Colony- Olympian

by Gene Stiles

  A tiny malicious smile came to his face. Deception is where Oscarlareus excelled. He would see to it all of Nil turned against Ra. Set would be pleased.

  “We no longer have a choice,” Ra said furiously, slamming his knuckles onto the table, spilling the goblets of red wine all over the polished surface. He stomped to the windows, his hands clenched behind his long, turquoise robe. His sky-blue eyes flashed with icy-white fire as he stared out at his beloved city.

  “How could Cronus be so arrogant, so stupid, as to ignore our ultimatum?” Ra snapped furiously. “Is it he believes we will not react? Is Set correct? Have I given Atlantis reason to think we are that weak?”

  Ra’s companions and commanders waited in glowering silence as he vented his rage, knowing his questions were not meant to be answered. Isis rose from the table, sullen as she used towels to sop up the spilled drinks. The simple task gave her anger-shaking hands something to do instead what she truly wanted – to throttle the man quivering in the corner between two Aam for bringing such dreadful news to them. Astraeus clutched his fists before him, the tight, black curls carpeting his bulging arms standing on end with the crackling static electricity filling the chamber. Raet looked as if she would spit fire from her pinched lips and Osiris was like a mountain ready to explode. They all knew what this would mean to Nil and they hated Cronus for it.

  “The Trinity must go immediately to this harbor and wipe it from our shores,” Isis said firmly as she dropped hard into her chair. She was dressed in a dark crimson leather vest, breeches and boots that molded against her shapely, muscled body. Her long locks of sparkling auburn hair billowed around her oval face like a fiery storm cloud. Even without her Cydonian armor, Isis looked like a blazing goddess of vengeance.

  “Lady Isis is right,” Astraeus said, his deep voice rumbling over the room. The eyes sunk beneath his broad, furrowed brow were like chipped obsidian glimmering in the bright lights. His full, dark lips were drawn in a hard line beneath his thick, black beard as he spoke grimly. “The sight of the Trinity and the power we wield will show Cronus we are not to be trifled with. Then we should stand together upon the steps of his own pyramid in Atlantis and give him one final warning.”

  “No,” Ra said firmly as he strode back to the table. He planted his hands on the table and leaned toward the others, his squared jaw jutting out as hard as the rock walls around him. “Our response must be as harsh as promised but measured as well. To bring the Trinity to Atlantis and confront Cronus in his own city will mean we will have to take an army with us as well for war will erupt on the spot. We, then, will be the invaders.”

  “Also there is this,” Ra said forebodingly. His eyes were like blue steel as he met every face in the chamber. The touch of that icy gaze lingering on him made Oscarlareus squirm uncomfortably. “Thanks to Set’s actions, Nil is in turmoil. When word of this gets out – and it will get out – the city will explode. His supporters will use this Atlantean aggression to prove all that he has said is true. We could easily have that civil war Set wants so much. The Trinity must be here to enforce the rule of law.”

  “Then what do you propose?” Osiris said roughly, his tone grating on Ra’s already foul mood. “The jungles there are so dense moving troops through them would be impossible. Even warbirds would have trouble finding targets in that immense blanket of green. An attack from the sea could be easily thwarted without the power of the Trinity to support it. So exactly what is it you have in mind?”

  “I intend to go alone,” Ra replied bluntly. He raised his hand to stop the explosive babble of angry protest echoing around him. “I have more than sufficient power to destroy the port. I will take a skyship to their shores and lay waste to their base on my own. That will show Cronus the true breadth of our abilities – that any one of us alone can level a city. What could the three of us united do? He will see we are not weak and will not tolerate Atlantean presence on our lands. I shall leave just enough survivors to spread the tale.”

  “Astraeus and Isis will stay in Nil to maintain order,” Ra said amid their grumbles. “I ask you,” he continued, staring hard at Osiris, “to stand in my stead among the Trinity until I return. The people respect you and will listen to you maybe more than they will your sister and Astraeus. You are an outsider and brother to Set. It might make the difference.”

