Red Wizard of Atlantis

by Ravek Hunter

  Senjit was unsure about what to do once he reached Hellas. The only information that he could glimpse from the Chaos Demon was that it had escaped a pithos in which it had been imprisoned somewhere in Hellas, maybe the high mountain peaks of the Othrys Mountains. And there was another disturbing detail: the Demon did not escape alone. This he had not imparted to his wife, as it would have made her terrified for the life of their child. Although he did not believe another Chaos Demon would find its way to his daughter, Senjit worried that there could be many such Demons loose upon the world, sowing chaos everywhere through their humanoid or animal hosts. He had to find out the extent of the Demonic intrusion and if this pithos was some sort of gateway that needed closing.

  He decided that he would begin his search in Foronikon Asty, a city devoted to Gaia, the Earth Goddess, in the southern part of Hellas. He would land out of sight and change into his human form before approaching the city to avoid causing a panic. In Hellas, his Dragon form was known as Ladon. There were stories and legends about him that the people knew, but he did not travel to Hellas often, and although he was not thought of as a malevolent beast, they were not used to seeing a Dragon in their skies. And there was a certain ire, considering he was guilty of stealing a few goats from time to time.

  As the sun rose on the third day out of Gades, Senjit spied the walls of the city in the distance and began a slow descent toward the more remote expanses of the surrounding countryside. Last time he visited Foronikon Asty, it was the Hellas agricultural center specializing in citrus. It seemed that had not changed during the intervening years, as there were leagues of groves all around the city with many varieties of oranges, grapefruit, lemons, and limes. Angling low and parallel to a line of trees, he rendered himself invisible to avoid being sighted by locals rising with the new dawn and then drifted on the fresh breeze low over the endless lines of fruit trees, enjoying the fresh scent of citrus. Not far from the city, Senjit spied a suitable copse of trees, and by the time his feet hit the ground, he had transformed into his human form. He thoughtfully chose the local costume of an affluent local merchant. Senjit enjoyed his comfort and didn’t see any reason why he should go about staying in hovels when he was not recognizable either way.

  The early morning walk toward the city was a pleasure for Senjit. He passed many farmers and tradesmen going about their morning rituals and hurrying to fields, shops, and stalls. Soon, the workers would invade the groves, harvesting the fruits of their long labors and carting the produce off to market or to the docks for export to any number of foreign ports. The west road that he followed toward Foronikon Asty carried only light traffic this early in the day. Senjit chose this route purposefully since the east road ran down to the harbor and was quite busy in the morning. Not that he was hiding or feared being noticed; crowds were merely an inconvenience he chose to avoid.

  Approaching the massive walls of Foronikon Asty, Senjit could see that it was well defended by towers placed evenly along its length with regular patrols in between. The entrance was through a wide archway with double sets of gates that could be closed at a moment’s notice, and most of the interior buildings were constructed of white stone and timber. He followed the main avenue heading for the more affluent section of the city, where he might find proper accommodations and better-quality food.

  Along the way, he passed temples and government buildings, which incorporated white marble into their construction and adorned their exteriors with fountains, statues, and wall carvings. Small shrines to various deities and gardens with more fountains and statuary littered the city as a form of high art. Even many of the residential walls were covered in carvings and paintings depicting stories about the gods, the Cosmic Egg, and their creation myth.

  The city was bustling and vibrant with life. From what he could see, the people of Foronikon Asty appeared to enjoy a pleasant lifestyle with nearly no poverty in evidence. He passed what was considered to be the most famous pottery and bronze sculpting school anywhere in Hellas as well as several pottery workshops, tanneries, and clothing fabricators. There was not much that he recognized. Senjit last visited Foronikon Asty over two hundred years ago, and at that time it was a very different city.

  Attached to one of the government buildings was a tall, slender tower built entirely of marble—if his sharp eyes were not deceiving him, one single massive column of marble. Rather than being constructed, it had been carved from the inside. But that was not the only unusual aspect of the impossible tower. The pointed apex was a large crystal that glowed red, bright even in the daytime, and it rotated slowly in place.

