by Gene Stiles
The blue leather tunic Zeus wore over his breeches was torn, filthy and stained with brown patches of dried blood. His blond-streaked, fiery red hair was flat and matted against his skull and hung in disarray down his broad back. Twigs and pieces of leaves were tangled in his dirty red beard. Still, he stood straight and tall, his corded muscles as hard as the tone of his voice.
“Yes,” Zeus said as he looked out at the lowered heads and tear-marred faces. “We attacked first. However, we fought only Atlantean troops who threatened our homes and those of the people of Nil. We did our best to protect you and your families, to take you away from the fighting and to keep you out of harm’s way. You know this to be true.”
Zeus walked slowly across the ancient tree trunk, his eyes downcast and his eyes narrowed. “What we did not do - despite the Atlantean broadcast - is attack fleeing, helpless citizens. You also know this is the truth. What we did not do was the wholesale destruction of your city from above without care for how many innocents might die in the melee. Cronus did that.”
“The simple truth is that we value human life,” Zeus said, stopping before the captive soldiers huddled together to one side surrounded by Olympian Aam. He stared into their troubled faces and saw the turmoil and anger written in their eyes. “Even the lives of those who fought against us.” Zeus spoke directly to them, his lips terse. “We could have left you imprisoned and let die by the very hand you were loyal to. We did not do that.”
“Olympians believe in justice,” Zeus said, raising his voice so it was carried by the breeze over the throng. “Though like you, I admit to wanting revenge on the man and the city that murdered my friends and wiped out not one, but two places I called home, that is not what I stand for.”
“You have now witnessed the atrocities of the Lord Father with your own eyes,” Zeus said as his golden gaze swept over them. “It is up to you to decide who is to blame.”
“I am giving you the same choices I always have,” he said over the grumbled murmurs rippling through the people. “You are free to go and live your lives as you see fit or you are free to join us and to seek justice against those of Atlantis who have caused you such heartache.”
Zeus turned his attention back to the cowered Azmerizan troops. “As for you, we will not waste our time, supplies or efforts on you. The worse of you have already been punished. The rest of you are free to go.” A collective gasp came from their stunned faces as they mumbled in disbelief. “You also have the same choices as the rest. However,” he added, his face like carved granite, “should you turn your swords against us, there will be no second chances. There will be no trials. You will be put to death without mercy.”
“We move out in two days,” Zeus said, standing with his fists planted on his wide hips. “There is a bigger battle we must wage for justice and the freedom of all mankind. Make your choice.”
Zeus was in the communications tent the following day when the bedraggled group found their way into the encampment. A light, steady rain made a pattering sound on the thick canvas roof and drown out the excited voices of his people until they were almost outside the door. Zeus was startled when the noise reached him and the heavy door flap was pushed open. So muddy and filthy was the drenched man who stepped inside that Zeus did not recognize him at first.
“Well are you going to stand there with your mouth gaping like a fish out of water,” Lelantos said, a wide grin spread across his full, tan lips, “or are you going to get me some hot tea? I am soggy and it is chilly out there.”
Even though Lelantos was only shorter than him by a foot, Zeus rushed to his friend, picked him up and swung him around like a child. “Oh, thank the Creator!” Zeus bellowed, his face glowing like a noonday sun.
“Put me down, child,” Lelantos laughed, pushing against Zeus’ shoulders. “I outweigh you by a hundred pounds. You will hurt yourself.”
“How?” Zeus said and he dropped his friend and gripped his brawny forearm. “I saw the armory explode with my own eyes. How did you survive?”
“I almost did not,” Lelantos replied as Zeus called out for tea. “We were a few blocks away when the bombs fell. A wall dropped on top of me and crushed my legs. I could not move and the fires were close enough to singe my skin. If not for these two men, I would have perished.”
So lost was Zeus in the joy of his friend’s return that he failed to notice the two Nephilim who followed him into the tent despite their gigantic size. “This is Mikalin and Jacob. They dug me out and carried me away from the carnage. I owe them my life.”
