by Gene Stiles
“Enough!” Cronus bellowed, enraged. “I will not debate nor justify my actions to someone who spends their life in a lab and has no idea of what it takes to protect Atlantis! I will not explain myself to a man who only stares into instruments in the safety of his quarters and has never sacrificed nor put his life on the line in service to the People!”
Cronus stepped toward the old man, his fists balled at his sides, but Coeus stood his ground. Thea stood and moved in between the two men. Her stunningly beautiful face was stern, her long, sun-golden hair flowing around her like a cape. Her twin, Themis, joined her providing a buffer against Cronus’ anger. Platinum-haired Phoebe touched her husband’s shoulder, bidding Coeus to sit down.
“You prove my point,” Cronus said with a growl. “You hide behind the skirts of women so do not presume to know what a warrior must do.”
Phoebe pressed down on Coeus’ rising form. Her white porcelain cheeks reddened and her pale blue eyes holding sparks of fire. “And your problem is that you place yourself above all others and dismiss those with incredible gifts you cannot comprehend. That is your weakness.”
“Weakness?” Cronus replied, his baritone voice as black as midnight. “I will show you what true strength is. If, as I and my brother believe, Ra had a hand in this cataclysm, I vow to wipe Nil from the face of the globe without further delay. I will end this war now and forever. That you can believe!”
“Then you have no need of me,” Coeus said, standing to leave the room. He stopped just before the chamber doors and turned to face Cronus. “I leave you with this,” he said solemnly. “As you said, there has not been a major earthquake in Atlantis that we know of since the time of Iasion. Remember also, that occurred not long after we used an asteroid to change the climate of the planet. The force of the impact was not unlike the weapons you now employ.”
The old man had bitter tears in his ancient eyes as he warned, “Use them again not only at your own risk but at the peril of all humanity.”
Coeus pushed through the massive oaken doors, leaving behind a shocked and stunned silence. Even through his red-hot fury, Cronus felt a cold chill shiver up his spine. A tiny, almost unheard voice whispered in the back of his mind. “What if he is right?” it asked in abject fear. “What if he is right?”
“Send birds to Sirenum and Hebis,” Cronus ordered coldly, turning back to the windows, his stomach churning. “Send them at once.”
Ra pondered a similar, soul-searing dilemma. Had his actions caused such wide-spread destruction? Nothing in his research on the Cydonian armor even suggested it could cause earthquakes. But, then again, he found no narratives of it being used in conjunction with or against the universally banned nuclear weapons. Was it possible the combination of energies was responsible for the calamities he was staring at?
Sirenum was much farther away from Daedalia than from Atlantis and the twin spines of Titan’s Ridge provided natural barriers across the barrens. However, many of the city’s structures were damaged by the battles that swept through her streets. Though much of the quake’s energies were expended by the time it rolled beneath them, weakened buildings collapsed into piles of rubble leaving pitiful souls trapped within. Burned pylons under some of the docks shattered, pulling berthed vessels beneath the heaving waves. Broken glass and bleeding bodies littered the roadways and back alleys. In storehouses and businesses, stocks and patrons were tossed to the floors like children’s toys. Wherever grills, ovens or hearths were in use, flames broke out and tore through the panicked city.
Healing centers soon filled to capacity with many more of the injured being aided on the sidewalks. Daedalia was a frenzy of activity as neighbors and enemies dug through the ruins to free screaming survivors and to lift lifeless bodies from the heaps of debris. Ra used his muscles and the power of his armor to clear passages to the helpless and to break up larger tumbled blocks of stone so they could be moved away. The miners were especially helpful since they were used to tunneling through rock and knew how to create supports to keep the wreckage from collapsing in on itself. However, the crisis caused deeper rifts in the People than it did in the trembling ground beneath their feet.
Cornelius stared at the bleeding knuckles wrapped around his tall tankard of ale, his face darker than a starless, moonless night. He had been drinking for hours, yet the searing pain coursing through his veins was not dulled. Sooty, muddy dirt was packed under his cracked, gnarled fingernails and his full head of sandy brown hair was tangled in knotted clumps against his oval, sharp-chinned skull. The grime covering his hollow-cheeked face was streaked by the tracks of the countless tears that fell from his sunken hazel eyes.