  Senjit could remember many details of Foronikon Asty from his previous visit, and the tower was not yet present then. He wasn’t really surprised to see it; he knew what it was and who built it. The Atlanteans erected similar constructs all over the planet with crystals that magnified the power of the Orichalcum Crystals that were stored and protected inside the tower. The Orichalcum was the source that powered magic to all those who knew how to use it. Even Senjit drew power from them, although the vast majority of his abilities were inherent.

  A Cryer was singing about an upcoming celebration to honor some god he didn’t catch the name of. The cities of Hellas were known for their festivals. Last he counted, they had at least twenty-five a year, and he was sure they must have added more.

  Soon he was passing close to the center of the city where the most important temples and government buildings were located. This was the highest point of Foronikon Asty, atop a hill with the Temple of Gaia at its summit. Many wealthy homes with courtyard gardens, fountains, and armies of servants running this way and that stood near the base of this tall hill. Beyond was the merchant’s district, where tradesmen from around the world plied their trade, and the many taverns with men who spent money on wine to relax and, more often than not, to excess.

  That was where he wanted to be.

  Senjit loved to buy a few rounds and listen to the stories of well-traveled people. Perhaps something of the Demons would catch his ear. Still, it was too early in the day for the merchants’ tongues to loosen with drink, so he decided to take in the sights of the city until the evening when the shops closed and the taverns began to fill.

  ~~~

  Once the sun started to fall over Foronikon Asty, Senjit settled himself into what he believed would be a popular tavern. Already, merchants, tradesmen, and other citizens crowded in and the musical entertainers were at play. Foronikon Asty was a very progressive city-state of Hellas, and the varied music played on tympanon, lyre, flute, and salpinx was accompanied by poems and stories of ancient deeds and legendary heroes.

  Senjit purchased several rounds of drinks and enjoyed spirited conversations with several merchants from around Hellas, but none related stories of any particular interest, at least not to Senjit. It seemed that all everyone wanted to talk about were the scandals of this official or that official and especially some incident with a wealthy merchant’s son and a priest’s daughter. Senjit settled himself in and prepared for this adventure to take many nights and perhaps even many cities to get a hint of a clue.

  After several nights and a dozen taverns, Senjit decided he would leave the next day and travel to Metis, a larger city-state farther north with more travelers and merchants from distant locales. He certainly never expected his search to be easy, especially considering how ambiguous the circumstances surrounding Demons and pithos were. He just had to be patient, to keep asking questions, and to listen to the stories, songs, sonnets, and poems—he would find his way.

  On his last night in Foronikon Asty, Senjit sat in another tavern and cast the usual mass charm over the room to compel the patrons to looser tongues. The charm, combined with copious amounts of alcohol, usually had men talking liberally after a few rounds. It was late into the evening after the drinks had been flowing freely for several hours when Senjit was speaking with a man whose brother was a priest of Kronos in the northern city of Sesklo. He related an unusual story of
something that occurred to the north near a village on the coast of the Sea of Waves.

  “My brother told me a fable about a Ta Hiera of his order that had gone on a sort of spiritual mission or pilgrimage not long ago. Now, this was not the usual Ta Hiera of any temple, but the Fire-Bringer himself!” Senjit ordered another wine for the man to keep his tongue loose. “Somehow, no one knew the purpose of his mission, which was strange since the priesthood always promoted these pilgrimages as examples to initiates.” The man shook his head and took a long draft from his newly filled cup. Senjit gestured to the serving girl to keep it filled. “A couple months after the Ta Hiera’s departure, the temple received word that his body was found at the base of a mountain near the east coast. It appeared as if the priest died from falling a long distance, and he was nearly unrecognizable. The speculation was that he was climbing the mountain in search of the mythical Shrine of Metis.”

