by Gene Stiles
“I am not interested in another place,” Zeus replied, placing his hand over the bar of gold. The man looked up as if seeing him for the first time. “You can either direct me or I shall find someone who can.”
“No, no,” the man responded quickly. “My other brother, Villiam, works at the pit. He will take you to the very doorstep you seek.”
“If he does not,” Zeus said, his voice dripping with menace, “I will return for my gold and exact a price for the waste of my time.”
“You have my word, sir,” the man promised, snatching the ingot from beneath Zeus’ slightly raised palm. “You can count on me, sir. Yes, sir, I swear you truly can.”
Once he had what he came for, Zeus made his way back to the tall, silver and crystal spire that rose from the bustling city center where Adrasteia awaited him in their rooms. He would be glad to divest himself of this foolish garb and get back in his tunic and britches. Acting the highborn was not what Zeus preferred, but it aided him in this quest, opening doors otherwise closed. Maybe, just maybe, this time the façade might actually pay off.
It had taken him decades and the following of thousands of dead-end leads, but now, at long last, Zeus firmly believed he had finally found them.
“How did it go?” Adrasteia asked as he stepped into the lavish apartment halfway up the crystal tower. She sat behind a large oak desk near one of the huge glass windows that gave a spectacular view of the city and the ocean beyond, papers, holos and data crystals strewn out before her.
“Very well, Lady Addy,” Zeus smiled broadly, his golden eyes bright and excited. He threw off his short cape and tossed it casually on the long divan near the empty fireplace and pulled up a tan leather chair to sit across from her.
“I told you it is just Addy as long as we are in public. Besides, you make me feel old, which I, assuredly am not,” she smiled sweetly, her lips quirked up to one side. Addy leaned back in her high-backed chair and tossed her loose raven hair over her gently curved shoulders, steepling her long, delicate fingers beneath her slightly pointed chin. Limpid ebony eyes gazed at him aglow with love and a mother’s pride.
She did not look like his mother, though his senior by two decades. The white, lacy cotton shift Adrasteia wore flowed over her voluptuous body in waves, highlighting her sensuous curves, ample chest and narrow waist, but not hiding them. Her trimly muscled, sun-burnished leg slid through the slit on one side of the dress that rose from her ankle to her shapely hip. Her oval face appeared soft and smooth with a pink blush to her planed cheekbones, belying the strength of body, mind and spirit that resided within her.
“We are not in public, Lady,” Zeus responded with a wry grin. He then continued in a more serious demeanor. “You raised me as your own son. The Lady Rhea may be my birth mother, but it is you who taught me the ways of the world, saw to my education and my discipline. I do love her as my flesh and blood, but I will always love and respect you in ways she will never receive.”
“Thank you, little man,” Adrasteia returned kindly, using an old nickname that was now far from the truth. Zeus towered over her by two head lengths. “And I you,” she smiled, “but there is no need to inform the world I am old enough to be your mother. Now, what have you learned?”
“The Dire Wolf is located in an old copper mine about thirty miles northwest of the city,” he told her, returning to the matter at hand. “It is a tavern and bordello located on the fourth level of the pit and, if our information is correct, my sisters now run the place. We shall know on the morrow.”
“If your sisters run the establishment,” Addy queried, “why have they not left by now?”
“I think they have forgotten who they are,” Zeus said bitterly, his wide brow furrowing, his lips down-turned and tight. “What they must have endured in such a foul place.”
“It has been over a century,” Adrasteia said gently, reaching across the desk to clasp his large hand between hers. “You must forgive them for whatever they might have done to survive.”
“I shall,” he nodded, returning her grip for a moment. “I shall not, however, forgive Cronus for imprisoning them there. Only the Creator has the mercy to do that and I doubt He will.”
“No matter if they have forgotten,” Addy assured him, “we shall remind them and bring them home. I promise you this.”
