Colony- Olympian

by Gene Stiles

  “There were also more practical concerns,” Zeus said not only to Hestia but to all those captains and commanders around him. He knew many did not agree with his decision not to advance on Atlantis and he was wise enough to know he needed each and every one of them firmly behind him. “Even with Sirenum down, we do not have the manpower to take the entire Atlantean continent. The forces of Cronus outnumber us easily four to one. He has more warbirds and a greater armada. The only way we can be victorious is to crumble Atlantis from within. To do that, we must have the People behind us.”

  Hades was sitting quietly as the discussion raged. His ebony eyes appeared somber and broody but glimmered beneath his crinkled brow like midnight jewels. He ran a hand over his sharply pointed beard and back to the short braid of onyx hair at the nape of his thick neck. When he spoke, his baritone voice rolled from his oversized chest like a soothing wave.

  “The miners tell me the tactic is working well,” he said calmly. “In the confusion of the blackout, no one noticed the lower levels of the pits retained more power than the rest. They sent words of thanks to you for the warning.”

  Small generators deep in the side tunnels and chambers ten thousand feet below ground were set up in each mine. They were protected from the pulse by the sheer mass of rock above them. The miners were smart enough to keep the lights low and shutters drawn so as to not undue draw attention from above. The generators were mainly used to keep the air vents running smoothly. The temperatures so far down sometimes reached one hundred twenty degrees or more and was thick with moisture. If the air flow was cut, the consequences would be deadly to the workers and their families.

  “My people tell me those undecided were moved by our compassion,” Hades continued as he rose to stretch his long legs. Preferring not to be waited on, he walked to the refreshment table and poured a mug of hot, green tea. He could feel the eyes upon him, knowing he had their attention. He spoke little so when he did his words were heeded.

  “As I predicted,” he said, returning to the others, “the concern of Cronus and city officials were to take care of those above. The mines were ignored for too long. If not for our forewarning, many would have died before aid came.”

  “This is as it has always been,” Hades said, his tone touched with bitterness. “Even with the coalition we created over the years, Cronus still sees the pit dwellers as expendable and less than human. That is why he sends us his criminals and rejects. He forgets just how much he needs what we produce.”

  “Now those unsure of who to support are firmly behind us,” he finished, sitting back down at the table. “When the time comes, all of the mines will rise up and join us. Thousands will be added to our ranks from the very heart of Atlantis. The Lord Father holds them in such disdain, he will never see them coming until it is far too late.”

  “But Sirenum is still a major threat,” Hestia countered, still not placated in the least. Several of the Commanders nodded in agreement, muttering among themselves. “At the very least, we should have wiped it from the earth.”

  “Yet, had we done that,” Zeus replied, not failing to notice the dissention among his leaders, “we would not know what armament is being developed there. In the confusion, we were able to insert agents into the facility. They will keep us apprised and we can prepare adequate defenses. What science can create, science can duplicate.”

  He turned his attention to those unhappy with his decisions. Zeus knew their loyalty was beyond reproach and his orders would be followed implicitly, but he wanted more than that. He wanted these fierce warriors to respect his tactics and to understand his motivations.

  Zeus rose from his chair and leaned his big hands upon the table. His bare, copper-skinned arms rippled with corded muscle and his wavy mane of strawberry blond hair surrounded his head like a Creator-given crown. The dark blue, sleeveless tunic he wore strained against his massive chest as he took a deep breath. His golden eyes settled on each of them, drawing them in. His gaze was stern but held a desire for their recognition.

  “Sirenum is Cronus’ main weapons complex, but not his only one,” Zeus reminded them. “Had we destroyed it as Hestia wanted,” he said, sweeping a hand in his sister’s direction, “we would have had to search for his new facilities. We would have wasted time and may not have been able to place spies inside. I felt it better to deal with the demon we know.”