“I am so sorry, my friend,” Willimus said, his voice thick with heartache. “I know how much you loved them. I prayed as we dug that the Creator would not choose to take them from you.”
“It was not the Creator who took them,” Cornelius said with a bitter snarl. He threw back his head and drained the tankard, slamming it back down on the small round table. “It was Ra and the Olympians. They are the ones who brought war to our city! They attacked Sirenum! They caused this! They are the ones responsible for the death of my family and it is they will pay for their crimes! I swear this on the crushed bodies of my children!”
“Those are only rumors,” Willimus said softly, raising his hand to order another round. “It could just as easily been Cronus. You have seen his madness and what he did to Nillian cities. His own weapons could have done this.”
Cornelius glared at the man as if seeing him for the first time. A bubble of molten fury swelled up from the pit of his soul. “You would excuse Ra’s invasion of Atlantis? You have seen his power with your own eyes. You know he sent the Falcon woman to Sirenum.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously and his hugely muscled body coiled like a poisonous viper. “Do you honestly believe the Lord Father would use his weapon on his own soil, on his own people?” Eyes flashing with red lightning, Cornelius gripped his tankard hard enough to dent the metal. “Do you think it a mere coincidence the earth shook and my family died right after that Nillian bitch left our city?”
“I am just saying we do not know what happened,” Willimus replied, his hands shaking at the animalistic look on his friend’s face. Fear swept up his spine at the raw hatred he saw there. He knew he should run, but he could not let the man suffer alone. Not knowing what else to say, he simply hung his head and muttered, “I am sorry.”
“Sorry?” Cornelius roared, his arm sweeping in an enraged arc. “I will show you sorry!” The hand holding the tankard smashed in Willimus’ face, shattering his jaw and sending the stunned man flying backward off his chair. Before he could arise, the insane demon was upon him, the fisted tankard pulverizing his face into a puddle of blood and brain matter.
The somber tavern erupted violence, the spreading brawl fueled not only overturned tables and spilled drinks but by the grief, agony and unleashed, tumultuous emotions sickening every heart in the city. It coursed through the streets like white-water rapids as Daedalia cracked like a rotten egg.
On the far side of the city, Ra was unaware of the building turmoil. He worked ceaselessly, refusing to give in to his body’s demand for rest. The reddish cast to his exposed skin was mottled with black soot and gray dust, his black and gold armor stained with grime and blood. His Hawk helmet was locked in his quarters and his long, blond hair was dirty and bedraggled though bound tightly down his broad back. His chiseled features were as hard as the granite blocks he sought to move. Eyes usually the color of an azure sky were as dark as the deepest depths of the sea and held a desperate, haunted look within them.
“My friend,” the gargantuan Poseidon said kindly, putting a monstrous paw on Ra’s crouched and slumped shoulder. “You need food and rest. You are exhausted. You have not slept at all in the last three days. You will be no good to anyone if you collapse.”
“There are still people trapped,” Ra grumbled, pulling at a stubborn stone with his bleeding fi
ngertips. His hands quivered, making it hard to get a good grip on the rock. “I can hear them. This is my fault. I must get them out.”
“I hear nothing,” Poseidon said gently, taking hold of Ra’s bulging bicep. “It is just your tired mind. Come with me. Leave this to others for now.”
Ra jerked his arm away, yanking the huge piece of cracked granite free at last. The effort made him fall backward and he landed hard on a sharp stone. His face twisted with the pain as it sliced into the flesh of his thigh. The air woofed from his laboring lungs and he was momentarily stunned.
Poseidon lifted Ra from the ground and put an arm under his shoulders to steady him. He half carried his friend to a transport and sat him on the flat bed. Ra let himself be moved, holding his head between his trembling hands as he struggled to catch his breath. Sitting on the rear of the vehicle, he could feel his legs shiver and was forced to admit he could not go on much longer.
