Colony- Olympian

by Gene Stiles

  On the fifth day, the first faint ray of recovery beamed down upon them. A new rumble rolled across the sickly sky. At first, they cowered and cried, wondering what new creatures the Creator was sending to punish them for their wickedness. Then ten black spots appeared on the northern horizon and swooped over them on welcome raven wings. The Olympian airships settled on the ground near the huge, filthy pavilion at the rear of what had been their army’s encampment and a weak, half-hearted cheer arose to greet them.

  Oceanus stepped from the ramp of an air transport, his mahogany eyes damp with unshed tears. The bleak features on his bald, rounded skull looked as if they had been chiseled by a shaky hand, rough, hard and unfinished. The dark brown linen tunic and breeches he wore were dirty and wrinkled as if he had slept in them for days. His wave to the gathering crowds was limp and weak, his attention centered on the miserable, melancholy group standing in front of the ragged pavilion before him.

  Zeus and his siblings waited quietly as Oceanus approached, glad to see he survived, but troubled by the aura of immense heartache surrounding him. One look at his crumbled carriage told them whatever news the man brought with him was dark and dire. Zeus stepped aside and ushered Oceanus into the tent, waiting until they were seated and served with hot tea before asking the questions which churned within him.

  “Atlantis is not the only city to be destroyed,” Oceanus said glumly, his thick, farmer’s fists wrapped around the steaming mug in his hands. He sighed heavily, his deeply tanned lips pursed tensely above his rounded jaw. “As you commanded, we flew to Daedalia after our meeting with Cronus to await the outcome of the battle. When the shockwave hit us, buildings already weakened by war fell like autumn leaves. Quakes opened up fissures which swallowed entire sections of the city. We were barely able to retrieve the Ra’s stasis pod and load it aboard one of the transports before things got even worse.”

  “Worse?” Hera asked, one ebony eyebrow arched on her crinkled forehead. “What could be worse?”

  Oceanus stared at her incomprehensibly, stunned that she could even ask given all she had witnessed over the last few days. He chose not to speak of those things and refrained from snapping back angrily at her stupid question. One look at her drawn and sunken face told him she was on the verge of a breakdown, her mind numbed by shock and depression – feelings he understood very well.

  “The sonic blast drove the waters of the bay seaward,” Oceanus replied, his brow furrowing at the terrifyingly awesome memory. “The bay was left empty and barren. Ships crashed down on the ocean bedrock, taking their moorings with them. Docks collapsed, their pilings shattered by the weight of warships. Crews scrambled to get off the crippled vessels and make it to the airfield before the horror they knew would come next reached them.”

  “Few made it,” he continued, gazing blankly at the Olympians listening gloomily to his terrifying story. His eyes had a foggy faraway look, lost in the remembrance of agony. “We saw the monstrous tidal wave coming as the sea sought to reclaim the shore. It was a behemoth nearly two miles high and it raced toward us at unimaginable speed.”

  Oceanus hung his head, fighting to keep his voice from quavering while trying to come up with words to describe what he saw. There were no adequate ones he could think of so he kept it simple and blunt.

  “If these transports had not already been loaded with supplies for your army and ready to fly,” he said bleakly, glancing up at Zeus, “we would have had no chance. As it was, we were able to load them to capacity with survivors and rise above the wave crest just minutes before it hit.”

  “There is nothing left,” Oceanus told the speechless siblings. He faltered, his lips trembled and his broad shoulders slumped. “Every city within fifty miles of the coastline has been erased from existence. We swung northward and stayed near the edges of the continent to keep us from the majority of the lightning ripping across the sky. There was nothing but watery wastelands as far as we could see. Atlantis is dead.”

  “This is my fault. I should never have come here.” Zeus stabbed at the stew steaming in the bowel before him, not hungry, but knowing he must keep his strength up for the coming days.

