by Ryan Hartung
“You know, I don’t think so Hill. I can’t be sure but I have the feeling it was just protecting me. Dom, when you went to take it from me, I felt a surge of power just before you touched it. Truthfully, I think it was some sort of protection mechanism.”
“Well, whatever it was, it hurt like hell,” Dominic finished.
Hillary and Colt slowly helped Dominic to his feet. Like before, they again turned their attention to the double sword-like device, this time lying on the temple’s floor.
“Hey you guys, I just had a thought,” Dominic blurted out. He shook off their steadying holds and walked up to the dormant object. He stood there staring at the dulled staff for a few seconds before in one fluid motion swooping down and scooping it up in his other unburned hand.
“Are you stupid?” Hillary yelled.
“Stop!” Colt yelled, but it was too late. Dominic was already straightening his back with the dead staff in his hand. They looked at him in amazement. Both for his reckless act and that he was now holding the staff without being shocked to death.
“Seriously? I know something that you guys don’t?” he bragged.
“Alright, alright, what do you know that we don’t?” Colt said taking the bait.
“Remember the saying on the door? It said there can only be one Zeus. You said yourself that you felt like the staff was protecting you.” Dominic tossed the double-edged staff to Colt. The second he touched it, the staff again began to pulsate with the mysterious light.
Dominic continued, “Don’t you get it Colt? You’re Zeus!”
Silence passed as Colt and Hillary absorbed Dominic’s words. Dominic stood across from them, waiting for each of them to get it with a smug look of satisfaction painted on his face. He didn’t believe that Zeus ever existed, none of them did. But whether Zeus existed or not wasn’t the question. The real question was where did the staff come from and if Colt was its new master, what powers did he now possess?
“You know, if you’re right and this thing makes me Zeus or at least gives me Zeus-like powers, then I should have the power of lightning,” Colt thought aloud.
“Now you’re thinking like the Greek god of legend,” Dominic applauded.
“That’s great, but first things first,” Colt directed. “We’re not going to try this thing underground so let’s see if there’s anything else important in here before we head back to the surface,” he ordered, as was his role as the leader of their small band. Normally there wouldn’t have been a doubt in Colt’s mind that an artifact such as the staff was just that, nothing more than a staff. But after the shock and the power he’d received and seen given to Dominic, this time he knew this particular relic was much more.
Chapter
4
Deep in the Kremlin’s dimly lit bowels, Russia’s president Boris Aleksandrov paced along an outer wall of what used to be a well-known soviet KGB office. He longed for the era where Russia was a world power not to be taken lightly. Years of neglect to the nation’s infrastructure and the constant fracturing of its outer provinces had decimated the nation’s once powerful world clout. Now his country barely had the resources to maintain the skeletal framework of what once comprised the world power.
Boris stopped at a painting of Mikhail Gorbachev, catching sight of his unmistakable birthmark on the top of his head. Twelve Soviet bloc countries had declared their freedom and sovereignty when Gorbachev had announced the dissolution of the U.S.S.R. in the winter of 1991 and then relinquishing his presidency to Boris Yeltsin. By allowing the Russian superpower to crumble, Gorbachev had effectively ended the cold war, but Boris wondered at what cost?
Many of the twelve soviet republics to this day were still distancing themselves further and further from Moscow’s worn out communist style of capitalism in favor of the much more vibrant European Union, leaving Russia even more isolated.
Boris had heard the rumblings of the neighboring Middle East and the northern African nations. It was not uncommon for the lesser nations to rattle their sabers, demanding better treatment from the West, but the rhetoric as of late was increasing. Various countries like Iran and North Korea tried provoking the world’s anger, hoping it would payout in the end, although it never did. But more often the have-nots of the world would complain to anyone who would listen, but rarely ever took their feelings of discontent further than that.
Boris Aleksandrov continued past Gorbachev’s painting and on to Boris Yeltsin’s. Unable to undo the damage his predecessor had done, Yeltsin tried to move his beloved Mother Russia and its republics into a free market economy. Years of failed policies, economic collapse and widespread corruption in the end had practically doomed his presidency. What a shame, Boris thought, Yeltsin had showed such promise.
Boris continued past Yeltsin’s portrait and those of the presidents after him. Eventually, at the end of the long line of presidential paintings he stopped at his own.
“Will I follow their fate?” he said aloud to the empty corridor. “Will I continue leading this once great nation on its current course to international obscurity or can I transform us into something better?”
The painting did not answer, nor did any of the others offer their ghostly advice. Boris remembered back to his early days of schooling. He remembered the events of World War II; how before the war America was simply another country on the other side of the world. After the war however, America had evolved to become the world’s first superpower. Their economy, style of democracy, ideals and political influence were the envy of every country. That was what he wanted his gift to be for Mother Russia. The question was how.
Even now, the decline was not stopping. For decades Russia had been able to use its vast sources of natural gas as a bargaining chip against the European conglomerate. But even that small economic influence was beginning to wane as Europe was embracing the American born technology of fracking, where oil caught in between layers of shale and sediment could be loosened by forcing water and chemicals deep into the earth.
