Colony- Olympian

by Gene Stiles

  It was his fervent hope to capture Cronus in this battle and put an end to this war. Five times, Zeus fought his way to within sight of the Lord Father and each time the melee surrounding him had driven them apart. It was as if the Creator stepped in and said now was not the time. Now uncounted thousands of his people lay dead and dying, many more grievously wounded. It would take time and many Lendings to restore them to health. And for what? He had not taken Cronus nor had he broken the Atlantean army. Zeus stabbed his stick into the fire so hard it snapped in two.

  “Lord Zeus,” Lelantos said quietly, placing a hand on his friend’s slumped shoulder. His gold-flecked, hazel eyes softened, knowing the angst that racked the young man’s heart. “Are you listening?”

  “What?” Zeus replied, startled at the touch. He came out of his hazy trance and turned his morose golden gaze on Lelantos. The gloom that laid over him was a dark as the skies outside the caves.

  “I believe we have done all we can,” Lelantos said calmly. “Losses have been devastating to both sides. We are too evenly matched. Neither side will win this. It is time to withdraw and regroup.”

  Zeus shivered at the mournful, agonized groans and cries whispering through the caverns. The smoky fires scattered about the rocky grotto cast flickering shadows of exhausted, sullen warriors too lost in their own private horrors to speak. Those closest to him hung their heads, staring blankly at their meager meals, their thoughts on friends left lifeless and broken in the muddy, blood-soaked meadows. Others washed their hands in the icy cold pools of water near the base of huge, mineral-encrusted stalagmites, scrubbing so hard their flesh tore as they attempted to cleanse the guilt and gory from their fingers. He knew they would continue to fight as long as he led them, but the haunted look in their eyes told Zeus he could ask no more of them.

  “Yes,” he said, bitterly. As much as he desired to make the Lord Father pay for this war and the deaths of so many, Zeus knew it would not end here as he had so fervently hoped. “You are right. Send word to Poseidon to disengage and bring the fleet into the harbor at my command. First, I must speak to Cronus. He must agree to a truce. We both must bury our dead.”

  “And if he does not?” Lelantos asked bluntly.

  “I will sacrifice no more,” Zeus replied harshly. He stood and brushed the dirt from his torn leathers, coming to a tough, distasteful decision. “We will give him no choice. If he refuses, we will seal cave entrances on this side of the mountains and leave through the back tunnels once our people have recovered. The fallen will have to lay where they are for now.”

  It took all Iapetus had to cut through the fierce, boiling madness that enshrouding Cronus. Thankfully, three days of unrelenting storms with no end in sight dampened his rage as much as his clothing. With half the Atlantean army destroyed or so grievously wounded as to be rendered useless, he did not have the forces to assault the heavily defended caves where his hated enemy hid like cowards. His armada was shattered and driven into the tempestuous seas by Poseidon and the hellish hurricane. Even then, Cronus refused again to give the command to retreat, leaving that caustic, bitter duty to Iapetus.

  As if the Creator had brokered their truce, the storms abated a day later and a sickly yellow sun seeped through the fire-red clouds. The true horror of the tormented landscape littered with twisted, grotesque corpses slashed into the minds of the living. Even Cronus was appalled and soul-seared by the nightmarish battlefield. He left on the first transport from Atlantis, leaving the grisly duty of burning and burial to his men.

  Cronus stared down at the carnage as his skyship passed overhead. His face was as twisted as his raven-black heart and he emerald eyes blazed brighter than the putrid-looking sun above him. ‘Enough,’ he swore savagely to himself, his knuckles bone-white at his sides. In his churning brain, he saw the image of Zeus standing amid the heaped bodies of Atlantean soldiers, his sword soaked in blood. If only he could have reached him! ‘Enough,’ Cronus vowed viciously, slamming his fist on the console so hard the metal dented. ‘Whatever it takes, I swear the next time we meet will be your last!’

  Chapter XVI

  “Are you enjoying your new accommodations, brother?” Isis stood just inside the dingy, chilly dungeon cell, the thick oak door barred behind her. She stared down at Set sitting on the hard stone floor, a thin-cushioned bed hammered into the rock his only furniture. In her hands, she held a tray with an evening meal of steaming venison stew, hard-crusted bread and a tankard of dark ale. She placed it in front of him and stepped back.

