Of Gods And Men

Of Gods And Men The Duology of Postius Malantis ▲

Book One ▼

Ψ Gregg Neville

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I dedicate this to Fate, without which I would never have written this book. And toXXXXX, who showed me the stories and XXXXXX, who taught me the word.

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Book One Life

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Ψ Prologue

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and blew on the open winds of the harsh deserts of the north as the boy dashed across the shadowy dunes, the glow of the moon lighting his way, while the leather of his sandals stretched against the force of his feet. His hands clasped the rough parchment, pumping back and forth in front of him, leading his sprint through the night. Suddenly, he broke the heights of the dune’s valley, bursting up into the wind’s full might as sand poured and swirled around him in a dusty spectacle. Brushing back the locks of his hair, he peered out at the sight before him. He had reached the Pinnacle, home of the Exiles. Pressing on, he ran down the bank of the final dune, jumping and soaring as his feet blasted into the soft sand with each step until he came to stand before the temple and all its might. It stood before him, tall and menacing; its many flaming torches casting darkened shadows and eerie glow as he walked between two towering obelisks, the guardians of the doorway. Sand ripped across the building’s features, sending wispy trails into the night sky as his feet lifted to ascend the hard limestone steps. Running through main door, now out of the desert’s fury, he pressed on through columns of the

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temple, rushing to find his masters. Two figures stepped out of the shadows before him, blocking his way. “Make way! I have a message for the gods!” he yelled out to them. The two figures whispered to each other and then parted, realizing the value of message that lay in his grasp and revealing a small doorway covered only by a thin curtain. He pushed it away quickly as he burst into the light of the main chamber. “My lords!” he screamed as he ran across the lush red carpet leading to the gathering place of the Exiles. Entering the hall, he fell to his knees before staring up at the faces of his masters. “Rise, messenger. What have you brought to us, my child?” spoke the voice of his master. “My lord, Nasina…they have called for a gathering of the council…there is outrage over what has been done,” he gasped, attempting to catch his breath. “Thank you, child,” dismissed his master. His god turned to his fellow immortals, “You know what this means,” he said. The Exiles nodded knowingly, one of them rising to speak, “They will vote for an Intervention.” “Yes,” nodded the high lord. “We must prepare for what is to come. It is time for our plans to be set in motion.” The high lord looked once more at the boy, “Let the others know what is happening.” The boy nodded and turned, rushing back into the blowing desert night.

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1 Nasina

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he cliffs of the Immortal Mountains shined elegantly with the beauty of the setting sun as Poseidon looked out across the expansive lake in front of him. He stood leaning against the railing on one of Nasina’s great balconies. The inspiring grace of the immortal temple had always calmed him, with its great spires of marble and obsidian that rose into the sky like great plumes of what the humans called fire. These spires continued their accent upwards until they converged and formed the pinnacles that held the Great Orb of Nasina, a great sphere as big as the moon of the mortal planet. The Orb was made of a pure blue energy; it burned a blue unlike any blue the sea God had seen anywhere else in the world and upon it’s surface golden energy swirled around the core as the deep blue mixed and swirled with an the golden beam of the spectrum, creating a luminescence unseen in all the rest of the universe. It was the source of all immortal power, an object of which its origins to this day still mystified its discoverers, those who first used it to become Immortal.

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On each return to his home, he had always returned to this part of the heavenly building, for it was here that he could look out at the lake and the water that was his very soul of existence and there was no where else he could more peacefully gather his thoughts and reflect on the universe he lived in. As he stood lost in thought, he noticed that the sun had crept down under the horizon. He glanced up along the tower that was Nasina, home of Immortals, and sighed as he watched those gods who managed the skies begin the task of night. Ever since he was a young boy eons ago, he had appreciated that the water did not need to be changed every twelve or so hours. Glancing back down at the waves and their peaceful lapping, he returned to his thoughts. Recently returned to Nasina, he had been wondering for quite sometime why he had been summoned home. The message had arrived as he tended to the waters of the Mediterranean back on Earth and it had taken him some time to return to Olympus, the outpost of his family who were known as the Olympians. It was there that his brother, Zeus, had told him that the Council had called for the Thunder God to return home. His brother had always asked him to accompany him to the meetings of The Divine Council, the body that ruled all immortals and on which his brother sat representing the Olympians. They had made the trip here to Nasina earlier in the day and had some time to spare until the meeting convened later in the evening. As the darkness set in and the shadows grew, Poseidon grinned as he noticed the shadow in the corner behind him shift hazily. “It seems, my friend, that your time spent aiding Hades has left you out of form when it comes to arriving undetected,” commented Poseidon as a figure formed out of the shadow and walked to his side, leaning on the railing just as Poseidon was and staring at the sea with him. “One has no reason to use stealth when dealing with those who no longer experience the virtues of life,” smiled his friend, “It is good to see you again.” “It is good too see you also, Erebus,” replied Poseidon. “How has your time spent in the Underworld been?” Erebus stared back at him, “As you know, Hades is not an easy one to carry conversation with.” Poseidon chuckled, “Odd for you to be commenting on the quietude of others, Erebus. Is it not the silence and arrogance of the Lord of Darkness that spurs the immortal gossip that flows behind your back?”

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His friend turned his head to face him until Poseidon could see into the hood of his black robe, smiling Erebus’ eyes came to rest on him. Poseidon watched as his friends’ eyes began to glow with a bright yellow-green, a color the Council members had termed neon. The green energy filled the whole of his eyes and began to smoke and haze out of them, drifting into the air above his eyebrows. The shadows that had been cast on his friend’s face before now grew slightly darker, “I know what they say,” his voice echoed in the darkness around them, yet did not extend out across the night sky, "Come now, Poseidon, “behind my back?” You know better than that. They may gossip about me when I am not around, but they forget that their shadows follow them everywhere they go, and I am the shadows," he stated calmly, “Besides I converse with you.” Poseidon smirked, “Yes, me and no one else.” “Nothing anyone else says is ever of any importance to me,” Erebus shrugged. “You are the only friend I need.” His friend winked at him before he allowed the light in his eyes to dim once more. Poseidon looked back out at the water and watched the waves move around the lake. He swirled his finger about in the air and watched as a small whirlpool formed in the water below them. “Why do you always come down here? I have not visited my quarters here at home in over two millennia,” asked Erebus. Poseidon looked back at his friend; they had been through much together. They had been born not far from each other and had been raised here at Nasina. As a rule all newborn immortals stayed at Nasina for their first thousand years of life, it allowed them plenty of time to learn the universe and how they would affect it. “On Earth, Erebus, I am a God, Lord of the Sea. I control all the water in the world, but none of it is mine. Everything I do must be according to the Council’s wishes. And so, I guess, the reason I am most fond of this balcony and these waters is because they are the one thing in the entire universe that belong solely to me.” The thoughts about the Council reminded him of what he had been thinking about before his friend had arrived. “Why do you think they’ve called us here, Erebus? The next gathering was not to be for another five hundred years.” Erebus settled once more on the railing beside him, “I suspect that it has something to do with the Exiles.” “I suppose you’re right. It must be important for them to call us all here,” replied Poseidon.

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“Yes, It is. I have lost control of the darkness in their realm and have been instructed to cut off our realm from them.” Poseidon froze and looked at his friend. “Then they make to challenge us?” Poseidon thought aloud. His mind began to reel. Erebus and one of the exiles were the only two beings in the entire universe that had the power to control the darkness. Before the Exile had been arranged, gods like Erebus and his Exiled counterpart had worked together to manage the forces of the world. After the Exiles broke away from the Council, the effects on the Earth were devastating as gods still allied with the Council acted separately than those with the Exiles. To stop the horrific affect this had on the planet without an immortal war, the Council struck a deal, which gave both sides part of the others dominion of power. Poseidon had been lucky, as there was no Exile who commanded the sea as he did. And yet for hundreds of years as Poseidon had carried on as usual, Erebus had been dealing with his exiled equivalent. A fact neither he nor any of the other gods who were forced to do this were very pleased with. And now the Exiles were pulling gods like Erebus’s access to the forces they controlled in the Exile’s part of Earth, thus breaking the agreement that had been struck just a few hundred years ago. A move that Poseidon had expected would happen from the first time the deal was proposed and a move that Erebus would most likely be very pleased with being that his friend was not afraid to use force to get what he wanted. “I would not doubt it is a challenge, we both knew that the Exile would not be enough, even if your brother and the other families felt it would be.” “You know it will be our family’s turn to deal with them,” commented Poseidon. Erebus smiled as one who had been waiting many years for a moment like this, “Yes, I know.” Poseidon shook his head sarcastically, “They will never let you kill them, Erebus. Even with it being our turn, they will force us Olympians to return them to exile. Besides you know I don’t think they should die.” “Just as you know that the Exile will never work,” returned the God of Darkness. “I prefer keeping them in exile to the idea of open war, Erebus. I presume that we shall just have to see how the Orb will handle it,” stated Poseidon. Of all the mysteries of the Orb that existed, its ability to control fate was its biggest. It seemed to change what the gods who