  He saw a glimmer of comprehension in their faces and knew he was getting through. Even Hestia nodded slightly as the wisdom of his words, at last, seeped past her anger. He could see he was building a consensus and he started to press forward, but before he could say more, the tiers above them broke into an uproar. A burly supervisor ran in their direction, his face black and grim.

  “Lord Zeus,” he shouted above the pandemonium, his blue eyes blazing. “Haven is gone!”

  Palamicus was sitting at the end of a long pier, his line cast far out into the gently rolling azure sea. A soft, salty breeze blew inland and over his old, smile- crinkled face. He dangled his long, skinny legs over the edge, a bucket of fresh, shelled mussels sitting within easy reach of his work-gnarled hand. The bright afternoon sunshine felt good on his darkly tanned skin so he only wore light linen breeches so his narrow chest could absorb the welcomed heat.

  “You know we could catch more fish if we took a boat out to deeper waters,” his grandson said from a spot next to him. The blond, curly-headed young man had the butt of his own cane pole stuck in a knothole in the planks so he could sip on the tankard of iced tea he held in one hand and nibble on the sweetbread in the other.

  “Patience, Colarius. It is not about how many fish we catch,” Palamicus said kindly. “It is more about spending time together on such a splendid day. You need to learn to relax more. You are so busy in the shop, we do not get such a chance often these days.”

  “This is true, Grandfather,” Colarius replied with a smile, having had such discussions before. “I do get lost in my work, especially since you decided to become a lazy man of leisure.” He gazed out at the small piece of driftwood attached to his line as it bobbed on the gentle swells. “And I thank you for pestering me into joining you. I do miss having you around every day.”

  Colarius looked up at the high, wispy clouds drifting across the brilliant blue sky and sighed contentedly. He had to admit it was nice to get away from the heat of the ovens for a while. Sometimes he forgot how much he loved doing nothing more than chatting endlessly with his Grandfather. The man had seen so much in the last eleven hundred years and Colarius would get lost in the fantastic stories he heard of the early times of Atlantis.

  His eyes narrowed in curiosity as he noticed a dark patch against the white clouds far in the distance. Colarius put a hand above his brow to shield it from the sun so he could see better. The odd blotch moved strangely and that is what caught his attention. Maybe a flock of birds, he thought at first, but they flew in a perfectly straight line toward Haven unlike the chaotic flight of seabirds. Colarius was about to say something when his grandfather jumped to his feet, kicking over the bucket and spilling mussels across the dirty, damp dock.

  “Warbirds!” Palamicus yelled, dropping his pole off the end of the pier.

  The old man moved much faster than Colarius would have believed possible. He was halfway down the wharf before the younger man even got to his feet. It was only that which saved his life.

  Palamicus was shouting at the top of his lungs and frantically waving his arms at the people gathered along the shoreline when the first bombs fell. The blast blew him into bloody chunks of flesh and bone that splattered Colarius with sickly vile gore. The concussion tossed the young man off the dock and into the deep green waters with such an impact that the breath was torn from his chest. He floundered helplessly, trying to keep his head above the suddenly churning sea.

  Flaming chunks of wood and shattered stone pelted the once calm ocean, one large piece striking Colarius on the forehead. Stunned, he sunk beneath the water as the surface above
him turned orange and red. His feet touched the sandy bottom in time for him to thrust himself upward into the blazing waves. He gulped in a chest full of hot, life-giving air and swam for the relative safety beneath the dock, wrapping his arms around a thick pylon. Even though his ears were full of silt and seawater, Colarius could hear thunderous explosions and the muffled screams of horror and agony filling the village.

  How long he hung there, his body drenched and his mind swamped with soul-numbing terror, Colarius did not know. His arms refused to let go of the barnacled pillar as if they were part of the sodden wood. It took him some time to realize the pitiful mewling he clearly heard came from his own tight-lipped mouth. He did not even feel the pain of the deep gash on his brow or the stream of sticky, red blood that trailed down the side of his fear-frozen face.

