by Gene Stiles
She swept her hand over the pictures on the table and stared hard at Zeus. “Together we will return to Atlantis and put an end these horrors.”
“What happened?” Zeus asked as he glanced down at the images. What he saw chilled his soul and lit his flames in his eyes. The entire southwestern coastline was a gory battlefield. Deserts and streets ran red with blood and countless bloated bodies littered the trampled ground.
“We are losing Atlantis,” Hades said bluntly, his tone as hard as a granite cliff. “If we do not respond together all these deaths will have been for naught.”
“Why is Poseidon coming here?” Zeus stepped out of the eastern gates of the Sanctuary near the landing field on the outskirts of the farmland city. The sky above him was gray and somber with a thick layer of flat-bottomed clouds that blocked even the smallest ray of midday sunlight. “With the battles raging, he should await us in Daedalia.”
“Ra is in command until we return,” Hades assured him. They walked across the packed earth and trampled grass to where the sleek, dark blue airship was settling on the ground. “We need our brother here at the moment. The First Children say his presence is vital.”
“Have they come up with something?” Zeus glanced at Hades, watching as the rear hatch of the craft opened like a ramp.
“They have,” Hades nodded as he spoke. His broad forehead was crinkled with curiosity. His wards were excited, but strangely reserved when they called for him. Usually, they could not wait to share their newest inventions with him, however, this time they steadfastly refused to tell him or show him anything until all the brothers and sisters were together. “I do not know what, but they insist we all come to them. For some reason, they need you and Poseidon most of all. It is very odd,” he said, shaking his head.
Poseidon stepped out onto the plain, his face as dark as the gloomy sky above. He clasped forearms with his brothers and followed them back to the transport. “I should be back on Atlantis,” he said harshly. “Our coalition is cracking. There are fears Cronus will soon turn his wrath on his own people. With the fall of Sirenum, he is like a cornered, wounded beast and that makes him extremely dangerous.”
“I feel the same, brother,” Zeus replied having read the reports pouring in from all corners of the globe. “Cities across Prubrazia are afraid to send more troops and supplies. Cronus increases his brutal savagery every day and is gaining ground. We are being driven back and into the sea. Our allies are terrified the madman will send nuclear fire against them if they continue to support us. Their worries are not without merit.”
“That is why you are here,” Hades added as they boarded the sled. “All my wards will tell me is that they have a solution and you are a crucial part of it.”
All fifteen of the First Children awaited the brothers in the huge anteroom of their private section of the Sanctuary. That in itself was extremely unusual. Their terrible physical deformities made others uncomfortable and even their mainly childish minds could sense it. Most of them preferred to remain in their own little worlds, heads buried in amazing artwork, intricate jewelry designs or whatever projects suited their particular talents. Only three of them spent the majority of their time among the Sanctuary community, using their prodigious physical strength to help wherever they could. When Hades visited them, the Children were ecstatic, vying for his attention and competing to show their adopted father their newest creations.
Not today. Today the First Children were somber and quiet as if a great weight rested on their gargantuan, misshapen shoulders. They arrayed themselves against the far wall of the chamber, dragging in the couches and chairs specially designed to accommodate their particular twisted bodies. They did not jump up and down when their guests arrived and the sweet, gentle glee that normally lit their grotesque features was replaced by dark shadows and grim countenances. Strangely, the Children looked determined, resigned and afraid.
A huge mahogany table sat before them on which two ornately carved and bejeweled cedar cases lay like offerings, their lids firmly closed and locked. Every straight edge of the wooden boxes was strapped by wide bands of polished gold inlaid with symbols and words entwined in an elaborate web-work of incredible design. Lit candles flanked the cases, adding to the appearance that these were gifts to the Creator. Three of the First Children stood like stony sentinels directly behind the cases waiting silently until all of Hade’s siblings arrived. Once all were gathered and seated, two of them sat down sullenly leaving only Droner to address the Olympians.
