by Gene Stiles
With each impact, he pictured the faces of his children and the woman who birthed them. In his mind, his girls begged for mercy as his broken knuckles smashed their faces into shards of bone and blood. The ebony-haired Hades quivered like jelly at his feet as Cronus stomped the life out of his wailing body. Gigantic Poseidon blubbered like a mewling kitten as his father’s heel crushed the parody of the Lord Father’s own image carved into that despicable face.
Spinning like a tornado, Cronus snapped his leg outward, the blade of his black-booted foot demolishing a trembling column of oak. In the dark brown grains, he saw the visage of Zeus splinter into a thousand pieces. Shattered chunks of high-planned cheeks splattered the walls with imagined splotches of crimson and white chips of bone.
Yet, no matter how many blows Cronus rained down upon the vision of Zeus, no matter how much devastation his mind visited upon the broken and bloody corpse, the golden eyes of his son remained cool and hard as if laughing at his fruitless attempts to destroy them. In those sparkling, hateful eyes, Cronus saw the black specter of his own death coming relentlessly in his direction, the curved silver blade of a scythe held in its upraised hand.
Howling like a rabid Dire Wolf, Cronus smashed pillar after pillar into sap-bleeding pulp. Only after every column of wood and every slab of defenseless stone was reduced to rubble did he let his sweat-bathed body fall into a heap upon the foot-polished floor. Cronus sat cross-legged on the cold granite, his curled fists swollen and misshapen. Puddles of blood grew beneath his knees until his black breeches were soaked and sticky. He let it happen as if the pool of his own fluids would leach out the vile, acidic poison filling his brain.
Cronus sat there silently, his fire-red curls matted against his face and neck as he hung his head in spent rage. His huge, bare chest slowed its breathless heaving and began to rise and fall in a steady, controlled rhythm. The bestial mask laid upon his artistically carved features faded slowly and became serene and calm. The golden glow of Healing enshrouded Cronus as his panting eased. The ragged wounds on his muscled chest caused by ruptured shards of wood and rock slowly closed and disappeared from his copperish skin. The bones of his demolished hands reformed into fists of steel unmarred by the carnage he had wrought upon them.
After hours of silence, Cronus opened his emerald eyes and gazed at the ruinous remains of his private sanctuary. He created this place for just this purpose once he realized the pyramid of his soul could no longer contain his maddened emotions. With each successful attack by Olympus, the ember-eyed serpents coiled inside of him grew in power and threatened to overwhelm his reason. Cronus could not let that happen. If he were to defeat his enemies, the Lord Father knew he must have all of his facilities. Building this chamber to vent his frustrations gave him the outlet he needed to excise his demons.
The steaming needles of hot water felt good upon his still-aching muscles as Cronus stood in the shower. He leaned his heavy head against the tiled wall, his eyes watching the swirl of brownish-red dried blood wash down his body and seep into the floor drains. The heated, hard-pounding spray loosened the tension from his corded sinews and the maelstrom of emotions from his heart. When at last he stepped out, Cronus was clear-headed and ready to exact his vengeance on his children.
Dressing in Aam-black leather garb, he took the lift up to his private chambers and slipped his long, diamond-encrusted ebony robe over his shoulders. Cronus took time to stand at his crystal-paned windows and stare out of his beloved Atlantis. The twisted spires, rounded domes and slivery skyscrapers that graced the skyline seemed to shimmer in his mind for a moment. Instead of the incredible beauty radiating from the Heart of the Empire, Cronus saw the shattered dome of Cydonia on long-lost Atlan. Instead of the frenzied activity on the streets below, he saw the ghost-filled boulevards of his nightmares. The One Tree, so full and green in the distance was replaced by the image of barren, dusty red plains.
“This will never happen,” Cronus vowed as he turned toward the doors of his room. “Olympus will be destroyed. Zeus and his armies will be swept from the earth no matter what it takes. Atlantis will thrive forever. This I swear by the Creator and all that is holy.”
