The coral palaces were spectacular because their builders, the corylians, created them with living beings. They were the kings of the coral, just as a mermaid was queen of the oceans. Corylians were amazing artisans and could work on several things at once. They were the centaurs of the sea. The bottom half of their bodies were that of a large lobster, about half as long as a full-grown dolphin. Their upper body was like a mermaid’s or human’s, except for their hands and head of course.
They had four fingers and two thumbs on each hand, with all the digits being much longer than those of humans, and triple jointed as well. Their faces were very much the same as humans’ too, but the tops of their heads were shaped like coral. The color of their bodies and the shape of their heads depended on which family of coral they were descended from. Also, being semi divine, they could live for hundreds of years.
Helmi’s father once confessed that in his wilder, younger days, right after the battle of the Titans, he had unwittingly participated in the creation of the corylians after heavily imbibing in heavenly nectar. His vision was blurred and he thought a giant lobster was a water nymph, with flowing red hair down to her toes, who had previously spurned his attention. All of a sudden, this beauteous creature stood beckoning to him. After a frolic on a coral reef that scared the fish away for leagues, he woke up in the arms of a very large, sleeping female lobster and fled deep into the ocean before she awoke. Abandoned by her new mate, she did what her kind did and spread her eggs upon the reef. The semi-divine eggs nestled deep into the coral to mature and hatch into what was to become the new race of corylians.
These builders, artisans, and keepers of the royal sea palaces, were also quite the little gossips. They thrived on the doings of the gods. All the palace walls were covered in elaborate carvings and relief sculptures with vast epic stories, including a graphic depiction of their creation. Each “myth” was told in the rich colors of red, orange, dark greens, and deep purples that are common to the various species of coral. In addition to the coral colors, the walls were also lushly studded with emeralds, diamonds, opals, gold nuggets, and sapphires that had washed down from the mountains in underground rivers that flowed to the sea.
Helmi’s family and relatives might be semidivine and immortal, but their behavior was most often lacking in grace and morality. Wisdom is a rare trait in any creature and seems to come with age in all species. More than once Helmi had to request a certain story or event be edited to a more delicate interpretation when Miranda was in the palace.
Miranda loved to play among all the chests of jewels and exotic treasures in all the palaces around the world. There were all kinds of treasures from the past five or six thousand years. In the palace deep in the Aegean Sea, most of the Library of Alexandria still existed. When the city was being ransacked, the librarians, along with the priest of Poseidon, loaded the most precious of all the artifacts onto three ships and sailed them out into the harbor. There, Helmi’s sister Galena, also known as Thetis, and the mother of Achilles, sank the ships and towed them with underwater currents to the grotto of Neptune where the library treasures were stored in the sacred caves.
The Sangreal, or cup of the Creator’s son, was in Aegir’s summer palace. It was a simple cup, nothing as grand as one would expect for the Son of the Creator, but it had a song of power deep within it. Helmi’s father told her, if one drank from it, it would give long life and good health. But, Helmi and all her family were immortal and would remain young and beautiful for as many centuries as they wanted, so the Sangreal had held little interest for her or Miranda. Helmi’s sister Benvary had brought it there for safekeeping in later years before she left the sea to become a nun. The people of the island in the northern sea called her Liban or “the mermaid saint,” but contrary to their story, she had been thousands, not hundreds, of years old, and she had known the Creator’s son.
Jesus had visited them once in their palace beneath the sea as he traveled the world for a few seasons. He talked of visiting the people of the plains and the buffalo, of the islanders of the South Pacific, and of the small, fierce builders of the golden temples in the southern landmasses west of the Atlantic. It was the land where the dolphins were pink and the mighty Amazon River washed countless emeralds, sapphires, and rubies down from the high distant mountains into the sea. Helmi remembered that his voice was rich and warm and he’d had the kindest eyes she had ever seen in a god or man. As a mortal man, Valdemar, along with his people, had worshiped the old gods, so he had little fascination with Christian ways.
