Colony- Olympian

by Gene Stiles

  “We followed one of your warships to Irindia and found the cities and settlements you built there,” Cronus said, crunching down on Zeus’ chin until his jaw popped. “You are not saving them by refusing to speak. We know of your hidden bases. What I want to know is which one of them your capital?”

  Zeus could not stop the searing agony that lit his every nerve on fire nor could he keep the unimaginable pain from showing on his face. What he could do was deprive the man of the satisfaction of seeing his son break. Even though he told Cronus early on that Irindia did not belong to Olympus, he was not believed. In truth, Zeus knew his torture would continue no matter what he said so he chose not to speak at all.

  Cronus drew back and smashed his hammer-like fist into his son’s chest viciously enjoying the sound of snapping ribs. His emerald eyes glittered with madness and unrestrained fury. If all he could get from Zeus was groans of torment, he would ensure there were many of them. He continued to plummet the sagging body until his knuckles were broken and bloody even though Zeus lost consciousness after the first blow.

  “I should kill you right now,” Cronus said with a low growl as he stared at the limp and bloody body. “It would put an end to the Prophesy and to your rebellion forever. I will be free at last.” He wiped his fist on his tan pant leg, leaving behind a dark crimson smear. “But no. The People must see you die with their own eyes. They must see you pay for your crimes against Atlantis at the hands of their Lord Father. Your legend will be destroyed as will your cites.”

  “Tomorrow,” Cronus said, his body quivering in anticipation. The serpents of his soul squirmed and hissed, their fangs dripping with venom, their red-tongued maws open and hungry. “Tomorrow in front of all Atlantis.”

  Cronus made his way through the dimly lit, rough-hewn corridors beneath the pyramid, a strange sensation rippling up his spine as he walked toward the lift. Ghostly whispers followed him. Shadows with crooked, clawed fingers reached out for him, hoping to ensnare him in their dark and deadly embrace. He found himself hunching away from their imagined touch, his eyes darting into each side hallway as if demons sought to grab him as he passed. It was not the relief he should be feeling at defeating his own father’s words. It was fear. Pure unbridled, heart-throbbing terror.

  “You, too, will die at the hands of your own son,” his dead father whispered into his ear. “There is no escape. No escape at all.”

  Tolarian stood at stiff attention until the Lord Father floated up the shaft and out of sight. The five other Black Guard with him relaxed and resumed their positions around the stained wooden table in the small antechamber at the base of the lift. Normalie took the cards he was hiding out of his vest and smiled as he took his chair and shuffled them in his hands.

  “Now,” he said with a grin, laying a handful of tiny silver ingots on the table, “where were we?”

  “I do believe I won the last hand,” Tolarian said, his lips curled on one side. “It is my deal.”

  Without the frequent visits of Cronus, there was not much for the men to do. The only way into the dungeons was through this room and the lift provided the only access. There was no need to patrol the hallways to the other cells. Only one was occupied. Except when the Lord Father ordered them to aid in his interrogation were they allowed to touch the prisoner and as much as they enjoyed the distraction the rest of their duties were incredibly boring.

  Four rounds into their game, the guards heard the hum of the lift energizing. Quickly, they put away their cards and silver and took up their stations. They were pleasantly surprised at the two young women who stepped out of the shaft, their arms laden with trays of steaming, aromatic food and tankards of ale. They were both beautiful, unlike the old hags that usually brought their supper.

  “This will be your last meal down here,” one of the women said with a warm, mischievously flirty smile. “The Lord Father thought you might enjoy a reward for your service.”

  “Is the reward the food or the company?” Normalie grinned lustfully, his cinnamon eyes glittering at their scantily clad bodies.

  “Both,” they said, giggling girlishly. They leaned unnecessarily far over the table, their short skirts revealing long expanses of copperish thigh. “But you must eat first,” one said with sparkling eyes. “You will need your energy.”

  The guards guffawed and seated themselves, allowing the women to serve them. More than one hand patted their ample curves amid lewd and lascivious propositions. The girls licked their lips suggestively and made many salacious comments of their own.

