The Path of Ravens (Asgard vs. Aliens Book 1)

by Lentz, P. K.

  "Any sign of the Chrysioi?" I ask, scanning the mountainside.

  "No, Thamoth."

  "The captives?" I catch sight of Iris's iridescent hair and gain at least part of the answer I seek.

  "All but one, who ran. The one you would expect."

  "It's just as well," I tell him. "Gather everyone. We must organize, and plan for our future."

  Crow seems pleased to hear me speak thus, and whirls to put my plan into action.

  "Tell Kairos that I would speak with him," I say as he is leaving. He nods and dashes off, leaping over a large, gray lump which I recognize as the corpse of the three-headed dog.

  Meanwhile, I move toward Iris, who of the Chrysioi seems to me most forthcoming. She is seated on the barren earth, and smiles as I approach. Seeing me, Kairos joins us.

  "Do these bodies Medea gave us require food and water?" I ask of either.

  "They will," Kairos answers. Like Crow, he seems in high spirits.

  "But in Olympus," Iris offers, "we consumed a certain fruit, Ambrosia, which sustained us for long periods of time. Things like meat and wine were only for pleasure. Ares and the others have with them—"

  "Iris," Kairos says sharply, a warning which silences Iris and reminds me that he is still more enemy than companion.

  "I care not about magic fruits," I half lie; at least in this moment, I do not care. "Have you any inkling of where your people might have gone?"

  Kairos ponders. "No... none. This world would be as new to them as it is to us."

  "Might they have left some sign? A message for you?"

  "If I see one, I will surely say so."

  I have my doubts as to the truth of that, but I only nod.

  "Up," Iris adds. "They will go up. Olympus was on a mountain peak, and that is where Ares will found a new city."

  I look up the mountainside, but see nothing except crags and stunted trees partly shrouded by wisps of fog. It is uninviting, to say the least.

  I reverse my gaze to look down the slope.

  "In a valley is where we will find food, water, wood for fire and shelter," I reason. "And native inhabitants, if there are any." Taking in the mountains barely visible through mist on every horizon, I add, "Not only that, but if the Chrysioi intend to dwell on a peak, there are many they might have chosen."

  Before long, Crow succeeds in gathering us all in one spot. We look a haggard congregation, less than battle-ready. I hope that no battles are imminent. Crow informs me that our number is thirty-two, including myself—twenty-one males and eleven females—plus the four Chrysioi. Some Atlanteans are wounded, but not seriously enough to inhibit their movement—naturally, since those of us who were not quick enough died in Hades.

  "We have a new chance at life," I begin addressing them. "Together we must seize it, each working for the common good. Those of you who call yourselves Chrysioi"—I look to them—"you should no longer count yourselves as prisoners. The past lies behind us. I hope you will choose to see that your fates are tied to ours, and that we stand to gain much by treating one another as equals. We know not whether your people are here or if we ever shall find them again. I hope we do, and that we can dwell together in peace."

  I resume addressing the entire body. "This land may be home to others unknown to us. As we seek shelter and sustenance, we must endeavor to make friends instead of enemies. One hostile encounter could spell our doom. I would see us live, perhaps one day to regain the knowledge of who we were and what it means to be Atlantean.

  "That is my hope for the future. But now... let us waste no more time with words, but take the first steps on our journey."

  After seeing the three-headed dog lashed to branches that it night be carried with us for food, I start down the slope. My people follow.

  My people. For better or worse, I have made myself their leader. I feel as though in my prior life I must have wielded some manner of authority.

  Whether I wielded it well is another question.

  The sun of this world, assuming there is one, remains cloaked in a blanket of thick clouds, preventing us from knowing how much light is left. For hours we trek downhill, the needle-bearing trees becoming greener and more abundant as we descend, until we walk through a sparse forest. In the quiet moments, my mind conjures reasons why Ayessa, whom I am sure I once loved, would despise me as deeply as she seemed to do back in Hades. I cannot help but wonder if it was her fear of me which drove her through the portal.

