Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1)

by James Maxwell

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of silky silver hair and pale brown eyes, a heart-shaped face with a small chin and pert nose. He tried to turn still further but her pink lips parted and she made a strange shushing noise, her placid face creasing slightly in a frown before returning to an expression of animal-like contentment.

  Dion was in the arms of one of the merfolk.

  He had heard tales of men being rescued like this, but never believed a word of them. It was always the female wildren – mermaids – who saved drowning sailors, taking them to land and safety. Even now Dion couldn’t believe what was happening.

  She swam on her back, holding him to her chest. Despite being so close to a wildran, rather than try to move, he was suddenly afraid that if he struggled she would leave him to die in the open sea, which was calm but showed a flat horizon with no sign of land in any direction. He hoped she knew where she was going; she seemed to have a plan.

  He couldn’t help but wonder what was going on inside her head. Did she think that perhaps he was one of her male kin, wounded and no longer able to swim? Was she intelligent enough to think of it as a good deed?

  Feeling something entangled with his upper arm he stared dully at a length of curved wood, finally realizing it was his bow; he’d somehow managed to keep hold of it.

  Dion laid his head back on her breasts and stared up at the bright blue sky.

  Once more, weariness overcame him.

  ‘What do we do with him?’

  ‘You ask the wrong question, brother. How did he get here?’

  ‘He could have swum here.’

  ‘From where?’

  ‘A ship must have come into trouble somewhere near Athos.’

  Dion was face down in the sand. Small waves broke over his legs; the tide was rising and he knew he had to move. But he was parched, desperate for water, and his head felt like a thousand hammers pounded against his temples. He groaned.

  ‘He’s stirring. Take that weapon away from him.’

  ‘No,’ Dion moaned.

  He was powerless to prevent strong hands untangling his bow from around his shoulder. Opening his eyes and flinching from the glare, Dion saw an emaciated man in a white robe crouched on the sand, looking down at him. A bald crown topped his triangular head, which was devoid of excess flesh. Dark eyes regarded him from sunken pits.

  ‘I have your bow,’ he soothed, showing Dion the weapon.

  ‘And it will be returned to you when you leave,’ said another man nearby.

  Eyes shifting, Dion saw that the crouching man had a companion, but he realized with shock that the two men looked alike in every way.

  ‘Can you rise?’ said a third voice from still further away.

  Dion rolled and finally managed to push himself up onto his elbows. The third man was robed just as the other two. His face was the same. There was no way to tell any of them apart.

  ‘Where . . . Where am I?’ Dion asked hoarsely.

  He tried to lick his lips but his tongue was dry. He needed water more than he’d needed anything in his life.

  The crouching man closest to Dion spoke. ‘You are at Athos. Not just at Athos, but at Seer’s Cove. We are magi, devoted to the Oracle. How did you come to be here?’

  Dion tried to speak but simply shook his head.

  ‘He needs water,’ said the closest of the standing magi.

  ‘If we give him water, we are accepting responsibility for his well-being.’

  ‘Then that is what we will do.’

  ‘I am not certain this is the right course of action, brother,’ the furthest magus spoke. ‘He is not here of his own accord. He brings no offering.’

  ‘Wait,’ Dion croaked, sitting up and holding up a hand. ‘I am here by choice; I simply met trouble on the way. Wildren. I want to visit the Oracle.’

  ‘Where is your offering?’ asked the suspicious magus.

  Dion thought about the silver coins he carried, sewn into his tunic. He tried to recall everything he knew about the Oracle. ‘Here,’ he said, lifting up the silver medallion around his neck. ‘This is my offering.’

  ‘See?’ the two magi regarded their wary companion.

  ‘Give him water, then.’ The last man folded his arms over his chest. ‘He has chosen to step onto the path. The Oracle will know what to do with him.’

  Dion tried to stand, but it wasn’t until one of the magi returned with water that his strength returned enough for him to stagger to his feet. He swayed and put a hand to his head until the dizziness passed.

  He was finally able to take stock of his situation.