  Shocked and surprised, Osiris looked at Isis and Astraeus, seeing their curt nods of consent. “Lord Ra,” he said humbly, “Though I am honored by your confidence in me, I cannot allow you to fight alone. No one knows the jungles better than I do. I beg to go with you.”

  “No. I need you here,” Ra replied, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. His weary smile was warm but uncompromising.

  “Then I shall go with you,” Raet said, standing up at the other end of the table. Her straight, ebony hair flowed from her slender shoulders and over her red leather vest, glistening blue-black in the light. The onyx, almond-shaped orbs angled beneath her arched, thin eyebrows were narrowed, the epicanthic folds reducing them to mere slits. “I will stand at your side and protect you from harm. Together, we will eradicate the Atlantean threat.”

  Raet stopped Ra with her hard stance, legs slightly spread and delicate hands planted on her hips. Before he could object, she said firmly, “I, too, wear Cydonian armor, yet I am not of the Trinity. My presence in Nil is not necessary. You have no idea of what new weapons may be in the hands of the intruders. We stand a much better chance together.”

  “Lady Raet,” Ra began gently but was halted by the look in her eyes.

  “Nil would not survive were you to be lost,” she said frankly. “The people need your guidance. You take too big a risk going alone. I will not allow that. Should you attempt to leave me behind, I will simply take my own ship and follow. You have no choice.”

  “Besides,” Raet added with a terse, predatory smile, “Two birds of prey are better than one. The Hawk and the Falcon together.”

  Molock knew he should not be in this part of the jungle, but he had to see the foul demons with his own two eyes. Like the rest of his tribe, untold generations in the sweltering sunlight had changed the pigmentation of his skin from that of his Izon ancestors. His flesh was midnight black, allowing him to blend into the deep shadows of the jungle and invisible in the darkness of the treetops. His young body was thin, but corded with wiry muscle and his slightly elongated arms allowed him extended reach among the vines and branches. Molock could move through the thick canopy of green as easily as walking across a flat meadow. He would not be seen. But, he did not come to this haunted place for the sole sake of satisfying youthful curiosity. Molock came for vengeance.

  Since he was a child, Molock was told the stories of the malicious devils that dwelled among the swirling fog near the sea. The tales were meant to teach lessons and frighten children into obeying their parents and he never believed them. No one could shoot fire from their eyes or fly above the trees. It was impossible to walk on water or live forever. Molock had a sharp, inquisitive mind and was not foolish enough to accept such things. True, men vanished in those mystical mists never to return, but the jungle was cruel, vicious and filled with death for the unwary. There was nothing magical about it.

  Or so he thought.

  On his twentieth year, Molock sat near the edge of the golden meadow, anxiously waiting for the hunters led by his father and brother to return from their month-long trek. The season had been unusually hot and dry, the drought driving the game far away in search of water. The warriors were forced to go deep into the jungle to feed the tribe. They were a week overdue and Molock found his dreams filled with scenes of death and dread. He spent his days here at the tree line sending prayers to the great god Olorun for their safe return.

  On this day, the sun beat mercilessly upon his near-naked body, the beads of sweat dripping from his brow evaporating before they could fall into his dark brown eyes. A moistureless breeze blew across the grasslands, chafing his lips even with the skin of water to
dampen them. Still, Molock refused to end his vigil, his only food the hard chips of seasoned meat he carried with him.

  The jungle was alive with sound. Munkies swung from the branches screaming and chittering. Larger creatures too deadly to hunt searched the forest floor for stagnant pools of brackish water knowing they would draw a meager meal. Birds fluttered through the trees, singing happily or cawing in warning or defiance. Still, Molock waited.

  Twilight finally lowered its curtain, turning the trees into a wall of impenetrable blackness. Behind him, fires flickered around the village huts, beaconing him home. Molock stood, hearing the creak of his stiffened joints…and nothing more.

  It was the sudden silence that woke him from the sleep he did not realize he had fallen into. His mind instantly became sharp and alert. An eerie hush surrounded him and prickled his spine. Molock searched the shadows before him, his hand gripped tightly on the shaft of the spear at his side.

