Colony- Olympian

by Gene Stiles

  “Lelantos brings two hundred more of us with him,” Loki said, standing to make their way back toward the camp. His deep, bass voice was as hard as a granite cliff. “We will bring the children of Pettit back home to Cronus so he can see what kind of monsters he has created. We owe him that.”

  Loki felt old, bitter memories flood his mind as they walked upstream. He had not thought of them in decades, but being in this place drew them from the depths of his soul. He gazed into the coming darkness and pointed to the west. A cold, ominous shiver rippled up his spine. “Do you realize I was raised on the other end of this very river? I wonder if the burned out shell of Amelia’s home still stands. I find it strange and yet somehow fitting that I am to end my journey so close to where I began.”

  “Your journey will not end here,” Anak stated firmly. He put a huge, strong hand on his friend’s shoulder and looked down into his troubled eyes. He swept his other hand over the gargantuan Nephilim huddled around small fires along the river’s edge. “You are not alone as you were then. You have all your brothers and sisters to fight at your side. You will live to see Atlantis fall. You will watch the Lord Father and his ilk served with the cold justice they so richly deserve.”

  “Besides,” Anak said, locking Loki’s neck in his gigantic arm and knuckling his head as if he were a child, “Alcmene would kill me if I let anything happen to you. I think she likes you more than me.”

  The Aropian Veldt was over eight hundred miles from east to west, beginning at the northern tip of the Maraldis Forest near the junction of the Claudius River and the Gaia and ending at the base of the One Tree. Low, rolling hills were divided by expansive pastoral, well-tended farmlands, groves of fruit trees and ranches of domesticated sheep and deer. Twisting streams and babbling brooks fed into glistening lakes brimming with a wide variety of fishes. Small forests of oak, mahogany, teak and birch dotted the landscape and provided windbreaks among the meadows.

  Only eight major highways flowed through the towns and villages scattered throughout the region and most of those were relatively new. The re-introduction of wheeled vehicles made the roadways a necessity. Grav-sleds did not need them, but the uridium required to keep them afloat was increasingly more difficult to find and made sleds a rare sight. Traffic was usually light, mainly transport of goods and services between the communities and Atlantis.

  Such was not the case today. The convoy of war machines and troop transports stretched of miles down the Lord’s Causeway, the widest of the highways and the most direct route to Atlantis. The rumble of the wooden wheels on the mosaic of flattened stone that made up the highway sent wildlife running for the safety of their dens and burrows and stilled the twittering of songbirds among the tree branches. Entire sullen, awe-struck communities lined the sidewalks in their towns or just stood in the fields, staring agape at the massive army passing them by.

  Zeus kept his legions on a tight leash. Wherever they stopped to make camp, he was careful to pay the villages and farmers in gold, silver and precious gems for the damages caused to their land. He assured the citizens any crimes against them by his troops would be dealt with as immediately and harshly as would any attacks on his men. It did not always assuage their anger and the fear at the intrusion, but it did blunt it somewhat. What surprised him most was how many people begged to join him.

  A vast grassy plain stretched out for twenty miles around when Zeus halted their steady march toward Atlantis. The farms and ranches they came across for the last two days were deserted, the houses dark and cold. No one wanted to be caught between Cronus and the Olympians.

  “I am amazed we have not clashed with the Atlantean army as yet,” Poseidon said as he stood in the command tent. His dark blue tunic looked a size too small on his massive frame and outlined every sinew of his broad, powerful torso. “I would have thought Cronus enraged we have come this far.”

  “I am sure he is,” Zeus replied, pouring over the stacks of images and reports spread across the table. He eased back in his chair and looked up at his gigantic brother, his golden eyes clouded with fatigue. “But he is not stupid. He is letting us wear ourselves out getting here while he keeps his troops fresh and close to the city.”

  “Also,” Valkyrie said, tossing her long, blond braid back over her shoulder, “he is trying to limit the assaults on his own lands. Atlantis is still deeply divided and Cronus does not want to give the People more reason to turn against him.”

