by Gene Stiles
“I also know this,” Zeus said, taking time to meet the gaze of everyone gathered around him, “should we fail and the Creator deems this is the end of our road, I could not be prouder of anyone than I am of you.”
He said no more, simply rose from the table and left for his private quarters. A wave of shock spread through those behind him. They never realized how much of a toll the loss of Olympia and their current situation was taking on Zeus. If their leader thought so little of their chances, what hope had they?
He made his way to his rooms attempting to hide his despondency behind smiles and kind words, but everyone could almost see the gloom that radiated from Zeus like a thick, black cloud. Once inside with the oak door closed behind him, he sank into his couch like a stone into water. Zeus leaned his lionesque head against one end and stared up at the rough-hewn ceiling. The remorse and responsibility he felt threatened to overwhelm him. Even these quarters filled him with guilt. No extra adornments covered the chipped rock walls. Thick rugs did not cover the barely smoothed floors. A couch, two high-backed, lightly-padded chairs, a couple of small tables and his thick featherbed were his only furnishings. Still, it was more than most. Where others were bunked three and four to a room, Zeus was one of only a handful to have a private living space and bedroom all to himself.
A tentative knock intruded upon his reverie, becoming louder and more insistent when he ignored it. Finally realizing whoever it did not intend to go away, Zeus got up with a heavy sigh and headed toward the door. He opened it to find a fiery-eyed Haleah standing there holding a large flask of wine and two crystal glasses. One look at her stance and Zeus stepped aside and let her in.
“Sit down,” she said sternly, planting herself in a chair and pouring the wine. It did not matter to Haleah that Zeus was twice her size or that he was the leader of Olympia. To her, he was her grandson, the boy her daughter raised as her own, and she would treat him as such.
“I have had enough of you feeling sorry for yourself,” she said, scolding him as if he were still that little boy. Her sky-blue eyes flickered with the vexation written plainly on her oval face. Haleah handed Zeus a glass and sat back in her chair, stretched out her long legs and crossed her ankles. “The people that count on you do not need it nor do you.”
Zeus set his drink aside and hung his head. His wavy, reddish-gold hair fell over his face and hid the dampness forming in his eyes. The curly beard that covered his squared jaw kept Haleah from seeing the quiver of his full, tan lips.
She had walked this earth for hundreds of years. Long before Cronus and the People. In fact, it was Haleah who awoke them from their eons of slumber. If not for her, Atlantis would never have existed and Zeus knew how much she sometimes regretted it. She had suffered more than most.
Because of that and because Zeus knew how much she loved him, only she could still make him feel like a child. It was also only his grandmother who could draw out his deepest emotions. Right now, that feeling was shame.
“I do understand what you are going through,” Haleah said, her tone softening. She leaned forward and reached out to touch his burly arm. “I have been where you are. You take the weight of the world on your shoulders. You believe yourself responsible for every life born and every life lost.”
“I am here to tell you,” Haleah said, slipping her fingers between the hands Zeus clenched between his knees, “you are not.”
She cupped his chin in her other hand and lifted his head to look into his eyes. Her gaze was steady and firm but filled with gentle compassion. “People are born every day who have never heard your name. Others die who never knew you. It is the way of the world - the gift and the curse of the Creator.”
“I do not feel responsible for everyone,” Zeus said, his voice low and full of sorrow. “Just for those who raised me, the people of my city and those who fight in my name.”
He shook his great head slowly and sighed. “So many have died by my command. So many have suffered simply because of my birth.”
“You had nothing to do with your birth,” Haleah countered. “You are here. That is all there is. And, I, among many, are very grateful for that. You bring a shining light into the world. You have given safe haven to those who were homeless and hunted. You rule with love and justice. No one could do more.”
“Haven, maybe,” Zeus said glumly. “But safe haven? My name brings a curse upon those around me. Home was destroyed because of me. Olympia lays in ruins because of me. Morpheus is dead because of me. And now, the people I brought into this bunker may die because of me. How is that a good thing?”
Haleah slapped him hard across the face, startling Zeus, his eyes popping open. Never had his grandmother struck him before.
