Colony- Olympian

by Gene Stiles

  So many lives lost and for what? So the Lord Father could claim a victory in the war against his son? Zeus and his siblings were not even on the island. Yes, the Heliseous base rightly belonged to Atlantis and, yes, it would serve well as a launching point when they eventually found the new Olympian capital, but these enemy soldiers were the most ferocious and well-organized fighters Iapetus had faced so far. The warrior in him could not help but respect them. He knew as surely as the sun rose in the east that the only way to take the harbors was to use warbirds to bomb them into oblivion. That would make them and their shipyards useless.

  “This has to stop!” Iapetus muttered to himself as he landed at the camp. “No matter what my brother might want, this must stop.”

  No one impeded the march of the Commander across the trampled paths leading to the shoreline. One look at the midnight black face told them to do so would result in grievous bodily harm. Even the most courageous among them gave Iapetus a wide berth. He jumped aboard a small, powered skiff and raced across the irritatingly placid ocean to join Cronus aboard the armada’s flagship. He stomped his way across the sea-dampened decks, his body vibrating with the fury inside him. ‘I will make him listen,’ he thought grimly. ‘I will not let his hatred crush our people again.’

  Cronus was scanning the latest reports when Iapetus burst into the chamber. He glared at the brazen intrusion, the crashing of the door startling him enough that he spilled his tea down the front of his black leather vest. The sting of the steaming liquid upon his bronzed chest went unnoticed as his temper flared. His emerald eyes blazed like green fire as he stared at Iapetus.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he asked with a rumbling growl. The hand that had immediately gone to the hilt of his sword relaxed somewhat, but the anger written on his face did not.

  “We must speak,” Iapetus said bluntly and without preamble. He swept his raven eyes over the Captain and crew huddled around their consoles in the conference room, his tone brooking no argument. “Alone. Give us the room.”

  Cronus bristled at the order until he noted the unbridled fury etched on the rock-like features of his normally taciturn brother. He looked at the others gathered around him, seeing the indecisiveness in their widened eyes. He raised one fire-red eyebrow at Iapetus and nodded silently at the Captain. Once the chamber was clear, he turned his riled irritation on his Second.

  “How dare you tromp in here and give commands?” Cronus said, his voice low and menacing. His hands clamped the edge of the teak table as he leaned forward. His eyes were mere slits above his rage-blushed cheeks and his tanned lips cut a harsh line across his square-jawed face. The golden crown of Atlantis encircling his mane of red curls caught the light coming in through the stern windows and sparkled like a brilliant corona around his hard-lined features.

  “I dare because I am the only one who can,” Iapetus replied, not backing down before his brother’s seething wrath. He met the heat of Cronus’ words with a wall of ice and stone, unperturbed by consequence. “What we are doing here is madness. We came here with fifty thousand troops. We have lost almost half of them. It is time to admit defeat and retreat to Atlantis.”

  “Defeat?” Cronus shouted, the muscles of his arms rippling with vehemence. “We are not defeated! I am the Lord Father! I could pulverize these cities at a moment’s notice!”

  “Yes, you could,” Iapetus snapped back, leaning on the table, his block-like face close to his brother’s. “But to what purpose? You want the ports and shipyards. Destroying them gives you naught.”

  “Yet, it would keep them out of the hands of Olympus,” Cronus retorted savagely. “If we cannot have them, why should we leave them for our enemies?”

  “If you do that,” Iapetus said, bringing harsh reality into the debate, “you hazard the chance such an act could cause Nil to join with Zeus. We could not defeat such an alliance and you know this. That is why we were so careful with Enubia and Solarum to keep Nillian citizens from becoming collateral damage.”

  “If we do not level the harbors of Heliseous,” Cronus responded, unwilling to admit failure, “we are inspiring the Olympians against us.”

  “At what cost?” Iapetus countered grimly. “We have been here too long. Word of this attack has already reached Ra and Zeus. Reports say the Poseidon’s fleet in days away. Should they chose to do so, the Trinity could send a squadron of warbirds that could wipe ours from the skies. Do you really want to fight a battle on three fronts?”

