The Path of Ravens (Asgard vs. Aliens Book 1)

by Lentz, P. K.

  By now, most of our party has come drifting back through the trees. Some laugh and shout congratulations. The Chrysioi, however, apart from Kairos, are in no light mood. Iris races to the side of her slain comrade, taking him into her arms in a display of grief. Daphne and Aristaeus soon join her, more stoic in their mourning.

  "Carry the body for now," I tell several Atlanteans. "When we are some distance from this place, we will construct a bier."

  The raven lights above the cave mouth.

  "There's your feast, bird!" I shout to it of the dead giant lying face down in a spreading pool of dark red blood. "Now leave us alone!"

  10. Valley

  Not long after slaying the giant, we come to a babbling stream. Racing up to it, we plant bellies on the muddy bank and drink in great gulps from cupped hands. Those with wounds take the chance to wash them properly. But I have no wish to linger, lest the slain giant have friends inclined to avenge him. And so, even though the light is failing, we press on, following the stream until it spills from a great, craggy height into the mirrored surface of a lake far below.

  Spread before us, surrounding the lake, is a thickly forested valley, the sight of which puts smiles on a great many weary faces. It surely will be rich with game, and water is plenty. We can survive there... if the natives do not prove too numerous or hostile. We cannot reach the valley floor before full dark, so I order camp made, though not within sight of the stream or lake, on the reasoning that the giants might frequent them as sources of fresh water or fish.

  I am loath to make fire, lest the smoke draw unwelcome attention, but our several ordeals have left our Chrysioi bodies hungry, and so we butcher the three-headed dog and roast the meat far from camp, letting the fire burn no longer than needed.

  For all but the four true Chrysioi among us, the meal which follows is the first in memory. The meat is stringy and flavorless, such that even though we Atlanteans lack experience of having ever derived pleasure from foods, most are disappointed. Still, the meal serves its purpose of restoring our strength. The spirits of our company rise somewhat and we share such conversation as can be shared by men and women who lack individual pasts of which to speak.

  In a somber ceremony led by Iris and attended by all, the Chrysioi bury in the earth of this strange land the body of slain Perseus, committing his spirit to Gaia, the Mother-deity most revered among their people. It occurs to me that Atlantis must have had gods, though I can no more remember their names than I can any other details of my former home.

  Knowing the danger of this land, I assign watches. No one complains about the duty. Deep in the night I take my shift with Kairos, whose friendship I am keen on cultivating. I hope that if and when our two peoples are reunited, he will help me to make the case for peaceful coexistence.

  "The convenient thing about giants," he jokes as we scan the woods, "is that you can usually hear them coming."

  He tells me some about his homeland of Olympus, which sounds to have been a magnificent country before its utter annihilation by the Myriad swarms—a grim subject on which he cares not to dwell.

  Thankfully, no giants accost our troop. My sleep, when I get it, is undisturbed except by visions of fields of white-capped waves stretching from horizon to horizon. Come the dawn, we rise to drink from the stream, dine on leftovers, relieve our bladders and ready ourselves for another day which could as easily be our last in this new world as the first of many.

  "We must unlock our memories," I declare to Crow as we embark on the steep descent to the valley, voicing a resolution which I have made in the night. "Perhaps the witch Medea knows how."

  "Maybe she does," Crow concedes. "And she might also have made us this way deliberately."

  "I hadn't thought of that possibility."

  Crow smiles. "What is my purpose if not to think of the things that you do not? Anyway, perhaps it is for the best."

  "Do you not wish to know who or what you were before?"

  "Of course I do," Crow says thoughtfully. "But also I do not. There is something to be said for a fresh start. After what we have seen, I am happy and grateful to be alive. It may be foolish to waste time wishing for more than that."

  Perhaps his statement is directed at my case in particular, perhaps not. I choose, without offense, to take it as such. After some thought, I muse aloud, "The prospect of a new beginning is not without its appeal. But I find that wherever my thoughts may roam, they return to Ayessa. I know that I loved her once, and that love, it seems, was strong enough to bind us together beyond death. Yet... she fears me. I must know why. And I must know if it is our fate to love again."