  “Is there truly a shrine there to find?” Senjit asked with exaggerated astonishment.

  “Who can say? If the Fire-Bringer to Kronos couldn’t survive the search, what chance would there be for the rest of us?”

  Senjit raised his cup. “To the Fire-Bringer!”

  “The Fire-Bringer!” the man responded, took another long draft and continued. “The oddest thing about the remains of the Ta Hiera was that he was not alone. The bodies of a Chimera and a winged Pegasos lay dead nearby. Creatures from legend, if you can believe! It’s a great mystery. Sometimes I think my brother drinks too much!” He laughed.

  This was precisely the type of information Senjit was looking for. There was no mention of Demons, but just the rumor of the unusual creatures found dead next to the body of the Fire-Bringer was worth looking into further. Senjit stayed at the tavern a little while longer and then decided the dark, early morning hours would be the best time to leave Foronikon Asty with the least attention.

  When Senjit walked through the northern gates, the guards warned him to be vigilant and take care during his nocturnal travels. There were many residences outside the wall, some with lights on late, but most dark for the night. Beyond the wood-and-thatch homes were the campsites of travelers staying temporarily and seeking the safety of the city patrols. Continuing onward, the road leading north was dark, and Senjit would likely see no more travelers until the morning. In a few hundred yards, he could step off the road into the forest and transform into his natural Dragon form and fly toward Sesklo.

  A bend in the road put the last camps near the city out of sight, and he moved toward the cover of the forest. Just as he was about to cross the tree line, he saw the infrared forms of humans quietly walking toward him from the depths of the wood. Senjit stopped and waited for them to approach. He knew what they wanted and what they were going to do. This was not Senjit’s first dance with this kind.

  The men hesitated when Senjit stopped and stared in their direction. They naturally expected to ambush him unawares. A few words passed between them, and then they cautiously walked forward in a loose arc until they were only a few paces away. To a man, they were dressed in leather armor and carried bows, swords, or spears. There were twelve of them in all, and they must have been reasonably successful at their deadly craft considering that their apparel seemed to be new and their weapons of good quality.

  Too bad, thought Senjit.

  Their leader, a big man with a shaved head and a missing front tooth, spoke first. “Hello, friend. It’s a bit late to be wandering alone in the dark with bandits and beasts about.” He smiled. “Perhaps we can offer protection for a small . . .”

  He never completed his thoughtful offer; Senjit’s slender blade interrupted the words in his throat. Before the dead man’s body hit the ground, Senjit’s quick strikes sent three more on their way with him. Taken entirely by surprise by what the bandits must have thought an easy mark, the eight remaining men jumped backward and drew their weapons. Senjit never stopped moving, his brown cloak spinning behind him in one direction and then another as he wound his way through his adversaries. His speed was blinding, and even before the first of their swords cleared scabbards, two more men were dead, while four others forgot who they were and just stood to stare at their boots, victims of Senjit’s psionic ability to impair their minds. The last two turned to run, but Senjit sent bolts of lightning into their bodies that sent them sprawling onto the ground after a single step, their bodies twitching and leather armor smoking. The battle was over in seven seconds, without much of a ruckus to attract attention.

  Senjit immediately transformed into Dragon form and stretched his massive wings, preparing to take flight, nearly forgetting about the four men standing like human vegetables. They are dead anyway. He rationalized. No point in prolonging their suffering. With a single thought, he snapped their will to live, and they fell to the ground, powerless to encourage their own hearts to beat. The last image they saw, unable to comprehend, was the glint of golden scales launching into the night sky.

  Chapter 20

  Ἀτλαντίς

  The Grove House

  Qel sat astride his Lambei next to Havacian. Aelrindel led the way along the north road out of Avalon City. “The apple groves are only a league north of the city,” the elf informed them without looking back.