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controlled fate wished whenever it saw fit, making it essentially the director of all events in time. “You forget, my friend, that they have part of the Orb also, thus is fate eschewed, and thus shall exile fail.” Poseidon shrugged, “I suppose you are right, but they would never start a war against the Council.” He had forgotten that a small orb had been formed out of the Orb of Nasina and fallen into the hands of the Exiles; it was yet another one of the objects own mysterious decisions. Poseidon turned and faced his quarters, “It is time to go, the Council will begin soon.” “I see him coming too,” nodded Erebus who began to follow him as they walked. Poseidon made his way through his quarters. He began to pack the things he would need for the meeting. Being that his brother was the representative of their family, he would not be leading any of the talks that would go on, but if needed he and Erebus were expected to be able to give their advice and input in the discussions. Unlike Erebus, he could not hide his luggage in the shadows of time and retrieve them at will. Instead, he had a small satchel that he could carry over his arm. It held some of the statues and such that the humans had given him; unlike some of the other gods, he had always cared about the people he looked over. Erebus looked at him and grinned, “You are much like a mortal woman with her travel purse.” Poseidon shrugged back, “Not all of us have the unlimited resources of the shadows.” It was amusing to hear the hiss of his friend’s echoing voice convey a form of humor, for it was usually used to convey some form of evil lament toward those who tried to escape from the Underworld. Erebus reached his hand out to his side. Poseidon watched as his friend’s hand disappeared into a black haze of pure darkness, the likes of which Erebus had been able to control since birth. The hand soon came back out of the hole of shadow. Poseidon was not surprised as his friend began to eat the bread he had probably retrieved from some market stand in the far reaches of the world. His friend’s gloating smirk followed him as they walked to the door, he had also been born with this cocky expression and it was a friendly jest Poseidon had seen many times. Just as they approached the door, the small mortal boy whom the both of them had sensed approaching a short time ago, pushed it open. “My lords, the Council will begin soon,” he said. The two of them nodded.

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“It has been awhile since I have been with the living, I have forgotten how quiet they are,” stated Erebus as the two of them walked through the door and headed up the spiraling ramps to the Council chambers that lay on the highest level of Nasina. The mortal keepers of Nasina had kept it quite beautiful for eons and the décor of the halls always pleased him. Being one of the few gods who used his quarters, the humans had taken much effort to make sure he was happy. There were vast arrays of banners, which were an even grander array of colors. Murals lined the walls of the levels they passed through, depicting the great feats of the gods whose quarters each floor was home to. Poseidon looked down at the small mortal boy that was leading them through the corridors. He knew that if they continued walking at this pace he would surely be late for the meeting. He tapped the boy on the back. Spinning quickly, the boy stared up at him. “Young boy, how would you like to go for a ride?” asked Poseidon. He looked over at Erebus, who smirked in his sarcastically sinister way and began to conjure up a great seem of shadow in the air to his right. Poseidon looked down at the boy and said, “I may be god of the sea, but many do not realize that I am also a god of horses and of mighty earthquakes.” With this he searched for Torrent in his mind; an ability which confounded many humans, but to Poseidon was as easy as moving his hand. He need only envision his prize horse and he would come to be. Waving his hand in front of him, blue light appeared in his palm. The air below it shivered until a strong, tall horse appeared. White, with a blue mane, Torrent had been with him since his childhood. He had ridden him everyday as a boy and trained him to be the greatest horse that had ever lived. And he was. “This is Torrent, boy, the fastest horse in all the world,” he explained. The boys’ eyes were quite wide and big now, to the point Poseidon wondered if such a thing were good for a mortal. He reached down and picked up the small boy and placed him atop Torrent. He then mounted his steed himself. He looked over at Erebus, who now sat atop his own horse. “I don’t know, Poseidon, Shadow and I have ridden through the mires of the Underworld, chasing down fleeing souls. It might just be that Torrent over there is getting a little old,” commented Erebus from the back of the blackest horse he had ever seen. He noticed that the animal had the same glowing green eyes that Erebus had when he used a lot of his power. Poseidon maneuvered to prepare to ride through the halls, laughing to himself at the idea that his immortal horse was getting old.

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“Are you ready, my old friend?” Erebus’ eyes began to burn with the power of the night. This was the only sign Poseidon needed. He urged Torrent forward. The two horses took off down the corridors toward the top of the tower at a speed no human could fathom. To them it would appear as if the two gods and their horses had disappeared and reappeared atop the building, but Erebus and he could see it all, could know the energy that poured into every step of their horse’s heel; could feel the ground beneath them shake with the motion that traveled over it. Avoiding pedestrian walkers along the way, it took mere seconds to reach the entrance to the Council chamber. As Erebus and he blasted into the lobby outside the Chamber, he noticed Zeus come around the corner. Poseidon reeled Torrent to a halt before his brother. “What are you doing?” commanded Zeus. “Why coming to the Council Meeting,” he replied with a grin. He looked over at Erebus and winked. The two of them dismounted and their horses dematerialized behind them. Poseidon thanked the young boy, and sent him away. He turned and made his way toward the great doors of the Council Chamber.

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2 The Council

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oseidon waved his hand in front of the obsidian doors of the Council Chamber. They glowed with a mysterious white light and began to creak open. Poseidon stepped forward through the doors with Erebus and Zeus following closely behind. As was custom, Poseidon and his friend escorted the head of their family into the Chamber. Entering the chamber had always been a moment Poseidon enjoyed, built by the discoverers; it was a marvelous crescent shaped room. The room itself was part of the apex of the Nasina tower. Wrapped around the equator of the orb, it allowed for the Orb itself to be present at every convent of the Council. Great chairs were arrayed facing the Orb as they made their way around the crescent. From this point a walkway extended out toward the Orb, ending in a circular platform upon which the Mediator of the Council rested. By immortal law this Mediator was always one of the human mortals, their representative and the being responsible for keeping the Gods in check. A feat made possible through the Orb, which backed the Mediator, giving him the force he needed behind his words. Poseidon made his way around the Chamber until he came to the divine chairs of the Olympian Gods. Allowing Zeus to take his seat first,

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Erebus and he lowered into theirs, which lay slightly behind that of Zeus. Looking forward, he became aware of the great light that emanated from the Orb. Due to its magnificent size, its presence commanded the attention of any that entered the room. In front of him, he noticed his brother begin to shuffle through the tablets he had arrayed before him. To his right, he could feel Erebus’ uneasiness. His friend did not like being in a place where the Orbs’ rays cut off all of the darkness that made up his beloved shadows. While his companions prepared for the meeting ahead, Poseidon looked down the row of Chairs that made up the crescent chamber. Some of the other Immortal families had already seated themselves and like the Olympians were waiting for the arrival of the others. In the chairs to Poseidon’s right, the great immortal Anu, father and ruler of the Sagiga family sat with his entourage. Behind him sat his son, Enlil, one of the immortals that helped with the keeping of the sky. Next to Enlil, the sun god Shamash played idly with a small flame that in his boredom allowed a spark to jump back and forth between his palms. On Poseidon’s left, the great poet and sun god, Ah Xoc Kin, Lord of the Mayano family, sat with the rain god, Choc, and the wind god of his dominion, Kukulcan; in what Poseidon understood to be a land on the other side of Earth, far from Greece, known as South America. Ending their side of the crescent, the other side of the Mayano Gods gave way to the great Hindi family lead by Brahma, the creator; who waited patiently for the gathering to begin. The immortal Vishnu, the preserver, and the mighty Shiva, the destroyer, accompanied him. Their many arms had always interested Poseidon, who had never been brave enough to ask any of them how they came to have such limbs; he had settled with Erebus’ explanation that it didn’t matter when you realized the tremendous power they were able to unleash from them. Across the chamber, forming at the other point of the crescent, were the only seats that would remain open during the meeting. They were the seats of the Exiles, who even in exile were always invited to attend the council; even this meeting, which was solely arranged to deal with them. Alas they had not been to the Council Chamber since the original deal of Exile had been enacted. Poseidon noticed the other family of gods that ruled the land known as South America walk into the room and make their way toward their seats. Quetzalcoatl, a medium sized, bearded old man was a god of the wind and represented the Aztec family; he smiled at Poseidon. Camaztli, a warrior god, and Chalchiuhtlicue, a goddess of lakes and streams, who Poseidon knew as Chalchi, followed him. They had spent

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some time together many eons ago as children. Being that they both were immortals with the power to control water, they had trained together and grown up with each other. Entering behind the Aztecs were the Shinto, coming from an island called Japan, these gods were the most honorable of all. For the Shinto ruling goddess Amateras’ great honor and wisdom at the discovery of the Orb, the discoverers had given her rule of the great plain that lay beyond the mountain lakes of Nasina known as the Plain of Heaven. Therefore she and her family of immortals had claimed only one small island on Earth and were the only family of gods other than the Exiles who controlled humans that lived around Nasina. They took their seats beside Quetzalcoatl. It was then that Poseidon noticed the final representative of the Council enter the room. El Shaddai, the Lord of the Canaani family of Gods, moved past the others and came to rest on his seat between the Shinto and Sagiga. One of the discoverers, he had been a good friend to Poseidon’s father, Cronus, before he had been received by the Orb. Anat, his daughter, an amazing archer, and his son Baal, a god of the sun, took their places behind him. El Shaddai called over to Zeus and Poseidon. “It pleases me to see the youth of Cronus so healthy,” he stated. Poseidon had always enjoyed the way El Shaddai spoke. “Just as it pleases us to see you healthy, El Shaddai” replied Zeus. “I’m starting to tire of this wait, when do you think we will start?” El Shaddai smirked, “When the Mediator reveals himself,” he answered. Poseidon watched the two doors that led into the chamber, one of them opened as it had for him and a small, mortal man walked through it. He wore a gray robe that complemented the emerald green of his eyes, his cane tapping the marble floor rhythmically with each step he took. The hair on his head was slightly aged, yet still had the brown shine of the mortal youth and his sturdy cheeks showed hints of his former beard. Walking past El Shaddai and Anu, he made his way along the path that led directly into the Orb. Once he found the chair that rested on the circle platform in front of the Orb, he sat down. For a moment he paused and stared at each of the immortals seated before him, and then his eyes came to rest on the empty seats of the Exiles. Poseidon could see the expression of failure that formed on the man’s face. Turning back to his audience, Daven the Prophet, the mediator for the past twenty years addressed the Council. “Welcome, my lords. As some of you may have heard, it seems the Exiles have turned back on their deal once again,” he spoke.