  The three magi stood around him, looking at him uncertainly. He was on a beach in a small quiet cove, and just above him a stretch of grassy bank led to a long stone wall. Through a gap in the wall he could see a paved path made of brilliant blue stone. A mile inland was a misshapen hill; the area in between the hill and the wall was dotted with stone temples and rocky knobs.

  Aside from the grass in front of the wall, there wasn’t a tree, bush, or shrub in sight. And fires burned on both sides of the path.

  The flames flickered in a multitude of hues, from bright vermillion to warm gold. Green fires and blue fires burned on top of the rocks, though he could see no kindling beneath them.

  White monoliths poked up from high points on the hill. The path curved like a snake and led to the dark mouth of a cave.

  ‘You must now set foot on the path,’ the closest of the three magi said. ‘And you must not stop until you have entered the cave.’ He gestured. ‘Go. The Oracle awaits.’

  Dion nodded. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he began to climb, and was conscious of the magi’s eyes following him as he passed through the wall and stepped onto the path.

  He wondered what the Oracle would tell him about the future. Would she share what the omen of the tremor truly portended? Would she tell him whether there was coming danger for Xanthos?

  Would she tell him what he should do next?

  He concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other and tried to ignore the strange flickering flames on either side of the path. Finally, he reached the mouth of the cave, and before his courage could fail him he walked in.

  The cave wound back and forth, initially dark but growing brighter as he continued. Rounding the last bend, he saw that the white light came from a pure flame that filled a circular cavern.

  A woman leaned forward; her body was obscured by a black robe but her white hair was so thick and long that it covered her back and formed a fan on the ground around her.

  ‘Place your offering beside me and then sit opposite the flame,’ the Oracle said in a soft, whispering voice.

  Dion unclasped his chain to remove the amulet with the trident of Silex. He placed it on the cavern floor, beside the Seer, then refastened the chain around his neck. Circling the white fire, he settled himself and looked at the Oracle through the flame.

  He saw her place her fingers on the amulet.

  ‘You are . . . You are . . .’ she said.

  The Seer suddenly shrieked, a piercing sound that echoed through the cavern, shrill and filled with pain.

  Dion frowned. He knew little about the Oracle, but he knew enough to know that something was wrong.

  He heard footsteps and saw a white-robed magus rush into the cavern. He had the same sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes, but Dion didn’t know if this was a new priest or one of the three men from the beach.

  ‘Priestess . . . What is it?’

  The Oracle had her head down but she now raised it as the white fire between them ebbed. Dion saw through the flames that she was a young woman, beautiful and pale, with smooth skin and an oval face. She gazed at Dion with piercing green eyes, revealing a troubled expression.

  ‘This man . . . The materia does not respond to him.’

  ‘What do you want us to do?’

  ‘Take him away from me. He interferes with my abilities.’ She moaned. ‘I want him to leave.’
/>   ‘Do you want us to kill him?’

  ‘No,’ the Seer said sharply. ‘I cannot say that his future is dark . . . only that it is beyond my ability to see. Killing him could be a blessing to humanity, or it could lead us all to darkness. The gods decree that we do not seek to alter another’s destiny without knowing the consequences are clear.’

  Dion was confused. His eyes went from face to face. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I need to consult with you. Let me explain.’

  ‘Tell me nothing,’ the Oracle hissed. ‘Nothing!’

  ‘What do you want us to do?’

  ‘I want him gone.’

  ‘But, Priestess . . . He has no way from the island.’

  ‘Then give him a boat.’

  ‘Without provisions we would be killing him just the same,’ the magus said.

  ‘Then give him provisions,’ the Seer said. ‘I want him gone!’

  The magus came and hauled Dion forcibly to his feet. He handed Dion his amulet. ‘Come,’ he said harshly.

  ‘Take him!’ the Oracle wailed.

  Her voice followed Dion as he was hauled out of the cave.

  ‘Take him!’

  When Dion returned to the beach, unsure about what had actually just happened, he saw with surprise that there was now a small boat, bobbing in the shallow water, anchored to the beach with a trailing rope that led from its bow.