Valdemar loved the murals in the Caribbean palace because they told the story of Atlantis from beginning to end. Atlantis had fallen thousands of years before Helmi’s birth. Even her oldest sister Speio, whose abandoned palace was in the China Sea, had been born several centuries after Atlantis sank to the bottom of the ocean. The whole debacle had taken place before their parents were even married, though her mother, Amphitrite, remembered it quite well, and called it Poseidon’s wild eon.
“He was very attractive in those days,” Amphitrite would mutter with a lift of her brow, when she caught one of her daughters staring at a certain section of the mural. “I knew better than to settle down with a gadabout god the way one of my sisters did,” she’d commented once to Helmi. “So I waited until your father had sown his wild oats and waged a few wars before I acknowledged his existence, which is what a woman does when she wants a male’s attention,” Amphitrite had said in a mystifying way. “‘Pride goeth before the fall,’ a poet once said, and the fall of Atlantis was all about pride.”
The story of that pride, and the destruction of that city, never failed to fascinate Valdemar, and Miranda had shared that fascination. Helmi had recited the story to them hundreds of times. It had become like a familiar song that floated through her mind like a liquid memory.
The Legend of Atlantis
Bathed in the warm rays of sunlight, rocking back and forth, gently nestled within the kelp as she continued to slowly heal from her near stony state, Helmi recalled her mother telling her of the destruction of Atlantis, and how she herself, had shared the story with Miranda, many, many times.
The story of the island nation was not a myth to a mermaid, but a cradle tale of family adventures, and a warning of unforeseen consequences. It was still forbidden to enter the ruins of Atlantis, and with the exception of the Ring of Trident, its relics were cursed.
Atlantis had been built to be a beautiful city of hope and knowledge where men and gods could come together in harmony. That had been Poseidon’s plan, and he had often described it as “achingly beautiful.”
It had housed the greatest knowledge of man, much of which surpassed modern human knowledge in many ways, but wisdom had not been on Poseidon’s list for the city. He was still a young god then, and had assumed wisdom came with knowledge, something that his life with his own kind should have taught him was not true. If a god could not be expected to be wise, what hope had man?
Helmi had known all of her uncles as a young child, except for Hades, who never left his dark domain. By the time of Miranda’s birth, all of them except Hades had faded away or turned to stone.
Twelve thousand years earlier Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, had stridden across the earth like giants. It had been their domain, their prize, bitterly won after ten years of war with the Titans. The victorious brothers imprisoned their father, Cronos, and all the Titans, with the exception of a few who had fought on their side.
To hold them very long, they needed more than just a strong physical structure. They needed an impenetrable prison, one that could withstand an endless onslaught of divine powers.
To win the war took a decade. To build a prison that would hold the Titans took a hundred more, for the prison they built was Hell itself. The power that maintained the spell that sealed the Titans in Tartarus forever was the greatest magic ever created. The spell that made the solid orichalcum metal walls and the very rocks of the earth around it impregnable to any force, was the p
ower of the damned.
The foundation of Hell fed and grew as it tapped into the immense psychic waves of energy radiated by suffering and misery. It was a power that existed in endless supply in Hell. Tartarus was at the very depths of Hell itself, a place so deep, hot, dry, and dark, it was void of life and color except for the red fire of molten lava.
The absolute antithesis of Hell was the ocean, which is why Poseidon chose all the oceans and the seas as his domain when he and his brothers divided the world amongst themselves. Zeus chose the earth and sky, and Hades the underworld of the dead and departed, directly above Tartarus.
Hades’ hatred of Cronos ran deep. He was obsessed with punishment and retribution. Something inside him had been twisted, though his face was exceedingly handsome with strong clean lines. His eyes were his best feature—eyes that would have been remarkably beautiful but for the hate they reflected back … dark, piercing eyes that seemed to see not so much through, but past you.