The Dire Wolf had changed radically since Moretta died in an accidental explosion some eighty years ago and her charges had taken over. The chipped and peeling paint and the old wooden façade was replaced with a marble veneer over hard granite. The lewd and lascivious paintings on the pitted stone walls were gone. Steamy, sensual statues and masterpieces of seductively erotic artwork now adorned panels of polished oak and cedar. The rooms upstairs were renovated with soft beds, posh couches and gilded chandeliers. The girls who worked there were incredibly beautiful and taught every tiny nuance of lovemaking. They were treated well, protected from a client’s baser instincts and retained a higher percentage of their earnings than in any other establishment in the city. A small army of Aam security, still led by the indomitable giant, Brock, kept out the riff-raff and kept the blood from the floors. Yet, they treated everyone with the same respect, whether they were common miners or highborn visitors from the Silver City.
“A good crowd tonight,” Brock rumbled, running a bear-sized paw over his freshly shaven, boulder-shaped skull. His sapphire eyes glittered in the flashing lights surrounding the packed dancefloor, constantly scanning the throng of patrons for signs of trouble. Nothing escaped his menacing steely gaze whether it be overly intoxicated individuals, the beginnings of discord or the positions of his roving guards.
“Yes,” Hera replied, raising her voice to be heard over the loud, pulse-pounding music, her thin, pink lips sternly set in her oval, sharply planed face. Even when she was happy, a true smile rarely graced her hardened, severe beauty. “A very good night.”
Though the youngest of the sisters, her quick, intelligent mind grasped the concepts of business and human nature faster and more accurately than they. Sheltered from the despicable desires of men by Moretta and her older sisters for the much of her younger life, Hera was left to observe, studying the subtleties of human nature and the nuances of desire as one would study a book of wonders. She kept her ears open and mouth shut as she cleaned floors, latrines and glasses. She listened to every muted conversation and the screams of passion behind closed doors. By the time her turn in the bedrooms came, she knew exactly how to please…and how to extract information.
Hestia was the first to be turned out once she could no longer hide her extraordinary beauty and sensuous shapeliness. Her flowing locks of auburn hair shimmered with a natural luster that highlighted her stunning green eyes and thin, ruby-red lips. The boyishness slenderness of youth gave way to a body filled out with generous, athletic curves, well-muscled from years of hard labor.
Vile, filthy, lecherous men leered at her as she hurried about her duties, making obscene gestures and shouting out coarse, salacious suggestions. Moretta licked her lips at all the attention her ward received, seeing an opportunity she could not pass up. Soon a bidding war began for the chance to deflower the young, virginal maiden. When the price exceeded the amount the Dire Wolf made on a good night, even the Creator, Himself, could not save the shy, demur Hestia from her horrific fate.
The beast that bought her was savage and cruel, tearing into her nubile flesh as if starving for sustenance. She screamed and wept, trying vainly to fight as she was ravaged in every way possible, her cries only exciting the animal all the more. He beat her to near unconsciousness, leaving her smooth skin blemished with huge patches of black and purple bruises. Somewhere amid the torturous pain, Hestia passed out, unaware her barbarous, merciless debasement continued unabated all night long. In the morning, she was dragged from the sickly soiled bedsheets and returned to Moretta’s house to give her time to Heal.
Demeter learned from her sister’s ghastly, hideous experience, swearing it would neve
r happen to her. She willingly gave herself to a handsome young Aam guard who treated her kindly, never telling him she was a virgin nor showing him the pain that first time caused her. When Moretta found out, she was furious and had the man brutally killed in front of her.
After a while, Demeter embraced the life she could not escape. She used her golden-haired beauty and sparkling blue eyes to beguile and seduce the men around her, exacting large tips for her amorous attentions which she carefully hid from her employer. She wore sheer, sexy clothing that barely hid the fullness of her chest, slender waist, curvaceous hips and her long, naturally tanned legs. Demeter enticed them to tell her their deepest desires and the secrets they kept buried in their souls. Quickly becoming the most requested woman in the Dire Wolf, she waited and learned, keeping covert diaries on every high-placed man she met locked away behind hollowed out stones in her room.