  He couldn’t believe his eyes. He had seen the magus with him make no communication with any other, yet here was a boat, evidently a reluctant gift to him from the magi.

  ‘Your vessel is here,’ the magus said after leading him down from the cave. ‘You will find provisions inside, along with your weapon. The Oracle has given you a generous gift, but there is a condition.’

  Dion turned and met his dark eyes.

  ‘Never return to Athos. The gods are powerful, and the Oracle is their representative in the world of mortal men. Never return to Athos, on your life, and on your soul.’

  ‘I understand,’ Dion said.

  He stepped slowly down the beach, leaving the emaciated man behind. Suddenly he couldn’t take his eyes off the boat.

  It was small, not designed to carry more than three men, but wondrously proportioned, sleek as a cat, rakish and lean. Its hull was decorated with alternating horizontal stripes of blue and gold and the unpainted timbers of the interior glistened in the sun, polished to reveal the beautiful grain of the wood. A solitary mast sprouted from her center and there was no line for a headsail, but the material of the white sail rolled on top of the boom appeared as lustrous as silk, and the mast was so tall that Dion knew the slightest puff of wind would send it leaping.

  Sailing across the Maltherean Sea meant crossing the open ocean, and typically a vessel of this size would be far too small. But this boat was a gift from the magi of Athos. Dion would trust it more than he would trust a vessel three times the size.

  ‘Her name is the Calypso,’ the magus behind him said. ‘She is yours.’

  ‘I’m traveling to Lamara, capital of Ilea—’ Dion began, preparing to ask the magus for guidance.

  ‘Do not tell me of your quest,’ the magus said, holding up a hand. He turned to depart, speaking over his shoulder as he left Dion alone on the beach. ‘Just never return to Athos.’

  23

  The reddish land ahead grew larger with every sweep of the bireme’s many oars until it came to dominate Chloe’s vision, revealing rust-colored cliffs, rocky bays, and promontories that jutted out into the water like fingers.

  The sea had changed color, becoming a pale blue similar to the hue of the sky, indicating a shallower depth. Kargan ordered the sail lowered as he took the warship into a wide bay that became a series of smaller inlets.

  Soon, Chloe knew, they would arrive at Lamara.

  They had spent the previous night beached near Koulis. Although they had never ventured into the city, remaining camped on the shore just below, she had gained an impression of white columned temples of glistening marble, and men and women wearing surprisingly Galean costumes. The palm trees and baked yellow walls had marked Koulis out as different from Chloe’s home, but when she asked Hasha about it he explained that the city once saw itself as closer to the Galean nations than those of Salesia.

  The sun king had dominated Koulis for several years, however, and yellow flags flew from the towers at the corners of the walls. Kargan had sent a trading party into the city, but kept Chloe under close guard. She had watched them leave enviously, trying to remember what it felt like to be free, but she hadn’t complained when they returned hours later with fresh meat, fruit, barley, and bread.

  She had crossed the Maltherean Sea, and she was now on the Salesian continent. Soon she would meet Solon, the sun king of Ilea. The thought filled her with dread.

  Now, shielding her eyes as the Nexotardis headed for its home port, she saw a distant structure on a finger of land and realized it was a lighthouse. Sweeping her gaze in the opposite direction, she saw a second promontory with yet another lighthouse on its tip.

  The Nexotardis passed between the two structures, miles apart from each other, and Chloe saw more ships ahead, traveling the same way: sailing skiffs and rowing galleys, merchant vessels with bulging bellies, and ramshackle fishing boats.

  Another promontory divided the bay in the middle and Kargan led them to the right, following the other ships. Chloe saw that they were entering an inlet, the curling waves colliding with the rushing water of a mighty river. As they passed the central jut of land on the right, she shielded her eyes and saw a huge statue.

  It was made of stone and bigger than the lighthouses she’d seen earlier. She recognized Helios the sun god, legs apart and arms at his sides, head tilted back to look up at the sky.

  ‘The statue marks the start of the river,’ a rumbling voice said beside her as Kargan joined her at the rail. ‘You will see the city soon enough.’

