suit someone’s mood. You are different, whether you’ve known it or not. I wouldn’t go so far as saying you are better than anyone, but you were born from a divine bloodline.”

    James took this in and thought about other unexplained circumstances that had happened throughout his life. Mainly they were times that he should have been injured but wasn’t. But there was always that annoying trait of attracting others which he had assumed was some weird bit of his personality. Divine, though? He didn’t think this was the case, but the man facing him from across the highly polished desk sure thought so. “Let’s say for a second that I believe you. Who am I actually descended from?” he asked reasonably. 

    “Well, there’s a problem there. I don’t know. I tried locating your father, but to no avail. And as your mother died years ago, I was at a loss there as well. No one in your immediate family on record—your mother or maternal grandparents, for instance—attended this academy, so I don’t exactly have any record of your bloodline. The only reason many students here know who they are descended from is because of knowledge which has been handed down through generations. Sometimes they can be recognized because of specific abilities that may manifest as they get older. But that’s not always the case,” Blakeney concluded.

    “If you don’t mind my asking, who’s your divine ancestor?”

    “My father was a demigod. The last few of those died out almost twenty years ago now, and his father was none other than Zeus. My mother was a descendant of Athena and Ares, an interesting mixture to be sure. No, I don’t have any special . . . powers, I guess you could call them, but I have noticed some personality traits and interests of mine that line up with what my ancestors represented.”

    “You said the last few of those? What do you mean?” James asked.

    “About seventy years ago, the gods decided not to have any more children and not to interfere with our affairs any longer. I suppose they assumed their presence was causing the great wars and they hoped to stave off our destruction. Didn’t exactly work out of course, but it was an attempt, and as far as I know they have stuck to the decree. They called it the Decree of Humanity. Now…I must ask: have you have rightly discerned the truth in everything I have told you?” Blakeney leveled his eyes at James.

    James didn’t know why, but it all just felt right. It was almost as if his body were crying out in exultation at having finally heard this. The feeling was a bit overwhelming. His nerves were tingling and his ears were buzzing as endorphins coursed through his body. 

    Yes! He said to himself. I know it’s true. I wonder if this is what it would feel like if a little girl actually did find out she were a princess of a country or something . . .hmm.  “I believe you,” he said simply, his voice ringing with the clarity of belief.

    “Good,” Blakeney said, smiling warmly.

    James barely caught it, but it almost seemed as if Blakeney had something more to say before charging on. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we can move on. Class schedule first. Let’s see . . . you’re currently taking Algebra II, so we’ll put you in Advanced Algebra.” Blakeney seemed to be talking more to himself as he typed away on his computer. “I’ll tutor you over the summer to prepare you for Pre-Calc. You are already taking AP U.S. History, so U.S. II will fit nicely there. English Lit. II and of course you’ll do well in Advanced Chem.” He turned his eyes to James and said, “All right, that does it for your basic classes. Since you have to take gym this year, that leaves two slots to fill up with electives. Here’s a list of what we have.” Blakeney slid a sheet of paper to him with the electives printed on it.

    James looked down the list and at first glance nothing caught his eye. Well, maybe? “I was taking Spanish already, but could I take a different language?”

    “Yes, you could. You would be starting in the middle of a year so you’d have to study some to catch up, but I’m sure you could do it. What caught your eye?”

    “Latin sounds kind of cool. All the archaeological conspiracy books I’ve ever read had a lot of Latin in them,” James admitted with a shrug.

    Blakeney burst laughing. “What a way to make a choice! I love it. Sure, we’ll sign you up for that. You don’t mind being in a class with mainly freshmen, do you?”

    “Doesn’t bother me.”

    “Okay, great. Now, what else?”

    James looked deep in concentration as he studied the sheet. “Um . . . er—I don’t know . . . Photography? I’ve never tried it before, but I could always learn something new I guess.”

    “That’s a good attitude to have. Photography it is, which means, of course, we’ll have to order you an appropriate camera, but until then you can use one of the school’s. Well, that takes care of your schedule. Let me print you a copy.” 

    Blakeney grabbed the paper with James’s new class schedule on it as it ejected from the printer and handed it to him. 

    “Now,” he continued, “on to dorm assignment. All the juniors are on the third floor, and yours is room 320.” He typed away at his computer for a minute and sent a quick text on his phone before turning to face James again. “There are a few ground rules to cover: first, your room must be clean and orderly before leaving for class every day—there will be weekly, sometimes daily inspections. Second, no members of the opposite sex are allowed in your room. Ever. This is a very serious rule and can get you expelled. Lights out is at 11 p.m. on weeknights, and the resident ambassadors on each floor will check. Hmm . . . that about covers it for now. You ready to see the rest of Mount Olympus?”

    James nodded and half-smiled. “Absolutely!”