by Gene Stiles
“Here they come,” Lelantos whispered from a pool of darkness to his left.
“Now,” Zeus ordered, setting his rifle on the back of a long, heavy couch.
The Atlantean forces had done exactly as Zeus predicted. They surrounded the Main House from every street and boulevard, planning on trapping their prey within. Men flitted across doorways and open courtyards, but stayed well out of range, hiding from the deadly bows behind thick limestone walls.
All of the bows and aeros were in the armory below, though. Lelantos did not want them falling into the hands of Iapetus and, thus, Cronus. He wanted to keep the design as secret as was possible after their use in the siege of Olympia. The warriors were all armed with CL and pulse rifles only.
As Iapetus slid the plasma cannons and the big CL guns into position, Zeus and his companions laid down a sporadic and scattered field of fire. Running from window to window and door to door, the men grabbed the weapons lying against the walls and sent beams of red and blue death at the well-protected legion. It gave Iapetus the impression there were a hundred fighters inside instead of only a handful.
When Zeus saw the awesome firepower was set and in place, he ordered one more round then yelled, “Retreat!”
“Level the place,” Iapetus commanded coldly. His black, flinty eyes watched dispassionately as every weapon at his disposal hammered into the last stand of the Olympian. When he was finished, only a pile of molten rock, burning timber and shattered limestone remained.
After sending squads into the smoking ruins to ensure nothing lived, Iapetus dusted his hands off on his leather breeches and turned his back on the fallen city. Not knowing how the armada had been destroyed, he ordered his men back the way they had come. The supply ships and troop transports still at sea were commanded to meet what was left of the army back on the southern beaches. Days later, they were sailing back to Atlantis.
Poseidon and his last four ships limped into the deep harbor five hundred miles north of the wreckage of Olympia. No fanfare met them on the docks. No cheering crowds lined the crushed dirt roads or threw flowers at their feet as they walked glumly toward the wooden fortress a mile from the shoreline. Quiet, sullen faces watched the parade of haggard, despondent sailors from doorways and open windows, barely nodding at them as they passed by. Bitter tears streaked the cheeks of the silent people of the small settlement as they saw how few of their men and women returned alive. They all knew it meant that bright and shining Olympia was gone.
“Do they live?” Raet asked softly as Poseidon sagged into an overstuffed, black leather couch in the huge gathering room of the fortress.
“I do not know,” he replied, spent and dejected. “I simply do not know.”
Epilog
“I should have done more,” Ra said, his long waves of golden-blond hair falling over his wide, flat shoulders like a softly moving cape in the light breeze. His sky-blue eyes shimmered in the late afternoon sun as he hung his head in shame. “I am so devoted to our own city, our own people and our own cause that I allowed the mad Lord Father to destroy a peaceful, beautiful society. Will the Creator ever forgive me?”
“You cannot police the entire world,” Isis replied gently, though her emerald eyes were as hard as the tightly drawn lips above her slightly pointed chin. Her legs curled beneath her on the wide, leaf-patterned couch as she sipped on her dark yellow tea and looked out upon the beautiful, bustling city below her. “Cronus has enough power to match our own even though we use the ancient Cydonian technology the Nillians brought with them. A direct confrontation between Atlantis and Nil would result in the utter annihilation of both societies.”
“Maybe,” Ra conceded with a dejected nod. The white linen skirt that wrapped his waist and fell to his knees was cool against his darkly bronzed skin in the heat of the sun. He absently ran a finger over the golden threads woven into the fabric, tracing their paths along his muscled thighs. “But it is also possible that the combined forces of Nil and Olympia could have brought his tyranny to an end or, at the very least, prevented him from destroying Zeus.”
“And for what?” Raet lay upon a red brocade sofa, resting against one end, her suntanned arm stretched out along the thickly cushioned back. A shift of green pastel crossed over one shoulder and draped her slender, but sensuous body all the way to her mid-thigh. The light material clung to every curve in such a way as to expose just enough and hide the rest. Her luxurious, raven-black hair fell over the arm of the divan and rested on the lacquered wooden planks of the gazebo. Her stunningly beautiful, oval face glowed a dark cinnamon in the light from her smooth forehead to the rounded tip of her chin. She lay in a sexually enticing pose that drew glances of desire from the people passing by on the terrace pathway. One look at her huge, Nillian-like, almond-shaped, hazel eyes stopped even the most courageous from looking too long.
Her small, ruby-red lips were pinched together as she spoke, the pain and anger plainly written in the flush of her high, sharp cheekbones. “To free Cronus from some stupid ancient curse? To protect our precious Message?” Raet stared accusingly at Ra, her mouth quivering, her eyes dampened by the swirl of dark emotions filling her heart. “How dare we call ourselves civilized when we stand by and allow such a horrific travesty to occur?”