Zeus clenched each man by the arm and thanked them profusely. “I owe you much. Ask what you will and I shall see you receive it,” he said gratefully.
Mikalin towered a good two foot over the nine-foot-six Zeus. His sapphire eyes were weary and his long, blond hair was plastered against his tree-trunk back. His clothing was ragged and caked with mud. “What we could truly use is fresh clothing and a hot meal,” he said, his voice sounding like rolling thunder. “After that, a dry place to sleep.”
Jacob nodded in agreement, his mahogany eyes half hooded with exhaustion. “We have almost thirty others with us who need quarters and refreshment as well,” he said, his hand pointing outside. “Do not worry,” he added with a tiny grin. “Only two of them are Nephilim. They will need less room than my brothers.”
After orders for food, clothing and lodging had been given, Zeus sat at a rough, hastily cut table with Lelantos as he wolfed down his third helping of rich venison stew.
“I am sorry it took so long for me to return,” Lelantos said after a loud belch. He wiped the dribbles of thick gravy that had fallen on his chin and took a long swallow of hot green tea. “It took days for my injuries to be Healed, even with the Lendings of those who could spare the energy.”
“Not to worry, my friend,” Zeus replied, chewing on a warm piece of hard-crusted, honey-glazed bread. “I am simply glad you found us in time. We were planning on leaving tomorrow.”
“So I heard on my way in,” Lelantos said with a nod. “Would it be possible to wait a few more days so my people can recover before we move on?”
“But of course,” Zeus replied. “I will contact Poseidon and tell him to await my call before coming near the coast. His fleet remains at sea to the north. We were to meet him within a week then head back to Olympus to regroup. A little longer will cause no harm.”
“Good,” Lelantos said, his eyes going hard and filled with flame. “We have a war to win and I plan on taking the fight to Cronus’ own doorstep.”
By the time they reached the northern coastline their numbers had swelled to more than two thousand. The troops Zeus lost in Azmerizan were more than replaced by hundreds of the city’s furious citizens. All but a few dozen of the released soldiers joined the Olympians, their loyalty to Atlantis destroyed by what they had witnessed. Though they remained unarmed and carefully watched, to a man they were determined to prove their worth to Zeus and to seek justice for their fallen comrades against Atlantis. Their vows and courage would be put to the test sooner than they could imagine.
Chapter X
The city of Merinaus, hundreds of miles south of Azmerizan was in flames. It was not the result of an Olympian attack or any assault by Cronus. No battalions of outside troops fought in the streets. No skyships blasted the buildings from the air above and no warships set the harbor on fire. No cannons pounded the storefronts and no invading force was responsible for the blood flowing freely on the sidewalks.
Merinaus was tearing itself apart.
Haron huddled behind an overturned wagon, a pulse rifle cradled against his heaving chest. He could not stop the waves of terror that sent shivers cascading through his every nerve. His legs shook so badly that he could barely stand let alone run alongside the angry mob rushing by him. If it were not for the frozen fingers that clenched his weapon in a death grip, Haron would have dropped it and curled into a whimpering ball on the sidewalk.
Screams and bellows echoed off th
e wood and stone walls surrounding the young shopkeeper. He could hear the shattering of glass down the block as windows were broken by the rioters coursing through the streets toward the center of the city. Armed with rifles, swords and knives, they attacked anyone blocking their path. Rocks were thrown through windows and torches tossed into open doorways setting the buildings on fire as they passed.
Finally, Haron was able to gather enough strength to crawl into the relative safety of his small grocery store and stumble his way to the office in the backroom. There was a rear entrance to the alleyway through which he could escape if his store was set afire. He locked the door and blocked it with a heavy cabinet. Harod turned his desk over and hid behind the thick oak, his back against the cold granite wall.