  That word which arose with my spirit from the abyss haunts me. Wellspring. The word inspires in me, somehow, both joy and sorrow simultaneously. Had I the luxury of privacy in which to laugh or cry, I would be unsure which to do.

  Such thoughts and emotions are difficult to bear, causing me to welcome the distraction of leadership.

  As we descend, the raven follows us, lighting in the branches along our path, calling out now and then in its shrill voice, and ever watching us with jewel-black eyes.

  "Could the bird be our sign?" I wonder aloud. "Might it be leading us somewhere, or trying to?"

  The Chrysioi among us profess not to know, and Crow can only shrug.

  Not long after, one of our number calls out excitedly. She has spotted something, and points it out to us, a brown shape moving through the forest: a four-legged animal with branching horns rising from its sleek head. My hybrid mind produces a name for it. Hart.

  I opt against ordering a hunt. We have the dog from Hades, and it is enough for now to know that game is present in this world.

  We press on. The perpetual cloud cover begins to take on a pinkish cast, perhaps signaling the day's imminent end.

  That is when we come upon the cave.

  9. Native

  From afar, it looks like a long slit with upturned corners, a smiling mouth in the rough surface of a silver-gray crag. But as we venture closer, its great size becomes apparent. At its highest point, one of us standing on another's shoulders and stretching upward with a hand might just touch the top. It is apparent that this place has served someone or something as home. The bones scattered about near the entrance are evidence enough of that, but if they were not then there is the added sign of a strong, foul odor filling the air.

  "Stop," I command quietly. None need be told twice, most not even once. A few Atlanteans begin to draw their weapons, but at my silent urging they stop, if reluctantly. I have explained to them already my intention not to make enemies needlessly.

  I suck in more than my share of the chill air and call out, "Is anyone there?"

  Silence. I repeat the greeting, again to no answer.

  "Shall we enter?" Kairos asks. His deference surprises me; he owes me none.

  "Perhaps you should try your famous luck," I answer. "Alone."

  I am only half serious, but Kairos shrugs and stalks forward fearlessly, sword sheathed and hand not even ready on its grip. While the rest of us watch with held breath, he mounts the rocks and starts the short climb up to the wide, dark opening that is not penetrated by the sky's dull pink glow. He is nearly there when it occurs to me that even though he is ostensibly the one walking into danger, the rest of our company, focused intently on him, could just as easily fall victim to misfortune. The thought causes me to spin and scan the sparse trees behind us for unseen threats.

  I see no movement, nothing apart from the raven circling us far overhead, an ever-present black dot against the ever-present clouds.

  "Be alert," I advise.

  We begin watching for danger from all directions, but mostly we watch Kairos, who has reached the cave mouth. He pauses only briefly before stepping into it, into shadows, vanishing from our sight. Long seconds pass. A minute or more, and finally he reappears, waving us nearer.

  "Come!"

  Cautiously, I start forward. The rest follow. Soon we all stand alongside Kairos just inside the cave's threshold, peering inside, squinting until our vision settles. Shapes emerge from what before seemed total darkness. With no doubt, this place is a home—a dank, squa
lid one to be sure—but a home. To what?

  Assorted objects—apart from some bleached bones, I cannot yet make out what they are—lie in piles along the edges of the single room. Halfway in, a shallow depression is ringed with ash and filled with charred fragments of wood, a fire pit. Near the threshold on which we stand stands a large wooden frame made from stripped branches bound neatly together with cord. From its bars hang dark, irregularly-shaped objects which, as my eyes adjust, I recognize as animal pelts hung out to dry.

  Kairos taps my shoulder and calls my attention to something. I squint at the spot and see leaning against the wall an ax. By its shape, I recognize it to be more tool than weapon, but what alarms me is its size: the handle is at least as tall as I am, the head's curved cutting edge as long as my arm.

  I know now what sort of creature calls this cave home and what sort of being is native to this world in which we find ourselves.

  It is a land of giants.