“Alright,” he said wearily. He sipped greedily from the skin of water Poseidon handed him, not realizing how truly thirsty he was. Ra ran the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead, brushing a few errant locks from his eyes. “A short rest and a meal before I return.”
“You also need sleep,” Poseidon replied, helping Ra to the passenger’s seat and firing up the sled. Weaving through the rubble, he headed for the Main House where hot meals and soft beds were being provided to all.
“I cannot sleep,” Ra said grimly, shaking his head. “There is still much to be done and order must be restored.”
“That is not why you are afraid to sleep,” Poseidon said as he pulled up to the relatively intact building. He turned and gazed at Ra as the sled lowered to the ground, the concern plain in his eyes. “You are worried about Raet. I am, too. We will find out what happened and quickly, but you will not be of much help to her in your current condition.”
“Raet is dead,” Ra said bitterly, tears brimming unrestrained from his hooded eyelids. He slumped in his seat, staring at his balled fists. “If not, she would have returned by now. And it was I who sent her to her doom.”
“Firstly, you do not know if she is dead,” Poseidon replied softly in a feeble attempt to comfort his friend. “Secondly, you did not send her anywhere. I was there. She insisted on going. Raet knew what she was doing.”
“But I let her go,” Ra whispered.
“Let her?” Poseidon said, a small, grim chuckle escaping between his tightly pursed lips. “As I remember, you could not stop her. Whatever happened is not your fault. Just pray to the Creator she accomplished what she set out to do.”
“Raet never fails.” Ra felt his guilt and grief crushing him, his heart bleeding as if a thousand knives were being plunged into it. “No matter the cost. My prayer is that our actions did not also cause the horrible catastrophe surrounding us. If it did, how will I be able to live with that?”
“Because you must,” Poseidon replied firmly. He stepped from the sled and walked around to join Ra as they headed toward the bright lights of the Main House. “There is much work to be done and these people are counting on us to lead them.”
He coughed a little in the dusty, smoky air. A stiff, warm evening breeze helped clear the darkening skies, but the soot from extinguished fires tickled the back of his throat, reminding Poseidon of just how parched he was. The stink of charred wood mixed with the salty scent of the sea crinkled his nostrils and he was glad when they stepped inside. The aromas of simmering stews and freshly baked breads made his stomach rumble as they found an unoccupied table in a relatively quiet corner of the dining hall.
Ra and Poseidon were exhausted and famished so they paid little heed to the woman who served them other than to thank her for their meal. She possessed no great beauty nor was she unusually ugly. Her clothing was plain and simple, her apron stained with spilled wine and spatters of greasy food. It hung loosely on her average form not drawing any attention from lustful patrons. In fact, she was so ordinary she was nearly invisible to those in the busy dining hall.
That was exactly the image Pandora intended to create. No one noticed the feline grace of her movements as she wound her way through the milling crowds. She kept her head bowed so the fire in her raven-black eyes was hidden beneath the barely brushed locks of her long, ebony hair. They did not see the way she slipped unerringly toward Poseidon and Ra when they arrived. She kept her wicked, satisfied inward smile from touching her thin, red lips. This was the chance she had been waiting for and she must be the one who waited on them.
Lord Set had trained her well. Her combat skills were next to none, but that is not why he embedded Pandora in the Main House of Daedalia three weeks ago. She was far from stupid and knew she would have no chance against Ra in a fair fight, but she had other gifts. Pandora spent decades learning the ways of the Izon healers. They taught her which plants had medicinal value and which ones were the deadliest poisons. The Clan showed her the most lethal venoms from insects and snakes in order to teach her how to counteract them. Her intent was not to negate their effects but to make them stronger. Many an enemy of her Lord’s had mysteriously succumbed to her unknown ministrations and, finally, it was time to kill his greatest foe. Doing so on Atlantean soil while he was in the company of Poseidon placed the blame firmly on the shoulders of Zeus and the Olympians. It would bring all of Nil clamoring behind Set’s call for vengeance.