When the time came, the three women used all they earned and all they had learned to buy, bribe and blackmail their way into a better life for themselves and the men and women who worked for them. Hera ran the operation and grew the reputation of the Dire Wolf into what it was today. Hestia retreated into a world of her own, rarely speaking, content to control the stocks and supplies of the business, ensuring the highest quality of trade goods they needed to make their club the best in the city. Only Demeter still took pleasure in working with the other women in the rooms upstairs, using her Creator-given charms to keep the sisters constantly aware of the changes in the world above them. With Brock’s help, they all learned the arts of the warrior as easily as they learned the arts of seduction. No one would ever harm them again.
“Who is that?” Brock inquired, his narrowed eyes noting every person who graced their doors, his iron-trap mind catching every detail. “Those are faces I have never seen before.”
“How could you possibly remember every patron we have ever had?” Hera replied with a snickering chuckle, broken from her reverie by the coolness of his voice, but knowing better than to doubt his word. She gazed up at the man and woman worming their way through the gyrating crowd, immediately seeing what had drawn Brock’s attention.
The woman seemed to slide between the dancers like water over pebbles, barely touching the seething flesh around her. Waves of midnight-black hair flowed across her wide, slightly curved shoulders, catching the flashing lights as a still mountain lake would catch the starlight. It was held from her softly-planed, high-cheeked, incredibly beautiful face by a circlet of richly tooled red leather. The pleated crimson shift she wore fell to just past her shapely hips, belted at her slender waist by linked circled disks of etched silver clasped together in the front by a single, larger buckle embossed with a giant, ornate tree. Britches of blood-red seemed molded to her long, strong legs, stopping mid-calf beneath knee-high, black boots.
The man was stunning. Almost as tall as the nine-foot-eight Brock, his fiery mane of reddish-gold hair cascaded loosely over his square, broad shoulders, stopping just below the middle of his powerfully muscled back. His strong, square-jawed features looked as if they artistically sculpted by the hand of the Creator, Himself, drawing the admiring eye of every woman in sight and the green-eyed envy of many a man. The billowed sleeves of the deep-water blue blouse, he wore beneath an Aam-black leather vest barely contained the rippling sinews of his massive arms. Fastened at his overly-thick wrists, the shirt was open in a wide V down the front of his lightly laced vest, exposing the blanket of abundant, soft red curls that graced his chiseled chest and carved abdomen. Tree-trunk legs hid beneath pants of soft, onyx leather and black boots that rose over his strongly muscled calves. He moved with the feline grace of the warrior-born, splitting the tide of bodies around him like the bow of a mighty, high-prowed ship.
The most disconcerting thing about them was not their looks, but how they steadfastly ignored the attention they received, their eyes solely on the bar where Hera and Brock stood. The moved with relentless, resolute purpose, allowing no other distractions to hinder their progress. Roused and disturbed by their straight-forward path and the alarmingly deadly way they moved, Brock raised his hand and three of his Aam hurried to his side. He shifted his bulk in front of Hera automatically, protecting his ward and the woman he secretly loved from any possible attack.
“We mean you no harm,” Zeus said, his palm raised in greeting, a warm, friendly smile peeking through his full, red beard. He stopped just within range to be heard over the loud music and the babble of the crowd. Zeus noted the movement of the guards and their placement around him with the off-handed awareness of his training, careful not to appear a threat.
“We would like to speak with the proprietors, if we may,” Adrasteia smiled kindly. “We have come a long way to meet them in person.”
Ignoring the scowl on the face of the gargantuan in front of her and the dark-haired beauty behind him, Adrasteia stepped forward and placed her hands on the man’s shoulders. Her limpid, raven eyes twinkled as she met his holding his gaze so he could see the truth of her words. “Please grant us an audience, kind sir,” she said pleasantly. “I promise you they will want to hear what we have to tell them.”
Brock glanced over his broad should, silently questioning Hera and awaiting her decision. Her curiosity peaked, she responded with a simple nod. He returned his steely-eyed scrutiny to the strangers standing calmly before him. With a glance at his men, Zeus and Adrasteia were patted down and searched for weapons. They submitted willingly and without comment. Not even the smallest blade being found, Brock cocked his head, motioning the pair to follow him, three Aam trailing behind them.
