Echoes of Olympus (The Atheniad Book 1)

by Darrin Drader

  “Such a proud king, slinking off amidst the confusion!” Heliodas shouted as he moved toward them.

  Syrpax spun around and Heliodas could see the frightened expression on Thermiandra’s face, as well as the knife to her neck. A smile appeared on the king’s face as he looked at the pair confronting him. “I see you kept your side of the bargain.”

  “I’m true to my word,” Heliodas said with a smile. “But you don’t want him for being a Titan worshiper. You want something he has.”

  “The Pearls of Atlantis. Give them to me, and I’ll release the girl.”

  Archetus nodded and opened a bag at his waist, then brought forth five small white orbs in his large meaty hand. “These are what you want,” he said.

  “Show me they’re real,” said Syrpax.

  Archetus opened his hand and the orbs drifted up and began to spin about his head.

  “Why do they not glow?” Syrpax demanded.

  “Too much sunlight. You cannot see their glow in such bright light,” Archetus said. “Now release the girl. End this!”

  Syrpax looked to Heliodas, then to Archetus. “Give them to me!” he said.

  Archetus motioned his hand and the white orbs drifted over to Syrpax, who removed the dagger from Thermiandra’s throat and caught the pearls in his hands. Thermiandra ran to Heliodas’ side, but he brushed her off. He wasn’t done yet.

  Heliodas sheathed his spatha, ran to the deposed monarch, and punched him in the face. Syrpax’s head snapped back, and Heliodas felt a wave of satisfaction as he realized that he’d opened up a gash in his lip.

  “How dare you?” Syrpax cried.

  Heliodas punched him again, then smashed his sandaled foot into Syrpax’s knee, knocking it out from under him.

  Syrpax fell to the ground, clutching his knee with his free hand. Then he smirked and opened his palm. The white orbs in his hand rolled from his palm onto the ground. His expression turned serious. “What is this?”

  “You didn’t actually think we’d give you the pearls, did you?” Heliodas asked as he kicked the king in the face.

  “But they floated,” Syrpax objected, then spat out a tooth.

  “Magic!” Archetus said. He reached a hand into a different pouch and brought out five orbs, all of which glowed brilliantly, even in the daylight. “I believe that these are what you are looking for, but you cannot have them.” He turned to Heliodas. “Finish this man so we can leave.”

  “No,” said Heliodas. “I’d rather the people deal with their ruler however they see fit.” He raised his hands to his mouth and called out, “Over here! Syrpax is right here!”

  Syrpax tried to rise, but Heliodas kicked him in the gut as hard as he could. The king collapsed back to the ground as a crowd of people came rushing to them. Pelephon was with them.

  “Thank you for coming back for me,” Thermiandra said.

  “I had to,” Heliodas said.

  Thermiandra threw her arms around the Greek soldier and kissed his lips. She pulled back, paused a moment, then tightened her grip on him and kissed him again, harder this time. “Let’s leave this place,” she said.

  The four companions left through the sundered gate. As they walked away, Heliodas looked over his shoulder to see the mob dragging Syrpax into the street. A few moments later, they were hurling stones at him. Syrpax cried out for them to stop, and then he began making painful noises. Heliodas saw him try to move away from them, but the tyrant found no quarter. Stone after stone was hurled. Heliodas saw a brick strike his head, and he fell to the ground. After that, Heliodas could no longer see the man. Still the mob continued throwing stones.

  Heliodas kept walking.

  Chapter 16

  Decisions

  A few short hours had passed. Heliodas and Thermiandra walked down the street of Ephesos. They could still see the smoke from the burning palace courtyard in the distance. Pelephon and Archetus had gone down to the docks to arrange passage aboard a ship to Athens, which left the two of them alone. Heliodas clasped Thermiandra’s hands in his own, and he didn’t want to let go of her again.

  “Are you sure we need Archetus with us?” Thermiandra asked.