  A snapping of brush to his left caused him to hunch among the tall, dry stalks of yellow grass as he shifted toward the disturbance. An oddly shaped form stumbled from the jungle, falling with a painful, muted grunt. It lay twitching, unable to move further. Sensing no threat, Molock hurried to the moaning thing, his spear held out before him.

  “Oh, mighty Olorun!” he cried, kneeling next to the crumpled creature. “Father! Oh, Father!”

  In the dim light, he could see the cuts and bruises covering the near-lifeless body, but it was the other wounds that brought rivers of tears to his eyes. Perfectly round holes were burned through his flesh, no blood seeping from them as if the fire had seared the veins closed. His father had no hands, mere charred stumps at the end of his blackened wrists. Worst of all was his face, half of which looked as if was melted off.

  Molock cradled his father’s grisly head in his lap and wept uncontrollably. The last thing that whispered through those gritted teeth was a single word. “Demons,” his father muttered then he sighed and was gone.

  That is what brought the young man to this vile country. His mother begged him not to go. The village elders pleaded with him to take up the mantle of king as did his father and grandfathers before him. Molock refused. How could he assume leadership without first seeking retribution on those who massacred his kin? He would not be called coward! The demons could be killed if the legends were true and he swore to take his place only with the head of a monster tipping his spear. If Olorun did not grant them justice, he would get it by himself.

  Hidden among the damp foliage, Molock got his first view of the unholy creatures and despite his courage, he trembled. They were gigantic, blond-haired and light skinned. They had no fear of the wilderness or the beasts within. He was stunned when a striped jungle cat thought them prey. One of the devils flashed an arm of fire and the animal fell into a steaming heap. This was the thing that had killed his father. How could he fight that?

  He watched them for days, hoping to separate one from the others, but they never went anywhere alone. Even with his spear tipped in the spider venom that could stun a tusked behemoth, Molock knew he could not take on two of these things at once.

  Now Molock sat despondently in the branches high above their village. Their numbers were uncountable, their powers unimaginable. The wonders he saw filled him with fear and gave credence to the most horrible of the childhood tales he heard. No matter his rage, no matter his vow of revenge, he knew there was no way he could exact justice from such things. Tears streaming from his burning eyes, Molock prayed once more to Olorun for his aid.

  This time his prayer was answered.

  The gargantuan canoes floating along the shores burst into sky-reaching flames and exploded with a deafening roar. Thunder and lightning turned the nighttime into day. The very air shook and trembled, almost knocking Molock from his perch. He covered his ears and gritted his teeth in pain as a sun-hot wind peeled leaves from the branches around him. His arms ached as he clutched desperately to the tree, his eyes pinched closed.

  Below him, the demons erupted in chaos. They ran in every direction bellowing in fury and fear. Through the foggy blur of his vision, Molock saw them scurry like rats in a hurricane, their hands blazing as they rushed toward the shoreline. Some raised spears as wide and tall as a full grown man that glittered like jewels in the firelight.

  And they fell in droves, wailing like piteous prey in the jaws of a monstrous predator. They were cut to pieces, their body parts flung steaming into the churning ocean waves. Molock stared in wild-eyed horror as hundreds of the giants turned to black dust before his disbelieving eyes, their ashes scattered by the hot, swirling winds. Still, the demons fought and died in countless numbers, their smoking corpses spread like blades of grass on the jungle floor and the sandy beaches.

  It took Molock long moments to see what kind of enemy could reduce these nightmarish, barbaric leviathans to piles of charred flesh and panic-stricken children. After seeing the power they possessed, he could think of nothing that could stand against them. When at last he saw them, he felt his bowels loosen and wet the rough bark beneath him.

  Olorun had sent his greatest warriors. There were only two of them against the hordes of demons, yet they laid waste to all around them. Molock never thought such impossible, savage beauty could exist in the world of man. The hawk and falcon walked upright, bathed in shimmering colors that glinted like polished stones. Upon their chests and above their amazing eyes, Olorun placed the sun from the sky, blazing in golden fury. The hellfire of the fiendish devils bounced from them as easily as a stone thrown against the tough, gray hide of a huge one-horn. The birds of justice walked through the carnage unscathed by the power of the demons. In their path, they unleashed the wraith of Olorun, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake.

