“Oh, Hezekiah, no!” Tears streamed down her face. After many moments, Carolinica was finally able to speak again. “He taught us so much and was always so patient, so kind. Summer studies will be insufferable without his steady hand.”
Along with Queen Marseea and Komnena, a few Sapiens along with the other historians sometimes took part in these teachings as well. Nicephorus taught students what most Sapiens knew barely a sliver of: ethics and moral beliefs of intelligent beings. Popular with all, young male Gryphons and Centaurs often wrestled him. And always lost.
“There are others here,” Abarah called sadly from behind.
Hezekiah allowed a couple of Centaurs to carry Nicephorus’ body and he glumly followed them. In a tidy row, seven other Sapiens lay dead in their own soaked and soiled cloaks. Marseea’s fears suddenly dawned on Hezekiah. He spun around and caught sight of two more wrapped Sapien bodies. Both male – that made ten. As Alexander and Viracocha wearily approached, Carolinica ran to them. She hugged not the one or the other, but both at once.
“I was so worried, so worried – thank the gods you are both safe!” she cried. Carolinica pulled their heads to each side of hers, wiped her tears on filthy faces, and kissed them both.
Hezekiah’s heart broken into a thousand pieces, this tender scene allowed at least some of these wayward pieces to mend themselves back together again.
Hezekiah and the three young Centaurs then approached the ten Sapien bodies. Others had brought and continued to bring Centaur, Gryphon, and Arachna dead to resting places around them.
“So many dead, so many wounded!” Nüwa sobbed as she shook wildly. “It’s just so terrible!” Nüwa crossed her arms over her chest as if this could stop the chill. The Huaxia tribe known for their stoic demeanor any other day, those openly hurting such as Nüwa suggested that today would be different.
Body after body passed by. A good many important Centaurs and Arachna soon arrived to do what they could to comfort the grieving. A few dozen or so Gryphons also amongst this murky mess of misery, Hezekiah had yet to spot a single Mermaid.
Now early afternoon, it had taken three full turns of the clepsydra to find and collect the dead. Those who searched them out brought the deceased together and arranged each body as if it were part of a gruesome puzzle. The sweeping floods and damage spawned by this catastrophe had drowned or crushed so many, so quickly, so cruelly.
“Hezekiah,” the Centaur historian called. He held out a bamboo strip and Hezekiah took it. “I have not the courage to tell you the words written on this.” He turned halfway around. “Neither do I have the courage to watch you read it.” These grave words spoken, he rushed back over to his Chiron.
Once more, Hezekiah took to the air. More damage, more dead, more chaos, met his stinging eyes. Recalling the bamboo strip he still carried – it was the death count. Over four hundred Centaurs, twenty-eight Arachna, and seventeen Gryphons had lost their lives either in valor or in the glorious pursuit of it.
The tally to this point shocking, if to hear it did not leave a spot of vomit in your mouth then you had no heart. And then there was the Sapien death count….
Once Hezekiah turned east, a somewhat comforting sight made its way southwest. A wave of Mermaids atop Gryphons had just landed and now marched for the minor pool of the dam. Simonacles, his former king, carried his former queen, Andromeda. Perseos, the Mermaid general, sat atop the soon to be retiring Gryphon one. Xavier, who all knew craved this opening position and, although only twenty-two, probably deserved it most, carried Penelope. And of course, atop King Judiascar and with her head held high no matter the chaos, rode Queen Diedrika. Hezekiah quickly landed.
“My king, I dearly wish a better day could have greeted your first day on the throne.”
“Yes, Historian, as do I. Such a day is not of my choosing, but there will be many others much more to my liking. We simply need wait for them.”
“Kings and queens of both past and present,” Hezekiah told them in a soft, aching voice, “please, we must speak in private.” The five of them slowly moved away from the others. “The Sapien dead, all males … they number fifteen. Do you know what this means? All thirteen fathers ––”
“They are done for,” Queen Diedrika interrupted. She showed no emotion. Neither did she speak with any. “The race that started it all will not be here to see the end. From which Mermaids were molded, the mystic masters who created the Gryphons – their meddling draws to a close.”