  “True enough,” Zeus said with a thoughtful nod, “but there must be another reason as well. He plays a dangerous game. Rebel factions have been flocking to our banner from the coastal cities and townships all over the continent. We have more than made up for the losses we have taken.”

  He gazed out into the growing twilight and the endless campfires glowing across the landscape. The first stars were appearing in the darkening sky and a bright half-moon rose above the eastern horizon. In other times, it would have been beautiful and peaceful, but tonight Zeus felt a strange, foreboding itch on the back of his neck.

  “He must have something planned we have not yet foreseen,” he said, his face gloomy in the dim tent lights. Trying to shake the murky, nameless concern from his mind, Zeus asked, “What news from our scouts?”

  “As far as we can tell,” Valkyrie replied, sensing his dire mood, “there are no forces attempting to flank us or trying to get behind us. Our surveillance Ravens show no large movements of troops. The Atlantean army remains encamped fifty miles west of the city.”

  “And our ‘guests’?”

  “They will be arriving tomorrow afternoon,” Poseidon said, drawing a chair up to the table. A server came up and poured cups of steaming green tea, offering cheese and bread to him and the others. After thanking him, Poseidon looked gravely at Zeus and said, “I am still not convinced this is the best of ideas. To bring us all together in one place is inviting disaster.”

  “I keep my word,” Zeus said firmly. “I promised our brother and sisters we would meet Cronus as one. I believe it is important we show the People a united front. As for the rest, I vowed the Nephilim, the Izon and the Cro-Mags would have a place in this final battle. They have as much at stake as we do.”

  “Also, as you said before,” Valkyrie added with a tiny smile, “the continent is still divided. Having our surprise guests with us may not only shake the Lord Father to his core but rally those undecided behind us.”

  “Still,” Poseidon said sternly, still unconvinced, “a singular nuclear strike could end it all. Why he has not used one so far is very strange.”

  “We sit in the breadbasket of Atlantis,” Valkyrie responded, having pondered that very question. “If he irradiates this soil, he chances starving his own people for decades not to mention the psychological damage such an action would cause.”

  “Perhaps,” Poseidon said glumly. “Cronus is not known to be rational when he is backed into a corner. His hatred of us knows no bounds. Should he find he is losing, I would put nothing past him.”

  “Then it will be up to us, brother,” Zeus replied, fingering the hilt of Excalibur, “to see that does not happen.”

  A wave of transport airships landed just behind the encampment the following day. Most carried contingents of Nephilim, Izon and Cro-mags along with every spare soldier available for this campaign. They quickly disseminated among the legions and began preparing for battle. As much as he wanted to welcome and thank each of them, Zeus only had time to meet a scant few. This particular one was met with as much muted pageantry as he could muster.

  Zeus stood tall as the ship settled on the trampled grassland. A warm, gentle breeze rippled through his unbridled, blond-streaked, red hair causing it to sparkle in the brilliant sunshine. Poseidon was on his right dressed in sapphire blue breeches and a sleeveless black tunic. His fiery mane flowed around his broad shoulders and almost meshed with his wavy, red beard. Hades stood at his side, dark as a moonless midnight sky. His raven hair was bound at the nape of his neck and his ebony e
yes glimmered coolly beneath his furrowed brow. Hestia, Demeter and Hera waited on Zeus’ left, each dressed in attire both beautiful and yet appropriate for a battlefield.

  The back ramp of the craft lowered to the ground, the interior dim against the backlight of the bright yellow sun. When she walked into the open with the tall, raven-haired man at her side, Zeus could not help but feel a catch in his throat. It had been a long time since he had last seen her, longer still since they had all gathered in one place. Zeus took one step forward and bowed his head.

  “Mother,” he said softly, amazed at the emotions flooding his heart, “it is good to see you.”

  Rhea’s smile was as golden as his misted eyes when she looked up at her youngest son. Her honey-blond hair cascaded down to the small of her back like a sparkling cape, fluttering around her thin, stunningly beautiful face. The knee-length, sky-blue, linen shift she wore hugged her still-sensuous, slender body and was belted around her narrow waist by a dark blue sash knotted at her hip. Rhea looked every bit the queen in her simple garb, but her grace did not touch her ice-blue eyes.