His face was long and lean, with a rigid jaw cleft deeply in the chin in perfect symmetry. It was as if the flesh of his face was sculpted from the whitest marble. He reveled in his role as his father’s jailer. Hell had been, in fact, built according to his inspired design, because Hades fed on the psychic energies generated by fear and hate. He was the opposite of the rest of his kind who drew strength from the energies generated by adoration, fervent prayers, or—like Zeus and later Venus—the heady power of lust.
Zeus’ countless affairs and numerous children attested well to his need for adoration in many forms. He was also quite claustrophobic, which was why he built his palace on top of Mount Olympus rather than inside it, like all the gods had done before him. He needed to see air and sky—freedom, in fact—around him at all times.
Poseidon enjoyed solitude and simple company. Nature and its gentle creatures brought him joy and comfort. For this reason, he requested one island in the ocean that he might hold to dwell upon with his mortal bride Cleito, and he was granted the Island of Atlantis. Many claimed it was a continent and a great nation. Amphitrite held it was of good size for an island, but an island was all it was.
“Men will always exaggerate the size of something, and we women pretend to believe it,” she would often say with a wink. Amphitrite also said that Cleito was quite beautiful, but more than that, she was clever and quick to laugh. She did not prattle like many goddesses or women with her beauty, and she listened well and thought before she spoke. All those qualities, Amphitrite made sure to remember and master when she married Poseidon centuries later, for he never forgot Cleito.
The center of the island, like that of so many islands, was a dormant volcano. It formed a high symmetrical hill upon which Poseidon built a palace for Cleito. Deep beneath this hill a mighty underground river flowed to the sea and gave him easy access to come and go from the ocean to her bed. With his Trident, he drew the water up from deep inside the mountain, creating springs that ran both hot and cold right into the heart of the palace.
Poseidon was young and full of inspiration when he built Atlantis. He created five circular rings of canals, divided by five wide bands of fertile land, all drawing springs up from the depths of the island. Fortress walls of granite radiated out from the palace. Each ring was separated by a haven of lush volcanic soil, irrigated by the springs to flourish with orchards of fruit trees, olives, nuts, and dates palms within the walls. The palace overlooked a wide plain of fertile land that ran straight to the edge of high, steep cliffs that descended down into the sea. Atlantis was a city built to withstand any length of siege, though no one would dare attack the city of Poseidon.
It was his love for Cleito that made Poseidon overindulge their sons, and she bore him many sons. Five times she gave birth, and each time she had male twins. Cleito bore ten princes for the royal house of Atlantis. The first born of Poseidon’s sons was Atlas, who became King of Atlantis. He had many sons who became king, and so did their sons.
Cleito loved her sons equally, so she convinced Poseidon to ensure that they all helped to rule Atlantis. Thus, at the entrance to his temple, in the very center of the island, at the heart of the city, Poseidon engraved his laws upon pillars of orichalcum.
The color of lustrous gold, but with a deep, inner light, orichalcum was the metal of the gods that sealed the gates of Tartarus. Deep within the surface of these pillars, the laws of Atlantis were carved for all to see and read. These laws strictly dictated how his sons should rule. At Cleito’s request, Poseidon created a Counsel of Nine, one position for each of their remaining sons, to be passed on to their sons in turn, to help to rule the island kingdom with their eldest brother, Atlas.
As time passed, and the city and his family grew, artisans, craftsmen, scholars, and merchants flocked to the city whose rulers were the sons of a mighty god. The greatest shipbuilders came to build ships for the house of Poseidon and lay offerings in his temple at the center of the palace. There, in titanic size, stood a golden, orichalcum statue of Poseidon in his chariot pulled by six winged horses.
Atlantis became the center of trade, art, and knowledge. Cleito’s plan to share the ruling power amongst her sons worked very well for centuries after her death. As supreme rulers, the subsequent Counsels of Nine and their kings grew fat with pride and greed while they ruled Atlantis with an iron fist. He who ruled Atlantis ruled the world, and for generations Atlantis remained peaceful and prosperous. The island’s mines, fields, and forests provided for most of the population’s needs.