“Yes, my queen,” Hezekiah replied. “I will bring Nicephorus’ body to the palace and tell Komnena. As for Marseea …” he paused and slowly turned to Judiascar.
“Come, my son, my king.” Simonacles’ tone was a mix of pride and pain. “Sweet glory welcomed one day, another has come to deliver sorrow. As no other among us is strong enough, it is your duty to do so.”
Judiascar nodded his understanding. No more words needed, Hezekiah then bounded off.
“Viracocha! Alexander!” Hezekiah called. “We have a most thankless task ahead of us, young Centaurs.” He motioned for them to hitch up to a wagon, and they did so. Others then gently laid Nicephorus’ body inside it.
With Simonacles and Judiascar in the lead, they began their trek north. Their steps weighed down by sadness, Hezekiah cursed each one. During the long, dismal trot, nearly all who saw them stopped and stared. None spoke a word. Once close to the Sapien palace, the three Gryphons flew ahead of the burdened Centaurs.
*****
As they approached the main entrance, Penthesilea and Melanippe stood waiting. Hezekiah in the lead, a chill coursed through him as he glumly started up the stairs to the entrance. As he did so, Penthesilea’s innocent smile greeted him with a glowing warmth he dearly wished for himself.
“Master Gryphon, is our dear father on his way?”
To see the young darling holding a piping hot cup of peppermint tea in her hands nearly broke him. Hezekiah breathed its scent in deeply; he had smelled nothing but death, destruction, and despair since the day began. Predictably, this only caused more pain.
“We are waiting for him,” Melanippe proudly chimed in ever so sweetly, “just as he told us to!” She happily held up the basket of towels for him to see.
Another smile, another reminder of a promise he failed to keep – Hezekiah nearly collapsed. Simonacles and Judiascar trailing him, their lowered heads made clear that they were close enough to hear the twins’ tragic questions as well. The cart led by Viracocha and Alexander toiled not far behind.
“Your father? Yes, young ones, he will make his way here shortly,” Hezekiah answered with a heartbreaking lie wrapped in wounded truth.
Once the three Gryphons were inside the palace, Simonacles and Judiascar caught sight of Queen Marseea to their right; many pike lengths away from them, they hurried toward her. As she watched them do so, a tree could not be more still or more silent. Aside from the gleaming red gem that lay against her chest, a shadow black as pitch shrouded her. Hezekiah watching from the sprawling foyer just a bit beyond the entrance, only the ghastly chill that now coursed through him kept his heart from stopping. Under the watchful eye of Simonacles, Judiascar revealed to Queen Marseea the demise of every one of the fifteen men so eager to help the Centaurs. Thirteen precious males capable of procreation gone – every Sapien father had fallen.
A harrowing shriek tore through the foyer. From Hezekiah’s left, Komnena dashed toward Marseea. His shivering body, lowered head, and sad eyes peeking up at her stopped Komnena cold.
“Hezekiah?” she pleaded. Tears flooded her eyes. “Where is he, Hezekiah … where is my Nico?” The moment he began to shake his head, her tears rushed forth.
“The bravest I ever knew,” Hezekiah said in a soft voice, “he saved so many of us.” Komnena slammed her head into her hands and dropped to her knees.
Piercing moans and screams echoed off unyielding granite walls. These screeches cruelly announced great despair, devastation, and shattered hearts.
If
only this was all they declared.
Komnena crumpled on the floor next to him, Hezekiah turned to the palace entrance. The cart pulled by Alexander and Viracocha with Nicephorus’ silk wrapped body as its only load had arrived. The girls no simpletons, Hezekiah knew what would come next.
Although under a thick blue cloak, the fatherless siblings knew who lay lifeless inside. With sharp cries, the young twins burst into tears. The teacup and saucer dropped atop the stone walkway and basket of towels cast aside, each leapt into the cart. One on each end of the body, they frantically hugged and kissed the silk cloth. Penthesilea cradling his feet or head – Hezekiah could not tell which – she wiped her streaming sorrow against the soft shroud. Melanippe tearfully shook Nicephorus’ body as if attempting to awaken him from a deep sleep.