  Cronus swallowed those words like a hard clump of stone. He bit his lip until blood dripped on his bearded chin. He wanted to dispute Iapetus’ bleak assessment, but he, too, had seen the dispatches. Olympus and Atlantis were too evenly matched as it was. If Ra sided with Zeus, the scales of war would be tipped against him. As much as it galled Cronus, he knew Iapetus was right.

  “Alright,” he said with a deep sigh, his anger subsiding as their dire circumstances cut through the hurricane of emotions surging through his mind. “You order the retreat. I will not.”

  Cronus knocked the reports and data crystals off the table with a frustrated sweep of his hand. “I shall take a warbird back to Atlantis within the hour. Wait until I am gone. I will no show weakness in front of our forces!”

  Iapetus was relieved as Cronus slammed the door as he left the room. He would bear the burden willingly. His mercurial brother was not often swayed. At least in this one instance, Iapetus had gotten through. It was not always so. He smashed his fist down on the table, cracking the polished teak in his exasperation. So many good warriors would not be returning home. He should have acted sooner. This war would not be as short as Cronus predicted. He needed every soul at his command.

  Waiting until long after Cronus returned to the city, Iapetus gave the orders. It took three days to clear their troops and equipment from the island, all the while being harried by attacks at the fringes of the camps. Haggard, tired and wounded, the Atlanteans left the island, their dead rotting in the fields where they had fallen.

  By the time Poseidon’s armada neared the port, the enemy fleet was nowhere to be seen. The fires behind the city walls were extinguished and the dead buried in hurriedly dug graves. Maladone stood proudly and undefeated. Still, he was met with cheers and three days of celebration.

  Poseidon stood on the battlements and stared out at the debris field still floating on the gentle, deep-green ocean waves. The warm, salty breeze felt good on his sun-bronzed skin as it ruffled through his unconstrained, wavy red hair, but his mood remained somber and solemn. The air was tinged with the stink of smoke and ash and the stench of death still clung to the stones beneath his palms. Dark brown stains of dried blood marred the limestone blocks under his black-booted feet. The coming of night caused dark patches of shadow to appear on the trampled grasslands that edged the shoreline, marking the places where men and women had died. He wished he had gotten here sooner.

  “You should be gratified by our victory,” Commander Eldarian said as he handed Poseidon a large tankard of ale. “Instead, you look as if you were personally defeated. Why is that?”

  The huge, black-skinned man’s tread was so soft as he approached that only the swish of his long, light-blue robe on the walkway told Poseidon of his coming. He leaned his rounded elbows on the top of the wall and looked up at the first stars shining in the night sky. A satisfied smile graced his full lips and lit his mahogany-colored eyes as he listened to the joyous revelries echoing from the streets and taverns behind him.

  “The loss of so many lives is always a defeat,” Poseidon responded sadly. “I did not think Cronus would attack so close to Nillian lands. If I had, I would have brought the fleet to you sooner.”

  Eldarian simply nodded his understanding, but added, “If you had, many more lives could have been lost. If not ours, than those of Atlantis. A life is a life. War has casualties. There is no avoiding that.”

  “True,” the gargantuan Olympian replied. Poseidon glanced at the Commander, appreciating his words
. It was the compassion of those like Eldarian whose concern was for all peoples that set them above Cronus and justified their battle against him. “Your forces did an exemplary job at repelling the invaders. You are to be commended. Still, this failed assault has left us with some serious issues.”

  Poseidon sat his untouched tankard on the top of the limestone wall, his face troubled and darkened. “I know Cronus. He will not take such a defeat well. I fear his next offensives will be more brutal and barbaric than anything we have yet witnessed. You lay at great risk.”

  “This I know,” Eldarian agreed readily, his face grimly aware an air attack could level his beloved city. “However, the Lord Ra has been informed and I firmly believe he will assist if there is any further aggression against us.”

