Tomb of Zeus
Chapter: 1
Northern Greenland
5,000 B.C.
Lord Zeus inhaled deeply, drawing in the essence of the green grass that covered the expansive plains. A cool breeze blew through his gray wavy hair that hung below his shoulders and he shuttered slightly from the chill of the wind. He rubbed his worn rugged hand over his muscular bicep in an attempt to wipe away the cold. In his right hand, he clutched a three foot long scepter made of crystal. Carved in the shape of a sword, its hollowed center contained an assembly of intricate shapes of iridium and precious stones that gave the scepter its power.
He re-gripped the heavy crystalline object in his hand and held it across his body. Applying pressure to the handle, he began to feel warmth radiate from the crystal blade and penetrate his chest. Contented for a moment, he turned from the shoreline and focused his attention far out across the open plains.
Nearly a mile away, he watched a throng of slaves hard a work. He squinted slightly, pinpointing his exquisite vision on a man shouting orders to those around him. He nodded to himself in satisfaction knowing his commands were being followed without question.
Turning around, he breathed in the salty air of the ocean. He stepped from the edge of the grass and walked down the sloping sandy shore toward the water. As he approached, he watched a tall muscular man with long wavy red hair and beard, directing the operations from a single wooden dock.
Stretched out nearly a hundred feet across the water, more slaves rushed along the wooden structure to prepare Lord Zeus’ boat for sail. Carrying bundles of grain, dried meat and rawhide flasks filled with water, the slaves carefully loaded the fifty-foot long craft, insuring its proper weight distribution and balance.
Zeus paused a moment in the sand, taking in the elegance of his vessel. The long sleek craft was made of hewn oak planking, intricately interwoven to be strong and watertight. A set of ten oars jutted from each side and waited to be commanded by slaves.
As he watched the men labor to stock his boat, he noticed it listing slightly to one side.
“Poseidon, a word if you please,” Zeus shouted from the sand.
Hearing his brother’s voice, Poseidon spun around to greet him. He smiled from the wooden dock, then shouted out to the hard-working slaves.
“Shore up that weight on the starboard side. She’s listing slightly.”
Instantly, several slaves redistributed some heavy bundles to the opposite side of the boat, righting the potential problem. Nodding in affirmation, he turned back to the waiting king.
“Yes, my Lord?” Poseidon asked.
Zeus smiled contentedly at his brother’s efficiency.
“Nevermind, my brother. It seems you’ve read my mind once again,” Zeus responded, nodding in satisfaction.
Poseidon smiled as he neared. Several steps later, he stood beside his much older brother.
“We’re almost loaded. You can be under way within the hour,” he informed.
“Very good. I’m hoping to make the tip of Nuuk by nightfall.”
“The prevailing winds are westerly. They should help speed your travels.”
“Hmm yes, as well as calm seas. Perfect conditions for voyaging.”
The two stood quietly and watched the last of the supplies being shuffled into place on the King’s boat. Moments later, Poseidon spoke:
“Do you think Idaeus has made much progress since your last visit?”
“It’s hard to say. There’s so much to repair and the technology is so primitive.”
“Hmm, I see.”
Zeus heard the tone of Poseidon’s voice. It held uncertainty that worried him. Turning to Poseidon, he rested his hand on his shoulder.
“Have faith, my brother. I’ve trained Idaeus well. If anyone can make the repairs, it is he. Soon we’ll be able to return home. I’m certain of that,” he said with a confident smile.
Poseidon nodded slightly, then returned his stare back to the working slaves, his face telegraphing his true feelings.
“Poseidon? What is this? I sense discontentment within you. Are you saddened by my words?”
Zeus shook his brother’s shoulder slightly, nudging a response from him.
“I like it here. I was hoping we could stay.”
“STAY!” Zeus shouted incredulously. “I don’t understand this. What do you mean by ‘stay’,” he persisted, now growing increasingly concerned.
Poseidon turned and stared directly into Zeus’ eyes. He thought for a moment, trying to choose the right words.
“Poseidon, I’m confused. You can’t possibly mean to stay here… and live in this place… with all these savages. Surely you must long for home. Surely you must miss your own kind. Surely I must have misread your intentions.”
“I’m sorry my brother, but I do not want to leave. I like it here,” Poseidon replied in apprehensive tone.
Zeus pulled back and stared at Poseidon. He tried to read his face once more, hoping to see doubt or uncertainty. There was none. His brother was resolute in his words.
“But why? What could these people offer you? They’re savages… simple minded beings. Surely you cannot enjoy their company?”
“Back home, we are common. We are of no great consequence. We are but tools of our society: no one any more important than the next. When we return home, our mission will be analyzed like the others before it: the data assimilated and stored for future use. We will then be given another mission and be required to collect more data. We live as mechanisms in a callous machine.”
He paused a moment, looked around and continued.
“But here, we are important. We teach these savages and create great civilizations from them. Here, we rule this land and all those who occupy it. We are Gods!”
“Gods of Hell maybe… I’d rather be common in Heaven than a god of Hell,” Zeus responded.
He rested his hand sympathetically on his brother’s shoulder and spoke.
