The Son of Storms 24

“I can’t help you.”

“Pardon me…My Lord?”

“Oh please, keep the formality for those who puff themselves up,” Arcas, once King of Arcadia and now the God of birds laughed, and the sparrow in his hands chirped happily, the clearing around them suddenly echoing with the trills of the hundreds of birds that had come to see Arcas. “Just call me Arcas. Formality wears itself out after the first two months to be honest, especially when the most honored title you have received is nut-giver.”

“...the birds?”

“Of course the birds—and the chirping kind—who do you think I am, our father?”

“Is it really that bad?” He asked, looking up at the clouds above and half expecting a thunderbolt to strike down Arcas any moment now.

“He has slept around with more women—and married ones too—than there are diamonds in Nyx’s coat,” Arcas answered, sighing loudly and shrugging his shoulders as he gave him a sad smile. “My wife was one of them. He disguised himself as me ya know.”

The sparrow in his hand seemed to sense his change of mood, and Harry watched every bird around them let out a mournful cry, hopping closer to their God, with a couple of swans rubbing against his feet. However, before Harry could offer some form of sympathy—and how the fuck was he supposed to do that in this case, Arcas stiffened in his place, his eyes snapping eastwards, and a moment later, Harry felt what the God had sensed.

Hundreds of birds were flying towards them…metallic claws and sharpened wings cutting through the air like knives.

Stymphalian Birds.

His sword snapped into his hand, and Harry prepared himself for combat, watching as the first of the monster birds shot into view. Diving through the air, towards the demigod and god, the Stymphalian simply tore through a crow trying to get away, its beady black eyes fixed upon the divinity before it.

“Begone.”

A wave of power rushed out…no, Harry realized a moment later as he turned towards Arcas, their whole world moving in slow motion. It was as if the power had already been in the environment, but Arcas had simply grasped hold of it and made it tangible, suffusing his presence throughout the area. Voice laced with authority that none but a god could command, Harry felt the God of birds grasp hold of the Stymphalians in his metaphorical grasp…before they just vanished.

Some were squashed to death, soft bodies crushed between metallic wings, while some simply burst apart in a shower of gore and blood, dissolving into golden dust that rained down upon the whole forest before them

One word. 

And a casual flex of his power.

That was what it had taken Arcas to destroy a thousand Stymphalians in a single instant. For a moment, all Harry could do was gape, awe and horror mixing together to create a fearful respect for the God before him, as for the first time in his life, he saw a deity’s power on the offensive, and it had been effortless.

Killing a thousand Stymphalians, with wings and talons that could rend a demigod’s flesh from bone as easily as taking candy was something that would take him the better part of an hour. And yet, Arcas had done it in a single moment, turning them all to dust.

“Fucking cunts,” he spat, not even looking winded in the least as he slowly ran a finger down the sparrow’s back, the small bird calming down and wiggling in his palms as all around the clearing, the various birds slowly stopped crying and shrieking. A moment later, the anger that had seemed to permeate the atmosphere with the tangible, metaphysical presence of Arcas disappeared, sinking back into the God and the environment around them as he reigned in his power, “They are getting stronger.”

“Wh-what?” he mumbled, literally shaking the cobwebs off his mind as he focused back on the God, seeing him lift the sparrow off his hands, and within moments, every bird around them flew away, no doubt directed by Arcas to do so. “Monsters are getting stronger?”

“They are,” he nodded, sitting back down on the rock behind him, and conjuring a small goblet in his hand. “You get that lesson from Chiron or Lady Hestia yet?”

“Yes, I did. A year ago,” he answered, remembering the day when Chiron had told him about monsters, and what made them monsters in the first place. “What’s that got to do with monsters getting stronger?”

“Hah! It has everything to do with it, if you can work that thing between your ears,” Arcas laughed, slapping his leg as he took a swig from his goblet, giving him a look as if wanting him to get a hidden message. However, Harry couldn’t think of anything from th-, “Alright Harry, I am sorry that I can’t lift your curse, as it is magical, not divine in nature, and even then, I can lift curses that don’t supersede my authority. I can guide you though. It was laid upon your magic, upon your soul by a magical avian, an imprint upon you warning those who can recognize it to steer clear from you. A black mark on your ledger, if you will. And therefore, the only one who can remove it, is-”

“Another magical bird,” he finished.

“Yep. Because while the divine and the magical may appear the same, they are at best, similar in broad strokes. I do not know much about the arcane, Harry, but you can think of it as the difference between copper and iron if you will. Both are metals, but behave differently under different circumstances….and well, you will have much better explanations from either Chiron or Lady Hecate.” Arcas jumped to his feet, vanishing the goblet. “Anyways, gotta run now. I need to deal with some pesticide-spraying chap from Texas. Take care Harry!”

As Arcas faded away into the wind, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and turned around, walking back towards the camp. His eyes fell upon the disappearing golden dust around him, floating down through the canopy and glittering in the wind…and a thought made its way to his head.

Arcas was just a minor God.

