by Gene Stiles
While all eyes were centered on the Olympian fleet, little attention was paid to the small groups of ships that wandered the seas near the mouth of the Serpent River. Anyone noticing their irregular, seemingly erratic movements would only see rustic fishing vessels plying the warm currents of the northern oceans, their decks strewn with dripping nets and seaweed-covered crab cages. With the high, rugged cliffs that crowned the top of the Atlantean continent, only the small bay where the river met the sea provided a safe harbor where they could stop for a respite from their difficult labors. Each time they weighed anchor in the small, secluded bay, no one was nearby to see that only half as many ships returned to the deep, bountiful fishing grounds.
Those that stayed behind made their way up the fiercely swirling current until they found small side branches and pools where they could anchor. There they waited patiently for the rest of their small fleet to arrive.
Adrasteia stood at the bow of the shallow-keeled vessel, her hands firmly gripping the smooth, lacquered rail. Her trembling legs were spread in a wide stance to compensate for the pounding of the rough current against the almost flat bottom of the hull. Still, it felt as if she was riding a running mammoth. Her raven-black hair was stuck to the back of her blue leathers by the continual spray and it tugged at her scalp when she turned her head. Adrasteia was eternally grateful when they finally turned into the relatively calm tributary that branched off to the south of the white-water river.
“No wonder few ships travel this route from Pettit,” Chalandra said, standing next to her. “I feel like I just wrestled a maddened Murcat!”
“I hear you, sister,” Adrasteia grimaced, noting how pale the younger woman was. The Daughters of Haleah were all seasoned sailors and toughened warriors, but more than one lost their breakfast in the turbulent waters of the Serpent. “It is two days journey to the forest north of Atlantis. At least it will be smoother sailing from here.”
“As long as Cronus does not look this way,” Chalandra replied, tossing her long, blond braid back over her slightly sloped shoulder. Her eagle-sharp, blue eyes scanned the ridges of the high granite cliffs rising on either side of them searching for any sign of ambush.
“There is no reason he should,” Adrasteia said firmly. She looked back over the stern at the ten ships that followed in her wake, satisfied the last had safely slipped into the tributary. Each of them carried fifty warriors, weapons and supplies. Nothing but barrens would greet them until they reached the woods. It was vital to their plans that they bring all they would need. “Besides, I am sure our brothers are keeping his attention elsewhere.”
Chalandra nodded in agreement, but her long, oval face was tense and grim. “Do you think it wise that we commit everything we have to this assault? Should we lose, Olympus will fall and Cronus will rule the world with an iron fist.”
“Then we best not lose,” Adrasteia said stiffly, her ebony eyes glittering like chipped onyx in the bright noontime sunshine. “With Nil destroyed, there is no one but us to put an end to the horrors Cronus has unleashed upon humanity. We must prevail. We have no choice.”
Getting the small warships overland from Tharsis was not an easy task. The barrens to the north were rough and rocky making it very difficult to move the vessels on the huge wheeled platforms. In some places, the few, precious grav-units that still functioned had to be used to help heft the ships over deep, wide crevasses where there was no time to build a bridge. They lost three in the process, but the other ten made it to the woods with only minor damage. Had the city been as divided in its loyalty to Zeus as was Daedalia, it would have been impossible. The destruction of the copper mine by Cronus years ago still left a bitter hatred in the hearts of the citizens. Even then, several communiques were intercepted before they could reach Atlantis and the spies imprisoned.
Even with the help of their squads of Nephilim brethren, Anak was amazed they managed to get the vessels to the hidden mouth of the river at all. Atlantean surveillance Birds swept the skies over Tharsis during the day which meant the caravan of ships could only be moved at night until they were well away from the outskirts of the city. Camouflaged netting was tossed over the hulls and all movement was stopped when the sentries reported drones in the area. From the air, the convoy would appear as only another ridge of rocky outcroppings.