  There is pity in Crow's sigh, and his smile. I envy him his freedom from chains forged by a former self and I cannot help but wonder if, unencumbered thus, he might not make a better leader for our people than I.

  A short time after our conversation, as I stare down at Crow descending ahead of me, a new feeling comes over me.

  Did I know him, too, in my old life?

  ***

  That day, we reach the shore of the lake—the mud of which indeed bears witness to the recent passage of a great many giant-sized feet—and strike out across the valley floor. By the setting of the invisible sun, we have chosen a campsite where I intend for us to remain for as long as it takes us to explore the valley and, if luck is with us, locate those who preceded us through the portal.

  We make the valley our home. We hunt and explore and build shelter and feast and laugh and daily come better to know ourselves and each other. We learn that among our number there are two cases of male spirits having been reborn into female flesh, and no fewer than nine of the opposite. None of those affected seems displeased with the arrangement. Like Crow, they are glad for the fresh start—theirs, by some measures, being even fresher than his or mine.

  We see and hear giants from time to time, but are not troubled by them. They would appear to be like Pyrakmon's folk, solitary creatures. On one occasion, a giant comes upon our camp, halts and glares for several minutes whilst we stare back tensely with blades drawn. None make any sound apart from the raven which forever haunts the branches around our camp, easily avoiding the rocks we hurl at it now and again.

  Finally, the giant turns and stalks off into the woods. For days after, I double the watch, in fear that he may return with friends. But no attack comes.

  To pass time, we engage in good-natured contests of speed, strength, and various skills, in which I am sometimes victorious, sometimes not. Partly on account of the games and the glory they can bring, most Atlanteans begin to adopt names drawn from remembered fragments of our language. The names are single words that have meanings like Sun Shining on Sea, Roar of Breaking Waves, Storm at Midnight, or Gleam of a Thousand Stars.

  The taking of names and playing of games show that they have hope. I have it, too, even if the passing of each day makes it seem more likely that Ayessa is lost to me. A part of me yearns to pass the burden of leadership on to Crow that I might strike off into the wilderness and devote my energies entirely to the search for her. But I resist that selfish urge.

  Twenty days pass in our new home, each marked as a scratch on a prominent boulder chosen for the purpose, a favorite perch of the ever-present black bird.

  On our twenty-first day in the valley, Ares comes.

  11. Ares

  At midday, he strides into our camp flanked by four men clad in dark armor, long red cloaks, and plumed helms the design of which causes me to question whether they are men at all: their bronze faceplates lack any holes, even where the wearer's eyes should be.

  Ares himself I have never seen, but I know it to be him on first sight, perhaps by some air of authority, perhaps by some revenant of my flesh's memory, since after all, that flesh belonged once to Ares' own son, Enyalios. He has dark hair and a neatly trimmed black beard, and under his tan cloak is visible a metal breastplate bearing the carved relief of an awful visage of a creature with a mass of snakes in place of hair. The sight of it ma
kes me cold, causing me not to long let my eyes linger upon it.

  The first Atlanteans to witness the arrival raise their weapons, an action unmirrored by Ares and his contingent, even though the four eyeless fighters are armed with thick, long-bladed spears.

  "Stand down!" I command, racing to the scene. Ares stops walking, raising one arm, and his escort halts, too, proving that they have some means of vision, magical or otherwise. On the Chrysioi leader's face is a thin smile. I take no encouragement from this, for it could as well be the smile of a would-be conqueror as that of one who comes in friendship.

  I would make my own desire plain.

  "Welcome, Lord of the Chrysioi!" I exclaim, spreading arms wide.

  He looks upon me, and I glimpse a flash of something in his dark eyes that I know must be some mixture of joy and sorrow at seeing the form of his son and hearing dead Enyalios's voice.

  "We have among us four Chrysioi," I continue when Ares says nothing. "They have been well treated, as they will attest. I have no doubt that the same is true of our dear comrades who accompanied you to this place." My heart races at the prospect of shortly learning the whereabouts of Ayessa. "We are most eager for news of them. It is my fervent hope that our two peoples can come together and live in peace."