  An eternity later, Colarius let go of the pylon, his quivering muscles no longer capable of maintaining their grip. He dragged himself toward the beach, his knees finally touching the soft, shifting bottom. He laid his face against the shoreline, blowing salty water from his flaring nostrils. His head hurt and the sea in his wounds stung like a thousand hornets.

  The pain vanished as Colarius raised he weary head and stared blankly at the hellish nightmare glowing against the coming of darkness. Haven lay in blazing rubble, not a single building left untouched or whole. It took every erg of energy he had left to crawl up the slight slope to the strip of lawn above the beach. The heat from the burning settlement sapped the last of his strength and Colarius passed out cold, the blackness taking him into its dark, thankfully dreamless embrace.

  Zeus found him there lying in the scorched grass, so still that he thought Colarius was among the dead. The Lord of Olympus knelt down on one knee next to the body and turned him over. Zeus saw the ragged wound and dried blood on the man’s brow and placed a hand upon his chest. He felt a tiny shutter and shouted out for help. Closing his burning eyes, Zeus calmed his breathing and let the glow of Healing seep into the scar. He used just enough energy to make sure the injured man would live then stepped aside so others could lend their aid.

  Fires still blazed across the remnants of Haven even though a steady drizzle of rain fell from the early morning sky. A fog of steam joined the clouds of ugly, black smoke engulfing the village as the drops sizzled on charred wood, flickering flames and overheated stone. Fishing boats floated unmoored in the water, sails and decks glowing redly in the breaking dawn. The river flowing into the sea was muddy with ash and blackened chunks of timber and dotted with twisted corpses and severed body parts.

  Even after hours of careful searching, the contingent from the Sanctuary found only three living souls among the four thousand people who made Haven their home. The stench was sickening and the sight of hands and legs sticking from the piles of rubble made many of the rescuers vomit on the shattered sidewalks as they went about their grisly tasks.

  Zeus stood near where he had found Colarius, his head hung in rage and shame. His black leathers and dark blue tunic were splotched with gray soot and singed from the still falling embers. His wavy red mane was disheveled and matted against his skull as he stared at the ground. The huge fists balled at his sides trembled with the raw emotions seething through his mind.

  “This is your fault!” Hestia snapped as she walked up to stand in front of him. Her body vibrated and her emerald eyes blazed hotter than the fires behind her. “If you had taken Atlantis this would never have happened! I told you Sirenum was a threat that needed to be destroyed. This,” she said, sweeping her hand behind her, “is the result of your inaction! Thousands dead! I hope you are happy with your lofty decisions now!”

  The auburn-haired fury did not await a response. She spun on her heel and stomped back to the line of bodies laid out at the edge of town. At least she would see to it they received a proper burial if she had to dig the graves herself.

  Zeus bit his lip so hard he could feel the taste of blood on his tongue. His sister’s words stung deeply. The thought that she was right cut into his heart like a razor-sharp knife. He felt the bitter tears seep down the corners of his tightly closed eyes and said nothing. What response could there be that would assuage the guilt that racked his soul? He had failed his people again.

  “She is wrong,” Hades said as he placed a hand on his brother’s slumped shoulder. “Cronus did this, not you.”

  “But if I had leveled Sirenum as she said, these people might still be alive,” Zeus whispered glumly. He raised his head and stared at the angry, accusing glow of the dying village. His words dripped like acid upon his chin as he spoke. “If I had hit Atlantis as I did the coast, perhaps it would have given Cronus pause. Perhaps he saw my restraint as weakness.”

  Zeus saw another Home, another Olympia in the crumbled ruins before him. He saw Morpheus, his family, his friends and all those he had lost in the bodies spread out on the grass. These were the ones who paid for his principles while he stood here unscathed.

  “Sirenum is not the only weapons facility in Atlantis,” Hades replied, his tone hard and stern. His black eyes were mere slits beneath his thick, bushy eyebrows. “Cronus would have struck back no matter how long it took. Striking the heart of the empire would only have increased his madness while turning more of the People against us.”