Anak and the Olympians would never have known this waterway existed if not for Nemesis. Thick briars with wickedly sharp thorns twisted around the densely packed trunks of the ancient Maraldis Forest making passage through the woods nearly impossible even on foot. The river was so buried beneath a dark canopy of high branches it was virtually invisible. A gargantuan, roughly oval cavern opened in the earth, creating a spectacular waterfall that plummeted so far into a black, bottomless pit that most of the sound was lost in the fathomless depths. If it were not for the urgency of their mission, Anak would have spent days just marveling at the incredible, majestic beauty.
“The last of the ships are in the water,” Loki said, squatting down to wash his hands in the clear, cold water. His copper-colored skin was covered with a mixture of sweat and spray which matted his ebony hair to his square, rock-like head. “Your idea to use the camouflage netting like a fence to keep the current from sucking them into the pit worked perfectly. It kept the boats in place long enough to fire up the engines and get them upstream where the river runs calmer. Captain Imperion tells me we are ready to load up and be on our way.”
Anak hated to leave the serenity of this place knowing what they were heading into. He splashed his dirty face with water and nodded in reply. The rainbow sparkles filling the air near the cavern were reflected in his amber-hued eyes but did not diminish the grimness written there. He stood up, drying his hands on his dark blue leather pants and sighed heavily.
“I will get my team aboard,” Anak said, setting a massive hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We have four days to reach the Gaia. If all goes well, the others will be in place. Then things will get bad. Take care, my brother.”
Even though Loki stood over ten feet tall, he had to look up at the gigantic Anak. His mahogany eyes were hard and stern as he spoke. “I shall. And you as well. This is what we were born for. We tried to live in peace, forgiving Cronus for the circumstances of our birth. He would not allow that. Instead, he hunted us and hated us almost as much as he does his own children. Now Cronus turns his insanity on all of humanity. We must stop him.”
Loki curled one monstrously muscled arm, the tendons standing out beneath his bronzed skin. “The Lord Father created warriors. Now we bring the war home to him. We will not allow him to burn the world.”
The Izon were as much at home in the trees as their ancestors had been in caves. Their short, squat bodies slipped through huge interwoven branches as if they created an aerial roadway. Muscles as strong as corded steel gripped ropy vines like a vice which allowed them to swing from limb to limb in the few sparsely packed areas. Only their Cro-Mag kin were more adept in the forest with their slightly longer arms and their slender, lighter stature.
“There,” Valkyrie said, pointing down at a rare open meadow among the dark green foliage and crammed tree trunks. Her long, braided blond hair was tied in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, but it still bristled with torn leaves and broken twigs. Her oval, square-jawed face was covered with scratches that itched more than they bled and her tough hands were scraped and raw.
A small, blue pond glistened in the middle of the expansive clearing as if welcoming them to its shores. Valkyrie knew they could all use some water and a couple of days to rest. Though they would never admit it to their less weary Izon brethren, she knew her sisters were as exhausted as she was. This part of the journey through the Maraldis Forest was incredibly arduous especially carrying backpacks and bundles of bows and aeros that seemed to catch on every small branch in the treetops.
“We will have to post sentries around the perimeter,” her twin sister, Helena, said as she settled on the grassy shore of the pond.
She tossed her heavy pack on the ground with a sigh of relief and brushed the perspiration from her crinkled forehead. “This is the largest water source we have seen for some time. A perfect spot for game and predators.”
“We could use a little fresh meat,” Valkyrie said, loosening her hair and shaking out the debris. “We will have to keep the fires small and as smokeless as possible even though we are still a day’s travel from the tree line. Cronus has patrols all along the veldt.”
The Izon and their kin flattened the grass and laid out blankets with practiced precision, finding broken branches thick with leaves on the forest edge to create irregularly shaped huts to hide the camp from aerial view. Atlantean Birds did not scan the forest often since it was too dense for a large force to move through, but they took no chances. Some gathered stones to encircle the fire pits dug into the soft, moist soil while a small party strung their bows and slipped off for a hunt.
Fifty Daughters of Haleah and fifty Izon made up their unit, each the toughest warriors and best archers Valkyrie could assemble. Each wore mottled black and green leathers that hid them well among the heavy, verdant foliage of the forest. They moved as quietly as ghosts, their conversations muted even this far away from their ultimate goal. The afternoon sun burned bright and warm in the clear blue sky above them, but a gray, moody pall hung over the group like a dismal fog. It was a mixture of anger, hatred, duty and determination that showed on every face and in the set of their bodies, but nowhere was there a trace of fear.