“How did this happen?” he muttered to himself, his arms wrapped around his drawn up knees. Only yesterday, he was happy and safe, selling his fresh meats, fruits and vegetables to his frequent customers and those he called friends. Business was good and he looked forward to his marriage to his beloved Rosaline in the spring. Life was good.
Five days prior, a huge caravan of refugees entered Merinaus from Azmerizan to the north. They told of the destruction of their city and the horrors inflicted upon them at the hands of Atlantis and its battle with Zeus. Most were in awe of the Lord of Olympus and spoke of his kindness, but others blamed him for bringing his war with his father to their doorstep. They said they only sought a safe haven and a place to start anew, but as their stories spread throughout the city like a wildfire, it left hatred, fear and fury in its wake.
The taverns, nightspots, eateries and sidewalks boiled with debates of who was at fault and who they should support if and when the war came to their shores. The city cracked like an egg, differences of opinion dividing friends and families, brothers and sisters. Fights broke out and brawls spilled into the streets. The city Aam had their hands full separating the combatants and keeping the peace.
Maybe it would have stopped there if the growing fear had not festered in the minds of the city leaders and the Aam commanders. Tales of Poseidon’s destruction of Azmerizan’s navy drove the sea merchants to demand protection for the port. Farmers on the city outskirts beseeched the council for troops to patrol their lands in case they were attacked by land. Business owners claimed their property deserved the most attention since they were the lifeblood of Merinaus. Homeowners begged for the safety of their families.
However, the council, itself was bitterly divided on whether to side with Olympus or Atlantis. Many said it did not matter. They should follow whoever came to their shores first with the biggest army. For the sake of their city and its citizens, they felt they should capitulate to the stronger forces.
There was one thing they could all agree on though. Merinaus was a small city of only about a hundred thousand people. Their port was limited to trade ships without armament. The city guard had only about two hundred Aam. There was no way those few could protect the entire city and outlying farmland. They sent a desperate request for reinforcements to Atlantis.
“Are you under attack?” the representative of the Twelve had asked them. No, they answered. “Is there an army camped nearby?” No, again. “Do you see a fleet coming your way?” No. “Then you do not need our help,” was the cold reply. “We have more important battles to fight. Let us know if anything changes and we will do what we can.”
Word of the Atlantean response leaked to the people and their outrage grew. In their desperation to appease everyone, the city council made a critical error. They sent out a decree that the farms and ranches be abandoned and the people brought into the city limits. They ordered everyone above the age of thirty to report for conscription into the Aam for the protection of all. Merinaus erupted into chaos.
All over the Atlantean empire, similar divisions began to appear. Some cities and settlements were firmly behind the Twelve and built up their defenses in case of an Olympian invasion. Those with weapons facilities went into overtime to meet the demands of Cronus and their own citizens. Coastal cities with even small shipyards worked at feverish capacity to refit trade ships and cargo vessels with armament for their own protection. Few ships traveled alone for fear of attack even if they were only making short runs to nearby settlements.
Other settlements saw through the lies the Lord Father was telling and found ways to get word of their support to Zeus. Afraid of retributions from Cronus, they kept their preparations secret, building rebel armies and stockpiles of supplies and arms hidden in caches and caves. Most communities did their best to simply keep their heads down, praying their neutrality and limited resources would keep them safe from the war.
Thousands of angry men and women joined the ranks of fighters on both sides of the growing conflict as battles raged across the landscape and the open seas. Neither Atlantis nor Olympia were strong enough to easily defeat the other so with each vicious clash hundreds died and hatred grew.
Cronus was merciless toward any city, settlement or outpost he even suspected of rebellion. Most fell the way of Azmerizan, left as nothing more than blackened patches of ash and embers. The message was as clear as it was brutal. Stand with Zeus and die. Those loyal to the Lord Father were rewarded with wealth, prestige and protection. The backlash of his savagery set many more against him than he could possible realized.