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Poseidon heard the whispers that rumbled through the Council. Daven continued, “They have blocked off the access of the gods that deal with their world, and in turn I have commanded our gods to cut them off from all the dominion ruled by Nasina. I wish to inform the Council that I believe it is time a decision is made on how to deal with this. I fear the Exile is not a solution and so I turn to you to decide. Any ideas on how to handle this would be appreciated,” he asked, his voice paling in comparison to that of the immortals. Brahma raised one of his hands and Daven nodded at him. “My friends, I cannot believe that we cannot make the Exile work. Since the discovery of the Orb, there has been only one immortal that has lost their life.” Poseidon’s heart sunk a little as he remembered the loss of his father. “I will not accept that the only solution is to kill them,” urged Brahma. Quetzalcoatl rose and Daven recognized him. “What would you have the council do then, Brahma. Should we continue to appease them? I think not,” spoke the bearded god. “Whatever it is I will never approve the murder of the Exiles,” retorted the Hindi lord. Daven turned to Anu, “As the Sagiga’s land is most in danger from the Exiles. I ask you, Anu, what would you have us do?” Anu turned behind him and spoke with his accompanying gods. After some discussion, he faced the Orb once more. “The Sagiga recognize the threat that the Exiles pose to our territory. Yet, we feel that the risk to our people is worth whatever needs to be done to solve this problem. I have confidence in the Olympian family and as the responsibility of this situation now falls on them, I feel that it is time to end this once and for all. And though I understand your statements Brahma, I also know that the Exile is obviously not working and that for the safety of all mortals, something must be done. It is therefore that I, Anu of Sagiga, feel obligated to be the one to propose an Intervention.” Immediately, shouts rang out across the Chamber and the Council members began to scream back and forth at each other. The outraged gods rambled and argued, as Poseidon watched the small mortal man whose shadow, created by the light of the Orb, dwarfed the whole of the Chamber. Daven rose slightly from his chair and stared forward. His small mortal voice began to speak, as Poseidon sat, watching his lips move, knowing full well the small mortal was being ignored by the gods; the softness of his voice failed to penetrate the outcries of the immortals even slightly. His mouth soon gave up the useless try at speaking, and he gave a small sigh. His cane tapped against the floor.

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The Orb flashed furiously, its energy spectrum becoming increasingly bright. The immortals found themselves with their words caught in their mouths. They seated themselves once more and turned to the mortal mediator. “Thank you,” spoke Daven, his remaining quiet and calm. “Anu has made a proposition, my lords. We shall here both sides. Who wishes to go first?” Hands rose and waved from all tables. Daven’s eyes came to rest upon the chair of Ah Xoc Kin. “Go ahead, Mayano,” he instructed. “My friends, there has not been an Intervention since the Shinto first forced the Exiles to agree to the deal. We cannot think that such a thing is needed to solve this again?” pleaded the lord of the Mayano. Amateras rose from her chair and spoke, “I understand, Mayano, that this is a major step, but I feel it is necessary to remind you how well our Intervention succeeded. Not only did he deal with the Exiles, but also he has now ruled our people as their Emperor for almost a thousand years. Therefore, I too agree with Anu. I second his proposal.” “What say you, El Shaddai, do you think this a wise choice?” inferred Daven. Poseidon focused on his father’s friend. He had been waiting to see how the oldest of the immortals, the man who with his father had been the first to lay their eyes on the Orb, would wish for this to be dealt with. “I too have faith that this be an endeavor to which such immoderation is indispensable. Furthermore, I possess eminent confidence in the Son’s of Cronus and their capability to oversee such a duty,” commented the Lord of the Canaanites. “Then we shall vote,” commanded Daven. “Being the Olympians turn to handle the Exiles, All those who support allowing the Olympians to engage in an Intervention, speak now. Begin, Quetzalcoatl.” “I Lord of the Aztec support an Intervention!” And so it went… “I Lord of the Shinto support an Intervention!” “I Lord of the Canaanites support an Intervention!” “I Lord of the Olympians support an Intervention!” Until it came to those who disliked the idea… “This does not seem wise,” stated Ah Xoc Kin as he shook his head unknowingly. “Alas, if this is what you all want, I Lord of the Mayano support an Intervention!”

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The many faces of Brahma showed traces of doubt, but he too stood and declared, “I Lord of the Hindi support an Intervention!” With this Daven turned and faced the Orb, “And I Daven, Voice of Man support an Intervention. His voice echoed in the silence of the chamber, until suddenly, a mighty flash of vibrant light poured across the room. The Orb pounded the chamber with burst after burst of immense light, so breathtaking that even the immortals themselves were left utterly amazed. The blasts of light vibrated across the walls of each and every support the tower was held up by. The marble floors sparkled in the spectacle and the beams of obsidian glowed with the flashing luminance of the great Orb. As the chamber’s occupants stared back at the impossible display in front of them, a small part of the Orb began to pull outwards out of the glowing ball. In what seemed as if the Orb had shed a tear, a smaller Orb resembling its great parent formed beside Daven. Soon the small sphere came to hum with an energy of its own, and the great Orb began to calm until the flashing ceased and all that was left of the great show was the little round object which held so much divine power. For a moment, all any one could do was stare; yet finally Daven turned and began to speak. “And so it is done,” he announced. Looking toward Zeus and the Olympians he spoke, “Great Zeus, come forward and claim the Orb of Intervention, the object with which the Orb of Nasina has delivered to you in able for you to carry out the wishes of the council.” Zeus began to rise, but soon stopped. “Great Council, the Olympians accept this great honor. Unfortunately, this responsibility is a task which I do not have the time to take care of. I cannot ignore the numerous jobs I have that must be done for my world to remain working peacefully. And yet, neither can I ignore the great threat posed by the Exiles. Therefore I have decided that my brother, Poseidon will bear the burden of an Intervention.” Poseidon stared in awe at his brother. The great honor had now been cast onto his shoulders. He could feel Erebus grinning even as he spoke, “Thank you, my brother. I am proud to do the bidding of the council.” With this he rose from his seat and began to take small steps toward the platform that Daven and the Orb rested upon. Anticipation mounting, he came closer to the wonderful sphere. He could feel a great churning in his stomach, not of fear, nor nervousness. It was a feeling of raw excitement; and yet, as he stood before the object and Daven signaled for him to touch it, he felt a great calm. The kind of inner quiet that one feels when they look at a beautiful sight that reaches out to their very soul. And as his hands moved forward into the cool, electrifying

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energy; a peace unlike any he had felt before began to over take him. Suddenly, nothing else in the world mattered. No longer did he have responsibility, no waters to look over, no Exiles to deal with, nothing. Only himself and his inner emotion. It was as if he had finally, for the first time in all his millennia of existence, sat down and rested. Each breath seemed to let loose the problems plaguing his mind and relax all the muscles in his body, for a moment it was as if his body had left him and all that was left was Poseidon, the man. He felt as if he had finally found eternal life, inside he wondered if this was what the mortal found when they passed on from the world of the living. The god’s mind soon thought of Erebus, Zeus, and Cronus. Eventually, all the people he had ever helped and all the things he had ever done began to personify themselves into one eternal thought, the life of Poseidon. Until finally, just as he began to let go of all these things, his mind remembered Erebus. His friend’s green eyes stared at him and a deep concern rose in his thoughts. At this moment, a voice greater than any he had ever heard strike the cords of the throat spoke out to him. “He will need you before this is over, Poseidon. Remember him and all those who rank among the living. For they are your brothers, your equals, my child, and they still have need of you. And you still have need of them. Thus shall I grant you the knowledge of Intervention. You will know what must be done and you shall carry out the demands of your fellow beings,” spoke the soft voice of Nasina. And with this a great shock exploded through the idea that was Poseidon, until all at once he slammed back into his body. Once again Poseidon, God of the Sea was whole; yet now, his mission became clear and he knew what must be done. “Go now, Poseidon, serve those who follow you and remember why you are here and do not forget your friend,” trailed the voice. With this the sphere soon became one with the mind and body of Poseidon, realizing each other once again and taking notice of the world around them. He found that he was kneeling on the platform next to Daven. “Is it done?” asked the voice of Man. “It is,” he replied gasping. Legs found feet and feet found marble as he rose from the ground and turned to face the world once again. “Erebus and I shall need your help, mediator,” he instructed. “I shall be glad to serve, my Lord Poseidon.” “Erebus?” Poseidon asked. “Yes, my friend?” “We leave for Ephesus.”