“I wish mother could be here for this,” Helena said, her head lowered and her ocean-blue eyes glinting like polished steel. “We both know how badly she wished to kill Cronus with her own hands for what he has done to the Izon and to our family.”
“I do,” Valkyrie said solemnly. Her gaze darkened as bleak memories invaded her mind. She could still smell the caustic smoke in her flared nostrils as Cronus burned Home to the ground. She remembered the rip in her mother’s soul after that monstrous beast murdered her beloved Morpheus in front of her own, tear-filled, helpless eyes. Haleah carried the mental scars of days of torture in the dungeons of Atlantis as the Lord Father watched with feral glee, but they were nothing compared to the damage done to her mind after the death of the man who changed her world.
Valkyrie and Helena were the youngest set of twins born of their legendary love, but they both were old enough at the time to still feel the gentle touch of their father on their skin. They dreamed of Morpheus laughing as he wrestled with them on the fresh, green lawn near the lake by their house. Mother kept those memories alive within all of her daughters and granddaughters with holos and stories of the good times. It was vital to her that they never forget.
Haleah was at the end of her long, turbulent life now, her sparkling honey-blond hair lusterless and as white as the driven snow. Her sky-blue eyes were dim and weak, seemingly wet with endless tears. Her full, rose-red lips no longer smiled. Her mind was warped by guilt no one could forgive. After all, she was the last Keeper of the Clan. She was the one who awoke the Atlanteans from their endless slumber. It was she who brought their terrors into the world.
“That is why we are here,” Valkyrie said, her voice cracking with emotion. “Mother raised us all to be warriors. We vowed to wreak her vengeance upon Cronus and the Atlanteans who support him. We swore to protect the Clan as the new Keepers - the Aam-Izon.” She stared at her sister, her beautiful face turning as hard as a granite cliff. “And this we shall do.”
Poseidon stood on the bow of the Sea Dragon scanning the ocean with his farseers. Salty spray coated his gigantic body and chilled him even through the long, heavy wool cloak he wore. The sky was cloudy and gray from horizon to horizon, not a single ray of warming sun seeping through the gloomy blanket. Yet it was not the weather that sent a cold chill up his stiffened spine.
“Where is the Atlantean fleet?” he said quietly to himself. They were still days away from the coastline, but Poseidon fully expected Cronus to engage him by now. At the very least, there should be a wall of white sails visible above the rolling, green waves. There was none.
“Perhaps Cronus waits for us to get nearer to shore,” Zeus said as if reading his brother’s mind. He walked across the forecastle deck and stopped next to Poseidon, staring out across the empty ocean. A wide band of tooled, blue leather kept his blond-streaked, fire-colored hair from his eyes, but the steady spray over the bow plastered the rest against his brow and neck. His curly, red, neatly-trimmed beard dripped with moisture and felt heavy on his tense jaw.
“Beautiful, is it not?” Zeus said, pointing to the golden trident latched to a mount on the bulwark. He fingered the hilt of Excalibur belted to his waist beneath his robe. He could feel the power of the sword vibrating softly on his palm as if it struggled to be free. It was both amazing and terrifying.
“Yes. As is your sword,” Poseidon said, his tone filled with equal measures of awe and angst. “I pray we do not have to fully use them. In the short time we had to practice with these gifts before we left, what they are capable of is truly frightening. I now completely understand the warnings of the First Children and the daunting responsibility they lay in our hands.”
“From what they told us,” Zeus said, nodding in agreement, “they will increase in power depending on what is thrown against them. Unlike the Nillian armor, even kinetic impact will strengthen them, though they do not amplify the energy as much. Every time we unleash them, they must recharge before they can be used again. That makes them safer.”
“As long as Cronus does not use nuclear weapons against us,” Poseidon replied glumly. He ran his hand down the ornate haft of the trident, feeling a tingle on his fingertips. “I had hoped, if he was planning on using them, he would do so while we were far out at sea. That is why I presented him with such a tempting target. Not only could we direct the energy upward into the empty sky away from cities, but he would see his greatest weapon is useless against us. Perhaps he would be more inclined to surrender before we make landfall and countless lives could be saved.”