Droner was an oddity even among the disfigured, warped and mentally impaired First Children. At only fourteen foot tall, he was the smallest of the mammoth monstrosities with a head shaped like a perfect sphere. Wisps of thin blond hair dotted his skull like weeds on a desert floor. His features would have been considered handsome if not for the sagging flesh that fell down his face as if his cheeks had been liquefied on the day he was born. His lips were tan and curved like those of a sensuous woman though he never smiled. The light blue eyes that rested on either side of his aero-straight nose were bright and twinkled like shining stars against his pale copper skin most of the time and he seldom spoke to anyone except his own.
Then a switch would click in his amazing brain. His face turned blank and his eyes lost their sheen and turned a ghostly, milky white. His voice rumbled from his chest devoid of emotion, speaking in Atlantean like a living computer. In this trance-like state, Droner shared all the knowledge of the Children with their hosts in cold scientific detail. He drew all the complex designs of their inventions and passed them on for manufacture. During those moments, his primary role was aa s translator between the uncanny minds of the First Children and the rest of humanity.
Droner laid his delicate hands on the cases and his eyes went as white as if he were blind. “What we give you here may save the world,” he said flatly. “Or destroy it. The choice rests in the hands of you all but in particular those of Lord Zeus and Lord Poseidon. So much power cannot reside with one person, no matter how well-intended, so we divided it into land and sea. They are made of elements not found on this earth and, thus, can never be duplicated. Guard them well.”
“Lord Ra sent us not only Cydonian science, but a small amount of the alien metal from their scared First Ship,” he droned on in a lifeless monotone. “We combined it with scavenged borithium from ancient Atlan to create an indestructible alloy. What we little gleaned about the properties of their armor from the Nillian archives allowed us to meld the principles with all known sciences of both peoples.” He touched the cases, his hands showing a reverence not capable of reflection on his face. “These are our greatest and most terrifying creations. We give them to you now with conditions.”
“Lord Zeus, if you will,” Droner said, opening one of the boxes, his sightless eyes never looking down.
No one spoke as Zeus stepped forward. The simple chamber felt like a temple at the moment consecrated by the Creator and sacred with His will. To utter a word would be spitting a curse upon Him.
Droner reached into the case and lifted an elegantly tooled leather scabbard from the rich, purple padding within. It measured six foot long and a full foot wide. The hilt was of darkly stained, polished mahogany wrapped with entwined strips of black leather with a round globe of silver on the end. A straight T-guard of polished silver tipped with small spheres of the same silver locked into the end of the sheath. It seemed a simple weapon for such ceremony.
Zeus took the proffered sword and drew it from the scabbard. The blade had a bluish tint to the shiny gray metal. Unlike the simplicity of the hilt, it was embedded with thin, gold strands in complex geometric patterns along its entire length on both sides. They seemed to flow with a glistening, molten, azure fire that mesmerized his eyes and pulled at his soul. The effect was magical with a surreal, hypnotic call that whispered his name when he touched it.
“This is Excalibur,” Droner said, still staring above Zeus’ head. “It is comprised of forty-three folded layers o
f the alloy. Between each layer and on the surface is circuitry that mimics the energy absorption properties of the Cydonian armor. It creates a force field around the user as does that weapon, but unlike that armor, we believe it is capable of withstanding a nuclear blast.”
“However,” he said a stern warning somehow apparent in his bland voice, “energy is never destroyed. It must go somewhere. This sword will create directed lightning of such incredible power it will be unlike anything the world has ever known. You will have command of that, Lord Zeus. But we caution you, should you be struck with a nuclear blast and it is more energy than you can tolerate, send the remaining power into the sky. If you expend the leftover forces into the earth, you could conceivably crack the planet.”