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A grin formed across the lips of the Dark Lord of Shadow, Poseidon himself could not help but smile. Mortal scribes wrote often of their heroes, but these men were merely the echoes of Nasina and now Poseidon was her voice.

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3 Birth

R

ain shuddered in the trees above them as their horses galloped through the depths of the forest. Below the two men, the soil of Greece began to swell with the torrent of water that pummeled their footings. Puddles and earth became one as ground became slosh and sky became a scatter of falling raindrops. The horses pressed on, fighting through the thick drenching onslaught. Both men knew there would be no time to rest; their purpose was too great to slow down now. Oaks and pine, stretched by the rain began to loom dangerously across the broken road. Panting furiously, their animals hard steps were muffled as hooves slid into pools and pools rose into the air in a spray around the two men. They could do nothing but clear their vision and usher their beasts onward. The wind howled and moaned with the fury of the summer storms and small creatures looked on as the foolhardy men rushed pass on their way to visit the great oracle. Riding one behind the other, they forced their way through the undergrowth and weaved past the threatening branches dangling above them, ever close to snatching away the great package the men carried. Laeto looked down at the brown woolen sack that bounced on the horses back directly in front of him. He had been riding for seven days with one arm holding the bundle and the other leading his horse. His eyes came away from the momentous object that lay in his grasp and peered unknowingly out into the storm. Suddenly, the other rider and he

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burst from the edge of the great forest. Their two horses reared into the air, neighing furiously in the stormy night as the riders brought them to a quick halt. “There Laeto, upon the hillside!” yelled his king, fighting to make his voice heard through the beckoning assault of the storm. Laeto looked up into the dismal night cast out before him and found his eyes come to rest upon a faint twinkle in the night. It was a torch, marking the way for the weary men who traveled to this great place. “Come, we must push on!” screamed the great man as he wiped the grimy water of the storm from his eyes and gave a quick click of his heels to the sides of his horse. Sending the two of them once again, racing across the open fields that lay between them and the flickering light. Laeto followed loyally and edged his horse behind the king. Wind swept across them, beating at Laeto and the package. No longer under the cover of the great forest, the men experienced the full and awesome power of the storm. The king glanced back at him and called out, “I fear, good Laeto that Zeus does not wish us well in our mission.” Laeto stared menacingly at his king and glanced about him at the fury of the world he was in. The bundle in his arms wiggled. He smiled to himself. “No, good Croesus, the gods would not abandon us. Maybe great Zeus uses the storm to keep others away? Or perhaps his anger comes down on others who deserve it?” he yelled back to the King of Lydia. “Hah!” he cackled back to him. “You are always an optimistic one, Laeto.” Laeto forced a smirk onto his grimy face. He did not like being a king ruled by a king, but he did what he must for his people’s well being. The rain kept up mercilessly and he leaned his body closer to his horse as to cover the small package in his arms. He and Croesus tore on over the small hills, ever following the light that burned in the dark sky. Suddenly, Croesus’ horse reared into the air in front of him, and Laeto fought his horse to a stop. He looked upon his new king’s face and traced his gaze down the hill that they rested upon. His body shook at the sight before him. Tall and menacing great columns of marble rose into the sky below a great mountain, forming the supports for a great slab of granite. The apex of the temple’s broad roof was ornamented with some of the most splendid sculptures in all of Greece. A dim shimmering light

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emanated from inside the great building. And the giant trees of the forest enclosed the small opening that the building lay in, protecting it from the wrath of Zeus’ storm; it reminded him of the Temple of Artemis back in his home of Ephesus. Before the great building laid a pool of pristine waters, it was not the size of the pool that shocked Laeto; it was the fact that through all the storm that raged around them and the building, the pool remained smooth as though no wind had ever touched it. The entirety of this picture before Laeto lay nestled safely below the heights of a great mountain. “Come, Laeto! We have made it,” yelled Croesus. Laeto followed him as they rode to the forefront of the great temple. Dismounting at its steps, Laeto cradled the package tenderly in his arms. They began to race up to the entrance, hoping to make it out of the grips of the menacing storm. As they reached the top, they passed by great torches that cast shadow all through the columns of the place of worship. Finally, he slid between two of the columns and found himself rescued from the storm’s onslaught. Looking around, he began to focus through the grim and wet lines that were his bangs. By the glow that vibrated from the great torches, he could make out what appeared to be a lobby of some sorts. In the center of the lobby, stood a great obsidian statue of Atlas and upon his back lay the world, cast in the purest form of gold yet created. The floor itself was tiled with opaque green marble as one would see in the algae of the swamp. Many chairs lined the walls of the room, made of gold and lined with a red cloth Laeto had never seen before; they seemed to be calling to him to take a seat. The bundle in his arms twitched, reminding him why he was there. Croesus nudged him and began to walk through the chamber. Laeto followed as they made for a doorway across the room. As Croesus and he emerged into the next room, he immediately froze. A golden arm rose up from the floor in the middle of the room, yet it was not the arm that caught Laeto’s attention, for it was the size and shape of any normal man’s, but what lay in its palm was more fantastic than any sight he had ever beheld. A small sphere of blue energy, the substance of which he could not even attempt to fathom floated slightly above the hand. Around this great spectacle lay a circle of burning torches. As Croesus and Laeto’s gazes remained fixated upon the ball of divinity before them, two cloaked priests entered from side doors.

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“Welcome to the Temple of Delphi, you gaze now upon the Oracle,” spoke the priests in unison. Their voices were quite distant and echoed repetitively throughout their surroundings. Their robes were the same bright yellows that drifted off from the borders of the blue sphere. Their hoods prevented the viewing of either of their faces and both of the men’s hands rested peacefully below their waste. Positioning themselves at the sides of the sphere, they began to speak. “You, who comes in midst of the new life,” asked the two men as they turned their gaze upon Laeto. “Show him to us, Laeto!” echoed the voices of the priests. Laeto shivered, he had never told them his name or his reason for making such a trip. He knelt down and placed the bundle on the cold marble in front of him, he reached down and began to untie the white linen rope that kept the package closed and warm. With the rope removed he reached out to grasp the corner of the brown wool that was wrapped around the bundle. Suddenly, the torches surrounding the orb flashed and then flickered out. A dark shadow loomed all across the room, the two priests of Delphi glanced at each other as the sphere flashed and their faces snapped back to lock an eyeless gaze on Croesus and he. Glancing around at the darkness that now encompassed them, he looked over at Croesus. The King merely shrugged, obviously as confused and mystified as Laeto himself was. Laeto reached out to resume what he had been doing, but for some reason felt a deep sense that they were now being watched. His fingers pinched the soft corner of the bundle wrapping and pulled it back to reveal the young face of his son. “My son, great priests of Delphi. His name is Postius,” whispered Laeto, his voice shaking with fear and uneasiness. For a moment Laeto thought he glimpsed the shadows around him shift quickly back and forth in the blink of an eye. He looked up at the priests once more and held his son’s young frame into the air allowing them to look upon him. “I wish to know his fate, great priests,” he asked humbly. The sphere flashed, filling the room with tremendous light, yet it quickly returned to the ball and the darkness resumed in its absence. “That which we can convey is the answer, yet use our telling wisely, Laeto of Ephesus,” mused the two voices in tandem. They stepped forward and looked at his son, whom Laeto still held out before the priests. The great light of the burning sphere filled the room once more, and a tremendous wind swirled through the chamber, rustling the robes

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of all those who occupied it. And the light shined through to every seem of darkness; until all Laeto could see was the wonders of blue light and the forms of the two priests. “Born unto Ephesus; the second prince, Known as a savior; unthought destroyer, The mighty oceans shall yield to his call, Invaders will feel seas undying wrath, An equal among Gods and all mortals, Depth’s child shall rise in welcome of its king. Hidden there will be, lurking in the grass, That for which Treason’s horn shall blow untrue, Heard only by those that he holds most dear, Wind shall sway the grass; revealing such, As what Poseidon’s Steward dreads o’er all, Belated is the retribution then, Until the darkness returns to the dead, And thus retrieves he who is now ready.” The words emanated through the room and seemed to burn into Laeto’s very soul, he did not know it at the time, but he would never forget a single word of the great prophecy he had just been foretold. The light calmed and slowly, the darkness reentered the area. That feeling of being watched suddenly returned to Laeto. He looked over at Croesus, who had a great smile on his face. Laeto cringed. He did not like to know what the king who now ruled him was planning for his son. The city of Ephesus would revel in their new prince; it would give them some much needed happiness. His people had not had much of that since Croesus and the Lydians had taken over. The Priests of Delphi began to speak once more. “Laeto, keep the prince safe and teach him well. The gods have great interest in this child and they shall help,” the cloaked men informed. “I shall, great priests, we will return to Ephesus quickly, he should be safe there,” Laeto replied. “Yes, they shall watch with you until it is time,” they responded. “Until it is time?” asked Croesus, conveying a question Laeto himself had been about to ask. “Until it is time for the…” the two priests stopped halfway through their sentence and looked at each other.