“Cronus will never surrender,” Hera said harshly, joining the men on the sea-dampened deck. Her emerald eyes glittered beneath the hood of her dark blue cloak, her thin, pink lips pursed tightly on her sharp, angular face. “He would destroy Atlantis before relinquishing control to us. You know this. We have no choice but to take it from him.”
“I know,” Zeus replied with a heavy sigh. He hung his head, thinking of the innocents who would be lost in the battle. He, too, held out a faint hope Cronus would attack before they reached the continent. If they could break their father’s will, maybe the havoc they must wreak upon him could be limited.
“Captain!” Miko shouted from the bridge. The Quartermaster pointed excitedly out across the roughly rolling sea before them. A wall of white sails appeared off the bow stretching across the horizon, but still too far away to make out individual ships.
“Battle stations!” Poseidon ordered as he rushed toward the bridge, Triton clutched firmly in his hand.
Before he could reach the helm, the sky above him exploded in fire and light. Warbirds scattered, many falling in burning husks, steaming where they hit the boiling ocean waters. Some spiraled into the packed armada, igniting wood and canvas in a blazing inferno. Squadrons of Atlantean warbirds dropped through the veil of cloud cover, raking the armada with bombing runs before Zeus’ airships could regroup.
Poseidon’s captains responded immediately, swerving their vessels in evasive patterns while still keeping the fleet in a tight-knit group heading toward the enemy ships bearing down on them. They kept their deck guns silent, counting on the warbirds to protect them from above.
The Olympian pilots ripped into the Atlantean warbirds like hungry raptors. The fact that they were caught off guard by the attack enraged them further. None of their scanners had detected the enemy until they burst through flat, gray clouds and they lost many comrades before they could react. They had no idea Cronus had developed cloa
king technology. Each one blamed themselves and they vowed horrible vengeance upon their assailants, but their opponents were equally vicious and determined.
Huge, flaming fireballs filled the heavens like blazing meteors plummeting to the earth. Red and blue beams of energy sliced the gloomy sky as the aerial combatants twisted and turned like a swarm of angry hornets. Their colorful, deadly dance might have been beautiful if not for the savagery with which they fought. The blue-black ocean churned and sizzled, peppered by molten metal and bloody bodies.
Poseidon kept the Sea Dragon aimed squarely at the center of the oncoming fleet like the tip of a spear. The flagship stayed four ship lengths ahead of the rest of the wedge formation, intending to pierce into the heart of the enemy. When the time came to use their weapons, the brothers wanted to make sure their own vessels were not caught in the crossfire.
He left Miko at the helm and took up a position just behind the bowsprit holding Triton in both hands as he threw off his cloak. Even his own crew stopped briefly to stare up in Poseidon in awe. Should his foes catch a glimpse of the gigantic, massively muscled form, they might have confused him with a part of the carved dragon masthead. The wind of the speeding ship whipped his mane of flaming red hair behind him like a cape of fire. Waves crashed over the bow, surround him in a mist of salty spray. The beads of water covered his sleeveless, dark blue leathers and sparkled down the solid gold shaft of the trident. The colored beams of the aerial battle raging above him reflected off the droplets, cocooning Poseidon in a shimmering rainbow aura. At that moment, with his face dark, jade eyes narrowed and the grimness on his bearded lips, he looked more like a vengeful god than a mere mortal man.
Poseidon felt a surge of adrenaline course through his huge, tingling body. Every artistically sculpted sinew on his nearly eleven-foot tall frame rippled in anticipation. Triton vibrated in his hands, the runes glowing a reddish blue. It seemed a living thing, eager to prove itself in battle. It pulsed beneath his fingertips, singing to him as the energies contained within struggled to be free, yet he knew they both must wait. They had to let the enemy armada attack first so their power could be absorbed and turned back against them. Poseidon licked his lips, a small, savage grin spreading across his mouth. “Soon,” he whispered to his hungry companion. “Soon.”