  As quickly as dread surges within me, I quash it, remembering what iridescent-haired Iris said of Pyrakmon, and my own experience of the giant who gave his life for us. Size alone does not make one fearsome or savage.

  "Could this land belong to Pyrakmon's people?" I ask any of the Chrysioi.

  Iris answers. "The Cyclopes were of Ocean. Poseidon's whole kingdom was first to fall before the swarm. Pyrakmon was the last of his people."

  I announce to all, "We mustn't be inside this home when its owner returns."

  I remove myself from the cave entrance and motion for the rest to do likewise. They do—except for Kairos, who ventures deeper in.

  Suddenly it becomes apparent to me why his luck can prove detrimental to those around him. When one man of a company is fearless, he invariably will take risks which expose the rest to danger.

  "Come back!" I demand.

  Ignoring me, he stands in the center of the wretched dwelling, looking about. I race forward, grab his wrist and tug him back. To my relief, he permits himself to be led, retreating behind me to the cave mouth. Thinking the job done, I release my grasp only to turn around moments later to find him inspecting the hanging pelts.

  "These would be useful against the chill of night."

  I stalk over and resume pulling him. "They are not worth our lives."

  "Before we leave, we may as well take what we need."

  "We are not leaving," I correct him. "We shall wait here and greet the giant when he returns."

  This being day's end, our wait is not long.

  We hear the cave-dweller before we see him. Plodding, heavy footfalls snap twigs. There is a wheezing breath, a cough—and then, through the forest, we glimpse a large, dark shape moving. We wait and watch and do not breathe. Using the trees for a sense of scale, I deem the giant to be at least as tall as Pyrakmon, though not as broad or as thick; rather he is lanky and long of limb. Although his face is scarcely visible as yet, the shadowed pits under the brim of his leather cap suggest not a single eye but two.

  Oblivious to our presence, the giant comes closer. Dressed in hide leggings and a vest of skin and fur, he grips in one hand a tall spear that extends several feet above his head. Often he is forced to level the weapon and stoop in order to pass under branches which to one of his stature count as low-hanging. His other arm is bent back, bearing the weight of some burden slung over his shoulder.

  I know it rests upon me to initiate contact, to decide what to say and when. My words and actions here might determine the shape of our future in this world.

  Before addressing the giant, I whisper to our party, "Should he attack us, retreat. Do not fight him except to stay alive." Then, with a deep breath I stand and wave an arm high above my head in greeting and cry out, "Ho there, friend!" Since he may not know the speech of the Chrysioi—in fact probably does not—I make sure to smile. I have told the others to do so as well, and a few actually manage it—Kairos, the would-be thief, most of all.

  The thudding footsteps halt, and with a grunt, the giant looks up. He is yet too far away for me to discern whether there is anger in his eyes, but certainly there is surprise.

  I do not wish to leave him too long with his own thoughts, lest he presume us hostile.

  "We are lost and mean no harm!" I say.

  The giant tosses down the burden on his back, and near me Iris gasps. "Perseus...!" she breathes in a horrified whisper.

  Tearing my eyes briefly from the giant, who grips his long spear in both hands and tilts it in our direction, I see that the burden freshly dropped is the bloodied corpse of the Chrysioi captive who escaped us. I had not until now known his name.

  Many Atlantean hands, against my instructions, fall to sword hilts. The Chrysioi would surely do the same, were they armed. I spread my empty arms wide, putting myself between the giant and our tense party of thirty-six. The giant looses a sharp grunt, then a few more. Only belatedly do I realize they must be words, gruffly delivered in some tongue unknown to me.

  "I fail to understand you, friend!" I call back. "We—"

  He cuts me off with another string of terse grunts which leave little doubt but that he views us as unwelcome intruders.

  He roars and takes a great, lunging stride toward us, thrusting with his spear. It is not a true attack but a feint meant to intimidate. It works, and in response, at least a dozen Atlantean swords leave their scabbards in a chorus of metallic scraping. A sound which may well herald the death of our chances for peaceful coexistence in this world.

  The giant yells again. They are words, I think, and hostile ones.