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“Until what?” asked Laeto impatiently. The two priests did not respond, for the first time they began to show signs of actually being real people. Moving backward from his child and him, the two men began to glance around the room. Laeto could sense their unease. “What is wrong?” he asked, wrapping his son back into his bundle of safety. Their heads looked back and forth as if searching for some unknown enemy. “We?…it?…what?” they said, their voices becoming scattered and no longer matching each other word for word. “What is it?” reiterated Croesus. Who was now becoming more and more annoyed. “Here?…how?…not possible…” the two men began to shake in what Laeto could only assume was fear. Laeto drew his sword and turned to Croesus, “Come, we’re leaving.” Croesus nodded and appeared to agree. They turned and began to run through the door they had entered through. A monstrous roar filled Laeto’s head; he fell to the ground clutching his child with all his might. Wind blew across the back of his body and a deep chilled cold cut furiously into Laeto’s bones. He felt himself dying; his blood began to freeze, until the cold no longer registered in his mind. All he felt was a great loneliness, a feeling of utter doom, an inescapable epitome of mortality replaced all thought in his mind. He began to lose sight of the world he had known, Liestra, his wife… Ephesus… Croesus… Lydia… Artemis…his people…Liestra… The thoughts passed through him… then suddenly…Postius… His mind rocked violently…Postius... He grasped at his very soul… Postius… The cold returned…Postius… His body heaved…Postius… Laeto, King of Ephesus, realized himself once more…Postius… “Postius!” he screamed as a fury and anger more immense than any he had ever experienced filled his surging body. He looked up with his son in his arms, and gazed upon the cause of his torment. A being stood before him, staring down at his fallen frame. It had the head of a great bird and the body of a man. He had never seen such a creature before, yet deep inside he knew it to be something evil and yet, divine.

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His sword lay on the ground beside him, reaching for it he felt it form to his hand. With every ounce of his very existence he shoved forward at the being. He felt his sword slide into flesh… The creature smiled at him, in a way Laeto could not ever explain to any man, the creature smiled at him. His sword drew no blood, instead just resting in the animal’s side. The great fear began to fill him once more and he began to get cold. Suddenly, he thought of his gods. “Great Zeus, Please! Save my boy, save Postius!” he yelled into the heavens. The figure jerked quickly, as if shocked by what Laeto had said and looked around them. It pulled Laeto’s sword from its stomach and tossed it aside. The being seemed to become uneasy. Laeto examined his surroundings quickly too, the Temple of Delphi lay in ruins. Everything lay flattened as if a great hammer had come down and smashed the divine temple. Rubble and small fires lay flaming around the site. The bodies of the two priests lay in pieces, scattered throughout the ruins. A few feet away from him he could see Croesus’ body laying still. The storm had stopped, Zeus would not here his cries, he was alone, for there was nothing there with him but darkness… The bird headed being gazed back down at him and resumed its smile, and then it spoke. “Zeus will not help you now, mortal.” The voice pounded into Laeto’s ears and resonated through the air around him. He had never heard a voice so loud and so threatening. As if by their own power his legs pushed back and he began to scuttle away from the being before him. Then suddenly as the great beast drew nearer he saw it again. The darkness shifted. He wasn’t just imagining it. It had shifted! Was it the beast? He stared back at the being and looked around the area again. Nothing. He continued to shuffle backwards, sliding on his back across the marble and pushing himself with his feet. Postius held closely in his arms, he lifted his head, looked between his legs and noticed that the thing had stopped following him. In fact it had stopped doing anything, it seemed to be staring…just above him? Laeto laid his head back down and stopped. He felt his insides slowly twist. His eyes widened as they peered up at the form that appeared above him. Two bright green eyes, as bright as the great sphere he had just seen, gazed down at him from the depths of a shadowy black hood. The

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green energy that the eyes were made of seemed to be evaporating into a smoky mist from a face in the hood that seemed to grin at him; but suddenly, the black robed figure stared across the ruins at the falcon beast. “You play a dangerous game, Exile,” spoke the dark figure. “Erebus!” squealed the beast. “I see the Council seeks to stop us once again. Unfortunately, your attempts are useless. No Intervention shall stop us this time, boy.” With this the being’s feathers bristled. It lunged forward and began to run at him. Moving so fast that it appeared as a blur in his eye, the creature flashed across the distance between them. In a glimpse, the birdman tossed Laeto and his son across the remains of Delphi and engaged the shadowy Lord of Darkness. Laeto soared through the air, until his body struck a cracked pillar, instantly knocking the breath out of his lungs. He lay battered and beaten beneath the pillar. Looking into his arms and expecting to see his son, his heart leapt. He had dropped Postius! Scanning the ground around him fiercely he saw the bundle lying between him and the great beings, which were now engaged in what seemed to be a vicious hand-to-hand battle, the speed of which baffled Laeto. Crawling across the stone slabs of the home of the oracle, he rushed to retrieve his son before one of the divine beings defeated the other. He grabbed the bundle and looked around once more and suddenly, was struck aghast when he saw another bundle, exactly like the one in his hands, lying on the ground to his right. He struggled to open the bundle in his arms to peer inside at his child, but there was not time, the immortal fight in front of him had ended. The bird creature backed away and disappeared into the night sky. Before him a shadowy being, whose green eyes glowed with a foreboding sense of power and around who the darkness itself seemed to mold and warp, made his way across the ruins. Laeto dove, grabbing the other package, and stood staring the being down, knowing that there was no use in running after witnessing the amazing example of speed he had just seen. “Relax, Laeto. The gods have great interest in your child. We would not let him go so easily,” spoke a voice of darkness. “You must return to Ephesus now. Do your best to protect him there. You must act in haste; though, I cannot think that the Exiles will not return soon.” “The Exiles?” asked Laeto. “Do not worry about it, Laeto. The affairs of the gods are for your son to deal with. You just keep him safe and things will be fine,” said the shadow lord. “I shall return when the time is right. Go now.”

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Laeto walked over to Croesus and woke the old man, “Come Croesus, we must go, quickly.” Croesus replied shakily, “Yes, I think… that would… be wise.” Croesus looked at the two forms that Laeto carried and stared at him confused. Laeto shrugged and returned with his own confused look. He peered down at the two bundles in his arms. Somehow he wasn’t surprised when the two of them wriggled in his hands. As Laeto helped Croesus to his feet and began to make his way to their horses he looked back at the dark figure and was not surprised to find that the ruins were empty. The figure was gone. Yet as Laeto, Croesus, and the two bundles rode off, he knew the darkness was watching him. It was a feeling he would carry with him for the next eighteen years…

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4 Ephesus

“F

ather, I am sure Croesus and the Lydians shall succeed in their campaign against the Persians. He spoke with me before he left, telling of how the gods had blessed him with so many things and that they would easily grant him this small victory,” commented Postius as he rearranged his robes and positioned himself comfortably in the soft cushion of the chair. “My son, you must understand that the only reason Croesus is so assured in the idea he will succeed is because of you and the prophecy that follows you,” replied Laeto. Postius smiled, “And what is wrong with that, Father? Do you not believe in the words of the Oracle?” Postius looked at the aging man before him. He loved his father; he had shown him so much of the world and it was from him that Postius had learned everything he believed in. The king of Ephesus had taught him the ideas that came with being a man, had instructed him on taking care of the people around him and above all, his father had taught him the virtue of responsibility. “Oh, I believe in what the Priests foretold, my son, I would never doubt that,” spoke his father, raising his eyebrows as the memory of that day returned to his face. “It is only that I worry over how arrogant

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Croesus becomes when he thinks of you. And not just Croesus, but you too and how such knowledge affects your young mind.” Postius sighed; he didn’t like being referred to in context of his age. He knew that he may not be the bravest or boldest of men, but he was by no means young. “Your worry is unneeded, Father. I am quite able to take care of myself. I wouldn’t allow the prophecy to get to my head.” Laeto only smiled at him, “But my son, it already has. I have seen you in the square, walking with such pride as all can see, but yet even as you walk you always look around. What are you looking for my son? What sways the pride of your steps? What keeps your mind in check?” Postius’ hands stroked the wooden arms of the chair. He did not like the idea that his father would be so bold as to say such things, but then; he was the king and he was his father. “I don’t know really. Perhaps I am watching for those who would spy on me?” he hinted with a grin of sarcasm. The merry chuckle that shook his father’s body flowed over into his own. “I would not call it spying, my son. Think of it as merely, checking on the well being of my young prince,” he said. His playful tidings slowly drifted and he leaned forward; somewhat serious now, “But really, Postius. Why has your own pride not come to rise to such heights as Croesus’?” A weird heat came over Postius. He didn’t like self-reflection very much and he liked telling people his feelings even less; especially to his father. “It is nothing. I…I don’t…It really isn’t anything you need worry yourself over, father.” He did not feel like doing this kind of thing today. Laeto only lowered his head a little. After a small pause he leaned back, “Well, I hope whatever it is you figure it out. Maybe Pothmos could help?” “Maybe.” Pothmos would not be of much use in such matters. In truth his friend may have been part of the problem. Young princes were expected to be quite confident in such matters of royalty; especially those with such a prophecy as Postius. Yet, he wondered if other princes felt the foreboding or unknowing that came with having to live up to such things. The prophecy was something Postius had always believed in, but sometimes the great scale of what he was supposed to become dwarfed him. Maybe his father was right, maybe he was still too young to summon the confidence to lead and live up to the Oracle’s telling.