  “It is not your fault,” Hades said firmly, placing a copper-hued hand on his brother’s forearm. His obsidian eyes blazed with the hatred burning in his soul. He nodded his head in the direction of the two men manacled to a post in a corner of the tent. “It is theirs. It was Cronus who hunted us across the globe. You tried to live in peace, but he would not let you. You had no idea he would create the hellish Proto-Sun powered Grid. What came after rests squarely on the Lord Father’s shoulders, not yours.”

  “Hades speaks the truth,” Oceanus added sternly. “Besides, there is more than enough blame to go around. If we of the Twelve had stood against him instead of ignoring his atrocities, we might have prevented all of this. Instead, we cowered before his Black Guard and hid behind useless words when actions were required. We let this happen more than you.”

  “The real question is what do we do now,” Poseidon said, his tone like unpolished granite. Like Zeus, the weight of his guilt and self-loathing was like a mountain upon his shoulders, but he knew it was not the time to let it crush him. The remnants of civilization counted on them.

  “We must save as many as we can and take them to the sanctuaries,” Zeus said through gritted teeth. “Surely, most of them remain intact. After we complete the search and rescue in Atlantis and the surrounding areas, we will go northward. We will start at the Retreat and see what communications we can reestablish. That will tell us how to proceed.”

  “The Retreat will do you no good,” Oceanus replied morosely. He ran a big hand over his domed skull, his dark brown eyes almost black. “We landed there before coming here. Rhea, Hyperion and Tethys still await us on the plains outside, but the Merilic Mountains are now only foothills of crumbled rock. The Retreat and all who were in it are gone.”

  Zeus thought his heart would stop at that grisly announcement, but before he could comment, an angry commotion broke out in front of the pavilion, growing in volume as a mob formed around the bedraggled group moving through them. A breathless runner burst inside and hurried to Zeus.

  “What is going on?” Zeus asked, rising from the table.

  “We have visitors, Lord Zeus,” the man replied, bitterness flaming in his reddened cheeks. “From Atlantis.”

  Thea and Themis stood holding hands at the fore of the grim looking group, their legendary beauty buried beneath thick layers of dirt and grime. Their long, golden-blond hair hung in mud-caked tangles down their stiff, straight backs and their large, stunningly green eyes were clouded by the ghastly things they had seen on their way here.

  Thea peered deeply into Zeus’ eyes, her face forlorn and her full, rose-colored lips trembling. “I am so sorry,” she half-whispered, fresh tears filling her blinking eyes. “The Lady Adrasteia is gone. We found her curled around Chalandra in the park outside of the pyramid. I am so very sorry.”

  Zeus hung his head, his mane of yellow-red hair falling across his ruddy cheeks. He curled his fists at his side, the tendons rigid against his bulging forearms. A fresh, stabbing pain wracked his thumping heart and brought salty streams to his tightly closed eyes. It was difficult to get the heavy, polluted air into his lungs and Zeus found it impossible to speak.

  Hera stepped forward and greeted the twins solemnly along with the others in their disheveled company. Mnemosyne seemed lost in a private hell, her hazel eyes blank and empty. Her wavy auburn hair lay across her slumped shoulders like a wet cape, all of its luster as drained as the strength in her shivering body. Her mouth hung open limply and a touch of drool dampened the corners of her slack lips. Her mind overwhelmed by the enormity of Atlantis’ destruction and the history of its people was more than she could handle. Mnemosyne simply stopped thinking at all, leaving the husk of her flesh to be led and maintained by those around her.

  “Lady Hera,” an old, cracked voice said from the background,
“may we beg your hospitality. I fear my wife’s endurance is failing.”

  Coeus lay his weary head against Phoebe’s shoulder, her arm wrapped around his torso. His old legs were quivering and he surely would have dropped if not for her grip on him. Her porcelain face seemed even whiter than usual and her pale-blue eyes were dim with exhaustion, but her stance was firm and steady. Though most were amazed by the odd coupling of a young woman of such exotic, extraordinary beauty with the oldest of the Atlanteans, Phoebe loved her husband with every fiber of her being. She would never let him fall.