Her bitter tone stung Ra for he felt much the same. His jade eyes darkened in his chiseled features, but he said nothing. How could he condone sending Raet alone to aid Olympia when he could have gone himself or provided the air power at his command? Was the Message so important? It would take centuries for it to bear fruit. Was the long-term survival of humanity worth the destruction of the here and now? Ra might have to re-think his priorities.
“In truth,” Ra said, giving himself the only feeble excuse he could think of, “I did not know Atlantis had explosive missiles. That tech is primitive compared to plasma and Condensed Light weaponry. Who could have realized how horribly effective it still is? Had I known, I may have responded differently.”
“May,” Raet snapped back irately. “Only may?”
“You do know Cronus will come for us next,” Astraeus said bluntly. The broad-bodied, heavily muscled man sat on a soft-leather lounge chair, his humongous feet stretched out on a padded ottoman. His ebony skin was lightly beaded with a soft sheen of perspiration in the heat of the day where it was exposed beneath his brown, deer-hide shift. Astraeus leaned on his brawny elbow, his black, curly beard resting on his knuckled fist.
“Cronus will not forget we sent Raet to aid Zeus and Olympia after we vowed to would remain neutral,” Astraeus continued tersely, his rich, brown eyes narrowed and steel-hard. “On top of that, he covets all that we have from our advanced Cydonian technologies to the very land and natural resources we stand upon. He will use our intervention as an excuse to assault us as he used the fabricated attacks by Zeus on Atlantis to destroy his own children. That insane creature will risk his entire empire to seek revenge at any cost.”
“This I know,” Ra replied harshly. He looked up at the solid gold capstone on the peak of the Great Pyramid, seeing both its beauty and its promise for all mankind. Finally admitting it to himself and to those around him, Ra said fiercely, “I was wrong. If only I could, I would send all we have all the forces of Nil to join Olympia. It was a mistake not to do so.” He raised his eyes to the bright azure sky and pleaded not to his companions, but to the Creator. “Please forgive me. Now it is too late. Zeus and his brethren are dead.”
“Zeus is hard to kill,” Raet said, her eyes on the fisted hands in her lap. “Do not count him out as yet. He just might have survived.”
“And if he did,” Ra promised grimly, “all the power and resources of Nil will be behind him.”
The celebrations in Atlantis lasted for five days. The city lights blazed throughout the warm nights. The streets were filled with music and swarms of jubilant people, dancing drinking and celebrating the defeat of the enemies that had attacked their beloved city. The only establishment that did not join in t
he festivities was the Wind Song. Hyperion sealed its doors and closed the shutters on top of its twisted spire so the chimes could not add to the canopy of sound resonating from the dead, granite walls of the city.
Carefully edited footage of siege of Olympia was continuously broadcast throughout the empire. To see those images, one would think the battle was led by the indomitable forces of mighty Atlantis who heroically stood while the savage Zeus, his siblings and the gigantic Nephilim slaughtered thousands of men and women. Iapetus was seen offering parley which the evil Olympians refused to accept.
Admiral Denarius was elevated to near sainthood, his well-known depravities all but forgotten. Magically, there were holos of gargantuans hurling massive boulders down upon peaceful Atlantean supply ships with their bare hands. Denarius and his ill-fated fleet perished only after destroying these monsters and going on to level the evil Olympia, three ships fighting valiantly against an entire armada. A statue in his honor was planned for the city park.
The Lord Father attended many events. He was seen smiling benevolently as he thanked his troops and bestowing upon them great rewards for their defense of the empire. He rode in huge parades not only in Atlantis but in every major city of the realm, waving kindly at the massed, happy citizenry. Cronus bathed them in compliments of gratitude for their support and opened warehouses of ale, wine and food for countless banquets. Every person in every town, settlement or city was gifted in some small way, making them feel as if they had a direct hand in the defeat of the vile children of Cronus who sought the fall of their sacred society.
And always at the Lord Father’s side was the mightiest of them all, the Lord Commander, Iapetus. Few noticed that the towering pillar of a man never smiled. Those who did, believed it to be only his humble way of honoring his fallen soldiers instead of himself. They praised him for it and spread stories of his great victories. Adoring women surround him wherever he went, offering their own kind of reward for his service to country. He quietly but sternly rebuffed them all.
Within his troubled soul, Iapetus knew he did not deserve their worship or gratitude. He was a monster. On his orders and by his hand, men, women and children were slaughtered. Hundreds of Atlantean soldiers lay in broken heaps or clouds of ash. A city once beautiful now lay in smoldering ruins. The Lord Father’s finest warships rested on the cold ocean floor. This was the terrible cost of ensuring the safety and survival of Atlantis.