“Stop that!” she demanded. “Quit blaming yourself for something that your father is doing! Cronus is the one responsible for this, not you. He is the vile creature that has brought darkness and death into this world. It is he who ordered the destruction of our homes. It is the ‘Lord Father’,” she said, her voice spitting out the title, “that killed my beloved. Not you!”
Haleah stood and stared down on Zeus. At that moment, she looked as big as a Nephilim, her stance filled with fire and fury. “Cronus enslaved, hunted and killed my people, the Izon, long before you were even born. His savagery is not your fault. You are just another excuse for his barbarism. Is the horror he has wrought upon the world my fault? I was the one who awoke him? No. No more than saying his vile acts are those of all of the People. Cronus is the one who is broken and twisted. Cronus and Cronus alone. Not you. Not me. Not the People, the Nephilim, the Cro-Mags or the Izon.”
“You may be of his blood,” Haleah told Zeus, “but you are not of his ilk. So get over yourself. End this self-pity. The people need you to be strong, not some mewling child. They need you to lead them, inspire them and give them hope. You cannot do that if you are wallowing in your own regret.”
Haleah reached out and took Zeus by the hand and pulled him to his feet. The strength and determination in her wrapped around Zeus like a brilliant cocoon. “Be the son my daughter raised. Be the man Morpheus and I love. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and be the man your people need you to be. Give them hope and purpose. Be their leader. Be their inspiration.”
Eriktis lay on his massive bunk in the shared quarters, his eyes closed and his breathing soft and steady. He did his best to clear his troubled mind and send his soul into a dreamless void. The ragged breath of the other three Nephilim in the room made a state of serenity difficult to achieve. Each time Eriktis inhaled, he could taste the metallic tang of the overworked air scrubbers and it burned his nostrils. The sound of his Nephilim brothers laboring in their sleep gnawed at his consciousness and ate at the peace he longed to find.
Six weeks of hard labor had still not penetrated the mountains of rock and dirt filling the passageways and Eriktis knew there was little time left for any of them. Even his granite-hard body was growing weak. He barely had the strength left to walk let alone move boulders. The thinning air, slim rations and hard labors were taking their toll on the giants and few of them were of any use these past days. All he and his kin could do was to slow their efforts and conserve what little energy they had left.
“Awaken, my love,” a gentle voice said above Eriktis. He felt a weight sit on the edge of his bed and he opened his misted blue eyes. Loren gazed down on him holding a cup of hot herbal tea in her slender fingers.
“Take a sip,” she said, handing him a large chunk of honeyed bread to go with it. “It will give you strength.”
He sat up and gave her more room at his side. “Thank you, dear one,” Eriktis smiled, accepting her offer. He noted his roommates did not stir even with the aroma of the platter of sweet smelling bread sitting on the table filling the air. He saw the strain in Loren’s dark brown eyes and the concern written on her lovely oval face. He saw the gauntness of her cheeks and could tell she was losing weight. “How are you holding up?” Eriktis asked, leaning his head on he
rs for a moment.
“I am doing well,” she lied, attempting a small smile. He could see her hands trembling and the weariness in her body. “I do not require as much as you do and I work in the kitchens. I have all the food and drink I want.”
Eriktis chose to ignore the little untruth. He caressed her forehead and took a nibble of his bread. “Are we making any progress on the tunnel?”
“Not much more than when you asked yesterday,” Loren responded. She sighed deeply and laid her head against Eriktis’ shoulder. “We are all doing our best, but work is slowing down.” She closed her eyes to hold back the tears forming within. “I am not sure if it is only because we are weakening or because many people are simply giving up. Each day, fewer and fewer people report for the work crews.”
“I wish you had heeded me and left Olympia sooner,” Eriktis whispered to Loren. “You would be safe instead of trapped here with me.”
“With you is where I belong and where I will always be,” she said firmly, wrapping her hands around his muscular arm and kissing his naturally bronzed skin. “Wherever we go, we go together.”
“Where I go now,” he said, bread, tea and iron will infusing his body, “is to help clear the passage. No matter how exhausted he felt, Eriktis would not let Loren die here as long as he still breathed.
