“You really think so?” Fu Xi asked with a hint of relief in his voice.
“NO!”
Before either Adamarcus or Fu Xi could shoot Taharqa a dirty look, Nüwa and Yishuo did it for them. “SHUT UP!” both yelled at once. Just for good measure, Nüwa smacked Taharqa in the arm – HARD! He winced and leaned away from her and toward Adamarcus as if seeking protection.
Eleven targets down, Persepolis led Melanippe by one – 97 to 96. The other contestants were far behind (the next highest score was 88) and, as only one target remained, there was no chance this Arachna now in third place could catch up.
Trailed by Nüwa gripping Fu Xi’s left arm, Adamarcus and Taharqa shuffled through the crowd and stood close to where Persepolis would throw. He strutted up to the line and looked about the crowd with as much confidence as Adamarcus had ever seen. He then looked right at the three friends.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Persepolis told them as he passed the ax back and forth between the hooks on his two front limbs. “I got this.”
The distance to this target easily a dozen pike lengths away, Persepolis crouched low, sprung forward, and let his ax fly. Adamarcus doubted he could even hit this target from so far away, but Persepolis certainly did. The cheering was so loud from all around them that no one could hear the Mermaid judge announce the score. An ‘8’ marked on the large board, the applause was now deafening; Adamarcus could feel the ground shake. Persepolis strolled toward him and Taharqa and they began to congratulate him on a certain win but moments away.
Adamarcus turned in Melanippe’s direction; she now began to pace. The others having shot at the target to determine third place, she stepped up to the line. She then inspected the rack, touched many axes, and finally chose one. With a kiss to its blade, she reared back, leapt forward, and with a shriek, threw it at the target.
As did Persepolis’ ax, her ax hit the target as well; complete silence now enveloped the arena. A perfect shot by Melanippe at such a distance near impossible, Adamarcus would not have bet a single gold piece for all the wealth in the world that she could have done it.
Good thing too, because he probably would have died of shock if he had.
“Ten!” the Mermaid judge proclaimed. More silence. The Gryphon he rode let out a shriek and the judge again shouted even louder, “TEN!” Still, only silence.
Everyone now looked not at Melanippe, but at Penthesilea. The sorceress appeared dumbfounded and she in turn threw a questioning look at Queen Marseea. Marseea lifted her hands above her head and Penthesilea slowly did the same. Four empty palms proving that neither of them had helped the older twin cheat and the score 106 to 105 – Melanippe, not Persepolis, had won.
The stadium silent no more, the cheers for Persepolis were as if a mouse squeak compared to the shouts and applause Melanippe now received.
Persepolis turned to Fu Xi and threw his four front limbs into the air. “She only beat me because YOU made her mad!” he yelled over the still ongoing roars.
Fu Xi’s mouth hanging open like that of a codfish, he could find no words to stuff into it. He just looked sheepishly at Persepolis and shrugged.
“I still would have at least tied you, Persepolis!” Melanippe declared as she and Penthesilea approached. “Let’s not give the Centaur too much credit.”
This did not appear to make Persepolis feel any better. Unexpectedly, Melanippe walked toward Fu Xi and now stood directly in front of him. She appeared relaxed, but he stood as rigid as a board.
No intelligent creature was more unpredictable than a Sapien – not even Gryphons came close. With their long life and magic, they often appeared to have more in common with the gods than the rest of them, yet their kind would soon be gone. And as much as anything else, a rigid lack of sympathy so many of them shared was the reason why.
Penthesilea’s potions ultimately saved Fu Xi’s life after the scorpion stung him instead of Yishuo, yet Adamarcus remembered how the young witch brewed and gave them to him with a cold indifference. Melanippe, however, showed the same concern for Fu Xi that Adamarcus would expect a Centauress to show. Having seen it more than once, a soft sympathy coursed just beneath that hard exterior the best warriors such as her took great pride in.
Melanippe raised her chin high and stared into Fu Xi – inspecting, assessing, perhaps even silently thanking him in a manner only great warriors understood. “As you did beat me fairly, I was wrong to have threatened you. I just wasn’t prepared to lose and was ashamed when I did.”