  “And that, my friend,” Poseidon said gravely, an inward chill shivering up his spine, “is my major concern. Cronus hates Ra almost as much as he hates Olympus. All he needs is a good excuse to take them on as well. The Trinity is incredibly powerful. If they are drawn into our conflict, the outcome could be devastating to the entire planet.”

  Poseidon looked up into the inky sky. “How Nil will respond to the Atlantean aggression already visited upon their lands is something that leaves me with horrific nightmares.”

  “This is the Lord Father’s doing,” Eldarian replied soberly. “As with the lives lost, what has happened is not our fault. He invaded Afrikanikis, not you. How the Trinity responses is out of your hands.”

  “Maybe not,” Poseidon said stiffly, worry soaking his words. “Zeus and my sisters are on their way to Nil to caution restraint. Let us pray to the Creator their appeals are well received.”

  Chapter XIV

  “You would stand back and allow Atlantis to invade our lands without reprisal?” Set stood like an enraged, avenging raptor before the Trinity, his fists planted on his wide hips. Beneath his black, arched eyebrows, his dark eyes glittering like chipped onyx in the bright lights of the Great Hall. “You would let Cronus insult to our sovereignty and occupy our cities without retaliation? Are you all cowards?”

  “Watch your tone, brother,” Osiris said from the table to the left of the dais where the Trinity sat. His voice was low and menacing as he curled his hands over the arms of his chair, his legs bunching as he began to rise. Red lightning flashed in his emerald-green eyes as he glared at Set. “You will show respect for the Trinity and its authority.”

  “Or you will do what?” A twisted sneer showed through the short-trimmed beard that covered Set’s sharp-chinned jawline. Pure contempt dripped from his thin, tan lips as he turned his attention back to Ra, ignoring Osiris’ implied threat as pure bluster. “You would take offense at my tone, but not at an army’s assault on our shores? Should I fear you might slap my wrist while you turn your head so Atlantis can strike your other cheek?”

  At a stern glance from their sister, Isis, Osiris sank back in his cushioned oak chair, his muscles still tense and vibrating. She sat on the padded granite throne to the right of Ra, dressed in a long, apple-red gown that hugged every curve of her sensuous body. Though she appeared calm, the fire in her jade eyes said she was anything but. The sun-like disk held between upraised horns on the crown of gold encircling her wavy, auburn hair swirled dangerously in response to her repressed emotions. Isis fought to contain the energy so it would not turn Set into a pillar of ash where he stood. It was up to Ra to deal with his insolence. Not hers.

  Ra rose from his throne, saying nothing. He walked down the four steps of the dais and strode up to Set until the two men were nearly face to face. At nine-foot-four, he was a head taller than Set, causing the other man to look up into his frozen, sky-blue eyes. The cords and tendons beneath his reddish skin stood out in high relief against his rippling, sculpted muscles. Beneath the crimson-edged, midnight robe that draped his broad, flat shoulders, the black, deep-V vest struggled to contain his carved granite chest. Ra stared down at Set, meeting fire with ice.

  “You are welcome to speak your mind here,” Ra said far too coolly, his voice just loud enough to roll over the chamber like thunder. “You are welcome to express your concerns and be heard. However,” he added coldly, “you will do so with the respect due to the Trinity and the decorum of this assemblage. Should you not, you may find yourself stripped of rank and privilege and sent to the dungeons. Do I make myself clear?”

  Though his face flushed a dark red, the blaze in Set’s eyes and the bulging of his forearms said he was not at all repentant. “Yes, Lord Ra,” he replied, clipping each word. Refusing to back down, he added, “Yet, you still do not give good cause for not responding to the Atlantean aggression.”

  Set heard the muttered rumblings behind him and knew many others felt as he did. “How long will you allow Cronus to make incursions into Nillian lands? How many fortresses and bases must he attempt to establish on Afrikanikis before you tell him enough? Will you wait until he attacks the city of Nil directly as he did in the past? If he levels one of your precious pyramids, will you finally react? What will it take to make you mad, Lord Ra?” Set asked, spitting out the title.