Ignoring the quiver in his legs, Eriktis stepped outside and boarded a sled, Loren straddling the seat behind him. As he worked his way through the underground complex, he could not help but notice how quiet the caverns had become. Few people walked the passages or milled about in the common rooms. The conversations he did hear were dull and muted as if speaking, itself, was too much work. It sent a shiver of fear through Eriktis but steeled his determination. His eyes darkened as he vowed to himself that he would never quit as he sensed these others were doing.
He felt that resolve cracking as he reached the end of the tunnel. Eriktis saw the crumpled bodies and heard the moaning, but what frightened him the most was the huge heap of rubble spreading across the floor.
The section the crew was working on had collapsed.
Zeus sat with his back against one wall, his body slumped and his hand laying over a long tear in his side. A river of blood soaked his filthy shirt and spilled into a small puddle near his hip. His reddish-blond hair and beard were nearly gray with dirt and dust.
Eriktis could tell Zeus had a broken ankle by the awkward angle of his foot. He hurried to his friend and knelt down beside him. He put his hand over the bleeding wound and used his waning energy reserves to Lend and stop the flow. Zeus raised his weary head, pain filling his grimly set eyes.
“How are the others?” Zeus asked through gritted teeth, his breath labored.
Loren was making the rounds of the injured and tending to them as best she could. From what Eriktis could see, many had cuts and broken bones, but none seemed to be dying. Only one was moving freely, aiding the others and freeing them from fallen rock and boulders. That was Loki, the first Nephilim and the only giant on the crew.
“We will get them help,” Eriktis said, the golden glow beneath his palm fading as the bleeding finally stopped. “You just rest. What happened?”
“I am not sure,” Zeus responded, his face dark and gloomy. “Maybe we are just too tired. Maybe we did not shore up properly or pulled just the wrong boulder loose. All I know is one moment we were fine, the next, the tunnel crumbled in on us. I heard a faint vibration and felt the ground shift. I only had a second to yell at the men to move.”
“Your warning saved us from much more serious harm,” Loki said as he came over and squatted down. Cuts and scratches showed through the rips and tears in his shirt and breeches and his ebony hair was filled with pebbles and dust. Beyond that and a few cuts marring his high cheekbones, Loki seemed unscathed. He wrapped one hand around Zeus’ twisted ankle and took Eriktis’ hand with the other.
“No let us see what we can do about your leg,” he said, closing his mahogany eyes to concentrate.
Between the three of them, the Lend healed the break quickly. Zeus grunted as the bones reformed but otherwise ignored the pain. The golden glow of Healing surrounded the ankle and reshaped the muscles and tendons until Zeus could once again move his toes. He pulled his friends’ hands away, breaking the link and saving what little strength they had left.
“Thank you,” Zeus said, allowing the two monstrous men to help him to his feet. His foot still hurt and his joint moved with a grudged grinding. “Please send Loren back on the sled to bring a transport and help.”
It took less than an hour to get the fifty-person crew back to the bunker complex so they could be attended to. Loki, Zeus, Eriktis and Loren stayed until all others were gone. Lelantos and Haleah joined them and brought dark red wine and bread. The group had little to say as they stared at the pile of rock and dirt once again blocking their escape. They all knew it probably meant the end of their efforts. So deep was their despair that they almost missed the red glow growing slowly in the center of the heap of stone.
“What?” Zeus muttered, feeling the vibration rippling up his seated hips. He jumped to his feet and yelled out. “Get away from the pile! Another landslide! Get against the walls!”
They ran down the tunnel as the tremors grew. As they stopped to look behind them, the group gasped as a large, angry-red hole appeared in the middle of the mass. The rock turned molten and flowed across the floor in a small river of lava that steamed and hissed. The crimson light burned their eyes with its brilliance in the dust-fogged corridor as they pressed their backs against the rough walls. They covered their mouths to keep from choking from the heat and the stench of melted stone. A bright flash of red passed them by, almost searing their flesh.