Diedrika’s words from earlier in the day suddenly pranced about Adamarcus’ mind. In regards to how others handled losing to motivate them to win on the next go around – he did not then, but now understood exactly what the queen meant.
Melanippe forced out a slight smile and Fu Xi instantly appeared more at ease. She then turned around, wrapped her arm in one of Penthesilea’s arms, and the sisters departed with their mother and queen in tow.
“That ended better than I thought it would!” Taharqa blurted.
“Perhaps, but I would still be on the lookout for that spell,” Adamarcus reminded them. Fu Xi nodded his agreement.
“Eh, we’ll worry about that tomorrow,” the giddy Nubian shot back. “Come on! Let’s go back to Fu Xi’s tent and celebrate.”
*****
Long into the night, the friends and their families did just that. Evagoria even visited for a bit. The party winding down, Fu Xi stood at the center of the tent and raised his goblet high. All turned silent as they waited for him to speak.
“Today I became the Summer Game’s dueling champion!” Every being in the tent but two cheered wildly. “This, plus that I am now convinced – at least somewhat – Melanippe will not try to murder me the first chance she gets and in the throes of friends and family I love dearly,” he shot a hopeful look at Yishuo, “I would have to say that THIS just might be the best day ever!”
That Fu Xi’s father had the nerve to stand and applaud with the others greatly bothered Adamarcus.
He should be in prison, not in the presence of a champion!
Alone and away from Buzhou, Nüwa let out the most pained of smiles, but Adamarcus could not even do that. His face felt as hard as stone and his hands trembled – he just could not get the image of Buzhou stealing gold from the Huaxia treasury and betting against his own son out of his mind.
This was even worse than spying!
Using a sliver of the family fortune, his father would no doubt keep word of this sordid affair from reaching outside the circle of those few he trusted. Money could not buy everything, but came darn close – silence included. Sometimes, enough gold and gems can even ward off heartbreak, but not this time. Once Fu Xi learned of his father’s foolish actions, this ‘best day ever’ would swiftly crumble into the worst.
Chapter Thirty-Three
A GLORIOUS ENTRANCE
They’re mad, I say! STARK! RAVING! MAD! Straight through the eastern gates, then seven full ovals of fourteen turns, four horses per chariot, six chariots – curse the gods have they dumped into this world’s lap a horde of crazy ones! Where is Hades’ lesser brother, Poseidon, in all this? Concerning Mermaids, does he not have a say in this charade? I have few feelings for Perseos, but adore Penelope. Oh pray tell, Poseidon: What will THIS historian scribe if I have to tell all who come after us that this brilliant Mermaid died doing just about the stupidest thing her kind was capable of?
– Zarathustra, Arachna Historian
– Mid-Summer, Year 4,254 KT[39]
Zarathustra stood next to his king and looked with eight interested eyes at the curious gathering of Centaurs, Sapiens, Mermaids, and Gryphons. Of them, a single Nubian Centauress was of interest to him most of all. To gaze upon Abarah’s cheery self warmed Zarathustra’s heart. Just as strongly, however, to do so also sent shivering chills to the end of every limb. He had spun but one silk funerary wrapping in his long lifetime – for Abarah’s grandfather, a former Chiron. Aside from Hezekiah who now stood nex
t to him, Zarathustra had never been closer to another.
On the day when Diedrika’s and Judiascar’s reigns began, this grand Nubian gave his warmest wishes to them on behalf of every Centaur. Once he laid his eyes on Abarah’s wrecked body medics brought back to Lacanesia only weeks after the coronation, the Chiron collapsed and the Grim collected the soul of yet another. Heartbroken at the time, but stunned at her recovery, Zarathustra was convinced that he gave his life that night to give Abarah back hers. And Zarathustra would forever believe this. She had made too many others thankful when in her presence for this not to be so.
“It is time, Abarah,” Andromeda said kindly. “Are you ready?” The retired queen smiled at Perseos. Covered in a royal blue cloak, he balanced a large, rectangular-shaped object at the base of his tail.
Abarah’s lips moved, but nothing came out. Tears streamed down her cheeks at such a rate that every glacier white tooth coated in these tears now shined brightly.
“As we know from years past,” Seneferre joked as he wrapped an arm around her, “this is Abarah’s way of saying ‘Yes’.”