  "Put away your swords!" I tell my brethren. Then, to the giant: "We will leave!"

  Suddenly there is a flutter of black, feathered wings in the space between us and the giant. The great raven settles onto a tree bough there and crows twice, loudly. The giant looks at the bird, then warily back at us. He sneers, spits in the bird's direction, then roars—and he charges.

  "Retreat!" I cry, pointing in the direction I have already designated for such a need. In retrospect, I might have positioned us better. Steep rocks lie directly behind, preventing us from fleeing in a direct line away from the attack. I might also have anticipated that being long of leg, giants could be quite fast, as this one is. I am hardly certain we can outrun him.

  While most of us flee in the direction I have indicated, a few choose different paths—perhaps wisely, for the giant cannot go in all ways. Yet again in retrospect, I recognize that my particular command ought to have been to scatter. Should I live to command again, I will learn from my errors.

  A voice reaches my ears: "Lead him over here!" It is Kairos. I turn my head and see that the lucky one has not followed us. Instead he is clambering up the steep, rough rocks which flank the giant's cave, and I see what he intends. With a last look at the onrushing giant, I know I have bare seconds in which to make my choice.

  We will not be able to outrun our pursuer, not all of us. His cries might well attract more of his kind, and we will become hunted across a land unknown to us, to share a fate, perhaps, with Perseus and the one-time owners of the gnawed bones littering the floor of the giant's cave.

  Halting the flight I have barely begun, I whirl and draw my sword and slash broadly with it, hoping to attract the giant's attention, all the while moving toward Kairos as he climbs the rocks.

  "Here, giant!" I cry for good measure. "You want to fight? Fight me!"

  The creature's arm is longer than my sword's reach. Even without his great spear, he could pick me up and dash me on the rocks without ever giving me a chance to scratch him. His angry gaze settles on me and he alters his course, choosing me as his target.

  That is exactly what I want him to do. If I am wrong, it is a choice I will not live to regret.

  I tun until I am right below Kairos, who is just pulling himself up onto the flat, soil-covered top of the rock face at my back, while in front of me is an armed, angry giant. I have no escape. My life depends entirely upon the Chrysioi. I raise my puny sword and set myself to receive
the imminent attack. Since I cannot risk taking my eyes off the giant, for all I know, having reached the top, Kairos has decided to run off through the wood. I know him no better than I know myself. Perhaps it is acts of cowardice and deception that have kept him alive where others have fallen.

  Not this day. As I feint left and right to avoid the thrust of the huge spear and jab outward with my sword to inflict what little injury I can, Kairos hurtles down into my field of vision. Sword drawn, he lands on the giant's shoulder and plunges his blade deep into its bare neck. The giant's spear-point strikes the rocks near my feet, and I waste no time. Charging up the spear's shaft, thick as a small tree, I sink my blade into the giant's belly. Hot blood rains down on me from above, where Kairos clings to the giant's collar, stabbing him, and more flows over my own arms from the wound I have created.

  The giant falls toward me, the momentum of his run carrying him forward. I slip out from under just in time, yanking my blade behind me, and he crashes down onto the rocks. Kairos rides the body down, still stabbing, and then dismounts, landing next to me.

  We watch it warily, but the giant does not move again. The swift battle is over. We are victorious. With considerable help, I have slain my first giant. The triumph brings me no joy, no exhilaration. I feel defeat and anger. We have come to this new land seeking sanctuary and our first act is to kill one of its inhabitants. It may not matter that he first killed one of ours, or that we tried first to make peace. Have we but traded one enemy for another?

  Wearing a broad white grin under his mask of fresh, red giant blood, Kairos evidently does not share my misgivings: he and hoots and slaps my back in celebration.

  I call out to the others who have run. They halt in their flight and return.

  "Others of his kind may be on the way," I say glumly to Kairos. "We must move."

  Wiping his blade on the giant's clothes, the Chrysioi moves toward the cave entrance. I know what he intends and do not try to stop him. Now that we have killed, stealing from the dead will not make our transgression significantly worse.