“Father, wake up! It’s me, Melanippe,” she begged in moaned sobs. “Wake up!” Each tearful plea was even more desperate and heartbreaking than the last.
The glum faces of the young Centaurs closer to death than not, Alexander and Viracocha continued to pull the cart indoors. And as they did so, the hopeless screams of the twins rhythmically joined with those of Marseea and Komnena. A mighty orchestra of sorrow that not even time could mend rang throughout the palace halls. This sad symphony announced without words to all within earshot a hurtful, undeniable truth:
The Fall of Sapiens was at hand.
Chapter Eight
SUFFERING
That you can do none of what you promise emboldens you, my dear Komnena, with a power the divine devils can never know. For all the world to see – and it does see it – with blinding light your sorrow defeats the darkened shadows cast by their malice. It is the gods’ greatest shame that we must wait until our first moments among them to discover the plain truth: WE are the ones with true power, my friend, not them.
At any time, we can die and be rid of the cruelty the world inflicts on us. The gods, however, must watch on for all eternity, no matter how greatly it pains them to do so. They are immortal, but wretched. We are mortal, but beautiful. THIS is our greatest power. THIS is their most crippling weakness.
– Marseea, Sapien Queen
– Early Fall, Year 4,236 KT[10]
The avenue directly in front of the Sapien palace connected the five prefectures. A perfect circle, it was both the longest and widest avenue in the city. Not far from the palace’s steps waited fifteen funeral pyres set in a straight line atop this avenue. To the west were seventeen pyres for the fallen Gryphons. Further west, and then turning south, stood over 200 others. These were for half of the Centaur dead. To the east, twenty-eight were set aside for the Arachna and continuing south, stood another 200 more for the rest of the taken Centaurs.
The palace steps just behind her, in the center of it all stood Queen Marseea. With a heart heavy from the burden it now suffered, she looked to her left. The Centaur Chiron and his entourage whispered kind words to those who approached them. King Achaemenes and important Arachna had gathered to the left of these Centaurs. Others of the nobility mixed behind the Centaur and Arachna leaders.
“Awash in death, without rest and without fail, we did it,” Achaemenes bragged quietly. “Nearly 500 silk funerary wrappings weaved in a day and a half by less than a hundred weavers – they did the impossible.” Artafarnah just nodded. He obviously owned better manners than did his king.
To Marseea’s immediate left was Cassiopeia. She had heard this comment as well and just shook her head. Marseea then leaned into her dearest friend – aside for Komnena, of course – of thirty years and, with her eyes, pointed at the two Arachna.
“Could any words be more tasteless?”
“Could any words,” Cassiopeia scoffed as she turned toward Marseea, “make more obvious the grand immaturity of the young king?”
“Many hundreds of Gryphons scoured Terra Australis for enough frankincense, myrrh, and other spices to prepare the many dead for their journey to the Underworld. Their success just as impressive – I have yet to hear Judiascar crow about this to others.”
“And you never will,” Cassiopeia returned in a proud voice. “Excellence and honor expected by those of the West, the lords of the East can only hope to stumble upon such things.”
A day and a half ago, Marseea demanded a most morbid goal: By sunset of this night, every soulless body needed to be swathed in a silk wrap and set atop his or her own funerary pyre. This decree given, those Gryphons Cassiopeia had alluded to took to the skies. Their soaring bodies melding into one, they cast a great shadow of death over a grieving world stained in misery. Once the first few returned, Arachna who had mastered the art of funerary wrapping went to work. And as they did so, helpers of every kind labored to build the makeshift funeral pyres that now dominated the avenue. The time for preparations was then; the time for suffering was now.
Marseea moved her watchful gaze to her right. Although not a single Mermaid had perished, they appeared equally downcast. Aside from two, of course. Her face a blank canvas, Queen Diedrika was to the left side of King Judiascar. He too appeared as if barely bothered by so much death. Clustered in a half circle behind the new regents of the West, Mermaid and Gryphon nobles looked on.
“Why, Hezekiah, why did this happen?” Ahaziyah moaned more than once. She was bookended by her son, Hezekiah, and former king, Simonacles. Of all the Gryphons Marseea laid her eyes on, Ahaziyah cried the most and appeared the most pained.