Zeus remained still, his hands holding the beautiful, shimmering sword in his outstretched hands. His lionesque mane of wavy, blond-streaked, fire-red hair crackled around his awe-struck face as if touched by sparks of static electricity. The weapon felt much lighter than its size implied and, as he gripped it by the hilt and pointed the tip at the ceiling, Zeus was amazed by such perfect balance. His golden eyes shone brightly, but his full, tan lips were stern beneath is full, curly beard. He could sense the terrifying power of this blade and the heavy weight of responsibility that went with it. Somehow, Zeus felt both thrilled and deeply afraid at the same time.
“Thank you,” Zeus almost whispered, accepting the gift with all the humility and reverence it deserved.
Droner nodded only slightly then bade Poseidon forward. His dead, pale eyes continued to stare blankly above the heads of the gathered Olympians and he spoke without inflection. “The Creator’s universe demands harmony. There must be light and dark, good and evil, heat and cold, life and death. Fire must be balanced by water.”
The second cedar case Droner opened was much longer than the one that held the majestic sword and was three times as wide. When the lid was thrown back, the contents glowed like an early morning sun muted by a thin layer of clouds. An odd, soundless vibration shivered through the room and rippled within the bodies of those in attendance causing them to shift uncomfortably in their seats.
The object he lifted was coated with solid gold from end to end. It was a spear eight foot long and six inches thick. Thin, polished silver lines were embedded in the surface creating stunning, ornately designed images of fish, seaweed and ocean waves. Halfway down the shaft was a pitted, dark green material laced with black leather strips. The tip of the spear reminded Poseidon of the horns that held the sun-disks on the Trinity’s armor. These prongs, however, curved outward then back in like cupped hands, the inside tips edged with wicked-looking, fishhook-like barbs. Centered between these horns was a third prong that rose a foot above them, the end shaped like the long, sharp tip of an aero. The tines were not flat but rather rounded like the tusks of a mammoth.
“This is Triton,” Droner intoned dryly, handing the spear to Poseidon. “It is made of rolled layers of the Cydonian/borithium alloy with circuitry not unlike that of Excalibur. Also, like the blade, it absorbs and amplifies energy and creates a field around its wielder. However, it does not produce lightning. Triton is based on Atlantean sonic devices. The frequencies used are far beyond the range of human hearing. On land and on the low end, the sound waves can be used as a cushion to move massive objects as the People have always done, but,” Droner warned, “on the high end, the ultrasonics can tumble mountains.”
“On the seas, Triton’s power is even greater,” he said bluntly. For the first time, Droner moved his milky-eyed head, his empty gaze fixed on Poseidon. “Sound travels through water for hundreds of miles and the oceans react. You hold in your hands the power to create waves that can sweep your enemies from the sea. You can part the waters as easily as your hands can open silky drapes. Use it well and Triton will give you command of those dwellers of the deep that use sound to communicate.”
Droner’s next words sent a chill up Poseidon’s stiffened spine. “Use it wrong and you may create tidal waves that could swallow the earth.”
He raised his deformed, sagging face to once again to stare blankly above his audience. His booming voice echoing flatly off the chamber walls, Droner spoke to them all. Even Hades was awe-struck by his next words. His wards never let anything but childish joy and wonder show in their limited vocabularies before this. This. This was something he could never conceive them capable of.
“Be very careful,” he continued. “The sciences here amaze even us and some we do not truly understand. These weapons almost have a sentience of their own. They will protect you and fight for you automatically, but they may also absorb and amplify your emotions as well. Take care they do not overwhelm you.”
“It is with heavy hearts my brethren and I bestow these terrible gifts upon you,” Droner said plainly. “As grotesque as we are, you have given us a home and treated us with nothing but love, kindness and respect. You took us in and gave us purpose when all others saw us only as feeble-minded monsters. When we speak among ourselves, we are nothing but grateful. We love you for it.”
“It is because of that love,” he said, standing behind the open cases, “we are ashamed to put such responsibility upon you. If we did not trust you with all our hearts and believe in your wisdom and goodness, we would never have done it. Cronus seeks to destroy the world. We have given you the means to stop him. We beg you, do not let us down.”