  Tolarian thought the heat he felt coursing through his body was caused by the minx on his lap breathing against ear. It took him moments to realize his men were also flushed, their heads sagging against the chests. He tried to fight the thick fog filling his mind, but his muscles felt like lead and he was unable to move. The last thing he saw before the mist took him was the now cold, dispassionate look in the young woman’s eyes as she rose from his lap.

  Zeus awoke sluggishly, amazed to find himself not chained to a wall, but lying in a richly padded bed, thick comforters piled on top of him. Every muscle and bone was filled with a deep, weary ache, but pain was only a distant memory. The ceiling above him was plain, polished stone and a soft current of warm air caressed his cheek. He turned his head to look around, immediately reminded that he was not yet fully healed. Sparks flashed behind his eyes and it took several seconds before his vision cleared.

  “It is good to see you awake, my friend,” he heard from far away. “Be still. It will take a few more Lendings before you are completely restored.”

  Hyperion sat in an armchair a short distance away. A small, concerned smile played across his full, almost feminine lips as he sat the tea he was drinking on the table next to him. The tall, athletically built man rose and leaned over Zeus, his jade eyes tired and worried. He helped Zeus sit up against the headboard, fluffing pillows to put behind his back.

  “How?” Zeus said, his throat parched and scratchy. Hyperion held a cup of tea for him to sip, settling on the bed beside him. “How did I get here?”

  “You have your mother to thank for that,” Hyperion said softly. “She sent her daughters to retrieve you. It was not easy, but those women can be very persuasive,” he chuckled. “Also, we had help from the twins.”

  “Twins?” Zeus asked, the warm, green liquid soothing on his lips. “Which twins? Haleah has many.”

  “Not those twins,” Hyperion replied as the chamber door opened. He waved his hand at the two beautiful blonds that entered. “These twins.”

  “I am glad to see you well, Lord Zeus,” Thea said, carrying a tray of steaming soup and fresh soft bread. She placed it on his lap and said, “Eat. You need to regain your strength.”

  “Thank you, Lady Thea,” Zeus said, lifting himself up a little higher in the pillows. Her smile was radiant and her green eyes were stunning against the backdrop of her honey-blond hair. He noted the difference between her and her sister immediately. Both were equally lovely, but Themis held herself stiffly, her arms crossed over her ample chest as if hiding her curves. Her face was harder, but compassion burned brightly in her large, oval eyes. “I am very grateful to you.”

  “We could not allow such barbarity to continue,” Themis said, her tone as firm as her stance. “I do not condone your attack on my home by any means and there should be punishment, but torture is something I will not tolerate. It is vengeance, not justice.”

  “Justice?” Zeus said, bristling at her tone. He put down the bowl of chicken soup he was sipping, his golden eyes flickering with fire. “What about justice for my home and my people? We sought only to live in peace, but Cronus has chased us across the globe and burned our homes to the ground. Untold thousands have died for the sake of some ancient prophecy we wanted nothing to do with.”

  “We have stood by and watched our loved ones slaughtered by a madman,” he said bitterly. “I watched my true father, Morpheus, murdered in front of my own eyes by his hand. Still,
I set my fury and pain aside for the sake of my people, but Cronus continued to hunt, harass and kill us. This latest atrocity threatens the safety of every man, woman and child on this planet. We could not and will not stand by again. Where is the justice in that?”

  “Atrocity?” Themis asked, her head cocking to one side. The wave of Zeus’ anger washed over her like a gentle tide against a sandy beach. She had stood in the gale storm of Cronus’ tirades often enough that she was unaffected by such things. But, she did not know what Zeus was talking about and the strength of his words made her shiver. “What atrocity and how could it threaten the lives of everyone in the entire world?” she asked skeptically.

  “We thought Atlantis might not know of this,” one of the young women who rescued Zeus said grimly. “I am Alicia, a daughter of Adrasteia and an Aam-Izon.” In her open palm lay a long data crystal which she handed to Themis. “This was sent to us by a ‘friend’ in Cronus’ war room. It is our intent to broadcast it once Zeus is free of the city. It explains why the Nillians have joined us and why we have invaded Atlantis.”