“I do not know, Mother,” Hezekiah returned sadly each time, “I do not know. Heroes do not live like the rest of us. Nor do they die like us.” When not pleading with her son for an explanation, Ahaziyah stood motionless in a sorrow-induced stupor and stared off into nothingness.
Marseea also spotted Xavier ‘comforting’ a pair of females. Both faces glum and pained, Perseos held his silently sobbing Andromeda in his arms. In between wiping away tears, Penelope scribbled this sad setting onto bamboo strips. The remaining Sapiens – old males and females of different ages – stood behind Marseea in silence. Satisfied with this, she then stared straight ahead. Here, those mourning the fifteen fallen men knelt before them all.
Twilight was now upon their world, but not a single star dared look down upon this mass of wretched misery. Aside from the proudest or most cold-hearted, every eye swelled with redness and every cheek was wet. Perhaps drawing on tears set aside for the next day and even some thereafter, eyes with none left for this day continued to cry out. Expected by all, but all looking shaken upon hearing them, a deep below erupted from two massive horns. This told Centaurs at the east and west ends of the funeral pyres to light the most southern ones. Moans and fiery dots of light slowly made their way from each end toward the center of this somber scene.
Having set ablaze each beloved dead and sobbed their goodbyes, some of these Centaurs made their way toward the Sapien palace. Others who could bear no more pain ran off. The rest simply stayed slumped on all four knees and watched the flames consume the departed. Fading embers from other cremations now dotted the avenue in each direction as far as Marseea could see. Smoldering ever more dimly, the glowing coals slowly followed the path of those their flames consumed as lightning began to flash in the far distance.
The funeral pyres were in no particular order aside from a single Sapien one. Not known for sure if he was the very last Sapien father to fall, this did not matter; Nicephorus was easily the most admired. In a symbolic gesture, the regents decided to cremate Komnena’s husband last. The extinguished final hope for all future generations, only this centermost pyre remained unlit.
Marseea caught a stream of befuddled red out of the corner of her eye and focused on the funeral pyre to Komnena’s left. She leaned into Cassiopeia once more.
“That little girl is and will forever be the last Sapien ever born.” Marseea’s tone was of a soft sadness and she fought to hold back tears. “It is just her and her mother now.”
This tiny wretch stood over her motherly one and looked down in despair upon her last remaining l
oved one. On her knees, the grief-stricken woman trembled as if riding a horse-drawn carriage across a cobblestone road. She uttered not a peep, did not once hold the torch, and paid no heed to her daughter. The girl still held the barely lit torch with not a clue as what to do next.
“Her father has already been swallowed by flame,” Cassiopeia noticed. “A very brave thing to do if so, it appears the youngling lit the funeral pyre in her wrecked mother’s place.”
Scutaria was a pleasantly pretty, very young child with flowing curly blonde locks. On any other day, her sparkling pale blue eyes glistened with cheer. Marseea did not know the youngling’s exact age, but she could not have been more than twenty years old. For decades, her parents had served as the horse and giant panda stable masters. Scutaria’s future now much dimmer, her mother alone to work the stables – Marseea pushed these worries out of her mind.
Issues infinitely more important than a hopeless woman and her sniveling babe needed tending.
Marseea now focused intently on Komnena and her daughters. Penthesilea at her mother’s right side and Melanippe to the left, with lowered heads, all three knelt before Nicephorus’ funerary pyre. As was the custom for Sapiens, females in mourning dressed in elegant, bright red robes and veils. The veil covered the entire face except for a small region about the eyes: A laced grille woven in threaded gold covered this small area. A grieving male would wear a similar robe, but with gold trim throughout and a hood in place of a veil.
Penthesilea held the cup of peppermint tea while Melanippe clutched the basket of towels their father had asked for upon his return. A homecoming that would now be forever unfulfilled.
Marseea stood about six pike lengths directly behind them. The moment she gazed skyward, a light sprinkling of rain began to fall.
“Do you think he sees them, Cassiopeia? From the heavens, does Nicephorus’ spirit look down at his precious daughters on each side of their loving mother?”
The Gift From Poseidon: When Gods Walked Among Us (Volume 2) Page 10