  Set rested on his knees breathing rhythmically, his palms flat on his bulging thighs. His long, night-black hair was tangled and unkempt where it fell around his bowed head and over the steady rise and fall of his broad, muscled chest. The floor-length, tan tunic he wore was dirty and wrinkled from a restless slumber. Dust motes floated lazily in the dim lighting like twinkling fireflies. Beads of moisture dotted the rough-hewn limestone walls and filled the room with a warm, heavy atmosphere.

  For long moments, Set was silent and unmoving, not acknowledging his sister’s presence nor the aromatic food before him. With a long exhale, he raised his head and stared at Isis. Deep shadows covered his sharply-planed features and gave him an almost demonic appearance. When he looked at her, his onyx eyes glowed red like a feral beast and his thin, dark lips were twisted in a sneer of pure, unadulterated hatred.

  “You cannot keep me here forever,” Set said quietly, his voice harsh with barely controlled fury.

  “Why not?” Isis replied icily. Her waves of auburn hair flowed around her gently sloped shoulders, moving in the slowly swirling air currents like a living thing. Her jade-green eyes were narrowed and as hard as the walls of the cell.

  “You are a traitor,” she said sharply, her gaze boring holes into her brother. “You sought to usurp the Trinity and bring civil war all of Nil. You would destroy all we have worked for just to feed your lustful desire for power. The only reason you still breathe – unlike many of your coconspirators – is the almost disgusting fact that you are my brother.”

  “You think I only seek to rule for personal glory?” Set asked bitterly, raising one ebony eyebrow. Uncoiling like a viper about to strike, he rose fluidly from the floor, his fists clenched at his sides. “Do you honestly believe that the mere handful of my people you imprisoned and executed would be enough to overthrow the will of Ra?”

  Isis slowly slid one leg behind her and shifted her body slightly sideways, anticipating an attack that did not come. Set took a step backward and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms before him. A vicious grin swept across his face as he noted her defensive stance. As much as he wanted to throttle the life from her slender throat, Set was not stupid. As gratifying as it would be, murdering Isis would only enrage Ra and surely lead to his demise. He had no intention of wasting his life. Plans were already in motion.

  “The people of Nil are sick of your weakness and the danger your Message poses to us all,” Set said, his eyes blazing. “The Trinity buries its head in the sand as Atlantis invades our territories. It only emboldens Cronus to increase his attacks on us. Mark my words, it will not be me that brings war to Nil.”

  “The Lord Father is no fool,” Isis responded coldly. “There is nothing in his arsenal that could compare to our power. He knows this. Attempting to take it would end in his own destruction.”

  “Power you are diverting to call to a race that could enslave us all,” Set threw back at her savagely. “You underestimate the greed of Atlantis and the insanity that grows in Cronus with every loss to Olympus. He will come for us when he decides he must to defeat his children. And like any predator, he sees your failure to fight back as frailty. It is only a matter of time.”

  “It is you and the Trinity that are dividing the people,” Set said calmly, relaxing against the wall. “You are forcing them to live in fear…fear of Atlantis, fear of a star-spanning empire. Fear is a powerful weapon. You have no idea how many in Nil have already turned against you,�
� he said with a grim smile. “That is why they call for me to lead them. That is why the Trinity will fall.”

  “If so,” Isis replied, knocking on the door behind her, “it will not be you who rules them. You will never again see the light of day. You have my word.”

  “We shall see,” Set responded softly as she left his cell. “We shall see.”

  “He is far too cocky,” Isis said worriedly as she settled on the couch. “Six months in the dungeon has not broken his spirit nor slowed his swagger. I think we should be on our guard.”

  “Sadly, I agree with his assessment of Cronus,” Raet said bluntly. She handed Isis a steaming mug of dark green tea and sat down across from Ra. Sipping on her own tea, her large, almond-shaped, hazel eyes glittered in the flickering flames from the hearth. She pursed her full, rose-colored lips and blew on the mist rising above her mug. “Since the battle at Aborea, Cronus lives in a constant state of rage. He is rebuilding his fleet at an alarming rate and has increased his conscriptions by the thousands. I hear he is even hiring mercenary Nephilim giants to swell his ranks. He seldom leaves his pyramid and when he does, half of Atlantis trembles as he passes. He is increasingly unstable. What Cronus might do is unfathomable. He is extremely dangerous.”