  Molock sat stunned, too afraid to move despite the smoky air as the Hawk and Falcon floated away from the steaming carnage. Gathering his courage, he silently followed them from the treetops as they crossed the muddy and burning river. On the far bank sat a gigantic bird with black eyes and shining feathers of blue. The two warriors of Olorun stepped into its belly. With a screeching cry of satisfied vengeance, the monstrous bird flapped its huge, shimmering wings and disappeared into the heavens, returning to the domain of the Father.

  Only the heavy wetness of yesterday’s rains kept the entire jungle from burning to the ground. Even with that, the heat became unbearable to Molock. The breath in his lungs burned and the human and wood ash in the air choked his throat and made him sick. To stay longer was to die. Regretfully, he grabbed a thick vine and swung away through the branches. He did not stop until his muscles could no longer grip. Exhausted, he made a bed of leaves in the bough of a tree, yet sleep would not come for many hours. The battle of gods and demons swirled behind his stinging eyes. Such frightening power! Molock spent his whole life scoffing at the legends, but now…now he believed.

  “Bless you, great Olorun, Father of the Sky,” he whispered reverently as his mind finally drifted away. “Thank you for your divine justice. My father, brother and all of your peoples may now rest and live in peace.”

  The streets of Nil were packed with teeming throngs when Ra and Raet touched down at the city’s edge. Isis, Astraeus and Osiris awaited them, a contingent of blue-clad Aam at their back. The soldiers fanned out around the airship, creating a wall between Ra and the turbulent, milling crowd. The cheers and pounding of arms on chests was near deafening and echoed from the stone walls and through the roads and alleyways of Nil.

  Ra raised his hand, Raet standing at his side. From beneath his Hawk helmet, his deep, amplified voice rolled over the masses like a wave of thunder. “The invaders are defeated,” he said, his words hard and slightly distorted by the armor. “They will never again tread on our lands. You have my word.”

  Amid renewed ovations, Ra noted an odd undercurrent. He heard shouts and bellows of anger that seemed to be more directed at him than at Atlantis. The Aam shifted on their feet, eyes hard and hands on the hilts of their swords,
alert and wary as if they feared attack. He cocked his bird head wonderingly to one side and glanced toward Isis and her companions. On their faces and in their stances, he saw a terse grimness instead of welcome. Ra felt a cold chill travel up his spine. Something was wrong.

  Saying nothing, the Trinity, Raet and Osiris mounted a transport sled and made their way toward the Great Pavilion at the city center. Their Aam escorts stayed close alongside them, acting as a barrier between them and the people jamming the sidewalks. Again, Ra felt a raw tension seething within the cheers and saw bitter faces amid the smiles.

  The throne room was already full when they arrived. Every chair and every table was occupied with mumbling commanders and whispering advisors. More stood in small clusters near the walls and fluted pillars, quietly arguing amongst themselves. All stood and went silent as the Trinity strode toward the dais, Raet and Osiris trailing behind them. Though they had seen it before, the sight of the majestic, terrifying armor Ra and Raet still wore, sucked the breath from their chests.

  Ra and Osiris stood before the Great Throne together. Osiris bowed deeply, stepped aside and ceremoniously relinquished the seat to his Lord. “Thank you for keeping my place,” Ra intoned solemnly, handing his helmet to Osiris. “Nil is grateful for your stewardship.”

  “It was my honor, Lord Ra,” Osiris replied formally though his voice was chipped and morose. “However, you may not think so for much longer. Lord Set has escaped.”

  Hours of heated debate and discussion went by before Ra had the full story of what transpired in his absence. Within hours of his departure from Nil, the city erupted. Word of yet another Atlantean war base on their territory swept through the streets like a hot hurricane wind. The fact that Lord Ra took personal action against the intruders was not enough for many. Clashes broke out between those who screamed for the destruction of Atlantis and those who cautioned restraint. Brawls spilled onto the sidewalks and became riots. Soon it became the cowardice of Ra versus the strength of Lord Set. Isis and Astraeus were forced to don their armor to help put down open rebellion.