“How long before power is restored?” Cronus asked as he stood at the head of the council table. Beneath his furrowed brow, his jade eyes blazed as he studied images of blacked out cities. His full, tan lips were set in a hard line across his squarish jawline and a slight tick pulsed in the corners. Still, there was an eerie calmness to his rich baritone voice that sent a chill through the hearts of those gathered around him.
So many of the original members were gone that the huge oval of oak was no longer called the Table of Twelve. The tight-knit council of the twelve Captains of the starships that fled Atlan together and brought the People to Terra was shattered and beyond repair. The high-backed leather chairs where Rhea, Hyperion, Oceanus and Tethys once sat were now occupied by Commanders and Admirals of his war machine.
Since Cronus had disbanded the council, a deep chasm of ideals separated those that were present, but this situation was too critical for any of them to ignore. Zeus had attacked the Atlantean continent. The war was not some far off thing to the People any longer. It was on the bloody ground beneath their own feet. They were terrified, outraged and now demanded both protection and revenge. Cronus had to respond.
“It will take months if not a year,” Coeus replied, his old hazel eyes grim and tired. His cinnamon hair was more disarrayed than usual, knotted and straggly around his long oval face. “Not only are the electronic circuits fried everywhere, but many of the production facilities needed to replace them were within the blast zones. The cascade effect caused many of the machines to explode outright. They have been rendered useless.”
“To make matters worse,” Phoebe added, her pale blue eyes looking exhausted and red, “our supplies of uridium have fallen in recent years and are very limited, as you well know. Bringing the damaged Proto-Suns back online will take some time. Only those that are subterranean survived. The problem is repairing the power conduits to the cities. Of course, the optical lines are unimpaired, but the control centers have been destroyed.”
“Conscript every able-bodied man and woman you need to overhaul the systems,” Cronus said, his tone as hard as granite. “The only exceptions are our military. Start with Daedalia. We need the shipyards up and running as soon as possible. Triple the output at our undamaged electronics factories. Do whatever it takes even if we have to pull people from Prubrazia. Get it done.”
Turning to Iapetus, Cronus said bluntly, “Half of all output is to be sent to Sirenum until it is fully restored and operational.”
The raven-haired mountain said nothing, just nodded in response.
“But if you do that,” Thea interrupted angrily, her bright green eyes half-hooded, “it will take far longer to get the coastal cities functioning again. The mines and farms are out there. Without power, the pits are dark. We need their copper and gold to create new circuitry.”
She pushed her long, golden-blond tresses over her sloped shoulders and stared hard at Cronus. “Worse, it is the end of the growing season. A full quarter of our food comes from those farms. Without those supplies, many people will go hungry.”
“Not true,” Mnemosyne said with a shake of her head. Her long, lustrous auburn hair rippled down her back and shoulders like a living cloak as she walked to the large wall monitor. She placed a data crystal in the reader and turned it until images of the Aropian Veldt show up on the screen.
“Most of the food is now produced in the farmlands of the Veldt,” she said as she pointed to the patchwork of well-tended fields. “As with the city of Atlantis, the interior of the continent was untouched by the attack. The harvesting machines can take care of most of the work there. We can send labor crews to the coast to aid in bringing in their crops. The effects on supplies should be negligible.”
“The real damage to the People is not the loss of power,” Mnemosyne continued, her g
reen-flecked hazel eyes glittering as she turned to the table. “It is the loss of their way of life, however temporary. Communications down. Electrical lighting down. Sleds useless. Heating and refrigeration systems gone. It shakes the foundations of their lives. Panic has already set in and those cities are in turmoil. Order needs to be restored and quickly.”
“Mnemosyne is correct,” Themis said, her sky-blue eyes darkened and her stunningly beautiful face a mask of deep concern. “Almost every home and public house have a hearth so heat is not an issue. Candles, oil lamps and torches can provide light. Fire pits can be used for cooking. A little primitive, yes, but easily accomplished.”