  “That is not what scares me the most,” Astraeus said darkly from his plush, brocade armchair. The ebony-skinned man sat with his elbows on his monstrous knees, his huge hands steepled beneath his bearded chin. His dark eyes were as troubled as the tension in his wide, bulky shoulders. “Our spies in Sirenum tell me Atlantis is developing a weapon of unimaginable destructive force. Though they have no other details as yet, I am told it will change the balance of power throughout the globe. Even against our own.”

  “So what do we do?” Ra asked gravely. He stood by the window looking out at the glistening city sparkling beautifully in the bright, warm afternoon sunshine. “Do we stop him before he succeeds? To do so would mean attacking his facility on Atlantean soil. That would mean open warfare.”

  “Yet, if we do nothing,” Astraeus replied firmly, “we take the very real chance all we have built will go the way of Olympia. If the rumors are true, this new weapon could leave Nil in a blackened heap of ruinous rubble.”

  “If,” Ra said flatly. “Rumors are not always to be believed. What is a fact is that war with Atlantis will most assuredly lead to mutual destruction. Dare we risk that based on gossip?”

  He turned away from the view and returned to his chair. “As for rumors, is what Set told you true? Are our people so divided they may rise against us if we do not act?”

  “Perhaps,” Raet said glumly. She knew it was not what Ra wanted to hear and it grieved her to tell him so. No matter how time and distance had separated them, her love for him still burned brightly in her heart. Even knowing Isis often shared his bed did not diminish her deep, abiding respect and devotion. She felt no jealousy. It was not in her nature. Raet only felt grateful he could find comfort and respite in the arms of her best friend. No one but her could treat him better.

  “As much as I am loathe to admit it,” she said, meeting his steady gaze, “after the Lord Father occupied our cities, the people have grown intensely angry and progressively more apprehensive. The thousands slaughtered at Aborea sickened them and frightened them. It could happen here.”

  “Set is also correct in saying he could not incite civil war alone,” Isis added gloomily. “All it will take is another Atlantean incursion and we will have far more than Cronus to worry about.”

  “So we stand on a precipice,” Ra said, his azure eyes as dark as a stormy sea. “Whether we act or not, we risk losing everything.” His long, golden-blond hair fell over his slumped shoulders like a shroud as he shook his head sadly. He gazed at his friends, his thoughts tortured and damp. “What shall we do? Please tell me. What shall we do?”

  Oscarlareus sat silently in his perch high in the bow of an ancient evergreen waiting for the squad of black-clad Aam to pass beneath him. He had followed them for over an hour from the mouth of the muddy river all the way to the Atlantean base secreted under the impenetrable canopy of the dense, verdant forest. The massive harbor and fortress were painted in greens and browns making them invisible from the skies above. His grin was as dark as his nefarious soul as he snapped holos of the hidden structures and the warships berthed beneath the mammoth, leaf-laden branches. This was exactly what Lord Set needed.

  He had been tracking this rumor for almost a year after intercepting an innocuous communication meant for Osiris from one of his outposts near the belt of jungles in the heart of Afrikanikis. After hearing the stories of monsters, giants and sky gods from the aboriginal Izon tribes scattered throughout the wilds Osiris reported them to Ra. Knowing these might refer to Atlanteans, he ordered his people to send word of any new such tales.

  A dire warning spread through the jungles. Gigantic demons dwelled in the dark, perpetually misty, mysterious forests near the west coast where the heat of the jungles met the cool, salty winds of the sea. They spit fire from their hands and their red-eyed gaze could melt stone. It was said the monsters were gods with wings and would fly above the treetops to prey upon animals and men as if both were mere game for the pot. They had been seen floating, clouds of white surrounding them, above the waters of the rivers and ocean waves without even dampening their feet.

  These creatures were barbaric and killed anyone who intruded on their territory. Few survived an encounter with them. The gargantuans could lift mountains and crushed those who dared look upon them with boulders the size of a large hut. Even the ground trembled with the weight of their footsteps.