A god, but minor nonetheless. His power, his worship, the absoluteness of his domain…it wasn’t that big in the scope of the whole world. But yet, he had destroyed a thousand monsters effortlessly. What could he do if he exerted himself a bit more? Or went full throttle?

And just what was an Elder God capable of then?

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“Hestia?”

“Yes Harry?” she asked, rising up from her bed in Olympus, her eyes staring through the miles upon miles separating them right into his own as she watched him through her bonfire in the camp, silently willing herself away from her palace to her son in all but blood. “All went well with Arcas?”

“It did,” he nodded with a smile, and she delighted in the way his eyes lit up at the sight of her materializing before him. It was one of the few delights in her existence, that there was someone not even of her blood, and yet he cherished her all the same. Adored her so much that she was moved to tears every time she felt the depth of his devotion, his love towards her. “But he couldn’t remove the curse upon me. Something about how magic and divine energies are different.”

“They are,” she nodded, sitting down on the log as she shifted herself, patting the space beside her. “Both are energies that regular mortals can’t access, and those who can, experience a change in their physiology, owing to the effects they have on the physical aspect of their bodies. When Gaea took her first breath and formed the first organisms, magic didn’t exist as it does now. It was all a mess of chaotic, raw, primordial energies; tidbits, and leftovers from the Cradle that had birthed the world and the first Primordials themselves. However, when Gaea created her own children, she did so with the leftover remains of that energy, mixing in her own life essence with it to create the second-generation Primordials, like Ouranos and Pontus. That mix of Gaea’s essence, with the Void’s chaotic energy, is what created the divine energy we Gods possess, and you do too.”

“This energy,” she continued, looking down at her open palm as she faced it skywards, focusing upon her very essence and bringing the metaphysical into the physical to create a small, minuscule ball of crackling, golden light. It was barely more than a bead, yet, it contained enough power to completely vaporize blocks upon blocks of the mortal cities of today, “it flows through the world unimpeded, and it is what makes us, us. We are as much physical beings as we are conceptual, Harry, our bodies as much flesh and blood as they are raw energy given a form, by our physical birth, as well as the thoughts and prayers of those who have worshipped us.”

“And where does magic come in?” he asked, looking at that golden ball of pure, unadulterated power with fascination, fear, and…hunger, Hestia noted with some trepidation. Ignoring it to be a trick of her thoughts, she slowly absorbed back that power into her, shivering a little as the taints in his were purified by her energy.

“Magic…it was an unforeseen event,” she began again, nodding at him, “When Gaea created the first lifeforms, the world was enriched in the same energy that she had used to create the first Titans, a mix of her energy, and that of the Void. However, what she hadn’t foreseen was that with the creation of Pontus, Ouranos, Aether, and Hemera…the energy from the Void and her changed forms, gaining a different nature with each new Primordial created. And divine beings that they were, they suffused the world around them with those different forms of energy as much as they breathed it themself, forever changing the Universe. This energy mingled with the one that was Gaea’s own, and the little specks leftover from the Void itself, where Chaos had formed the Cradle that created the first Protogenos. And like different pieces of a puzzle fitting together, it became whole, the purest, most raw form of energy after Chaos itself.”

“Then how did wizards manage to tame it?”

“They didn’t tame it, as much as they…evolved with it,” Hestia laughed, a rich, tinkling sound that seemed to instantly fill the whole camp with warmth, as the world around her reacted to her emotions. “This energy was as much a part of the Universe as the organisms created by Gaea were. Bereft of divinity that flowed through her and her children, they were naturally pre-disposed towards the only other source of energy in that young, virgin world. The raw, potent, but extremely malleable energy bonded with their souls, yet, it remained a separate, tangible part instead of what we Divine beings were made with. Chiron explained it to you well enough, but there are secrets of this world that not even he is privy to, wise and knowledgeable though he is.”

“Magic and Divinity, as Chiron told you, appear the same on paper,” she picked up a flower, before it split off into two identical ones, and Harry watched with rapture as they both rose up, floating in the air before his eyes. “But they are both fundamentally different. Divinity is a Gods’, Titans’ or a Primordial’s innate connection to the world in the form of their domains. It is concrete, ironclad, and absolute. Magic, on the other hand, is the purest form of energy; it can be molded and shaped at will by those capable of harnessing it through their souls and bodies. Take Zeus for example, the lightning bolts he creates are absolutely stronger than anything a mortal could create, but yet, Zeus cannot control water, whereas a wizard can do that easily, as well as command a hundred different disciplines. Divinity on the other hand, makes us up as much as our own consciousness does, and thus, we are affected by the world as much as we affect it, but wizards don’t have a relationship with their surroundings. At least not to the same degree we gods have to our domains. Druids and shamans are one’s that are in tune with the natural world around them, but it’s not quite the same.”

“Another difference is in the volatility of these energies. The divine power that flows in us is much more refined than magic, and that is why, while control is important, you can still get away with brute forcing your way through your demigod powers. It is why an unstable thunderbolt will just burst into electricity instead of blowing up or showing any other unforeseen effects. Magic, on the other hand, owing to its raw nature, is much more volatile. That is why wizards pay so much attention to incantations, rituals and intent, as well as use foci. The slightest misstep without proper command and control over the channeling of magic can have destructive effects at best, and fatal ones at worst.”