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His father rose from the chair that he had been residing in for the past couple hours. “Croesus and the army shall return soon. Our scouts predict that the battle would have ended not two days ago and we should hear word by midday. Your mother and I will be waiting in the throne room if you need us.” “Yes, Father,” he whispered as the king exited his quarters. Postius sighed once more and rose from his chair. Walking past his bed and toward the window of his royal bedroom, he glanced out at the midday light, the crisp clear colors of the blue sky and wispy clouds, coming together to paint the mural of Ephesus firmly in his mind. His room was part of the grand palace were his family and he resided. It had tall columns that were left over from the construction of the Temple of Artemis, which lay just down the main road of the city. With beautiful curves and grand sculptures adorning most of the outside, the palace was an astonishing presence for his small city. Had Artemis’ Temple, one of the Seven Wonders of their world, not rested down the street, it would have been the main attraction for his home city. The roads were paved with flat stones that made for smoother riding when traversing them. Three main roads came to a point in front of his palace: from the north came the Abydosian road, which heralded from the coastal city of Abydos; from the south came the Miletean road, which led to a city about the size of his own known as Miletus; and from the east came the great roads of Persia, which led to the Lydian capital Sardis and continued on to the roads of Cyrus the Great. Postius bent down and grabbed a small glass, making his way across the dusty stone floors of his room to the bowl of water that lay next to the doorway. He filled his glass patiently and took a couple quick swigs of the crisp clean water. As he drank, a sharp knocking came from the door, causing him to choke on his water and as a little dripped from his lip, he caught it in his palm and managed to spit out a few words. “Who’s there?” he coughed. “It’s me, Postius. Let me in,” called the familiar voice of his friend. Postius opened the door and let Pothmos in. “Why are you all wet?” Pothmos asked quizzically. “You surprised me,” the young prince answered. Pothmos squinted and then shrugged. “What were you and the king talking about?” he said as he grabbed a cup of his own and filled it. Sloshing down a few large gulps before taking a seat in the chair Laeto had occupied just a few moments ago. “Nothing really, just some stuff about Croesus and his campaign,” replied Postius nonchalantly.

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“Yeah, that’s what I figured. I’m sure Croesus took care of the Persians and tonight you and I will be gorging in the plunders of his greatness. And you know, the boys down in the market say that there is not a more beautiful creature to be found than the Persian woman,” slighted his pompous friend. Pothmos had always been one to fool around with the women of the city, often trying to convince Postius to go out with him, citing the idea that he’d find Postius a great queen, right out of the gutters of Ephesus. Being that Postius’ nerves seemed to get the better of him whenever the female sex was around, he had never taken Pothmos up on his offer; besides, Ephesus couldn’t have its prince just wandering around sleeping with some girl off the street. “I’m sure they are quite beautiful, Pothmos,” he said with a solemn smirk. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and Croesus will bring one back for you.” Postius could see his friend’s face brighten at the idea of Croesus returning with a cart full of Persian women ripe for his picking. “I can’t wait for him to return. This will be a grand day for Lydia,” he added. Postius’ heart sank. His father had taught him not to trust the Lydians, even when Croesus himself came often to visit him and tell him of his great adventures around the world. Laeto had always reminded him that the king only came because of the prophecy that surrounded the young prince. “I’m sure it will be a great day for all of Ephesus too.” Postius allowed too much sarcasm to shine onto his words and Pothmos picked up on it. “Of course Ephesus too. I know your father has been at you about not trusting Croesus, but come on now, he is your king and you must respect that,” spoke Pothmos with a tone that seemed to mock Postius’ pride in his city. “You know I respect him, Pothmos. Just as you know I would gladly get rid of him if it helped our city.” Pothmos smiled, “Ah…what does it matter Postius? You’re Postius Malantis, an equal among Gods and all mortals,” he mocked. The glimmer in Pothmos’ eyes was one he recognized well. It always appeared when his friend mentioned the prophecy; he had been doing so for as long as Postius could remember. According to his father, Pothmos was the son of a great Lydian general who had helped Ephesus in its time of need and convinced Laeto that Croesus was a king they would be safe under. “We shall see about that,” Postius whispered under his breath. Pothmos heard him, but like usual ignored his comments. Postius knew his friend thought him weak and maybe he was right, but Pothmos did not have the weight of such a destiny on his shoulders. He could run

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freely through the city, doing as he pleased. With his dark, tan skin and freshly shaved head, his friend didn’t even where a toga; preferring instead, to wear a small piece of cloth that draped around his waste and hung down to just above his knees. This left him shirtless, which had as much to do with attracting women as it did with his stubbornness about the heat of the summer sun. “Let’s get out of here. Head down to the walls and watch for Croesus’ return,” started Pothmos. Postius knew they would have a great view of the king’s return from the ramparts of the city’s outer wall. “Sounds good,” he said as he scrounged up his sandals. Lacing them up quickly, he grabbed his short spear that served as his walking stick. “Let me just check with my father first and then we can go,” he added as Pothmos made for the door. His friend was not amused, “Oh come on, Postius. It’s just down to the wall, what will he care?” said Pothmos. His friend had away of striking at Postius’ pride that got to him often. “Fine, we’ll go to the wall,” he said quickly. “Good, I was beginning to think you were going to baby your way down to the throne room,” said Pothmos sarcastically. While humorous, the comment caused Postius to hold his head down most of the way out of the building, reflecting on what he would have done and how childish it seemed. As they emerged from the cool shade of the palace and into the sunny warmth of Asia Minor, Postius glanced upwards and noticed something odd. The birds that usually soared above the city were not to be found. “Pothmos, where are the birds?” His friend glanced around as they made their way down the road leading to Sardis, “Who knows, maybe the fish have drifted into the harbor. It makes for easy fishing,” Pothmos shrugged. They made their way down the beaten trail and as they went Postius glanced at the buildings they passed. Small wooden stands, with foreign cloths draped over the top, showcasing various items from far off, exotic places. Young children played in the streets, thoroughly covered in all manners of dust and soot, their fun would leave the mothers of Ephesus busy with washing their young ones throughout the night. The air was full of many different scents; whether it be the foul odor of rotting fish that was commonly known to drift down into the city from the harbor or the smell of the roasting meat being prepared for the return of Ephesus’ soldiers of war. Wooden shacks served as homes for many, built from the nearby forest cedar and thatched with many interesting strands, Postius imagined what life in such a home would be

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like. Seeing a young mother smile as her boy played in the sand outside their rustic home, Postius knew that such a life; however poor, was a good one. Pothmos on the other hand, did not have the respect for his fellow man that Postius did. “You should tell your father to send the guards out when they return. These children are getting unruly and these homes…it’s as if a tree fell here and these mongrels decided to put walls around it.” “These homes are not that bad, Pothmos. And the children are just playing, what is wrong with them being happy?” “They’re in our way, Postius. You know if you’re going to be some great king, you need learn to make people respect you. I wonder about you sometimes, my friend,” he said disgusted. Postius put his head down again and followed Pothmos. Maybe he was right. Maybe he did need to start thinking like a king. Would his father have let the children rove about in his way? Probably not. The business of the king could not afford to be delayed by small boys. He sighed once more and brought his head up. “There’s the wall. And look there, the whole guard is up there waving the Ephesian flag,” said Pothmos. Postius stared ahead and could make out what looked to be thirty or forty soldiers mounted on the wall, looking out in hopes of being the first to spot the returning army. The green and white flags of Ephesus flew valiantly from the towers that lined the wall. Green banners with white depictions of the great god Artemis flew high accompanied by the red and yellow colors of Lydia. As the two of them approached and began to ascend the ramp that led up to the heights of the wall, a strong looking man with a raspy voice, adorned in grand armor made his way across the ramparts and greeted Postius. “Greetings, my prince! W’re pleased you join us here on the wall,” spoke Corin the, Commander of the Ephesian Guard. Postius had learned all his knowledge of military strategy from this grizzly veteran. “How are you, Corin?” smiled Postius. “I’m doin’ well, very well, looking forward to seein’ King Croesus and my men come over the ridge there,” he said as he pointed to the natural formation outside the wall. Two tall hills stood on opposite sides of the road to Sardis, creating a natural valley for the road to cut through. About two hundred yards down the road, the path sloped down out of site from the wall. It was an easily defensible entrance to the city. “How long do you suppose before they arrive, Commander?” questioned Pothmos excitedly.