  Heliodas shrugged. “He said that he’s waited for a long time for us. We somehow play a role in the path he’s on.” He didn’t want to say more, because doing so might give some credence to the notion of his divine parentage, but he couldn’t dispute the coincidence of their meeting. Thermiandra had come into his life after she’d been granted a vision from Athena. Archetus carried with him all-powerful relics from the Titans themselves. The only one without some connection to the divine was Pelephon, and as far as companions went, Heliodas couldn’t ask for a better one than him… even if the Macedonian wouldn’t jump out of a window…

  “But our journey ends in Athens. We’re almost there. Why are we bringing along more people?” Thermiandra asked.

  Again Heliodas lacked an answer that made any sort of rational sense. “Because he wants to come?” he offered.

  Thermiandra brushed the dark hair out of her face, then smiled at Heliodas. “Has it not occurred to you that the danger facing Athens that I saw in my vision might be caused by those pearls?”

  “It has occurred to me,” Heliodas said. “But if Archetus wants to come to Athens, he’ll still go, regardless of whether he comes with us. It keeps coming back to the question of how his presence hurts us. I say that it doesn’t.”

  Heliodas paused for a moment, thinking about the fact that he was still holding Thermiandra’s hand. “So after you deliver your message, you’re returning to Cyme?”

  “I haven’t decided,” Thermiandra replied. “In all likelihood, Alexander will allow my father to retain control of the polis. If I return there, I can count on living a very comfortable, very boring life.”

  “What do you want to do?” Heliodas asked.

  “I’m doing it,” she said with a smile. She leaned in for a kiss, which Heliodas gladly allowed.

  “Alright, we need to talk about this!” Heliodas said at last.

  “What?” Thermiandra asked innocently.

  “This!” he said, raising their hands up. “We haven’t stopped touching each other since we left the palace. Does this mean you’ve reconsidered the possibility of us?”

  Thermiandra sighed, then released his hand. “Can’t we pretend, for a while at least, that we’re just two normal people who care a great deal for one another?”

  “Do you want me to pretend that you care for me, or that we’re normal?” Heliodas asked.

  Thermiandra laughed, a sound Heliodas not so long ago feared he would never hear again. “I can’t change who I am,” she said.

  “What does that mean?” he asked. “It would be as simple as explaining to the gods that you’ve changed your mind and are renouncing your celibacy. They’d understand!”

  “No, it’s not that easy,” Thermiandra said.

  “Then tell me. Whatever it is, tell me. I’ll help you with it.”

  Thermiandra looked at him and a tear fell down her face. “I can’t. It’s too soon.”

  “Too soon for what?”

  “When we get to Athens, at the end of our journey, I’ll tell you,” she said.

  “So until then, how do you want to continue? I am becoming attached,” Heliodas said. “Pretty soon I’m going to start writing poetry, and follow you around while reciting it, begging you to reconsider.”

  “You aren’t serious,” she said with a smile. Heliodas resisted the urge to kiss her again.

  “No,” Heliodas laughed. “I could never write poetry.”

  “This isn’t easy for me to say,” said Thermiandra, “but you need to believe me when I tell you that for right now, I care for you more than any other man. You’ve fought for me. You brought down a palace for me! You’ve been an honorable and good man… as good as I could ask for. Also know that there’s nobody else besides you.” She grabbed his hand once again. “I only wish this could be easier. Understand that
you are every bit the hero that Athena promised me in my vision. I owe you my life,” she said.

  Heliodas looked into her eyes, and he could see no hint of deception in them.

  “Until we get to Athens, I’m willing to do this,” she said gently touching his face with her hand, drawing near him. “And this,” she said, meeting his lips with hers.

  Heliodas leaned into the kiss and tasted her lips, enjoying every second of it. Then he pulled away. “I don’t have it in my heart to be angry with you,” he said, “but I find it difficult to know that you favor the gods over me. I’m here! Flesh and blood! The gods are distant, and I question whether they truly exist. Whatever has befallen the men in your family, I am certain that it would not befall me. If what everyone believes is true, I am the son of Zeus, and should be impervious to whatever curse plagues your family. I’m willing to take the risk.”