“Wait…so Gaea was formed from the Chaos?” Harry asked, watching the two flowers merge back into one, before it floated away into the wind, and he turned back towards Hestia. Looking back at the cabin where he had stored his wand in the trunk, he raised an eyebrow and conjured a fireball over his palm, feeling the heat and light wash against his face, “and magic was formed when the excess energy mixed back with other forms of it to return to its original form?”

“That’s…yes, you can say that,” she nodded at his words, understanding that some things…Harry just wouldn’t understand unless he experienced divine power intimately…and that was an experience she didn’t want him to have. Ever.

“Then why do the Gods not procreate with the wizardkind?” 

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“Excited for your second year?”

“As excited as I can be, I guess. Snape is a dick, Sprout is a wallflower,” he frowned, dropping down to the ground before Chiron, keeping the dust and dirt in place with magic as he rose up, “and flying doesn’t feel the same on a broom. Feels like cheating.”

“Being the Sky’s son will do that,” the centaur laughed, before he flicked a drachma at him. “Lord Hermes has gifted this for you, in reward for your last quest I take it. Channel your lightning through it, and this will take you to the edge of the Celtic territory, close to their shores. From there, you are to make your way to the magical district on your own. I am afraid the Celts haven’t permitted a Greek emissary this year.”

“And Hestia?” he asked, looking at the bonfire he could see in the distance, his eyes lingering on the campers lounging about in the morning sun, “Where is she?”

“She had been talking about a cooking show she wanted to attend, so my best bet is she is there,” Chiron answered, giving him a familiar box. “Though that doesn’t mean she forgot about you.”

“I would have died of hunger if I didn’t have them in Britain,” he confessed, almost snatching the box of cookies and confectionaries from the old centaur’s hands, and dropping it into his bag. Giving Chiron a nod, Harry looked up at Abigail, his friend standing in the distance and looking at him with a small smile, with Brandon at her shoulder, “All right guys, see you next year, or maybe at Christmas if I get permission. Have fun you all!”

Giving one final nod to Chiron, Harry looked at the drachma in his hand and his hand lit up with a silent burst of electricity, the smell of ozone wafting through his nose for a moment. The Drachma seemed to suck all that energy into itself, before it glowed a brilliant golden, and the world shifted into a stretched-out kaleidoscope of colors. A moment later, the world righted itself, and Harry groaned silently as he felt his demigod nature be locked away, every bit of divine energy inside him receding into his soul, save for the some just enough to keep him alive. 

Instantly, he felt the loss of strength, muscles capable of bending steel and shattering stone turning into what felt like a joke in comparison, but it was still easier than the last year. The loss of his senses too, hit him like a speeding truck, but after living for so many months in Hogwarts, Harry was somewhat prepared for it. Giving on look at the drachma, he shoved it in his pockets and looked at the sky above, somewhat able to feel the edges of the Greek Territory, before Taranis’ power saturated the region. Sending a prayer at the Celtic God, Harry shifted sideways as a pigeon suddenly flew over his head, and he watched the bird shit splatter on the ground by his feet, before turning his eyes to the sky, “Really?”

His answer was another two pigeons divebombing him.

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It hadn’t taken him much time to find himself in a small town named Westport, from where he had learned that he was in Ireland, instead of Great Britain. Just great. Popping open a can of beer he had pilfered from a shop, he was now sitting upon a rocky outcropping above the small town, looking at the waves crashing against the sea. “Well,” he muttered, standing up and turning around to face eastwards, taking a sip of the beverage and grimacing at the hard taste. The Sierra Nevada was never his cup of tea—or beer, he noted, smacking his lips as he glared at the can in his hand. Flicking his wand into his hand, Harry shivered as he felt a rush travel through his whole body, electrifying and warming at the same time as he felt… something happy at the corner of his mind. Smiling down at his wand as golden sparks shot out of its end, Harry sighed and raised it to his eyes level, “Yep, I am happy too buddy. Now, let’s see about that Knight Bus, yeah?”

Channeling his magic through the wand with the thought of traveling to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry almost jumped out of his skin as a giant, purple triple-decker bus arrived in front of him. Glancing at it over, he looked at the witch that poked her head out of the opening doors, her pointy hat almost toppling to the side. “Well Hello there,” she growled, looking down her nose at him, before she looked at the can in his hands, “Drinking beer are we? Meh, n’er liked that piss. Now, Diagon, Hogsmeade, Ministry, Godric’s Hollow or the Housing district?”

“Hogsmeade,” he muttered after a moment of thought, remembering the brief sights of the magical village, as well as the tidbits he had heard from the seniors, “a Galleon right?”

“Well, a galleon and 2 knuts,” she opened her palm and scowled at him, “Do ye have the change?”

“Sure do.” Throwing the coins at her silently, Harry walked inside the bus, finding himself a seat towards the back, “How quick can we reach there?”

“Oh boy, quick ain’t enough for this baby.”