  “It is good to see you as well, my son,” she said, laying her palm on his sun-warmed cheek. Rhea looked over his shoulder at her other children, her smile widening at the sight of them all together. “I have missed all of you.”

  The rest of her sons and daughters gathered around her and embraced her, welcoming Rhea to the encampment, though they were far more aloof than Zeus. She felt their distance like a knife in her side. They might have forgiven her for not stopping Cronus from taking them away and imprisoning them for so long, but the tragedies of their lives kept a wall between them and their mother time could not penetrate. It was just another reason she hated him so.

  “Zeus, it is has been a while,” Hyperion said warmly, extending his hand to grip forearms with the young man. His tightly-curled, oiled ebony hair glistened in the sunlight and his smile was genuine but hard. The boyish joy for which he was known was no longer apparent on his strikingly handsome features but replaced by a resigned sorrow.

  “True,” Zeus replied, his smile bright and welcoming. “I never thought you would ever leave the Wind Song long enough to visit me again.”

  “Like Atlantis, it is not what it once was,” Hyperion said sadly before he stepped aside.

  “Amazing,” Oceanus said, walking onto the meadow with Tethys holding his burly forearm. “I never thought I would once again stand on Atlantean soil. I did not realize how much I missed it.”

  The short bull of a man looked out over the sea of tents and pavilions marring the landscape, his near-black eyes sad and angry. His bald, boulder-like head glistened in the bright sunlight even though his leathery skin was darkly tanned. The sight of thousands of troops so near his beloved city gnawed at his heart. “This is not the homecoming I had hoped for.”

  “Nor I,” Zeus said, gripping the older man’s thick arm and nodding to the Lady Tethys. “I am very sorry. Thank you for coming.”

  “We knew this day would come,” Tethys said gently, her dark brown eyes misted but kindly. “The vile actions of Cronus over the years made it inevitable. We are the ones who are sorry. Sorry we did not do more to stop him sooner.”

  “You do realize,” Oceanus said gravely as they made their way to the center of the camp, “as evil and twisted as our brother has become, we cannot raise sword against him. Cronus saved the People from extinction at great personal cost. We still hold out hope there is goodness and reason within him.”

  “I did not ask you here to fight,” Zeus replied calmly, attempting to reassure the man. They walked into the huge, near-empty dining tent, ignoring the hushed whispers of the few people inside. The sight of four of the original Twelve who crossed the great void and built Atlantis from the ground up was awe-inspiring. That is exactly what Zeus was counting on.

  The flaps on the mammoth tent were open on all sides allowing the cooling breeze to circulate within. Zeus specifically picked a long table in the near center of the room where those soon to gather for a noontime meal would see them all and word would spread. After drinks and a light luncheon was served, he turned back to Oceanus.

  “I wish to avoid as much bloodshed as possible,” he said firmly. He ran a hand through his wavy, red mane, his brow furrowed and his auric eyes hard. “I know we have a terrible battle before us, but Atlantis is the heart and soul of the People. It is the First City – the golden beacon of hope and renewed life for our species no matter what has been done in her name. I have no desire to burn it to the ground.” Zeus looked at his mother and added, “Or to kill the man who founded it.”

  Rhea bit her lip, her facing going as dark as a boiling thundercloud. He knew that is what she wanted most of all, but he would not give in to her craving for vengeance.

  “Cronus kept you from stopping his madness because he had the Aam behind him,” Zeus continued, ignoring the daggers his mother sent his way. He swept his hand over the massive legions surrounding them. “We now have an army much greater than his. We will use them as we must,” he said coldly. “However, I hope if we can show the People the Twelve are behind us and that we are here to end the tyranny of but one man, we can save countless lives.”

  “You would forgive all he has done to you, your siblings and all the others Cronus has destroyed?” Rhea said bitterly, her face blushed darkly.

  “Forgive? Never,” Zeus responded harshly. “He deserves punishment and that he shall receive. But to kill him would make him a martyr and I will not give him that even in death. I serve justice, not revenge. The People must see no one is above the law.”