Droner began to slump on his feet as if his strength was finally expended. His eyes began to flutter and change color telling Hades he was coming out of his self-imposed trance. “Wait!’ Hades said before the transformation could complete. “You said there were conditions. What are they?”
His behemoth body trembled as if fighting itself and Droner’s eyes flickered between pale blue and milky white. Finally, his back stiffened and his hands went limp at his sides.
“There is only one,” he said, his rumbling voice quivering as if caught between two worlds. “We are the First Children of Pettit. The Lord Father created us in through an unholy act of barbarism. We know that his nuclear weapons will most assuredly create deformities that make us look beautiful. We will not allow that. The condition is simple. We will fight at your side.”
Hades was shocked and dismayed at their demand. “You have never lived outside,” he said softly, kindly shaking his head at their request. “You panicked uncontrollably when we brought you to the Sanctuary from Tartarus. I will not subject you to such torture again.”
“We are prepared this time,” Droner intoned bluntly, “and you have no true choice. At the moment, Excalibur and Triton are but a sword and a spear. To use their power, you need them to be activated. We hold the codes to unlock them. If we are not allowed to join the battle, neither shall they.”
Hades stood open-mouthed, gaping at his wards. Droner dropped to his seat like a boulder, his face changing as the glaze left his eyes. In the other First Children, another amazing transformation occurred. Their titanic muscles bulged and twisted as they rose as one. In each of their warped visages and mangled bodies, Hades saw a grim, stubborn determination. All childish glee was gone. What remained behind was pure, primal fury. They would have their revenge on the one true monster who created them.
Ra shivered in the blazing sunshine, staring out at the carnage covering a once beautiful, flower-covered meadow. His warriors walked through the gruesome massacre grimly searching for the injured of both sides littered among the dead. A sickening stench of burned flesh, vomit, sweat and loosened bowels mixed with the thick perfume scent of crushed flower petals. The soldiers gagged beneath the cloth wrapped across their mouths and noses as they pulled wounded from the clutter of corpses. Those who could be saved were taken to the huge tents of Ra’s encampment. Those who could not were granted a quick and merciful death.
This was the worse battle Ra had seen since the war began. Cronus sent his legions across the Aropian Veldt, backed by heavy artillery, energy weapons and air support. If Ra had not personally led th
e counterattack, his troops would have been overrun and Atlantis would be at the outskirts of Daedalia. Only his armor and the fighting fury of his warriors kept that from happening. But the cost was greater than anyone imagined. Nearly a hundred thousand lay scattered within puddles of blood, heaps of charred wood and twisted piles of metal. Without reinforcements from Prubrazia or the rebelling coastal cities, Ra knew he did not have the manpower to withstand another such massive assault.
It was a struggle to reach his private tent. By the time Ra slumped on his feather bed, he was exhausted beyond belief. He lifted the helmet from his sweaty brow with shaking hands, almost dropping it when he sat it on the small side table. The armor never took this much out of him before. He wiped his mouth, startled at the amount of blood on the back of his hand. Ra realized in his last clear-minded moment something was dreadfully, frightfully wrong.
A wave of excruciating pain rolled through his muscles and vibrated along every bone in his body. Ra gritted his teeth against the horrible agony, feeling an acidic bile rising in his throat. Sweat poured down his furrowed forehead like a salty waterfall and spread over every fevered inch of his skin. He fell back on the pillows moaning, his mind swirling as he fought to remain conscious. Nausea knotted his stomach, cramping his abs and adding to his soul-numbing anguish. Ra turned his head and retched on the hard-packed dirt floor. The red and yellow sparks behind his blurry eyes kept him from seeing the dark crimson splotches within the disgusting, chunky green vomit. Ra twisted and groaned, pulling his blanket around his burning body, lost in a hellish well of torment until the moment sweet, icy blackness embraced him and pulled him under.
By the time his commanders found him, Ra was already long dead.