“And so it is,” Perseos said proudly. He held up Andromeda’s newest masterpiece and let the cloak slide off it. Every jaw dropped, every eyeball swelled to twice its normal size – even Queen Marseea’s – and the most thankful of them all stepped forth.
“It’s … it’s …” Abarah gasped as she ran her fingers along the painted surface. “Oh, Andromeda!” With a crying heave, she buried her head into Seneferre’s boulder-sized shoulder.
“There is no greater joy,” Andromeda gushed, “than to sit on a balcony overlooking the sea and just paint to your heart’s desire. And only you, Abarah, can inspire me to create whatever images my mind dreams up.”
Abarah’s new mural was the most spectacular painting Zarathustra had ever seen. It would also mean more to Abarah than any other mural Andromeda had gifted her. This one showed Kheiron – the Nubian father of the Centaur nation – in an open field resting on all four knees. Long dreadlocks flowed in the wind, his caparison was pure white, and he wore a sky blue tunic with gold trim. In his hands, Kheiron held a copper plate bathed in orange light from the departing dawn.
One youngling of each tribe knelt before him. As these four precious faces from a time long ago listened to their teacher, an Aeropid ran her fingers through the purple flowers in front of her, an Olmec raised his hand to ask a question, a little Nubian looked in awe at a butterfly on her dainty hand, and the fourth, a Huaxia, held a stylus and scribed notes on a bamboo strip.
“You outdo yourself with each passing year, Andromeda,” Carolinica told her as she rubbed one of Abarah’s arms and Nüwa rubbed the other. “Such talent in those hands,” she looked down at her own and wiggled her fingers, “just how did you steal such a gift from the gods?”
“Oh, Carolinica, if I knew that, I would have stolen even more!”
None in this world could paint with Andromeda’s flair. So lifelike, so real, this picture was simply breathtaking. That this scene could only have taken place seventeen centuries ago only made it more so.
As the others laughed, Seneferre removed the mural from Abarah’s chariot. Perseos then attached the new one. Once finished, he shook Seneferre’s hand, kissed Abarah on her wet cheek, and made his way to Andromeda’s side once more.
Abarah pranced in a tight circle; she then embraced Andromeda. As tears of joy continued to flow from her swollen eyes, she made her way to Zarathustra.
“So, Historian, what do you think?”
“I think,” Zarathustra replied, “that only the most beautiful being in this world deserves such an exquisite painting. And that most beautiful being is you.”
More happy tears, more glowing smiles, Abarah pranced around in a circle thrice more. Now time to show off to everyone Andromeda’s brilliance created just for her, Abarah, Carolinica, and Nüwa marched off to do just that.
*****
The five regents and their historians had just witnessed what would be one of the happiest events of the year. The chariot race soon to begin, it was now time for them to watch what was easily one of the most dangerous. Perseos and Penelope having departed to prepare for the upcoming race, the remaining nine took their places inside the open space in the exact bottom middle of the southern stands. Although the chariot race was still a mid-turn away from starting, a rumbling roar stampeded from one end of the stadium to the other.
“Komnena suggested we might be in for a bit of a surprise today,” Hezekiah said in a low voice.
“A surprise that is still a secret I hope,” Komnena said as she threw a smirk in Zarathustra’s direction.
“HA!” Hezekiah crowed. The regents turned around. “Bragging about it to anyone and everyone who would listen for weeks on end that he and his daughter would be the ‘reds’ – Aurikos couldn’t keep his mouth shut!”
“Can you believe he had the nerve to ask me if I would allow my Bucephalas to be his lead horse?” Marseea asked incredulously.
Upon hearing the name of the grandest of all stallions, Zarathustra noticed how Alexander suddenly appeared more interested in what the Witch Queen had to say.
“As if!” Marseea howled. “Aurikos is the finest charioteer of our age, but even if standing on the shores of the Agathis River, I would not trust him to lead Bucephalas to water. Aurikos cares much more for victory than he does the horses that lead him there.”