  “I asked you here for that purpose,” Zeus said, returning his attention to Oceanus, Tethys and Hyperion.

  “And that is why we are here,” Oceanus replied, admiring the steely determination in Zeus’ eyes. “To see justice for all humankind and to return Atlantis to the lofty, beautiful goals she once had.” He glanced at his wife and saw the agreement written in Tethys’ stern, but gentle face. Hyperion simply nodded in assent, his dark eyes glancing at Rhea. “For that, you can count on us,” Oceanus said, “and, I believe, others of the Twelve still in the city as well.”

  “Thank you,” Zeus said gratefully. “That is all I ask of you.”

  “Hopefully,” Tethys said, a deep abiding ache in her heart as she looked at the massive war machine gathered in the fields, “that will be enough.”

  Unfortunately, she knew Cronus well. He would not give up easily.

  Rhea knew that foul monster even better. He would fight until there was no breath left in his body. In fact, she admitted grimly, she was relying on it.

  Cronus stood overlooking Atlantis, his big hands resting on the short stone wall that surrounded the apex of the Central Pyramid. Behind him, the huge globe of the Proto-Sun pulsed a dark yellow-red, eddies of black tendrils swirling within its ceaselessly moving currents like cancerous motes in the eye of the Creator. A warm night wind blew across the veldt from the west, ruffling his fire-red hair and billowing his long ebony robe around him like a cape. The dim light of the Proto-Sun caught the diamond flecks embedded in the thick material making it appear as if he stood in an earthly patch of the inky-black heavens above him while immersed in a field of sparkling stars.

  Normally, the spectacular view would have filled Cronus with awe, wonder and pride for all he and the People had accomplished in this world, but not on this unholy night. Even at this late hour, the golden city should be glowing with bright, colorful lights. The streets and sidewalks should be filled with open shops and well-dressed, happy people looking for a night’s entertainment. A wide variety of music should be mixing with the aromatic scents of busy eateries and the sounds of gaily shared laughter. But not tonight.

  Tonight a huge portion of the sprawling city lay in silent, solemn darkness. Those lights that did shine seemed muted and mournful. Very few people ventured out and those that did walked slowly among the shadows, heads bowed, shoulders slumped and eyes flitting nervousl
y around them. Even the Wind Song, one of the first buildings ever erected in Atlantis, was empty and cold, its doors closed and locked. The amazing chimes in its spires that usually filled the air with beautiful, melodic notes day and night were shuttered for the first time in the history of the city. Hyperion was gone.

  He was not the only one. With the Olympian army bearing down on them, over half the population had run from their homes and businesses and fled for the hills. Atlantis felt deserted and abandoned, a ghost town devoid of life and hope. The only residents remaining huddled together in fear and anger awaiting the enemy and cursing the Lord Father’s name.

  “Is this to be my legacy?” Cronus asked the wind. His jade eyes glistened in sorrow as he looked below him. “Have I brought ruination on all I have loved? The people I saved rise against me. The Twelve are broken. I face an army led by my own children and now my beloved Rhea stands with them. I gave them everything. What have I done to deserve this?”

  “Nothing,” a bitter voice rumbled inside him. The great serpent that nested in the black pit of his soul reared its ugly head, green eyes blazing with crimson embers. “You pledged your life to them and this is how they repay you. You gave the People greatness in a new world and they used it to turn on you. You sent Ra to Nil and he used the power he found to set himself up as king instead of for the benefit of Atlantis. You hid the true nature of the Izon to keep the People from a hideous truth and they condemn you. You gave your children different lives instead of killing them in their beds and they hate you for it. You loved Rhea with all your heart and she ripped it out and calls you the monster. They are the vile traitors. They are the ones that must be destroyed.”

  Rhea. Sweet memories tickled the back of his mind, struggling to be heard. He saw them floating in the windblown canyons of Atlan, laughing as the danced through the swirling currents. Cronus remembered her brilliant smile, the softness of her touch, their passionate lovemaking. He could still see the day they stepped from the tomb of their ships into the bright, glowing sunshine of a new, vibrant, beautiful world. He saw the incredible joy in her shimmering blue eyes when their first child was born. All gone now.