  His voice rose with each question as did the turmoil in the hall. Shouts of outrage echoed off the limestone walls and fists pounded on the wooden tables. Several of the Commanders jumped to their feet, demanding action against the Atlanteans. Set kept his satisfied grin to himself, his wide-legged stance unmoving before the Nillian ruler. Instead of answering him, Ra looked over his shoulder at Astraeus and gave a slight nod.

  A blinding yellow light exploded in the tumultuous chamber that brought the commotion to a standstill. Silence dropped over the hall like a thick blanket as hands went to eyes to clear away burning tears. The brilliant glare subsided as quickly as it came, but the room remained quiet.

  Astraeus stood before his throne, his massive paw wrapped around the sun-globe-tipped staff planted beside him. The runes carved on the black rod glowed dimly as they faded away. The golden disk at the top twisted and swirled like a living thing, angry red fire marred by serpents of darkness. His ebony skin glistened as if covered in sweat by a bath of flames. His huge, brawny body radiated with awesome power, surrounded by a crackling aura cast by the expenditure of the staff’s incredible energy.

  By the time the afterimages cleared from the tortured retinas in the Great Hall, Ra was back on the dais. The Trinity stood together, each with their staffs planted next to them. The disks within the crowns worn by Ra and Isis churned dangerously and pulsed in unison with each other and the globe on Astraeus’ rod. The trio waited calmly until everyone was reseated, leaving Set to stand alone before them.

  Taking a single step forward, Ra addressed the assemblage. “Now that I have your attention, I will answer your questions.” He stared hard at Set and pointed to an empty chair. Ignoring the pain in his head caused by the flare, Set at first refused to budge. “Now,” Ra said, his tone brooking no argument.

  Once Set walked stiffly to his chair and seated himself, Ra continued. “You will not interrupt as I speak,” he commanded, his blue-steel gaze sweeping over the entire hall. “You will listen carefully and then you will retire to your homes and ponder all I have to say. Three days hence, we shall meet here again. If you have further comments, bring them at that time.”

  Isis and Astraeus sat back down but kept their hands upon their staffs.

  “You ask why I do not attack Atlantis,” Ra said roughly. “I ask, why are so you eager to die? Why are you willing to sacrifice your neighbors, yourselves and your loved ones for the sake of ego? Are you sure you would like to see our cities burn just to satisfy a personal affront?”

  Ra paced slowly back and forth across the dais. He met the faces of each and every person in the hall as if he spoke to them personally. “We have great power,” he said bluntly. “Maybe enough to crush the Lord Father in his own home. But make no mistake. Cronus has armament comparable to most of what we possess. The battle would not be one-sided. Mutual annihilation is almost completely assured.
No one would come out the victor. That is why the truce between Atlantis and Nil has lasted so long.”

  “EM pulse bombs and the growing rarity of uridium have rendered battlefield energy weapons unreliable.” Ra shook his head gravely, his long, wavy blond hair glittering like a golden cape in the room lights. “No, our Cydonian armor is not affected by the pulses, but we have only six of those suits. Even if the Trinity added three more to our ranks, we could not be at every battle and Atlantis has developed energy-resistant shielding and armor of their own.”

  “Explosives not only destroy armies,” he continued somberly, “they kill indiscriminately, putting every citizen at risk. As we have seen already, entire cities can be decimated and left in burning ruins.”

  “That means combat is returning to man on man, face to face with swords and knives.” Ra stopped his pacing for a moment and met the eyes of his audience. “How many of you have done that kind of very personal killing? Have you looked into the face of another human being as they bleed out on the tip of your blade? How does it feel to see the horror of severed limbs, gushing blood and spilled guts of the dying all around you? Would you enjoy the sounds of agony and fear in your ears? Would your nostrils flare pleasantly with the stench of burned flesh and loosened bowels? How well would you sleep with the memories of a hundred stunned and terrified faces covered with gore kicking out their death dance at your feet to fill your slumber? Would you lick their splattered blood from your smiling lips or would you choke and vomit at the mere thought of such vile and violent death on your hands?”