Pandora emptied the contents of her pouch in Ra’s stew before she brought it to his table, careful to keep her fingers from touching the tasteless toxic concoction. She walked away from the men, turning back just long enough to watch him wolf down his meal. She allowed a malicious, murderous smile to cross her demonic face. It would take a week for the vile potion to do its work, giving her plenty of time to leave the city unnoticed. Pandora tossed her apron on a heap of dirty laundry and disappeared satisfied and silent into the pitch-black night. Her timing was perfect.
In her self-assured arrogance, Pandora failed to take into account two vital factors. She could not know the alien armor Ra wore caused a feedback of energy that bolstered his immune system, slowing the effects of her poison and changing its molecular structure. Worse, she did not take into account how Cronus would respond to the destruction of Sirenum.
Zeus was furious at himself. He stomped through the hallways of the Sanctuary, his face grim and his huge fists balled at his sides. Reports and images were pouring into the war room showing the hellish destruction of Sirenum and the rippling earthquakes that tore through the landscape as a result. The fleet Poseidon sent to attack Hebis Outpost was swept away by the gigantic tidal wave which also submerged half the fortress in its passing. More lives had been lost in that incident than in Atlantis and Daedalia combined. With the exception of minor damages to cities nearest Daedalia along the southwestern coastline, the rest of the continent felt only shudders and small tremors.
That is not why Zeus was angry. Yes, Poseidon had been party to the plan without letting him know in advance. True, Ra had sanctioned the assault without first consulting him or asking for his opinion. Neither man needed his blessing before acting, but it would have been nice if they had at least seen fit to inform him. Still, Zeus realized no one could have foreseen the far-reaching consequences of their plan.
What exasperated Zeus and fouled his mood was the fact that he was sitting safely in his mountain stronghold while others died for his cause. Within a week of Sirenum, renewed fighting broke out all along the stagnant battle lines. Traffic along the River Gaia was disrupted by fallen rock, sunken ships and floating debris. Cronus was weakened by the chaos surrounding him and the loss of his major arms facility, but instead of retreating, he pushed forward more viciously than ever before. The Lord Father used the catastrophe to rally his legions and the people of Atlantis, unknowing correct in his assertions that Ra and Zeus were the architects of the destruction. Outrage among the People exploded and cities once pacified or allied with the Olympians were now shattered, hostile and in open revolt against the invaders.
“And here I am uselessly wandering these hallways,” Zeus muttered to himself, unaware of the sideways glances he received from passersby. “I should be out there with my brothers.”
“You are not being useless here,” Hera said, stepping out of an adjacent passage. Zeus was startled by her comment. He did not realize he said the words out loud. “You have been working night and day to prepare for the final assault on Atlantis. Your presence inspires not only this sanctuary but all the others as well. The people need to know their Lord is with them.”
“The sanctuaries do not need me,” Zeus replied stiffly. “Hades is master of the underworld. After a lifetime in the mines, he is much more at home beneath the surface than above it. These are his people. I am only a figurehead here.”
Zeus walked into his brother’s offices only slightly surprised to see his other two sisters awaiting him along with Hades. Zeus raised his voice enough so all of them could hear his sharpened words. “How can I expect Atlantis to follow me if I am not there to lead them? My place is with my warriors.”
“And you will be with them soon,” Hades said, his brooding black eyes glittering beneath his bushy brows. His lips were drawn tightly within his neatly trimmed, pointy beard as he looked up at his brother. “We all will.”
“All?” Zeus said, one brow arched above his golden eyes. He noted the firm stance of his siblings and the way they stood around the rectangular table leaning on their arms and looking down at the images spread out before them. Their faces were shadowed with shock, anger and grim determination.
“Yes,” Hestia replied, her body vibrating as she spoke. Her lustrous auburn seemed to curl around her slender face like living fire. Her hands were balled on the polished oak table and her green eyes were like chipped jewels. “This battle has been going on for nearly eleven years. The people are angry and war-weary. It divides them further. It is time for all of us to face our ‘father’,” she said, spitting out the title. “Poseidon is on his way and will join us tomorrow.”