“The real damage is psychological.” Themis tossed her long braid of honey-blond hair over her shoulder and stood before the gathering. “Daedalia was the only city to suffer a heavy loss of life. The other regions reported only injury and death caused by accidents when systems failed or machinery exploded. However, the attack by the Olympians on our home soil has shaken to People to their core. They now know they can be touched, their lives disrupted. They now look to the skies and the seas in fear. When will missiles and armies destroy their homes? Why did Zeus not invade when they were weakest? When will he come for them? They must be made to feel safe once again. They must know we can protect them.”
“And that,” Cronus said harshly, leaning his bulging arms on the table as he stood before them, “is exactly why Sirenum is the priority. As long as it is down, we are vulnerable. Not only do we need those facilities to protect Atlantis, but we need it to retaliate.”
Cronus swept his fiery emerald gaze over every face in the chamber. “This horrific travesty will not go unpunished,” he said, slamming a hammer-like fist on the table. “We will find these Olympians and we will destroy them once and for all. Especially my traitorous children. I will lead that battle myself. This time they will not escape! You have the word of the Lord Father!”
Keeping that promise proved much harder than Cronus could ever realize. Even using the orbiting Sentinel and every drone Bird at their disposal, Poseidon’s fleet remained ghosts in the seas. The world’s oceans were simply far too vast and most of them were still uncharted. The Lord Father’s Admirals assumed the enemy vessels swept northward toward Afrikanikis where Ra may give them safe harbor, yet no sight of them was ever found. Cronus ordered scans of the island of Heliseous, but only a sizable fishing settlement was found at the old Atlantean outpost. Birds scoured the skies above the remnants of Olympia but not a single ship appeared in the inland sea. With each passing month, Cronus spent more and more time in his sanctuary venting his frustrations on unprotesting targets.
“The only true way to track Poseidon is immediately after an attack,” Admiral Oleanous said bitterly as he stared at the latest reports. “However, since the coastal assault, he has remained quiet. The convoys from Prubrazia have gone unmolested. Despite his edict, even those carrying arms and troops have been left alone.”
“Then we must provoke him,” Iapetus said bluntly. The black-eyed block of stone spent days studying the mass of information gathered by the drones. He knew many people thought him dimwitted and he preferred it that way. It was far better to be underestimated. In truth, Iapetus was highly intelligent and coldly analytical. His strategies seldom failed even though most thought his plans were made by the Lord Father instead of his own mind.
“And just how do we do that?” Cronus stood at the head of the table, his balled fists leaning on the hard, polished wood. His mane of fire-red curls was held away from his broad, deeply lined forehead, not by the Atlantean crown, but by a simple wide band of black leather. He glared at his brother, his green eyes dark with anger. “We do not know where to strike.”
“But we do,” Iapetus replied flatly, impervious to Cronus’ mercurial moods. He pointed a thick finger at a spot north of the ruins of Olympia where several rivers and streams met the turquoise waters of the inland sea. “This village is all that is left of Zeus’ city. If we destroy it, he will be forced to respond. We can track them from there.”
“How do you suggest we do that?” Admiral Oleanous huffed to hide his fear. He was very reluctant to take his ships into that haunted waterway. Tales of vicious, misty apparitions of dead sailors and ghost ships guarding the narrow inlet abounded and several vessels that ventured too close had vanished, never to be seen or heard from again. “We lost most of our fleet in the assault on Olympia. This little village is not important enough to take such a risk.”
“We send warbirds,” Iapetus said coldly, his ebony gaze freezing the breath in the Admiral’s lungs. Oleanous shivered under that icy stare, all appearances of bravado falling away as he meekly lowered his head. “Your precious ships need not be exposed to the peril of a bunch of fishermen.”
Suddenly finding intense interest in his fingernails, Oleanous said no more.
“I believe this will draw Zeus back into the open,” Iapetus said to Cronus, ignoring the discomfort of the Admiral. “We can follow him from there.”
“But do we want to do that at this point?” Carius asked quietly, afraid to oppose the monstrous man. He ran a thick-fingered hand absently through his mahogany hair, leery his reluctance would be seen as weakness. “The advantage to the Olympians remaining dormant for so long is that we have had time to restore the facilities at Sirenum. Production is up and there are some promising new weapons being developed. Would it not be wise to wait until we are fully armed and ready to respond to any attack Zeus might make?”