“Poseidon, I understand your words. In some ways, I too feel a sense of importance here, but when I look around, I am always reminded that this is not my home and these are not my people. We do not act the same or nor do we think the same as these people. If we are to feel fulfilled, we need to be with our own kind. Nothing else will suffice.”
Poseidon understood his older brother’s message. There would be no challenging his logic. He nodded in simple understanding, then turned back to the men readying the boat.
“I believe they’re ready,” he said nonchalantly, redirecting the uncomfortable topic.
Zeus turned back to his waiting ship and smiled in understanding.
“Yes, I believe it is,” he said, allowing the previous topic to fade.
Zeus stepped forward toward his waiting craft. As he walked across the narrow wooden dock, all men came to attention and waited on his direction.
“Did you include the scrolls? Idaeus will need my calculations once his work is complete,” he asked Poseidon, standing close behind him.
“Yes, my king. They are stowed with your navigation charts,” he responded obediently.
“Very well then… I’m off. If all goes as planned, I should be back in a week’s time,” Zeus responded, stepping down into his boat. Turning back to Poseidon, he added, “Continue your oversee of the pyramid. The layer of gold must not be flawed.”
“Yes, my king,” Poseidon replied.
As Zeus moved toward the pilot station at the rear of the boat, Poseidon shouted to the slaves onboard the ship.
“Watch over the king. Guard him with your lives.”
“Yes Sir,” the slaves shouted back in monotone, their voices lacking passion.
Poseidon eyed them for a mom
ent with disgust, then watched his brother get underway. As the two rows of slaves pulled hard on their oars, Zeus held the tiller and directed the long boat out of the bay. Several minutes later, the fifty-foot craft rounded a bend in the shoreline and disappeared from sight.
Poseidon turned back to the work being carried on far out on the plains. The great pyramid was nearly complete. All that remained was a final coating of gold. With slaves ordered to work around the clock, the task would be complete within the week. He looked up into space and pondered their future.
“Disappointing,” he said to himself quietly.
Looking back across the plains, he headed in the direction of the pyramid, a mile away.
----- ----- ----- -----
Cephius stood several yards away from the great pyramid and watched the throngs of slaves muscle large vats of molten gold in place for the pouring. Shouting orders and pointing, he clutched his leather whip for those who moved too slowly.
Moving quickly before the gold cooled, the slaves readied the large metal containers. Lined up side by side, the six foot tall, five foot in diameter vats were each manned by dozens of men. All eyes were now on Cephius. He raised his hand above his head and with great exaggeration, dropped it quickly.
“POUR!” he shouted.
Slowly, carefully, the dozens of men clutched the heavy rungs that jutted from the large metal containers and began to pour the molten metal down over the blocks that formed the pyramid. As it rushed from the vats and down over the structure, the shiny liquid metal clung to the stone, coating its outside surface, leaving a thin layer attached as the excess continued its way down further. Block by block the molten liquid continued on its downward path until the last of its bulk thinned to a slow trickle that finally came to a rest in a small pool, fifty feet below.
Cephius stood over the freshly poured gold and admired its brilliance.
“Glorious,” he said aloud to no one in particular.
Looking back to the slaves, he shouted, “Quickly, erect the supports. I want the next pore ready within the hour.”
“Yes Sir,” came voices from the crowd of workers.
Cephius watched the men for a moment, raised his whip high above his head and snapped it forward. The tattered ends of leather seared across a slave’s shoulder and chest as he stood in place far too long for Cephius’ patience. Instantly, the man howled out a cry of pain and fell to the ground. All eyes darted to the man writhing in agony and quickly sprang to action. Cephius smiled in satisfaction as the men scurried from his wrath.
Looking down at the injured slave, he raised his whip high above his head once more. With a quick flip of his wrist, he snapped the whip with pinpoint accuracy sounding out a crack just inches from the slave. Understanding the message, he leapt to his feet and darted off after his comrades.
“Mindless dogs,” Cephius said to himself in disgust.
“Cephius!” A voice shouted from behind.
Cephius spun on his heels, startled by the loud angry tone.
“Yes sir,” he shouted back obediently.
He stood at attention and waited for Poseidon to near.
“Cephius, these are not trees, rocks or lifeless forms. These are human beings,” Poseidon said sharply.
“Yes sir,” Cephius responded obediently.
“Treat them decently,” Poseidon sai, simply.
“But Sir, they are mere slaves,” he defended.
“…that are helping us to accomplish our mission. Manage them firmly, but treat them with respect.”
“Yes Sir,” Cephius responded grudgingly.
Poseidon examined the worked just completed. He nodded in approval, then said, “Lord Zeus will be pleased. This will be completed by his return?” he asked, more rhetorical than a question.
“Yes Sir. I estimate a week if I can keep these lazy dogs focused.”
Poseidon glared at Cephius momentarily, insuring his subordinate understood his disapproval. Cephius averted his eyes. With his subtle point made, Poseidon continued:
“Lord Zeus will be anticipating the pyramid’s completion upon his return. If you find the men falling behind schedule, concentrate their efforts on polishing the vertical steps first. With those surfaces complete, we should be able to reach a signal strength of ninety percent, more than enough to reach the upper atmosphere.”