Many of Europe’s countries also sat atop vast amounts of oil and natural gas, which would only too soon be readily available. All too often Russia had used the threat of cutting the gas supply to coerce Europe back to the bargaining table. But alas, not only was his country’s political clout on the decline, the loss of capital from its waning sales of natural gas to the Europeans would wreak even further havoc on Russia’s weakened economy.
“What must I do?” he again mumbled to himself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement to his left.
“Who’s there?” he demanded. Out of the shadows stepped an older man, exactly thirty years older as a matter of fact. Boris recognized the man instantly as Anatoly Lipov, his most trusted advisor and mentor.
“Have these old walls made you crazy enough to talk to yourself?” his mentor questioned, somewhat disapprovingly.
Noticing the old man’s disapproval Boris gruffly replied, “I didn’t know I was being watched Anatoly.”
“You are the president of Russia. You are always being watched; these walls have eyes and ears you know,” his mentor cautiously advised.
Although harsh and unfriendly, Boris knew his mentor’s words were not so much of a rebuke, but meant for advice given the Russian way. His mentor, now sixty-six, appeared much older from years of hard liquor and cigarettes than he actually was. Born into a hard life of poor parents, Anatoly had worked his way through his schooling and eventually into the upper echelon of the communist party. He and Anatoly had met years ago, with Anatoly taking an immediate shine to the youngster. They formed an instant connection and while Boris was initially undecided on his future, Anatoly knew he was a born leader.
“What should I do?” he asked his mentor. “Our enemies are all around us.”
“First I’d stop talking to your dead predecessors,” he smiled, “and then I would think of one thing you wanted to change. Focus on nothing but that. Don’t let anyone get in your way.” Anatoly paused. “Don’t be too hard on th
ese men that came before you. At the time, each of them was only doing what they felt was right for Russia. History has proven many of our leaders’ actions were wrong, but that is the benefit of hindsight. So, Boris Aleksandrov what do you want to change?”
“Everything,” he replied without having to think. Boris gazed straight into the eyes of his own portrait. Anatoly did not remark on Boris’ reply, he didn’t need to. Out of the corner of Boris’ eye, he noticed a sublte upwards curling on his mentor’s mouth and a slight nodding of his head in complete agreement. Everything needed to change.
Chapter
5
Colt walked along the labyrinthine room’s finely chiseled walls, carefully scouring for any additional information or insight about the magical staff. While Hillary and Dominic used their narrow-beamed flashlights to hunt for clues, Colt was able to cover twice the space in half the time with the lightning staff’s pulsing aura.
Having started in the middle, Colt went to his right while Hillary and Dominic traveled to their left. Dominic couldn’t read or write ancient Greek, but he felt he could spot the funny looking symbols as easily as anyone else.
Eventually the three met in the middle of the opposite wall across the room from where they had started.
“Nothing?” Colt asked.
“Not so much as a chicken scratch,” they confirmed.
Although the underground temple’s walls weren’t as flat as freshly hung sheetrock, they were smooth enough Colt and the others seriously doubted there was anything openly visible they had missed.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Colt said, thinking aloud. “I’ve never heard of any room anywhere that housed a treasure like this and not contain at least one additional artifact or at the very least a hint of why it was so important. It’s odd though, I have this sneaking suspicion that we’re missing something.”
“Colt, this whole situation is odd,” Dominic replied. Both he and his best friend being zapped by a thousands of years old trinket, how could the situation be any odder?
Colt didn’t acknowledge his longtime friend. He was too busy pacing the room, searching for what was hidden that he knew had been missed. Hillary and Dominic began shinning their lights around the temple walls and ceiling for a second time, also resuming their hunt for clues.
“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place,” Hillary suggested. She waved the beam of her flashlight from the walls to the pedestal centered in the room. As each of them moved closer in unison to the alter, Dominic absent mindedly stumbled closer to Colt and the lightning staff. Immediately the staff started pulsing faster and stronger as it had before, ready to protect its master. Like a dog remembering his shock collar’s jolt, as soon as Dominic noticed the increasing light, he jumped to the opposite side of room bumping into Hillary and knocking the flashlight out of her hand.
The metal cased light bounced on the rocky floor and rolled to a stop directly in front of the pedestal. Hillary was about to give Dominic a piece of her mind for knocking into her, before noticing ancient Greek writing on the base of the small column.
“Do you guys see this?” she asked and knelt down for a closer look. Colt hunched over, bringing the staff along for added light.
“Careful Dom, I’m going to move the staff closer to you. Just be mindful you don’t touch it,” Colt advised as he set the staff directly in front of the pedestal.
“No worries boss. I’m not taking my eyes off that blasted thing.” Although Dominic assumed the feeling was only in his head, he swore his burnt hand’s throbbing increased the closer Colt moved the staff.