No matter how careful Zeus was to limit his attacks to military targets, he could not stop some collateral damage from happening. With each loss of innocent life, fury toward him and his crusade erupted into angry mobs that harried his troops with rocks, farm tools and hunting weapons. When entering a new town, his commanders never knew if they would be welcomed or driven away by enraged masses.
“We must do something more decisive and soon,” Zeus said as he gazed out at the tranquil turquoise waters of the inland ocean.
They named it the Sea of Sorrows to honor all who died in and around it. Hundreds of miles down the western coastline from Haven lay the crumbled ruins of Olympia. Few traveled there anymore. The burned out husks and shattered stones of the once beautiful city were now only fit for the dead. When the winds blew through the broken windows and cratered streets it sounded as if it moaned in torment. The brave few who ventured there told tales of weeping apparitions that floated through the fog calling out for loved ones long gone.
Even here in the Main House of Haven, Zeus sometimes thought he could hear them wailing in the night. It did not surprise him in the least that the people of the port settlement always seemed somber and uneasy when the night came. Their eyes constantly flitted around them as if watching the shadows for unseen ghosts as they listened for the whispered words of those left behind.
“Atlantis has nearly as many troops as we have,” Hestia said as she studied the maps laid out before her. “Our forces grow with each brutal assault by Cronus. His barbarity has turned city and settlement to our side, but no matter what we do, there are still those who see us as the aggressors. Though the good people outnumber them, the supporters of Atlantis are fanatical in their loyalty and hatred. The Empire is more divided than ever.”
His eldest sister had changed much in the time since Zeus had known her. Hestia was quiet and withdrawn from her horrific abuses at the hands of men when he first found her, Demeter and Hera in the Dire Wolf. Now she was like a firebird, her auburn hair blazing around her long, oval face. Like a phoenix reborn, Hestia was an incredible warrior with an invincible spirit. She insisted on leading her Aam into battle personally, never watching them fight from afar.
“It works to our advantage only in numbers,” Hera said, her voice as hard as the look on her sharp, angular features. Her chipped jade eyes were narrowed and glinted like green ice as she steepled her fingers beneath her pointed chin. “Cronus still has more energy weapons that we do and he commands more warbirds. He rules the air and those bombs of his are impossible to stop.”
Demeter stood in the large kitchen of the Main House supervising the men and women who were serving t
he noontime meal. As the tables were spread with platters of hot, nourishing foods, she gazed out of the window at the fields of maize, grains and vegetables beautiful under the warm rays of the sunshine. She wished she could be out there, her hands dirty from the loamy soil, but she knew none of them would survive if Cronus brought the war to these shores.
So far, the Lord of Atlantis had yet to see this community as a major Olympian base. The occasional surveillance Bird that swept through the skies above them saw nothing but what Zeus wanted it to see – a small farming and fishing settlement. The larger docks for Poseidon’s fleet were well camouflaged with roofs of grasses and brush that made them look like untended fields. Yet, Demeter knew it was only a matter of time before they saw something that would draw his attention. When it did, hell would rain down upon them.
As busy as she was, Demeter heard every word the others were saying. She dried her hands on a soft towel, tossed her long braid back over her shoulder and brushed the few errant strands of golden blond hair away from her crinkled forehead. She nodded in thanks to Bethany as the young woman handed her a cup of hot tea then turned toward the conference table where her siblings stood.
“We need to take the battle to Atlantean shores,” Demeter said, her sky blue eyes hard as stone. She sat her cup on one of the few spots not covered with maps and crystals and leaned on the stained oak table. “So far it has remained untouched. Cronus feels invulnerable there. We must show him he is not. If our goal is to remove him from power, we must take the fight to him.”
“A good thought,” Zeus agreed readily as he pulled up a chair and laid a platter of food on his knees. “However, even the coastal cities are too well protected for us to attack. Cronus has equipped them with the best long-range scanners, plasma cannons and missiles at his command. We could not even get within fifty miles before he knew we were coming.”