  Although Qel still worried about being dragged off to the Enclave in Atlantis, he thought less and less about it the farther into the dense forest they rode. He hoped Aelrindel’s plan worked and they could escape to Ys before anyone from the Imperial Order of Wizards caught up with them. Qel knew that if they really wanted to find him and Havacian, they could quite easily, but he doubted that they would expend that much effort. Besides, he knew that they knew an initiate with a summons would compel them to return as surely as an armed contingent.

  As soon as they left the outskirts of Avalon City, the forest began to open up and become less dense. The travelers coming and going were far fewer than the road from Atlantis, and soon there was no one in sight at all. For the next hour, Qel enjoyed the comfortable, light breeze and the light fragrance of honey in the air until they broke from the forest into a clearing lined with rows of enormous apple trees.

  Qel was in awe at the sight before him. “I never imagined the apple trees would be so huge.” Easily three times the height of an Atlantean, the trees spread their broad limbs over an area equal to fifty paces and high enough for the trio to ride under without disturbance.

  “We are fortunate,” said Aelrindel, “the harvest has not yet begun.” Each one of the trees was heavy with apples the size of Qel’s hand and beautifully ripe and red, tempting him to reach out and sample a bite of their juicy flesh.

  “Are we permitted to remove one for ourselves?” Havacian asked.

  “Not without penalty,” Aelrindel laughed. “And you two don’t need any more attention than you already have. There is a stand near the Grove House where we can purchase as many as you like.”

  “That would be sensible,” Qel agreed.

  “If we stay on the road, it will take us around the grove,” Aelrindel steered his mount onto one of the rows between the lines of trees. “Instead, I’ll lead us through it to the other side and save ourselves an hour.”

  The straight pathways between the perfect rows of apple trees were wide enough for ten men to ride side by side underneath the tangled canopy of the heavy, fruit-laden branches. Riding down one of those pathways, Qel’s stomach growled at the abundance of the juicy orbs, but Aelrindel was right: they didn’t need any more trouble, especially if it involved filching fruit.

  The hooves of their mounts clopped over the soft soil, stirring up the scent of freshly turned earth, which lingered in the still air. It was oddly quiet under the shade of the apple trees, and the absence of chirping of birds and skittering of critters over branches that Qel had grown used to in the Sylvan Forest was a little disconcerting.

  “Where are all the workers?” Qel was surprised that they had yet to see anyone else in the grove.

  “The w
eek before harvest is known as Quiet Week.” Aelrindel spoke softly as if to emphasize the point. “The trees are allowed to rest without disturbance before the Tenders of the grove return to accept the Gift of Apples or harvest, as you call it. Even the animals of the forest respect this time. The Druids help with that, I’m sure.”

  “Why do you call it the Gift of Apples? Don’t the Tenders pick them from the trees just like other fruit?” Qel didn’t want to offend Aelrindel if it had something to do with a religious ceremony, but he was curious about how the Elves interacted with the grove.

  Aelrindel smiled. “The Tenders will bring their baskets on hover discs, elevate them below the branches of each tree, and sing a song of appeal. If the tree is ready, it will release its apples into the basket, and the Tender will move to the next. If a tree refuses to release its apples, then the Tender will come back again the next day. An apple will never be forcibly separated from a tree unwilling to give it up.”

  “I will never think of an apple in the same way again,” Havacian said while he squinted to look at the fruit-bearing branches more closely.

  “There is no other grove like this one on the planet.” Aelrindel was clearly proud of his people’s grove. “Not even the Nymphs’ life-giving grove on the Isle of Gades can compare.”

  “All I know is that twice a year, the markets in the City of Atlantis are crowded with thousands of baskets to be traded and shipped to lands near and far.” Qel recalled his mother preserving the apples when he was a child so they could enjoy them in the wintertime after he had eaten so many that his stomach hurt.

  “And that’s only about half the production! The balance we keep for ourselves or trade with the Dwarfs and Vikja through the port of Andlang north east of here.” Aelrindel abruptly brought his horse to a stop. “Can you hear that?”