  Ares regards me darkly for some moments, and then at last his tight lips break into a wide grin.

  "You sound nothing like the man who wore that face before you," he says. "He forever sneered, and his words were harsh. But I loved him."

  I am cautiously heartened by Ares' words and the tone in which he speaks them.

  "I am Thamoth," I venture. "And I did not ask to borrow this form. If I am informed correctly, it was given to me by you and the witch Medea."

  "Indeed," Ares agrees, and I sense from him no bitterness.

  It is then that the four Chrysioi arrive, running up to Ares excitedly to kneel before him. Smiling, he sets his hand on the shoulder of the closest, Daphne, and bids them all rise.

  "It is a great pleasure to find you safe," he says. "What of Perseus?"

  "He was slain, my liege," the shepherd Aristaeus reports.

  "By a giant," Iris swiftly adds. "Perseus left on his own, and we later found his body. These Atlanteans played no part."

  "A shame," Ares says with a grim nod, evidently accepting the truth of her account.

  "What of our people?" I ask in a less demanding and more diplomatic tone than I would like. "Are they safe?"

  "We have treated them well, as you did these four," he half-answers. "They have chosen to dwell with us. One of our hunting parties observed you from a distance days ago. I come this day to invite you to join us and stay with us in our city of Neolympus."

  "City...?" I echo in puzzlement. How can they have built a city in a span of days? But these Chrysioi appear to be a people accustomed to magical feats, and I do not wish to seem ignorant, and so I do not question him beyond the one word I let slip.

  "You lead these folk?" Ares asks of me, and smiles once more. "That fails to surprise me."

  "We are deeply grateful for your offer," I reply. "But the decision to accept it cannot be mine alone. We must have time to confer."

  Not too much time, I secretly hope, for that will but delay the reunion for which I, perhaps foolishly, yearn. Yet I must not sacrifice the welfare of my brethren to my own impatience.

  "And we must know more," I go on. "Foremost, why did you leave us to die?"

  "Medea and I gave you your new lives," Ares answers. His look is apologetic. "But others found the idea... distasteful."

  "Such as your wife."

  "Yes, Enyo among them," he says dismissively. "I have not long been ruler of the Chrysioi. The position was thrust upon me. First my father fell to the Myriad, and then my uncles, and lastly my sister Athena. I could not simply dismiss the will of my people—no more than could you. And time was short. With my brother Hephaestus, who also favored you, I crafted the imperfect compromise of condemning you all to a death which was not certain. Leaving it to fate, as it were." He smiles. "I was most pleased to learn that you did not all perish."

  "More than half of us did," I remind him, in grave tones.

  "As I said... an imperfect solution."

  "Very well," I concede. I have no love for his cold reasoning, but I understand and accept it, whether as a result of my experiences in this life or the last, or both. "Answer me this. If we come to dwell with you, must we recognize you as our ruler?"

  Ares throws his hands wide. "Quite plainly, I command in Neolympus," he says. "But I assure you I am no tyrant. I will gladly accept you... Thamoth, was it?... as your people's chosen representative. You may govern your own daily affairs, and in larger matters, your voice will be heard. You... Atlanteans... shall be equal to Chrysioi in all matters, and treated no differently."

  I absorb this, studying Ares. Though he is sharp of eye and warlike in appearance, I detect no malice in him. Yet my perception might be clouded by my own eagerness to visit Neolympus and obtain the answers I seek...

  "We trust you," I declare, heedless of whether it is true. Leaders must speak pleasing falsehoods, as I hope that Ares himself is not doing. "This is no light decision. We must discuss the matter among ourselves."

  Perched on the great rock at the center of our camp, the raven caws sharply, drawing Ares' gaze. Looking back at me, he responds, "Naturally. I must return to Neolympus, but I will leave with you one of my Spartioi." He gestures at one of the four cloaked and armored spear-wielders which arrived with him. Helms covering their faces entirely, they could have been statues for all that they moved. "When you have reached your decision, merely bid him either to lead you to Neolympus or to return there on his own."