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The commander himself was anxious for the army to arrive too, “Oh, I suspect to see them banners wavin’ bove the ridge anytime now.” Postius nodded and Pothmos and he continued on down the wall. Taking a spot on the ledge where they could both see the whole of the road, they joined the rest of the Guard in scanning the horizon for any sign of the Lydian forces. “You think they’re really that beautiful, Postius?” asked Pothmos. “Who? The soldiers?” he answered bewildered. “No, not the soldiers,” he scowled somewhat embarrassed. “The Persian women.” Postius rolled his eyes, “Is that all you think about, Pothmos?” His friend smiled cockily at him, “I’m going to get you a woman, Postius. Then you’ll see. You’ll get your queen, right off these very streets. If I have to…” “Croesus! Sound the horns! Our King returns!” cried one of the guards interrupting Pothmos. Great horns and trumpets rose into the air, blowing a heralding cry across the open sir of Ephesus as the people of Ephesus began to gather behind the main gates. Eager to greet the returning soldiers, wives began to weep in anticipation as they imagined the return of their warrior husbands. The children jumped and laughed, Postius could not help but be excited to see the return of the fighters as his youthful joy took him over. He watched as the banners of Lydia began to rise into view. Starting out with only a few heralding flags and swarming into hundreds than thousands of magnificent banners, the army of Lydia approached the gates of Ephesus. Surely Croesus rode in front of them, leading his men home. “This is a great day is it not, Corin?” he asked with a broad smile. “Yes…my prince?” he replied quietly. A look of concern slowly engulfed his rugged and aging features. “What’s wrong?” “The flags…” he spoke slowly, his eyes squinting in the afternoon sun. Postius could feel the worry beating off of Corin. Postius had never felt such a thing from his battle hardened teacher. “What? …What about the flags?” he asked impatiently. “There’s…too many!” he thought aloud. Quickly he turned to the guards to his right. “Sound the alarm! To arms!” he cried in a flurry, slashing around Postius and making his way to the rack of bows resting just behind the edge of the great wall. Grabbing two, he strung them and tossed them to

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Postius and Pothmos. Pothmos grabbed two satchels of arrows and made his way to the side of the wall. A great horn blew out once more, this time in a squeal of war. “No, Pothmos! Postius and you must get to the docks. The guard will escort you,” he yelled out as he made his way back along the ramparts. Men began to pour up the ramps and assemble across the lip of the walls. Corin began directed them, giving young captains demanding orders and preparing his troops for battle. Postius looked back out at the army and as he watched he glimpsed the banners disappear, slowly being replaced by the browns and reds of the Persian army. Croesus had lost; Cyrus was on his way. Without an army to protect it, Ephesus would fall and his father and him would surely be killed. “Postius! Go!” screamed Corin as cries of the warriors of Persia began to drown out all other noise. Pothmos grabbed him and pulled him close, “We’ll be fine, Postius. Come, we must get to the boats.” They sprinted down the ramp into the city and as they reached the ground four members of the guard grouped around them for protection. Postius looked up at the sky, which was beginning to blacken as night fell on the land and cast shadow throughout the city. Running down the Sardis road they quickly made their way to the intersection in the middle of the city, glancing down the two other roads; Postius’ chest began to pound. With the gates of the other two roads left practically unguarded to make for the display at the main gate, the Persians had broken through easily and now poured down the main streets. Pothmos and the guard began to fire arrows at the incoming enemies. Slipping into the main door of the palace, still shooting arrows behind them, they ran through the main lobby. Postius turned to run up the stairs to the throne room and his father. “No, Postius!” yelled Pothmos as he unleashed another arrow, “We must get to the boats. Your father would already be on his way there.” Postius shook himself, knowing that Pothmos was right. The guard would have already taken his father out of the city and down to the harbor to escape. They rushed to the other side of the palace and out the back doors that led down to the ocean. Emerging out onto the beach, Postius glanced down the coastline toward the harbor. Darkness had fallen thickly now and besides a few flames he could see nothing to indicate any danger. Pothmos urged him on and the group continued their flight

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down the beach with the Persians close behind. As they ran one of the four guards was struck dead by a Persian spear. Pushing on, the sands of the Ephesian beach bounced into the air behind them as their feet dug into the earth underneath them. Screaming could now be heard from the city and it became apparent from the amount of fire burning in the city that it would soon become uncontrollable. Reaching the edge of the first pier, another guard fell with an arrow in his back. Pothmos pushed him from behind, directing him down the rickety path of wood that led out into the sea. Arrows rained out from Pothmos’ bow as he covered the rear. Rushing down the planks, Postius began to loose his bearings. “Pothmos, what about my father?” he yelled as they ran. Screaming up to him as he continued to defend them, Pothmos answered, “Don’t worry about it Postius. He’ll be fine. You just worry about getting down this dock and finding a boat.” Postius’ breathe was growing fast now. Trying to stay steady, he scanned the night around him, searching for any sign of a boat. Suddenly a horrible realization occurred to him. “Pothmos! The boats! They’re gone!” he yelled, barely able to orate the hopelessness of the situation. His friend reeled, looking for himself. Postius could see the look of disbelief overtake his features. He pushed past him and took the lead. “Keep running, there must be one somewhere,” he commanded as another of the guards fell to a Persian arrow. Running as fast as he could, Postius followed closely behind his friend. Struggling to keep his legs moving and prevent himself from freezing in fear, he noticed that he now had no way of seeing the dock beneath him. They were too far out from shore for the light of the burning city to grant them any vision of their route. The final member of their accompanying guard went down behind them; he had only Pothmos and his trust in his friend to lead him on now. Suddenly in the middle of their flight, Postius slammed into the back of Pothmos, sending the two of them into a confused tumbling that left them in a twisted heap on the aging planks of the dock. “What’s wrong?” Postius yelled. Pothmos didn’t answer, instead grabbing Postius’ arm and pulling him forward. This was all that was needed though. Postius looked out ahead of them and in the dismal light; he could make out the slashing of the ocean’s waves. “What do we do?” he cried to Pothmos. Pothmos grabbed him, “Get a hold of yourself, Postius!” he yelled. Pothmos glared at Postius with the most direct stare he had ever

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felt from his friend. “You are Postius Malantis are you not?” he cried; the watery mist of the ocean dripping down his bald forehead and distorting his fierce gaze. Postius felt his insides twist. What was he doing? He was Postius Malantis. The oracle did not lie. “I am,” he retorted angrily, his fear now replaced by intent. “Then start acting like it,” his friend snided. “Fine, Pothmos!” he snapped back at his friend, now thoroughly riled as confidence flowed slowly into him. He turned toward the sea and its ravaging swells. Raising his hands in the murky light, he bellowed, “Great Poseidon! God of the Sea! Hear my cry, for if you do not, we shall surely fall!” Pothmos looked at him skeptically. Postius merely glared back, intent on disproving his friend. And then suddenly, his friend’s face went white. Postius followed his gaze to the waters beneath them. Where just a moment ago they had been fierce and wild with the night wind, they now lay calm. Suddenly a light appeared in the ocean in front of them, white and brilliant; it bobbed gently in the waveless sea. Time seemed to stop. The cries of the city trailed off, replaced by the quiet whistle of the wind. Their pursuers were no where to be found as if they had given up chase. And as the white light came closer and revealed the small sailess boat’s bow from which the small covered torch hung, Pothmos’ stare changed from one of challenge to one of astonishment. The boat drifted casually to the edge of the dock and for a moment Postius merely stared at it. Finally, Pothmos gained his senses and spoke: “What are you waiting for? Get in.” Postius’ feet lowered down into the divine craft and were soon followed by Pothmos’. The two of them reached for the paddles that rested inside it and placing them in the water, began to row out to sea. And as they drifted onward to an unknown destination, Postius’ fear returned and prevented him from looking back.

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5 Child of the Depths

T

he gull dove stealthily through the afternoon light, weaving and swooning every which way; its grey-white feathers shining brightly in the towering rays of Apollo’s great fire. The sun lay high in the sky and beamed its revealing presence across the cloudless horizon. Waves lapped timidly against the side of their divine craft, which ascended and fell slowly with the swells of the open ocean. Glaring up at the flapping gull, Pothmos was left to wonder why this bird had drifted out so far from shore to the air above their boat. Normally he would assume that its presence signaled their closeness to land, but this bird had been following them for over four days now. Occasionally, he had seen it plummet downward from its heights to snatch a young fish, but bedsides that the gull remained steadily above them. It seemed as if the bird was watching them and Pothmos didn’t like being watched. He sat up and rubbed the silky shapes, formed by the sun’s light, out of his eyes. Squinting about, he glanced over at Postius who leaned over the edge of the boat with his arm dabbing at the water. Heat rained down on them from above and its presence was noticed in the aching of his skin. They had been drifting in this amazing ship since their rapid departure from Ephesus. Long, yet obviously made for two passengers; the boat was made of what appeared to be marble, but Pothmos was quite skeptical of this seeing as he knew marble could never float. Yet, after

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many hours of arguing about it with Postius, he’d given in and agreed that it must be. Its bow was formed by a great plume that during the night ignited into a divine lamp that Postius and he had been trying to figure out for quite some time too. Inside the craft lay two small seats and a set of paddles. Postius and he had paddled for the remainder of the first night, until they realized that there was no need to paddle. They had discovered that the divine ferry cut through the waves under its own mysterious power. Therefore they were left to only guess at where the boat was taking them. Postius turned his face and stared expressionlessly in his direction, “You think my parents made it out of the city alright?” he asked. Pothmos turned and wiped some sweat from his forehead, “I suppose so. The Guard would have had them down to the beach as soon as the battle horn was blown. They must have been the ones who took the rest of the boats from the harbor,” he commented. Pothmos had been wondering about those boats for some time. How could they have just disappeared? They were part of the city’s royal escape plan and only Postius, Corin, himself, and the King’s personal guard knew of the plans existence. He allowed his gaze to once again fall on his friend. With fair golden hair and deep blue eyes, his friend could be quite strong if he wanted too. The girls down in the halls had always told him how cute his friend was and how he should sneak him down for some fun. Postius had never gone for it. He didn’t seem to have the stomach to talk to the ladies yet, but Pothmos could see some life in his friend in the way he strived to be a good prince. Always working hard and obsessing over details, his demeanor had always made Pothmos jealous in a way. His friend was to be a great king, an equal to the gods even, but there had been many times where Pothmos had been skeptical about that; for all of Postius’ strengths, he just couldn’t stand not living up to his name. Ever since their childhood, Pothmos had been able to con Postius into doing things by challenging his title. The latest example of which had been just four nights ago when he had angered Postius into calling for the help of the god, a feat which still baffled him, and which had stirred the latest of his feelings of jealousy. Laying his head back down onto the cool stone of the boat, he began to stare at the bird once more. That was when his stomach started to rumble. “I don’t know how much longer I can handle going without food like this, Postius,” he said lazily.