  Stories of horrors and death spread across the jungles growing and becoming more impossible as they went. A warning to all to keep away from those terrifying beasts. However, most of the indigenous Izon were savage and warred among themselves or were so divided by distance they rarely spoke to each other. Communication was limited to word of mouth and the network of drum signals they used. It took years to reach Osiris’ outposts.

  Oscarlareus read the report shortly after Cronus invaded the eastern seaboard. He remembered hearing many of the ships leaving the occupation did not travel toward Atlantis, but instead, strangely hugged the Afrikanikis coast sailing northward. A small, obscure village of Izon and the People who escaped the destruction of Home settled in a western bay and reported seeing an odd fleet of ships passing by. Oscarlareus put the stories together and believed the Lord Father had established another hidden base on Nillian lands. The structures and docks he now saw proved him right.

  Lord Set tried to tell the Trinity Atlantis would attack them again, but instead of listening, he was berated and ostracized. Ra was weak and frightened of a conflict with Cronus. He would sit on his throne and wait until his city was destroyed before he would believe. Set did not intend to let that happen. Oscarlareus spit but the glob did not reach the ground. With this proof in his hands, the coward would have to act or Lord Set would.

  Oscarlareus climbed down from the tree, tightening the straps of his backpack. His slipped into the dense foliage, disappearing like a wraith into the darkness. His skimmer awaited him, buried in the brush along the river. His deep hazel eyes glittering beneath his thick brow, he hurried on his way, a satisfied smirk upon his full, tan lips. Destroying this base, Lord Set would be glorified and raised to his rightful place as ruler of Nil. ‘Then,’ Oscarlareus thought happily, ‘I will sit at his side and reap my just reward.’

  The city was far different than when he left and Oscarlareus did not know what to do next. The hilltop mansion of Lord Set was cold, dusty and empty. His commanders were dead or imprisoned and his troops reassigned. The praise and riches Oscarlareus expected on his return would not happen. In fact, if he gave his information to the wrong person, he could find himself chained in the dungeons alongside his Lord. Yet, if the Trinity learned he knew of the base and did not tell them, he would surely be put to death.

  Oscar sat on a barstool in a dark a
nd dusky tavern near the River Nil pondering his fate. The mahogany countertop was stained and gritty, carved with the names of countless sailors who plied the mighty river. The wooden walls were covered with peeling paint and warped by heat, moisture and weather. The music was as loud and boisterous as the tough men and women who filled the tables and chairs in this late night hour.

  Amid the laughter, feverish dancing and tall tales, Oscar could feel a dark fog of discontent and anger swirling among the gaiety. Brawls broke out on the fringes of the room in dim corners where sullen sailors sat. Heated arguments and rumbled through the air, sometimes low and quiet, sometimes loud and bitter. The Aam scattered among the tables stayed their hands, leaving crowd control to the huge Nephilim staff that roughly tossed the worst of the rabble-rousers into the dirty streets.

  Oscarlareus listened carefully to the gossip and quarrels rippling through the bar. Nil was deeply divided. Half of the patrons were furious at the Trinity for imprisoning Lord Set and ignoring his words. The rest calling him a traitor to Nil and calling for his death. Even the Aam were split, the separate camps within them sitting on opposite sides of the tavern to avoid confrontations that would see them harshly disciplined by their officers. Woven through the fabric of discontent, Oscar sensed pure, body-shaking fear.

  The ale was strong, heady and just a little tart. It left an acidic aftertaste in his throat and weighed heavily in the pit of his stomach. Oscar ordered bread and cheese to soak up the liquid churning inside him, unsure if the cause was the tangy brew or the holos secreted in the pack at his feet. From what he heard, Nil was a rumbling volcano and the knowledge he had with him could ignite a firestorm that could sweep through every street of the city. He did not want to be caught in such a maelstrom of molten lava.

  Oscarlareus bit down on the crusted bread and sharp cheese, chewing as if he ate bitterroots. With Lord Set’s army broken and no commanders for him to report to, he came to a decision as tough as his meal. He would go to the Trinity and act as if he found this base on his own. Perhaps he could stir up enough dissension from within to crack Ra’s rule and force him to release Lord Set. It depended wholly on how he could twist any response the Trinity made to the Atlantean threat.