  “And that is something I cannot let you do,” Thermiandra said. “Son of Zeus or not, I know that you can be wounded, and you can be killed. I couldn’t bear it if I were the one to bring that about.”

  “But you wouldn’t,” Heliodas protested.

  “You don’t know that.”

  Heliodas felt something resembling anger well up within him. He fought it back, knowing that whatever her secret was, it was profoundly troubling to her. Nevertheless, the physical contact they’d been sharing was such a sweet torture. He loved it, yet he knew that she couldn’t give anymore of herself to him, either body or soul. “I suppose we should go see if Pelephon and Archetus have managed to find us a ship,” he said.

  “Yes, we should,” she agreed. “Just do me one favor before we do that?”

  “Anything,” Heliodas said.

  “Just hold me.”

  Heliodas took her in his arms, and he could feel the tension in her. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he realized that she was sobbing.

  Chapter 17

  The Silent Gods

  Demosthenes has remained in his house for the past week,” Lysiemon said. Even he had to admit that he was saddened that it was necessary to slay a man and his family in order to achieve their political goals, but these goals were vital to the people of Amphipolis, and their methods were apparently working. Ultimately, if his efforts to oust Demosthenes from power were successful, the number of lives saved would be greater than the ones that were taken. “He hasn’t accepted any guests, and he has only sent his slaves out for food and other basic necessities. He has missed a meeting of the Forum, and it would appear that word of his outburst in the agora has circulated widely. It would seem that support for him is beginning to fall away.”

  “We’ve dealt him a serious blow,” said Diophrastus, “but don’t count him out yet. Demosthenes has survived a number of political rivals before. We should consider him a caged lion at the very least.”

  “A caged lion that has been pierced through the loins!” Menphon exclaimed. The trio sat on ornate marble benches in Diophrastus’ courtyard, sipping wine. They were accompanied by fifty Spartan soldiers, all of whom had quietly entered Athens posing as ordinary citizens and travelers. In order to get through the gates, they’d had to hide their military gear with the rest of their belongings, but they had once again donned their uniforms after they were safely concealed within Diophrastus’ estate.

  “Perhaps it is time to give Demosthenes some time… give the appearance of sensitivity to the tragedy of his friend,” Diophrastus said.

  “Right now you have the advantage,” Menphon said with a disapproving glare. “Why would you allow your enemy to recoup some of the momentum that he’s lost?”

  “Because if I keep pushing, I may lose some of the sympathy that has built up over the past week,” Diophrastus sharply replied.

  “Nonsense!” Menphon said. “This is not the time to back down or be conciliatory.”

  “Alright, old man, what would you suggest?” Diophrastus asked.

  “You need to do three things right now. First, address the forum the next time it meets and make a statement condemning the murder of Leotas, and offer a heartfelt statement mourning his loss. They would be fools to call you out as a murderer in that venue, and it gives you the chance to address his accusations directly. We both know that he has no evidence proving that you were complicit, so as long as you don’t tell anyone, you’re protected.

  “Second, it’s time to pick another policy decision he has made. It doesn’t matter which one you choose, as long as it’s mostly unpopular with the people. You’re going to reopen that issue and make them fight that political battle all over again by proposing a new law negating the original. It doesn’t matter whether or not you’re successful because the goal is to make him and his allies waste time and energy engaged in pointless or symbolic political battles.

  “Third, it’s time to condemn him for the bodily harm he caused you in the agora and call for his banishment.”

  “Such a measure would never pass,” Diophrastus said.

  “It doesn’t need to pass,” said Lysiemon. “We need to look at our end goal, the control of Athens, and with it, the whole of the Delian League. An open call for banishment sends the message that he has become politically weakened. Many people have stood with him not out of ideological agreement, but because doing so brought them influence and power. If you eliminate his power, they will be the first to fall away and become your new allies.”

  “Some already have,” said Diophrastus.