  The drum thrummed below the deck, so ever-present that the sound was now at the edge of her consciousness. The Nexotardis traveled on oars alone, blades lifting out of the water, sweeping back and dipping in again with endless repetition. There were now banks at both sides, sometimes showing yellow cliffs and other times broken shores filled with boulders.

  Buildings appeared on the left bank, mud-brick structures with gaping holes for windows and roofs of stick and straw. Then Chloe saw a wall. It was dusty and red, as tall as the ship’s mast and broad enough for men to walk on top. A hexagonal tower rested up against a cliff where the wall met the river, and for a time the wall hid the city within.

  Glancing at the other bank, opposing the city, she decided that this was where the poorer people lived, for the huts were crude and crammed close together. Dusty streets marked out one block of huts from another, while on a hill behind she could see regularly spaced trees and fields of grain. There were no bridges; passage between the two sides of the river would be granted by ferryboat only. Every vessel on the right-hand shore was a fishing boat.

  As they passed the wall, her attention turned once more to the left-hand bank and the main city.

  ‘Lamara,’ Kargan said. ‘Capital of the Ilean Empire.’

  Structures appeared as they passed the city wall. So many buildings that Chloe struggled to comprehend them all. Lamara dwarfed Phalesia, more yellow than white, perhaps less beautiful, but . . . huge.

  The city followed the bank of the river for at least a mile. A series of tiers in the very center marked out a ziggurat, and on the highest level Chloe saw a walled palace, undoubtedly the home of the sun king. The sprawling edifice crowned the city, spearing the sky with tall spires, so thin that Chloe wondered how they didn’t topple over. Like most of the buildings around, it was made of red brick, but she could see marble columns and the rust color was further broken by a multitude of yellow flags with orange suns in their centers, snapping in the breeze.

  Below the palace was a confusion of two-storied residential blocks delineated by winding alleys and broad aven
ues. Chloe saw temples of basalt and marble statues, sprawling slums and grand villas. Palm trees clustered here and there, made ethereal by the dust.

  ‘Look,’ Kargan said, pointing. ‘The bazaar.’

  ‘Bazaar?’ Chloe frowned.

  ‘Market.’

  She realized he was pointing at a rectangular square located somewhere in the lower city between the palace and the riverbank. Canopied stalls with tent-like coverings of every color imaginable crowded one next to another. Aisle after aisle filled the square, leaving no empty space uncovered. The bazaar of Lamara could have swallowed the Phalesian agora several times over.

  As they drew inline with the palace the bank dropped away, curving in an arc of sandy shoreline. Chloe realized it was the city’s harbor. She couldn’t believe the number of vessels drawn up on the shore, a number that must be approaching a hundred.

  Seeing the sun king’s fleet, she felt fear stab her stomach. Over half of the vessels on the shore were biremes, all of them as large and powerful as the Nexotardis. The powerful warship that had so concerned her father and the other consuls was just one of many.

  Kargan stayed with Chloe at the rail, appearing to enjoy her awe and consternation at the sheer size of the city. His men knew what to do. In moments he would be home.

  Scanning the harbor, she saw soldiers and sailors guarding the ships and scrubbing the decks. The beach sloped up until it joined the buildings facing it. A sailor exited a hut on the shore, two steaming bowls in his hands, handing one to a friend.

  Kargan had a hint of a smile on his face as he regarded her, as if he were waiting for something. Chloe frowned, and looked back at the harbor.

  Then, somewhat distant, but so large it couldn’t be real, she saw something that took her breath away.

  It rose from behind the red buildings, erected on the land further upriver, within the city walls but far from the palace. It was a mountain . . . but a mountain made by men, perfectly proportioned, triangular-faced on all sides. It was the biggest structure Chloe had ever seen.

  She rubbed her eyes. She could see shining golden blocks the size of houses piled one on top of the other, describing how it had been made, with each level slightly smaller than the one below. Strangely, two thirds of the way up, the glistening faces ceased and the levels became naked stone all the way to the summit.