Hera was already seated at a large teak desk in her spacious, richly appointed office when they arrived. Plush, brocade chairs sat across from her in the well-lit chamber, the walls gilded in embossed gold, tapestries of the life above hanging from ornate hooks. Polished walnut beams held the vaulted ceiling high above them, erotic statues of smooth granite sitting on pedestals in niches carved into the walls. A chandelier of crystal glowed above, casting bright rays of light that reflected off the panels surround them. In the center of the room, a round, luxuriously padded couch encircled a sunken seating area, a short round table in the center.
“Will your other sisters be joining us?” Adrasteia asked softly, taking the offered chair across the desk. “What we came here to say should be heard by all of you.”
“It will be a few moments,” Hera responded suspiciously. “They are otherwise occupied. In the meantime, I would like to know why you are here.”
“We are here to bring you home,” Zeus replied compassionately, his great heart bursting with joy within his chest. The chamber when as quiet as a tomb as he spoke his next words. “I am your youngest brother, Zeus, sent to find you by our mother, the Lady Rhea of Atlantis.”
“It has been nearly a hundred and twenty years,” Hestia said bitterly, curled in a tightly knotted ball, her knees drawn to her chest on the flowered couch. “If we were so important to her, why did it take you so long to find us?”
Except for the ever-present Brock, the Aam guards were gone, leaving Adrasteia and the siblings in private. Plates of venison in rich brown sauce, steamed, seasoned potatoes and vegetables, sharp yellow cheese and fresh-baked bread sat upon the table before them, nibbled at as they spoke.
“The creature who is our father killed everyone involved in your kidnapping,” Zeus responded harshly, sipping on a tankard of strong, dark ale. “He left no trace of a trail for us to follow. Only whispers remain. Few dare speak your names. But, the Lady Rhea never abandoned you nor gave up the hope of finding you. The People are spread out all over the planet these days. I have spanned the globe in search of you, following the slightest clue and pursuing the most minor rumor as to your whereabouts.”
“Even if your story is true, what does it matter anymore?” Hera asked flatly, staring coldly into his golden eyes. “We have survived and endured. This is our home now.”
“Are you truly happy here?” Adrasteia resp
onded gently, her long fingers reaching out to touch Hera’s knee. She pulled her hand back quickly, noting how the woman recoiled at her touch. “The world above is incredibly beautiful and filled with unimaginable wonders. There is no need for you to remain swallowed up in the darkness of this pit. You have three brothers and a mother who loves you and yearns to see the amazingly strong women you have become.”
“We spend as much time above as we care to,” Demeter interjected. “We have seen the Silver City and the open sky. Out there, we are just three of many, no different, no better. Here,” she said with a wave of her hand, “we rule.”
“Is ruling what you honestly desire?” Zeus bit back at her astringent tone. “If so, you should know I intend to destroy Cronus and his Titan council. I intend to make him pay dearly for his treatment of not only us but of all the races of man. I intend to bring light and justice to all who share this planet. Together, we can make this world a haven for all, a place of peace where all are treated with respect and equality.”
“Why do you need us then? If you can do such a thing, three more women should make no difference to you,” Hestia responded, her jade eyes cutting into his flesh like a sharpened blade.
It broke his agonized heart to find his sisters in such a rancorous, acrimonious state. Zeus met her judgmental stare, not even trying to hide the dampness of tears forming in his shimmering aurelian-colored eyes. His mighty chest heaved with a heavy sigh as he dropped his gaze to the twisted knuckles entwined between his knees. How could he get through to them after all they had suffered? Zeus pondered silently for a few moments then raised his eyes to settle briefly upon each of their embittered faces.
“This is not at all how I pictured this moment in my mind,” Zeus whispered more to himself than to anyone else.
“Love is a strange thing,” he continued, his voice choked with the hurt blazing deep within him. “Even though you were long gone by the time I was even conceived, I have always felt an emptiness in my soul without you as if there was a part of me missing. Mother told me endless stories of you, of your kindness, your joyous laughter and the warmth of your hearts. She instilled in me a burning desire to find you, to save you from whatever prison you might be held in and to reunite our family within one house.”