Immortal Poseidon was a lover of nature and of the elements—earth, wind, water, and fire. He had control of the elements, as did many of the gods, who were the first children of the Creator, the “One” who created the spirits, the angels, and finally the gods themselves to build and shape his world, long before he created man.
The first king and counsel of Atlantis were born of a mortal woman, therefore not divine. They were taller, stronger, smarter, and braver than average mortals. They also lived much longer lives, but they were not immortal, and that rankled their descendants. They thought if they could control the elements like the gods—call down lightening, shake the earth, control the tides, call the wind, and create storms—then they too could become immortal.
So, several generations after the birth of Atlantis, the reigning king and counsel used their relationship with Poseidon to send out emissaries to talk to the Cyclopes born of the Titans, who had aligned themselves with Zeus against Cronos. They were the very same Cyclopes who had created the thunderbolts for Zeus and the Trident for Poseidon. They asked them many questions with wide amazement, then flattered and praised them to learn their secrets.
They also sought out Hephaestus, son of Zeus, and god of the forge, fire, and volcanoes, beneath his mountain on the island of Lemnos. They courted him and fawned over his mighty arms and his marvelous creations as the smithy to the gods.
Though the Olympians shunned him for his physical deformity, even Helios’ sun chariot had been made by Hephaestus. The Atlantians praised him beyond all others and called him cousin, which the maimed god drank in like nectar. It nourished his ego like ambrosia, and so, swollen with pride, he showed them many of his secrets.
Then, one day, the Counsel of Nine sent their finest minds to circle the globe and bring back to their king, the greatest knowledge from the four corners of the world. Thus the news of their lust for power reached Cronos, the deposed king of the gods, father of Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon. Cronos, the immortal adversary of the reigning gods, banished from all the heavens and a fugitive from the deepest pits off hell, heard of their festering desires.
He and he alone had escaped at the end of the battle of the gods, while the rest of the Titans were imprisoned in Tartarus, sealed off in the lowest caverns beneath the lowest depths. Cronos was free, while his Titan bothers and sisters were punished for their loyalty to him and trapped in Hell behind a magic, circular wall so thick, a hundred chariots could race side by side atop its circumference. It was an impenetrable wa
ll sealed behind a gigantic gate of solid orichalcum, the only metal that could pierce the skin of a god.
Out in the world of men, Cronos stayed concealed by changing his shape and form to hide his identity. Dissatisfied with his lot, he caused strife as a high priest, a warrior chieftain, or a greedy merchant, and sowed the seeds of malcontent wherever he went.
When Cronos heard of the needs and greed of Poseidon’s descendants, he went to provide them help, for mighty and marvelous were the machines they crafted. But, they lacked a source of power to drive them to the heights of the immortals. Cronos gave them that power. He tapped deep into it from the very center of their island, from the very center of their palace. The dormant volcano, upon whose top Poseidon had built his temple and the palace for his lovely mortal wife, provided the perfect access to all his sons’ desires.
In the temple of Poseidon was a mighty relic that gave power to the city of Atlantis. It gave off a divine energy that took the light of the sun in through its upper faceted angles and broke it into various colors of light that could be used for different purposes. Red would heat water, blue would heal pain, green would nourish plants, and yellow would light the dark. It was no ordinary crystal. In fact, it was the crystallized heart of Uranus, god of the sky and father of Cronos.
Uranus was the ancient elemental whom the Creator had brought together with Gaia, goddess of earth, to create the world. They were the first male and female entities who gave birth to all the Titans. When the elements of the sky were mixed with the elements of the earth, the power they generated was tremendous.
So, Cronos showed the king and his counsel how to reach down through the vent of the volcano and open a deep rent into the very molten core of the earth, the womb of fire that was Gaia. The surge of energy from the core welled up and infused the crystal with a power so great, that to look upon it would blind a man, and to touch it would melt his skin to the bone.
All The Mermaids In The Sea Page 11