“We cannot wait,” Cronus replied, pinning the weapons master to his chair with a steely, green stare. “With each passing day, the People’s trust in me erodes. I promised them vengeance and they shall have it.”
“The real question is why Zeus did not press his advantage when he had it,” Cronus said to his commanders. He could see in their terse faces they all had asked themselves the same thing and none had come up with a viable answer. “He could have destroyed Sirenum instead of just putting it out of commission for a time. He could have invaded our coast, but he did not. Why? What is his game? We need to find out or we could be stepping into a trap no matter what we do.”
“Figure it out,” Cronus demanded, slamming his fist on the table. “In the meantime, we will level that village as Iapetus suggests. At least he has a plan.” His tone bit into every man and woman in the room, making them squirm like worms in loamy soil. “Which is much more than you have. See that it is done.”
Zeus sat at the long, rectangular table in the war room of the Sanctuary surrounded by his siblings and advisors. The tiers of desks and monitors lining the granite walls were a frenzy of activity and babbling of voices. Reports and images were coming in so fast from all over the Atlantean empire that the techs were haggard and exhausted. Everything was going perfectly as planned.
“The empire is more divided than ever before,” Hera said as she studied the summaries scrolling across the monitor before her. With a sweep of her hand, the data appeared on all the screens around the table. “You took a big risk not invading Atlantis when it was vulnerable, but it looks as if your strategy is paying off.” She gave her brother a small smile and shook her head. “I have to admit, I am surprised.”
“What?” Zeus replied with mock offense. He sighed as if hurt, but his golden eyes sparkled in the bright lights. “Have you not yet learned that I am always right? That is why I am the Lord of Olympus and you are not!”
A light spattering of laughter rolled around the table. Everyone knew how much he hated the title that had been forced upon him. His use of it had its intended purpose though – to ease the tired tension permeating the room.
“Be careful, brother,” Demeter said with a quirk of her rose-red lips. “Your head will soon be as big as your chest. You will fall over from the weight of it.”
“In all seriousness though,” Hestia said, breaking the moment, “you took quite a gamble in not pressing our advantage. You also gave Cronus time to rebuild his cities and arsenal
s.”
The red-leather clad warrior woman stared hard at her brother, her auburn hair glistening like molten lava. Her green eyes blazed like emerald fire. He could feel the anger radiating from her beautiful but hardened features. “You should have at least burned Sirenum to the ground. That would have crippled Atlantis and given us more time to prepare.”
“Every life we take turns ten more against us,” Zeus responded gently, knowing how much she blamed Cronus for her tormented past. He reached out a hand but drew it back as Hestia jerked her arm away. “What we did was show the People what we could have done, but refrained from doing. That restraint did not go unnoticed.”
Zeus spoke directly to Hestia, but his words were for everyone around him. “We showed them that we are not like their Lord Father. We will not stoop to the wholesale slaughter of our own kin to bring Cronus down. The innocent and noncombatants will not be harmed.” From the corner of his eye, Zeus saw Poseidon drop his head, his jade eyes darkened with guilt. “We leveled the shipyards and harbors of Daedalia not only to prove we could but to destroy the Atlantean fleet and the forty new vessels under construction. I know many died in that brief battle and I am sorry for that, but we were careful to leave the city, itself, untouched.”
“Then why knock the power out to all those other cities at all?” Hestia snapped back at him. “You gave them time to recuperate and there has been backlash to the attack. Cronus gained many new recruits because of it.”
“Yes,” Lelantos answered before Zeus could reply. The gold flecks in his dark hazel eyes glittered like yellow steel. His deep rumbling voice rolled like thunder through the tense air. “But we also instilled fear in the rest. The People of Atlantis now know they are not immune to assault. We took from them their creature comforts and showed them that Cronus cannot protect them. It sowed seeds of doubt about his power and that has led the People to question him about many other things.”