  Hera could see the Aam holding back the angry mob were having difficulty maintaining control. They wanted revenge on the Twelve for the ruination of all they knew, even though it had been done under the Lord Father’s orders. The Twelve was there to oppose the power and savagery of one man and they had failed humanity – especially those who remained in Atlantis while Cronus sowed the seeds of their destruction. Zeus was still lost in his grief. If she did not get these people out of sight, the horde growing around them might take matters into their own hands.

  “Please,” Hera said, her tone brusque, but courteous. She waved toward the tent and led them inside. Despite her own fury, she knew these people were necessary if Atlantean civilization was to be saved, though she wondered if that would be a good thing. Perhaps they should simply start anew.

  It was three weeks before Zeus was ready to take them from this terrible, dead and haunted place. They used the transports to comb the coastline and inland cities for survivors while he and his crews searched the rubble for anyone living. Far too few were found. The scorched Aropian Veldt was a sea of tents populated by the broken, downtrodden and despondent. With faint tremors still rattling the ground beneath them, no one wanted to remain within the ghostly confines of Atlantis. Yet, under the guidance of Zeus and the Olympians, they came together to help one another and salvage what they could from the shattered city. It gave them purpose and lifted the burden of hopelessness from their shoulders.

  Of the thirty thousand soldiers who faced each other fewer than four thousand remained. They kept to their own enclosures on opposite sides of the encampment for the most part, animosities running too high to allow any type of forgiveness. It came as little surprise to Zeus that many of the Atlantean warriors abandoned their colored leathers and exchanged them for plain tunics and breeches. Heads down in shame and regret, they left their brethren to find redemption among the labors of the ordinary citizenry.

  “The airship you sent to the Sanctuary has returned with good news,” Lelantos said, stepping into the giant pavilion. A ragtag combination of tables and chairs were scattered around the command tent and he took a seat at the largest among them. “It suffered no damage and is prepared to accept survivors. Our scouts brought back comlinks so we can coordinate evacuations from here, though high static discharges over this continent are still wreaking havoc on communications and they can be spotty.”

  Zeus smiled warmly at his friend, grateful Lelantos had been plucked from the treetops of the Jazairamine Forest north of the ravaged port of Lycus by Rhea and Hyperion on their return to Atlantis. Though shriveled by dehydration and ravenous with hunger, the man still managed to keep his golden bow strapped to his back and a touch of humor in his voice. “It took you long enough,” he had quipped weakly when hoisted aboard the aircraft.

  “This is a good thing,” Zeus replied, ordering a platter of boiled vegetables and tankard of tea from a passing server. “We are running out of supplies quickly. We will begin the departures immediately.”

  “Back to matters at hand,” Zeus said, his tone harsh as he glanced at those gathered around the long rectangular table.

  Nine of the Twelve sat on his left, Crius having never reached the bunker that protected the twins, Phoebe, Coeus and Mnemosyne during the destruction. Cronus and Iapetus still remained in chains along with the most vicious of their commanders. To his right sat his siblings, Loki, Anak, Celessa and Lelantos.

  When Zeus looked at Celessa, it was difficult for him not to envision her sister, Adrasteia, - the woman who raised and loved him as her own - and it tore at his heart. Meeting the gaze of the Twelve who stayed at the Lord Father’s side made his blood boil. He wanted so badly to punish them for their cowardly acquiescence of all Cronus had done. Yet, Thea and Themis had proven themselves by trying to help the Aam-Izon reach the Grid controls even though the attempt failed. It was also thanks to them he was rescued from the pyramid dungeons. He could not hold them accountable. Coeus was too old and bent to fight back with other than words. This he and Phoebe had done repeatedly to no avail. No matter how much Zeus wished to blame them, he could not find it within to do so. He, himself, had given Cronus too much ground. Had he acted sooner, perhaps the world would have been saved.

  “What are we to do with Cronus?” Zeus asked finally, hoping the question would unite them all and temper the fires of revenge seething in his heart. He knew if it was his choice alone, Zeus would plunge Excalibur into his blood father's putrid, evil heart. He hoped the others would save him from that.