  Themis took the crystal, curious and frightened by the intensity of the emotions swirling around her. She placed it in the reader on the oak desk in the corner of the bedchamber turned on the monitor. Tears of horror filled her shimmering green eyes as she watched the hideous red and yellow mushroom cloud erupt from the ruins of Olympia. She watched aghast as the forests flattened and burst into a hellish firestorm that swept away everything in its path. The surveillance Bird caught a group of stupefied people standing on a hill as the blast turned them to dust. It was the last image the craft sent.

  “This is what your Lord Father would unleash upon us,” Alicia said harshly amid the gasps and weeping. “This is why we are here.”

  Chapter XX

  Getting Zeus away from the city was proving far more difficult than getting him out of the dungeons. During the last six days, while he hid in the secret chambers beneath the Wind Song, Atlantis had turned into a heavily armed camp. The streets were filled night and day with squads of Aam who searched every home, business, boat, warehouse and back alley multiple times. Anyone even accused of having sympathy for the rebellion was dragged into dark rooms and beaten for information. Only the remaining members of the Twelve were exempt from torture, though their every move was under continuous tight scrutiny. Zeus’ picture was on every screen in the city with a massive bounty offered for his head dead or alive. The rotting corpses of the dungeon guards hung from chains on the steps of the Central Pyramid, their entrails spilled on the blood-stained stone as a grisly reminder to any who might harbor the enemy of Atlantis or prevent his escape.

  “There is simply no way to get you out at this time,” Alicia said to the pacing Zeus. “Every avenue is guarded by Aam well aware of the price of failure. Most of the citizens comb the city for you, many only doing so because if they do not, they will be accused of collusion and the penalty is death.”

  “The longer I stay here, the more dangerous it is for our friends,” Zeus grumbled, his body as taut as a bowstring. “Cronus is looking for an excuse to imprison them. Should he find they are aiding me, at best they will never see the light of day again. At worse…”

  “If we move prematurely,” Alexandria said from her seat on the couch, “we chance exposing them ourselves.”

  Alicia’s companion was not the flirtatious girl she had been in the dungeons. Her blond hair was tied at the nape of her slender neck with a strip of leather and pulled away from her stern, oval face. Alexandria was all warrior woman now, her dark blue eyes as hard as flint and her slim arms corded with wiry muscle. She sat stiffly on the sofa, her senses alert to every sound and movement around her.

  “We must be patient until an opportunity presents itself,” she said, her calming tone belying the tension in her posture. “It would be foolish to risk your life after rescuing you from the cells.”

  “I know,” Zeus replied bitterly, stomping his way across the living room. His lips cut a straight line across his chiseled face, his golden amber eyes narrowed to mere slits. “That does not mean I have to like it. I should be out there with our people. The fight is only beginning.”

  “It is far worse than you might imagine,” Hyperion said as he slipped into the room. One look at the rigidness of his body told them something was horribly wrong. His oiled, ebony curls swirled around his head like a nest of angry vipers. Every plane of his artistically sculpted features was grim and darkly shadowed. His verdant eyes were like chipped jewels hidden beneath a deeply furrowed brow. His feminine lips quivered with a combination of fury and agony as he stopped before Zeus, his fists gripped at his sides. His words were ominous, rage-filled and ghastly. “Cronus used the weapon on Nillian cities.”

  Captain Permacus hated Ra with a passion. They had once served together in Atlantis when the Nillian was still known as Ramathus. Even after he established himself as ruler, the two remained good friends. Permacus respected the man and believed much as he did. That is why he joined Zeus and the Olympians, to seek a better life for himself and his family. Which is why Ra’s betrayal cut him so deeply.

  Even after his eldest son was murdered in Olympia by Cronus, Ra refused to attack Atlantis. When his wife and daughters were slaughtered in Haven, Permacus begged his friend to avenge them. Still, Nil stood by and did nothing. No matter what atrocities Cronus committed, Ra, with all the power at his command, would not aid him. Permacus lost his last remaining sons on Heliseous. And his hatred grew.