As quickly as it began, the beam vanished leaving the group blinded in the murky darkness that followed. Once he was able to see again, Zeus looked up through watery eyes to see a shadowy gargantuan form step through a huge hole in the rubble. He carefully worked his way around the puddle of slag and strode toward Zeus. A breeze of the sweetest smelling air ever known followed him as he stopped in front of the startled group.
“Well, are you just going to stand there looking stupid,” Poseidon grinned, “or are you going to say hello to your big brother?”
The hot, yellow sun poured its welcome rays upon the vast green meadows on either side of the unnamed river flowing next to the settlement now called Haven. Hundreds of canopies of various sizes dotted the water’s edge north of the town. The breeze blowing inland from the azure bay was cool with the sharp tang of saltwater. Large cooking fires sizzled with dripping fats as fresh venison, rabbit and fish rotated on spits above the crackling flames. Huge tables laden with roasted vegetables and sweetbreads sat beneath roofs of brown tarp. Casks of wine spilled their contents into crystal goblets and wooden tankards and warmed the insides of the congregation sitting in chairs and sprawled across blankets spread on the lush, green grass.
It should have had an air of festival with laughing people, joyous conversations and children giggling as they played. It did not. No music played. No one frolicked in the grass. Voices were muted and dour. Food was prepared and served simply for the sake of nourishment. A dark fog of depression and red, seething fury blanketed the gathering, blotting out the warmth of the brilliant sun like the billowing, black clouds of a violent thunderstorm.
“I am sorry it took us so long to get to you,” Poseidon said as he leaned away from the long table beneath the cool shade of the largest baldachin near the river. “Atlantean Birds combed the skies over Olympia for more than a month. We dared not take a rescue party and equipment to the tunnel entrance until they cleared away.”
“I understand,” Zeus nodded, savoring the taste of every item heaped upon the platter in front of him. “I am just glad you came when you did.”
His copperish skin sparkled from the bath Zeus took in the cold river prior to the feast. His curly, red bead was trimmed and clean. The mane of blond-streaked, fire-red hair
surrounded his strong, squared face like the sun’s bright corona. Yet Zeus’ forehead was deeply furrowed and a spider-web of lines was etched around his downturned lips and hooded eyes.
“How did you know we needed saving?” Hera asked after dabbing her chin with a linen napkin. Her emerald eyes glinted like green steel above her darkly blushed cheeks, even though she was incredibly thankful for the best meal she had eaten in months.
“Simple,” Poseidon said, taking a small swallow of his red wine. “It was taking too long for you to join us. I sent scouts to the passageways as soon as possible and learned of the cave-ins inside. Craters caused by the warship missiles dot the landscape and caused rifts along the paths of the tunnels.”
Poseidon shook his head, his enmity clear in his narrowed jade eyes. “They look like dry riverbeds and stretch of miles. The fields around them are blackened and scorched. Wildfires raged for weeks – another reason we could not get to you.”
“It sickens me to see such senseless destruction,” Poseidon said with a growl. He set his tankard down a little harder than he intended, splashing his drink on the polished wood. “We came here to be far away from the machinations of Cronus and to show him we had no interest in taking his crown. There was no reason at all for this barbaric attack.”
“Of course there was,” Demeter said, her words sharp-edged and bitter. Her sky-blue eyes were as cold as a frozen mountain glacier as she swept her gaze over her friends and siblings. “It was done for the same purpose that all of us were imprisoned and banished from Atlantis. Our ‘father’,” Demeter said, spitting the title onto the table, “is a vile, sick madman who fears us because of some stupid ancient prophecy. He requires no other reason.”
“Then it is time we gave him cause to fear us,” Zeus said harshly, standing up and shifting his vision from his brethren to the tense, weary people gathered in the meadows. “We owe it to them,” he said with a wave of his hand, “and to the hundreds of friends, family and loved ones we have lost. We owe it to the cities of Home and Olympia which now lay in smoking ruins. We owe it to the thousands of good people of Atlantis suffering under the yoke of the Lord Father. We owe it to the Nephilim, the Izon and the Cro-Mags being hunted, murdered and abused by his command.”