  I look at the warrior and consider the name by which Ares called them: Spartioi. In the tongue of the Chrysioi, its meaning is Sown Men, a name which lends credence to my impression that they are something other than natural.

  When my eyes inadvertently fall upon Ares' breastplate, emblazoned with its hideous face, my stomach binds itself into a knot, and I grasp that this, too, must be some magical effect. These Chrysioi are powerful, it would seem, or at least have the advantage of knowing themselves and their capabilities far better than do we newly reborn Atlanteans. It surely would be unwise of us to trust them too far too quickly.

  "I trust you will not object if these four guests of yours accompany me to their new city," Ares says next.

  "They are free to do as they choose."

  Looking at them, I know that for Iris and the rest, it is no choice at all. They wish no further delay in rejoining their fellow survivors of the Myriad's conquest of the Chrysioi's three kingdoms.

  "Splendid," Ares says. "Then we shall leave you now to consider. I fondly hope you will elect to join us. As you and we have learned, this land has its dangers. We shall be stronger united than divided in the face of common threats."

  I take a step closer to Ares, but only one, yet wary of the spears of his inhuman Spartioi entourage. "Before you go... you have avoided giving clear answer to the question of our comrades. How many Atlanteans came with you to this world? Is every one of them safe?"

  A frown replaces Ares' nearly omnipresent smile. "There were twelve," he answers, not a little reluctantly. "After our arrival, three of those were lost when their hunting party was attacked by giants."

  My breath sticks in my chest, but I force out words. "There was a woman, Ayessa. What of her?" Suddenly, I care not what my fellow Atlanteans might think of such a display of favoritism by their leader.

  Ares' dark expression presages his answer: "She was among the three."

  I gasp. My heart ceases to pound.

  "In her case alone, no remains were seen," Ares continues. "However, given the evidence, there is a ... rather likely explanation for that."

  I know his meaning. I saw Perseus slung over the giant's shoulder like slaughtered game, saw the gnawed bones at the entrance to the cave.

  "No..." I breathe. I
sink to one knee, and Crow rushes to my side, offering support. "It cannot be."

  "We felt deep sorrow over their loss," Ares offers.

  "No..." I repeat, regaining my feet and shrugging off Crow's aid. "Had she died... I would know it. If no remains were seen, then Ayessa lives. I am certain. Was any effort given to finding her?"

  Ares' head shakes, sympathetically. "A search was conducted. No trace of her was found."

  I do not say it, lest my brethren think me obsessed, which perhaps I am, but I know what I must do. I will search for Ayessa myself, for as long as it takes either to find her or to satisfy myself that she is truly gone.

  "How long ago did the attack occur?" I ask.

  Ares cocks his head in thought. "The walls of Neolympus were not yet complete, so... seven months ago, perhaps eight."

  Uncomprehending, I stare at him. "Eight... months?" I attempt to grasp how this might be possible, but my mind spins circles. "How long have you been in this world?"

  Ares' dark brow furrows momentarily, then his sharp eyes show understanding. "Ahh," he intones. "Interesting. Evidently, there must exist between our world and this one some discrepancy in the flow of time. In the minutes or hours it took you to follow us, seasons passed here. That goes far toward explaining your current living conditions, and why we have only just learned of your presence."

  I do not find this new knowledge interesting, nor do I care for explanations. I only know that Ayessa is missing and her trail hundreds of days cold. I know what course I must take. My sense of duty to these people whose leader I have made myself is strong indeed, but stronger still is the pull upon me of she whom once I loved so dearly that even death failed to separate us. She who in her current form despises me.

  She who in another life I called... Wellspring.

  But it is not only concern for her which compels me; my desire to pursue Ayessa is also a selfish one, for I feel that only through her can I ever reclaim the knowledge of who I once was.

  Soon, I decide in that moment, I must pass on the leadership of our people to Crow, that I might embark on my own quest of my own...