  Set promised him the deaths of both Ra and the Lord Father once he took power, which is why Permacus broke from Zeus and aided Set in his escape from Nil. The Captain secreted the Nillian aboard his blade ship and took him to Irindia to rebuild his armies. He had no idea Cronus traced his voyage from the Sentinel orbiting high above and assumed the Olympian ship was headed for the home of the Zeus.

  The largest city on Irindia was not the capital of Setropolis which sat near the Varilaine Bay. Novalosha lay in the heart of the lush, fertile lands cradled by the majestic, skyscraping arc of the Imperial Mountains hundreds of miles inland from the busy seaport. Gold, silver, copper and precious gems mined in the mountains added to the immense plains of farmlands and game that fed most of the continent creating a vast pool of wealth that drew people from all over the world. The city was beautiful, rich in culture, art, amazing architecture and happy, vibrant people. As long as they filled his coffers and sent recruits for his armies, Set left them alone to manage their own affairs.

  Novalosha also had a massive army of its own. Its very prosperity drew the lustful envy of nearby neighbors and was once subject to frequent attacks. Fortresses and barrier walls dotted the landscape equipped with the best and latest weaponry money could buy. Long ago, several rival cities joined together to try to take her, but Novalosha left them in ruins. For over a century, there was peace among them and all had prospered. This did not mean she had become complacent.

  “Lord Baherilack!” the breathless lieutenant shouted, interrupting monthly commerce meeting. “Long-range scanners have detected two fleets of airships converging on Novalosha from the west and south! At least a hundred each!”

  “What?” the High Chancellor said, his mouth agape in his long, pointy-chinned face. “No one has that many ships. Are you sure?”

  “Without a doubt, Sir,” the young man responded, his bright blue eyes round and stunned. “Most are warbirds, but there are a few odd-shaped ships among them. They should reach the outer fortresses within the hour.”

  “Battle stations!” Baherilack bellowed, running into the war room, the lieutenant fast on his heels. “Send out every warbird we command and alert all defense outposts!” His copper-skinned features were dark as a stormy night as the images flashed across the main wall monitor. “Holy Creator!” he gasped, disbelieving what he saw. “Those are Atlantean ships!”

  Captain Mozerath dove out of the brilliant yellow sun into the enemy squadron like a screaming raptor. His pul
se cannons blazed angry red, slicing into the rear of a warbird and sending the craft into a spiraling tailspin toward the wheat fields below. Immense pressure slammed his chest, driving him hard into his pilot’s seat as he rocketed his ship upward and through the wedge-shaped formation of his foe. His ten ships were badly outnumbered and only by keeping within their ranks would they have the slimmest chance against so many assailants. He swerved and twisted, engaged in a deadly aerial dance with the Atlantean pilots, talons of fire ripping through the skies. Mozerath managed to destroy three warbirds and one of the tube-shaped ships before he was cut to pieces, his skyship exploding in a ball of yellow-red fire. With his last breath, his only prayer was that he had done enough.

  Gormorian Fortress sat on a rocky hillock three hundred miles west of Novalosha overlooking the small city of Cannairaman. Huge orchards of apples, cherries, peaches and pears stretched out as far as the eye could see in every direction separated by vast, well-tended fields of maize, wheat, barley and vegetables. Over twenty thousand people worked, lived and loved within the boundaries of the walled city. Now it was simply gone.

  Ophillia was sitting on her porch, smiling at the antics of her grandchildren tussling on the lawn. The air was filled with the succulent aroma of sizzling meats, braised vegetables and the laughter of the families gathered for their yearly reunion. The years had been good to the old woman and nothing made her happier than to see her children and their children all celebrating the blessings of the Creator together in harmony.

  “If your smile gets any bigger you will need a larger face,” her husband of ninety years said, handing her a goblet of tangy purple wine. Carliesus settled in the worn oak rocking chair at her side, grinning at her joy.