“What does it say Hill?’ Colt asked, unable to lean completely down while holding their needed source of light. Hillary pulled a small paintbrush from her backpack and briskly swept away the millennia of dust resting in the bottom cavities of the letters. She read:
THIS IS ZEUS’ FINAL RESTING PLACE. USE HIS POWERS WISELY
BROTHER POSEIDEN RESTS IN ATLANTIS
BROTHER HADES SLUMBERS AT THE MOUTH OF VESUVIUS
WIFE AND SISTER HERA RESTS IN THE GREAT CHASM
SISTER DEMETER DOZES IN MOTHER EARTH
SISTER HESTIA LIES IN WAIT IN THE SUN’S EVERLASTING FLAME
“You’ve got to be kidding me. There are more of these things?” Dominic exclaimed. He assumed, as did Hillary and Colt that the ancient script was not referring to the Greek gods themselves, but to additional artifacts similar to the lightning staff that might mimic their god-like abilities.
“It would appear so,” Colt confirmed. “Hill, take a snapshot of the podium if you wouldn’t mind.”
A flash of light and thirty minutes later the three spelunkers emerged back above ground. The temple’s cool damp temperatures were quickly replaced by the hot mugginess of the Amazon.
“Are you going to try it now?” Dominic eagerly asked, with barely one foot out of the hole leading back into the underground stone cavern.
“I guess now’s as good of a time as any. I’m not sure if the words on the pedestal were meant as a warning or advice though.” Colt gave the lightning staff a quick glance. He wasn’t sure if the staff’s glowing had increased above ground, but even in the midday’s sun, its pulsing light appeared just as bright as it had underground.
Colt held the staff in front of his body. He found a dying tree maybe ten yards in the distance and focused. He pointed the staff at the scraggly plant and thought of lightning striking it. Almost instantly the staff’s glow increased to a bright pure white light and a small dark blue-grey cloud formed in the otherwise clear blue sky. A gigantic white lightning bolt, unnatural in size relative to the small cloud, shot out and struck the small tree with tremendous force.
Not realizing the scope of the staff’s true power, Colt and the others were blown backwards to the ground from the lightning bolt’s massive blast. As the smoke cleared in the afternoon wind, Colt searched, still on his back, for the small tree. To his surprise only a perfectly round charred hole in the ground remained. It was as if the tree had never even existed. The tree had been completely reduced to ash from the bolt’s horrific energy.
“Wow. That. Was. Awesome!” Dominic exclaimed, pausing in between each word, still shocked from the lightning strike’s immeasurable force.
“What on earth have we found?” Hillary added, barely able to form a sentence.
“This, this artifact isn’t a simple trinket or sword or some kind of oversized glowing flashlight. This is a weapon of pure energy and destruction,” Colt said holding the pulsating lightning staff in front of him.
“So, what do we do now? Blow more stuff up?” Dominic excitedly asked.
“No. I think we need to get this back to my office in England as soon as possible. We need to burn the midnight oil for a few nights and figure out what this artifact exactly is. Plus, I’d be afraid to think of what would happen should this staff fall into the wrong hands,” Colt worried aloud. “It’s best we get this relic some place safe.”
“But you’re the only one that can use it right? I mean it was dead in my hands and the inscription said there could be only one Zeus,” Dominic countered.
“Yeah, right now, but what if something happens to him?” Hillary shot back. “I have a hunch that if Colt dies then the next person to touch the staff will get its powers.”
“If they survive touching it,” Colt added remembering the massive electrical surge throughout his body. “Let’s get the truck loaded and get out of here. I don’t have any reason to doubt our safety, but the sooner we get back home the better.”
Within twenty minutes their truck was loaded. Colt took the lightning staff and wrapped it tightly in a dark green blanket. He buried the blanket and its contents under a litany of digging tools and camping supplies; hoping to keep it well hidden.
Hours later they arrived in the small town of El Tingo, Peru. Although cell service was limited and sporadic at moments, Colt was eventually able to make contact with the head of the British museum in England.
&
nbsp; “George?” he asked as a male voice answered just as the phone’s connection hiccupped. He had known George Stonewall for years. Many of Colt’s most valuable finds had been bought by England’s numerous museums, all under the guidance of his friend, although his home country of America also received numerous priceless artifacts.
“Hello? Hello?” he heard George reply as the signal strengthened for the moment.
“George, it’s me, Colt.”
“Hey there old chap, how’s the Amazon treating you?”
“Forget the small talk. We found something amazing over here and we need a direct flight out.” Colt despised the idea of robbing temples of their treasures, especially from a foreign country. But the lightning staff wasn’t just a normal artifact; it was a highly explosive weapon. A weapon Colt would not willingly let fall into the wrong hands.
Regardless of Colt’s feelings of contempt at the idea of stealing, for many of his colleagues in his trade theft was almost second nature. The stolen artifacts, if successfully smuggled, were highly sought after on the black market. The treasures’ sales could end up funding their finders’ massive research budgets or selfish personal desires for years to come. Unfortunately, George Stonewall believed in the latter.
Colt and George constantly debated the fuzzy line between archeological research and theft. Still, despite their differing attitudes, George Stonewall had become one of Colt’s most ardent supporters and most trusted friends nonetheless.
Without asking so much as a why, his friend replied, “Where are you and where to do you want to go?”
“Right now we’re in El Tingo, but we can drive to an airport if need be.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I know you would have never asked for a favor of this sort unless what you discovered wasn’t truly important. Sit tight and I’ll have someone sent to you,” George finished and hung up the phone.