  “Hades is right,” Hera said as she joined her two brothers. She was dirty and wet, her long, midnight-blue cloak clinging to her slender form. Her golden-red hair stuck out in straggly clumps from beneath her hood, but her dark green eyes flashed with sparks of lightning.

  “If there is one thing we all know about our ‘father’,” she said, spitting the title on the ground, “is that his goal is to destroy us no matter how long or what it takes to do so. He will track us across the globe to that end. Anyone that gets in his way or aids us will suffer.”

  “Yet, Hestia is also right,” Hera said, causing Zeus to catch his breath. His golden eyes glared at her as if to defend himself, but she stopped his response with a raised hand.

  “I am not saying this is your fault,” she said, a touch of tenderness softening her harsh words. “This is the Lord Father’s doing. We did not start this war. We want only to live in peace, but Cronus has proven time and again, he will not allow that to happen. He has followed us wherever we go. He has tried to erase our homes and our very lives from the face of the earth. Cronus could not find us this time so he attacked the closest settlement to Olympia. That is why Haven was destroyed. Again, he did this not you.”

  “So in this, Hestia is right. It is time to take Atlantis,” Hera stated firmly. She pointed to the devastation steaming in the rain and met her brothers’ gaze. Her narrow face was as hard as molded steel and her words were as sharp as a freshly sharpened sword. “The only way to protect the innocent and restore peace and justice to the world is to remove Cronus from the throne of Atlantis once and for all.”

  Poseidon walked through the cold, dead ruins of Haven with a small squad of Nephilim following in his wake. The soft wail of the winds had long since cleared the smoke and soot from the air, but his deep green eyes still stung as if filled with burning ash. A blanket of melancholy clouds covered the gray skies as if the sun was too saddened to look down on the desolation beneath it. Charcoal fragments of frameworks poked up through the crumble of stones like twisted skeletons of the beautiful buildings that once graced the shoreline. The whispering breeze cried softly as it slipped through the broken and battered streets and shattered windows, adding to the sorrow filling Poseidon’s heavy heart. He was far away when this horror had occurred and but came to pay homage to the fallen and to strengthen his resolve.

  Kiranimis knelt on the heat-cracked rock in front of the still-standing granite archway that marked the threshold of The Crow’s Nest. His friend, Jolik, owned this tavern and had died within its walls, his charred remains found at his normal place behind the bar. The First Mate brushed away a pile of dried mud and lifted an amazingly intact metal tankard from the debris. He wrapped it reverent
ly in his dark brown cloak and walked quietly away.

  The two men slipped into the roofless cab of their flatbed sled and waited until their eight escorts climbed aboard. Neither man felt much like speaking as they wound their way through the rubble to the eastern outskirts of the ghostly settlement. The forest was far enough from Haven that most of it had survived the fiery conflagration, though the woodlands to the north had suffered greatly. The thick canopy above had kept its secrets hidden from the attackers and the camouflaged docks still held six dusty, undamaged, heavily-armed blade ships floating silently in their unattended berths.

  “If it had not been Restday, the crews would have been aboard when the slaughter took place,” Kiranimis said, his voice choking as they stood on the empty deck of one of the silent vessels, “they would have survived and maybe saved many more by fighting back.”

  Poseidon shook his massive head, his sharply-planed cheeks sunken with grief. His verdant eyes swept over the empty deck and up at the furled sails. “Even though they are miles from Haven, they would never have made it out to sea before they were destroyed,” he replied, his voice sullen and bitter.

  He ran a thick hand through his wavy curls of golden-red hair and sighed deeply. “I know our men,” Poseidon said, turning to place both hands on the teak bridge rail. “They would have tried…and they would have died here as surely as they did in town. If nothing else, their sacrifice gave us more ships with which to seek justice for their lost lives.”

  “Then you agree it is time to take the war to Atlantis,” Kiranimis said, his mahogany eyes glittering beneath his bushy, black eyebrows. His round, rock-like face was as hard as stone as he stared up at his gargantuan Captain.