“How long before the next ship arrives?”
“Lord Zeus believes they could be here in one week. Timing is critical. The beacon must be finished before then,” Poseidon responded.
“And what of our own ship?”
“Zeus remains optimistic, but I have my reservations. Only time will tell if Idaeus is successful in his repairs,” Poseidon answered.
“And what if he’s not?”
“Then we’ll be here much longer than anticipated,” he replied in ominous tone.
----- ----- ----- -----
Zeus held the tiller in one hand and his scepter in the other. Confident and bold, he stood at the rear of the ship and kept watch over the rowing slaves. Four hours into his journey, land had drifted from sight and he now relied on the use of the sun and his magnetic compass for navigation. As the slaves powered the boat across the open sea, he monitored his position with the crude instruments, making small corrections with the tiller to stay on course.
He watched the bow of the ship as it carved its way through the water. With great frequency, he began to notice the nose of the craft veering right toward starboard. Slipping off course, he moved the tiller in the opposite direction to bring the ship back on track. Several more times, he noted the plaguing problem. Directing his focus to the men rowing on the right hand side of the boat, he monitored their activity with suspicion. Within seconds, he noticed the problem: several slaves rowed out of sync with the others. Upon further examination, he realized their rowing gate was slower than the rest.
“Indolence,” he said to himself in frustration.
Quickly, he raised his crystal scepter, pointed it at Bolar, a slave standing at the front of the boat and applied pressure along the hand grip. Instantly, the scepter’s internal components reacted, generating an electric charge that radiated from the tip and focused as a narrow stream of energy. As it contacted the unsuspecting slave, the charge flowed through his body, momentarily stunning him as he let out a guttural cry of pain. Zeus relaxed the pressure and the stream of energy quickly vanished. Bolar collapsed to the ground and writhed as the others looked on in horror.
“Maintain a proper cadence. Those that fall behind will suffer my wrath,” Zeus shouted loudly. He pointed his scepter across the deck of men and commanded, “Back to rowing!”
Quickly, the men grabbed their oars and began to row in synchronized rhythm. Zeus stared menacingly at the injured slave. Rage welled inside Bolar as he limped back to his station. Grabbing his oar, he turned quick and shot Zeus a hateful stare. Zeus raised his scepter once more, only to see Bolar quickly turn back to his work and join his comrades in perfect rhythm.
“Hmm, insolence,” he thought to himself.
He watched him for a moment with contempt, then turned to his navigation. At the rear of the boat, a small ledge made of wood and reeds, held maps, a sun compass, a magnetic compass and other implements for tracking his course. He turned his back to the rowing men and concentrated momentarily on a map. As he began to stow his scepter through a piece of leather attached to his waist sash, he struggled with the loop. He grew frustrated with the clumsy design and he placed the scepter up on the ledge next to the navigation tools.
Picking up the sun compass, he took a reading and marked his latitudinal position on the map. He next tossed a colored piece of cork into the water. Trailing behind the boat was a length of rope with markings on it for distance. As the cork passed the last marking on the rope, Zeus mentally counted the time. He then calculated the speed of the boat and the approximate time they’d next see land.
Behind him, at the front of the boat, thirty men strained against
their oars. Sweat poured off their bodies even with the cool breeze that rushed in from the sea. Hunger and thirst grew to distraction as they toiled in their task. Fear and hatred held fresh in their minds as they thought about their comrade’s unfair treatment. Each man knew at any point in time, they too could suffer his punishment.
As they pulled hard on their oars, each man’s lips carried the same silent curse, “Death to Zeus.”
Bolar, still feeling the pain of his injury, struggled to keep up with the cadence set by the other slaves. With each pull of his oar, his inflamed muscles protested the exercise. Standing across from him, Euclid noticed his struggling friend.
“Bolar, you must keep up. Lord Zeus will kill you if you cannot,” he whispered cautiously.
Bolar nodded in understanding. His face strained as he pulled even harder, trying to match the speed of the other rowers.
“I tire of this abuse. We are not dogs, yet he treats up like animals,” Bolar responded acidly.
“Nonetheless, if he sees you slowing again, that’ll be the end of you,” Euclid shot back.
“He’s a coward… nothing without that scepter. Give me one chance with his back turned and I’ll show him the meaning of insolence,” he spat.
“Bolar, I too have thought the same, but we are no match for his kind. It would take more than just you to win your freedom,” Euclid whispered.
“We’ve talked about this. We’ve all talked about attacking him as one. His back is turned. Join me. We can have our freedom,” Bolar encouraged.
“Are you mad? He’d strike us down in a blink of an eye with his scepter. We’d have no chance,” he responded.
“Not if we beat him to his weapon.”
“How do you propose to do that? He keeps it at his side at all times,” Euclid asked, now curious.
Bolar motioned to Euclid to look behind them. He pointed to the missing scepter normally hung from Zeus’ side.
“Zeus has erred. He is not attached to his weapon,” Bolar said, boldly.
“True, but his weapon is still within reach.”
Tomb of Zeus (Atlantis) Page 1