  Lysiemon shot him a look. Ever since their political alliance had formed, Lysiemon had remained curious what Diophrastus’ motivations were. True, he had long been a political enemy of Demosthenes, but it seemed to him that there was something else he had not spoken of, which he was holding in reserve. Diophrastus said, “Today five orators who normally fall in with Demosthenes spoke to me in the agora and pledged their support. Granted, there is still a long way to go before the tide turns, but we are now gaining ground instead of losing it. But I have a question for you, Menphon. What am I to say the next time one of Demosthenes’ allies accuses me of murder?”

  “Deny all knowledge,” the Spartan said simply. “There were no witnesses to the murder. There can be no evidence. Even if there was something, it would be traced back to the assassin, not to any of us. Just say something expressing your sympathies, and change the subject. It will work. I’ve seen it often enough. Those who continue publicly blaming you will find themselves farther and farther on the fringe of the debate. Eventually people will stop listening to them altogether.”

  Lysiemon decided to venture a question about their increasingly powerful Athenian patron. “Diophrastus, I am curious about something. What do you stand to gain by this alliance, other than the obvious increase in political power, if we’re successful?”

  Diophrastus raised his eyebrows and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “As I’ve said, I seek to unseat Demosthenes, and attempt to enact democratic reform so that there’s some semblance of uniformity in our political direction that presently doesn’t exist. But there’s more. The silence of the gods concerns me.”

  Lysiemon frowned. “I don’t think I understand.”

  “For my entire life, I’ve been devoted to Athena, as have so many in our great polis. Yet she chose to stop speaking to us.”

  “All the gods stopped speaking to mortals,” Lysiemon said. “Granted, the Oracle at Delphi says that she still communes with them.”

  “What do you mean?” Menphon asked.

  “The gods,” said Lysiemon. “The gods have not spoken with the priesthood for decades. Had you not heard?”

  “No,” said Menphon. “In fact I disagree. The priests of Ares in Sparta have never stopped communicating with him.”

  Lysiemon’s initial reaction was a lack of belief in the old man’s words. “How could that be possible?”

  “It merely confirms what I’ve long suspected,” Diophrastus said. “The gods have never communicated a great deal, and typically only with their priesthoods. They also usually
speak to those in their favored cities.”

  “What are you trying to suggest?” Lysiemon asked.

  Diophrastus laughed. “Athena no longer speaks to us because the polis has angered her. She has turned her back on us. We stopped listening to her long before she stopped speaking to us.”

  “Why do you believe that?” Lysiemon asked.

  “Because here in Athens… and the Delian League… we’ve put ourselves above the gods. We listen to godless philosophers like Aristotle, who seek to explain the natural universe without acknowledging the role the gods play in it. We all know that the sun moves across the sky because it is drawn by Helios’ chariot, yet the philosophers try to say that there are natural laws that govern its movement. They look at every aspect of the world and they discard the religious teachings we’ve always had that give proper reverence to our creators. In their place, they come up with explanations that defy proper reverence! Our emphasis on learning and the establishment of the universities has done nothing other than lead our young people away from the gods.”

  Lysiemon did not share the convictions of his ally. He had known people who felt just as strongly about the role of the gods in all natural things, and he had always considered them overzealous and more than a bit arrogant. However, despite his disagreement on this issue, he was not about to disagree with his principal ally in Athens. Theirs was an alliance built of necessity, and if Diophrastus could convince the devout that his cause matched theirs, he would be able to draw them in. Eventually it wouldn’t matter. Once they were in power, they could steer Athens and the rest of the League away from the catastrophic path it was currently on. “I understand what you’re saying,” he said in a neutral tone.

  “I know that my point of view is becoming less and less common, but I also know that turning away from the gods has angered them. We’re setting ourselves up for a mighty fall,” Diophrastus said.

  Menphon snorted. “It’s no wonder your gods turned from you. The only thing Ares cares about is our ability to wage war. That’s the one thing Sparta has and always will be good at. With Athena, you probably angered her without knowing why. She’s a complicated god who contradicts herself.”