The horses of Terra Australis were rare creatures. Many thousands wandered Lapith Fields freely, yet no animal dared prey on them. Perhaps half a dozen rear kicks to a would-be hunter’s chops long ago spread a rumor across the land that turned into a tale forever known and passed on to all. Saber-toothed cats, Arctodus bears, Arachna, Gryphons – not even young colts or foals showed the slightest hint of fear when in the path of any of them.
“Chariot races are barbaric anyway,” Alexander said sadly. “I don’t know why we even allow them anymore to be honest.” He then looked up as if thinking. “Aurikos a withered prune of a man even when I was young, I would have bet that he was dead long before betting he would enter another race. A little old, isn’t he?”
“It’s the horses that do the running,” Viracocha reminded him, “not the charioteer.”
“And let us thank Poseidon for that,” Diedrika proclaimed as she stroked Judiascar’s mane, “or else a Mermaid could never win!”
The others rambling on with their dramatic banter, Zarathustra looked out at the stadium field. It was wholly different from when he had seen it the evening before. Having only the cover of night and crisp of morning to do so, organizers made up of mostly Gryphons and Centaurs had remade the inside of the stadium.
The pitch of the oval-shaped arena measured exactly one hundred pike lengths at its longest and fifty pike lengths at its widest. Two thick columns at least eight pike lengths high stood about eighty pike lengths away from each other. The column closest to the eastern gate of tan granite, the other of dark marble; a crackling fire burned inside a shallow bronze cauldron atop each.
A raised platform made of stone, but that was only temporary as well, spanned the columns. It stood about a pike high. These columns and their connecting platform formed a thin rectangle in the perfect middle of the field called the pitch centerpiece. The wide space between the arena walls and this centerpiece drew a track that the charioteers would soon race around.
Just like with Harpastum, flags flew on the opposite side of the arena. Unlike Harpastum, there were many more of them and they were of different colors. For the moment, three separate groups of seven flagpoles apiece flew no flag. Ready for Mermaids to raise when ready; at the bottom of each pole in the first group lay sky blue flags, white flags lay at the bottom of each pole for the second group, and red flags sat at the base of the last group of flagpoles.
“Here they come!” Hezekiah announced to the others.
Six chariots of four horses apiece now pranced through the western gate to the deafening trio of banging
drums, blaring trumpets, and eager cheers. The paired teams of ‘blues’, then ‘whites’, and lastly ‘reds’ marched straight east in single file along the northern side of the pitch centerpiece for all to see and applaud for. Horses of a golden brown with silvery white hair led the ‘blues’, flowing white caparisons blending in perfectly with the white horses that wore them made up the ‘whites’, and horses black as pitch led the red team’s chariots. These six charioteers turned south, then west, and settled one by one directly in front of the regents.
“Charioteers!” Marseea shouted as she raised her arms to the sky. “My good Sapiens and Mermaids at the ready – do you pledge to make your kinds proud?”
The rowdy crowd unleashed its loudest cheer yet; each charioteer raised a hand to the sky in appreciation of this applause. From Zarathustra’s left to his right waited Penelope, Perseos, two older female Sapiens he did not know, the wrinkled man called Aurikos, and his daughter.
Armed with a whip and dressed in full armor, five of them looked confident and proud to be there. One most certainly did not.
But how could she?
Penelope was a fine rider and handled horses as well as any Mermaid, but that was only half of what chariot racing was about.
And just what was the other half?
Impossible to see, yet impossible not to, this other half consisted of a heaping helping of crazed courage dumped into a cauldron molded by supreme arrogance that was then filled to the brim with buckets of suicidal tendencies.
A great fear suddenly sliced through Zarathustra’s heart….
What if Penelope found that her poorly molded cauldron was empty right when she needed it most?
Chapter Thirty-Four
A SHAMEFUL EXIT
With the bulging eyes of a choking condor and teeth any fish would be ashamed of, Aurikos looks my way and smirks as if possessed. This one a wrinkled wraith in every sense, a diseased mole rat offers a more welcome face. Stationed in her chariot to his right, the daughter laughs maniacally. She is not so haggard, but no worries portly wench, you are well on your way! Red of drawn blood, black of wicked intentions their colors – they play the part well. If ONLY it was play.
The Gift From Poseidon: When Gods Walked Among Us (Volume 2) Page 36