His devotion to his brother, Cronus, was shaken but not diminished. Still, he knew the reality of the stories. The exaggerated truths and blatant lies burned his deep sense of morality. Iapetus watched his brother beaming with pride as he strode among the People and spread the falsehoods. He found himself wondering if Cronus could deceive the empire so easily, did Zeus really attack Atlantis and did the Nephilim commit the atrocities of which they were accused or were those, too, just fables created to give the Lord Father an excuse to kill his own children. Doubt gnawed at his soul and Iapetus felt dirty.
Conspicuously absent from the tour and celebrations were the rest of the Twelve. The People noticed but did not speak of it except in the darkened alleys, off-street taverns and within hidden conclaves where the rebels decided on their next moves. They knew it meant the other titans were against Cronus and it gave them hope. The loss of Zeus and his siblings did not break them. It gave them martyrs to worship and fight for. They were far from beaten.
“Why look so glum?” Cronus said, a cool breeze ruffling his curly mane through the open window of the transport. His handsome, strong face simply radiated in the bright sunshine. His emerald eyes sparkled and his hardened muscles were relaxed and calm for the first time in decades. He appeared the brother Iapetus remembered of old before the bouts of madness twisted his mind and his fears tortured his sleep.
“Forgive me, Lord Father,” Iapetus replied, gazing out at the deep green forests passing by as the cavalcade traveled toward its next destination, his mind thousands of miles away. The sweet, fragrant aromas of the fields of wildflowers did not comfort him. They only reminded him of the stench of burning flesh.
“Lord Father?” Cronus said, one yellow-red eyebrow arched upon his brow. “Why so formal? We are alone here, brother.”
Cronus laid a brawny hand upon the bronzed shoulder of his Second. “You have done well. Thanks to you, the Prophesy shall ever come to pass. I am free to strengthen the empire and prepare us for the next threat.”
“And what threat is that?” Iapetus asked. His ebony eyes went flat as he turned to his brother, an ominous stirring curling in the pit of his stomach. “The rebellion is quelled, shattered without Olympia to back them. There is no Zeus for them to rally behind. They are powerless.”
“Do not dismiss them so easily,” Cronus replied, his light mood dropping as quickly as the smile on his bearded face. “They are still traitors and we shall root them out and destroy them. But they are not the menace I refer to.”
“Then who?” Iapetus felt acidic nausea churning in his belly. He already knew the answer.
“Ra,” Cronus said, a burning hatred flashing in his chipped-jade eyes. His words became as hard as granite, his tone grim and harsh. “He showed his true colors in Olympia. It is only a matter of time before he decides to take on Atlantis. I will not allow that.”
“Ra has tremendous power,” Iapetus warned. “Just one of his armored people wiped out hundreds of our troops. How many more does he have? We do not have the might to stand against him. It would be suicide.”
“Not yet,” Cronus responded coldly, his face turning toward the passing scenery. “But soon. Very soon. And now that Zeus is gone, we can concentrate on our final enemy. The world will be Atlantean. All of it.”
But Zeus was not gone. Deep underground, beneath the charred ruins of Olympia, the children of Cronus gathered in one of the many giant caverns carved in the limestone bedrock. The vast warren of chambers and tunnels were created for just such a contingency. Stocked with weeks of food and supplies, this temporary tomb protected the survivors of Olympia until they were sure the invaders were gone.
“It has been a full month,” Zeus told the multitudes gathered before him. He stood upon the raised dais, his hands gripping the sides of the oak podium as if it might flee from his grasp. His golden eyes blazed as hotly a noonday sun and his granite-carved muscles struggled against the sleeveless leather tunic he wore. “There has been no sign of the Atlanteans above us for most of that time. It is time we return to the Sanctuary.”
On his right, Demeter, Hestia and Hera nodded their assent. Dressed in leather battle gear and armed to the teeth, his sisters looked like avenging angels, beautiful to behold, but terrifying to gaze upon too long. At his right, Lelantos and the gargantuan Nephilim, Anak and Eriktis stood like carved stone statues, their lips set hard, their eyes as dark as night. Vengeance rippled through every sinew of their mammoth bodies and radiated out over the crowd.
“We will rebuild high in the mountains,” Zeus continued, his rich, baritone voice echoing off the cavern walls. “We will heal and we will grow stronger.”
“No matter how long it takes,” he promised the angry throng, “we shall punish the vile, barbaric people who destroyed our home and our revenge shall be horrible and sweet but also just.”
“Cronus wanted war,” Zeus roared once the furious cheers died down. “Then war he shall have. And this I vow, it will be the war to end all wars!”
The End