  In a city that had once boasted over twenty thousand inhabitants, less than a thousand remained behind to witness the judgment of Zeus. He stood on the crumpled, cracked steps before the heap of stone that was left of the Atlantean pyramid, the Twelve and the Olympians at his back.

  “Look around you,” Zeus said coldly, his golden eyes blazing in the first sunny, cloudless day the continent had seen in some time. Cronus and Iapetus stared up at him, bound in chains and surrounded by an arc of Aam, some dressed in Olympian blue, some in Black Guard ebony. They were now under the single banner of Olympus.

  “This is what your fear and hatred have wrought,” he continued, waving his hand over the shattered remnants of a once-beautiful city that were scattered around him. “You were so terrified some ancient prophecy would come true that you set the course to make it a reality. You have destroyed all that was good in the People and replaced it with malice and hostility. Your vicious malignance and intolerance spread like a plague through all you created. For that, you should die.”

  Zeus let his voice rise. His words were as much for the furious crowd as they were for his prisoners. “But we are not the animals you accuse us of being. We do not seek revenge, but justice. Death would be too quick and clean for the atrocities you have committed. Your punishment must be as long-lasting as the horrors you have visited upon your victims. They will have to suffer from the loss of so much and the pain of loved ones gone and so shall you.”

  Murmurs of angry assent rippled through the throng, though the blood-lust in their eyes said they would prefer to flay the two men alive.

  “You will be taken to the deepest pit of darkness in the world,” Zeus intoned harshly. “You will spend the rest of your miserable days in chains at the bottom of Tartarus. You will live as slaves in the same squalor you sentenced your own son and daughters to. You will suffer under the hands of your own eldest son, Hades - once a prisoner of your making, but now Lord of the Underworld - as you have made all of humanity suffer under yours.”

  “That,” Zeus said to the bitter, stunned men, “is the judgment of Olympus and the will of the Creator. Let it be so.”

  Epilog

  Mother Earth was jolted awake from her millenniums-long slumber by pinpricks of terrible pain upon her skin of soil. Her sudden awareness lasted only a mere microsecond in her timeless existence, but the effects of her momentary consciousness had centuries of horrific consequences to those insignificant, short-lived mites that inhabited her epidermis. The molten liquid that flowed through her veins seeped through her rocky pores and spilled across the tortured landscape. Her shutters of agony lifted mountain ranges and continents in some places and reduced others to piles of rubble resting on the black, icy-cold bottom of the ocean floor.

  Conflagrations of flames seared the wooden hairs coating her body so she sent the soothing balm of frozen glaciers to ease her torment. Where the open sore
s of steaming chasms were ripped into her, the Great Mother sent huge torrents of water to cool her excruciating pain then filled the gaping wounds with rock and soil to seal her ugly scars. The hurricane winds of her hands swept the sources of her discomfort from her grassy garb, wiping out the puny constructs of humanity as if they were sands upon a beach at high tide.

  Once she was healed, she sighed in immense relief, her volcanic breath darkening the skies with a thick layer of dust and smoke that blocked out the golden rays of the sun for ages to come. Exhausted from her mighty exertions, the Earth Goddess smiled and grabbed her crust like a comforting blanket. She rolled onto her side and slipped peacefully back into her serene, dream-filled hibernation once again happy and contented that all was well in the world.

  As Coeus had predicted, the enormous energies expended in Atlantis exacerbated the natural wobble of the earth. It was like attaching a small rocket to one side of a child’s ball to make it spin and the effects were catastrophic. As if the Isle of the One Tree was a gigantic pillar that held the city above the ocean, its destruction lowered the entire continent by hundreds of feet. By the time it settled, massive tsunamis swept inland wiping away farms and forests, towns and cities leaving most of the lower landscape underwater and uninhabitable. The repercussions rippled across the world, smashing into coastlines already devastated by the monstrous tidal waves created by Triton and Excalibur.