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His friend swiveled on his end of the boat and laid into a position similar to the one Pothmos was in. “I’m hungry too. I’d say we could fish, but I think that gull up there is eating anything that comes near us,” replied the prince. As if to mock them, the gull once more dove out of the sky and picked up a small fish. “What about your friend?” asked Pothmos, sitting up and staring across the boat at the figure of Postius, an idea forming in his mind. Postius sat up slowly, “What do you mean?” “You know what I mean,” he said, a sarcastic tone leaking into his voice. He could see the defensiveness flowing into his friend’s unknowing expressions, until suddenly the expression changed and one of his friend’s deep eyes squeezed into a spiteful squint. “Poseidon?” he asked. Pothmos nodded. He had him now. Postius’ glare only increased in the heat of the sun, “What are you trying to get at, Pothmos?” Pothmos allowed an innocent, yet sarcastic look appear on his face. Waving his hands in an attempt to brush any blame away from his remarks, he spoke, “I’m just saying, we’ve been drifting out here for four days with nothing but this boat and that bird up there. I’d just assume that the God of the Sea might help us out a little,” he insinuated, his lip forming into a drooping sign of carelessness. “And what makes you think he’d do that?” “You are Postius Malantis, are you not?” snided Pothmos. Postius’ defenses were now quite strong, yet blind, “I am…I am Postius Malantis,” he returned softly. Pothmos only shrugged, “Then call for him and ask him for some food,” he mocked. Postius’ demeanor was now one of self proof and he glared menacingly at Pothmos, “Fine,” he retorted. “But I’ll do better than that.” The way he said this last part struck Pothmos off guard, his friend now had an oddly confident look about him. Pothmos did not see confidence in Postius often. “Poseidon! Great God of the Sea! I am Postius Malantis, Son of Laeto, Prince of Ephesus, Equal among mortals and all Gods! Give me the power to free my city from the Persians. Allow me to become that which was foretold. Bestow upon me the fate which I have inherited!” he cried into the silent ocean air. The two of them, now standing, began to glance about the water around them. Out of the corner of his eye, Pothmos saw the old gull

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flying into the vastness of the sky, disappearing from view. Yet in the area around them, they were answered only by silence. And then chaos. Their boat began to spin furiously as the sea around them swirled in an unnerving whirlpool of spraying aqueous plumes. Suddenly, the boat froze, jerking the two of them violently in their seats. On the right side of their marble craft a great typhoon began to spiral slowly from the endless blue of the sea. Starting first as a small drooping cone, and curving slowly into the air; it seemed to wrap itself around an invisible pole of energy. Coalescing into a single tornado of mist, brilliantly defined in the light of the sun. As he turned and stared at the awe at his friends face, he knew that they were not ready for this. Looking back at the laces of blue that made up the typhoon, he jumped in his seat as he now gazed into the face of a god that had arisen in the waves before him. Made up of pure water, the mask of liquid, stared calmly out at Postius. And as Pothmos stared awestruck at the features depicted in the water of the typhoon, he noticed the hot beams of the sun slowly disappear. Glancing quickly into the air, he saw a large cloud covering up the light of the sun, casting a slight shadow and cool breeze over the boat. He wondered where such a cloud had come from, only a moment ago the sky had been clear for miles around. His gaze once again dropped back to the amazing sight before him. “I am Postius Malantis,” spoke his friend quietly. The figure only stared back at him. Then suddenly, “Speak loudly, mortal,” rang a booming voice, a sound that seemed to resemble the spattering of raindrops on stone, yet forming into words that burned into their ears. Postius gained his footing and stood once more to stare up at the shape, “My Lord, Poseidon, I am Postius Malantis. I wish for you to bestow my fate upon me and to help my friend and me once more,” he yelled out to the wave lord. Its threatening gaze settled on Postius, it nodded as if acknowledging some unknown question, “So be it Postius Malantis, Prince of Ephesus!” it cried magnificently. “The Child of the Depths is yours!” And with that the face splashed into the center of the typhoon, and it once more began to spiral downward back into the eternity that was the blue water. Yet as the tip of the typhoon made its way to the ocean’s surface, it stopped. The end of it seemed to open up and blossom like a flower, yet where there should have been a flower, there was a great blue orb that seemed to flame with golden yellow energy. It formed out of the oceans depths and slowly levitated to rest on the boat

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in between the two of them. He now knew why there was so much room in the middle of the boat. His gaze stayed fixated upon the magnificent orb, unable to take his eyes away, he became lost in the milky haze of the orb’s energy. It was not until quite a while later did his friend wrestle him away from his staring. Looking across the boat just over the orb, he could see his friend locked in the same frozen stare. “What is it?” Pothmos asked. His friend fought to grasp the words to describe it, “I…I…have no idea.” The two of them stared intently into the vibrantly vibrating energy that bounced across the face of the blue orb; “Is there anything on your side?” asked Pothmos, his voice echoing his fascination. “It…It looks like hand prints?” Postius mumbled suggestively. Pothmos snuck along the edge of the boat and peered into the orb from Postius’ angle. There just in front of his friend lay two perfect handprints. The blue splintering energy traced the outline of a hand; a hand that Pothmos could only assume was Postius’. “Touch it?” he said as he returned back to his side. His friend looked over at him and glared at him as if his suggestion was crazy. Pothmos stared back at him blankly, “Go ahead, just put your hands on it. An equal to the Gods would do…” “Fine, Fine, Fine, I’ll do it,” interrupted his friend, obviously seeing where the comment was heading. Pothmos only smiled inwardly and thought to himself how he’d never be foolish enough to press his hands against a giant glowing ball of burning energy. Postius began to lean closer to the orb and Pothmos only focused on his friend’s face. As the young prince extended his hands and began to move them forward, Pothmos noticed the sky become darker. The cloud that had not existed now covered most of the afternoon heights and as Pothmos glared across the heavenly boat into his friend’s eyes and glanced into the darkness that consumed their boat, he could see only the luminance of the orb’s light on the face of his friend and the bright reflection of the orb itself in Postius’ eyes. Palms met light, and light shifted to brilliant energy as Postius pushed forward into the orb. It was then that the earth shook and the world transformed around them into the most spectacular vision it had yet seen on its face. Pothmos looked on as the wondrous light beamed out in great rays, brighter than anything Apollo’s fire had ever shined down on the mortal realm. The ball of blue reflected and then contorted itself and

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then suddenly, dropped. Straight through the bottom of their divine boat, it burned a hole equal to its girth. The two boys leaned forward to stare down the hole of light. Then suddenly, it exploded. Water burst out of the hole before them, forming a sight which he could not believe. Pothmos had heard stories of water plumes known as geysers, but those descriptions were nothing compared to the great spectacle he now espied. As the plume of water soared into the dark and cloudy sky, the mist drifted across his exasperated face, forming a mixture of divine water and mortal sweat dripping down his chin. More and more, the water poured vertically into the air and as the giant fountain shot the sea around them into the sky for miles; they themselves began to descend. Walls of water began to build up all around them as they dropped. In his excitement, he stuck his hand out into them, feeling the cool flow of the liquid pour through his body as if releasing the little bit of fear that came from such an experience. The roar was monstrous, blocking out all other sound. Even though his friend lay on the other side of the torrentious fountain, a part of him could sense his friend’s smug glare penetrating into him from the opposite side of the boat. And as the water slowly ceased its blasting out of the crevice, Pothmos felt as if the water’s departure marked the beginning of his jealousy’s arrival. This was soon forgotten as the sea calmed and the walls around him fell back into a horizontal state. Postius stood for the first time and began to look around himself. “Pothmos, would you look around us!” he beamed as his arms waved in an expression intended to take it all in. Pothmos stood and did as he was instructed. There would be a time later on when he would regret this day, but for now he was left to gaze at the awe inspiring glory and greatness that was Atlantis.

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6 Atlantis

P

ostius gazed out across the expansive scenery that now occupied the newly formed island. They stood on a giant pinnacle, a mountain that rose into a culminating point. Upon this point existed a grand temple, a palace of sorts. It was on top of this that their boat laid. He looked out upon the island around him. It was made up of three rings of land that wrapped respectively around the main mountain. On these rings existed great buildings of a strange design. They rose like the local weeds of Ephesus, yet bent and twisted in their ascent until they peaked in a sort of drooping point. The great mountain unleashed a torrent of water falls that flowed downward into the small moats formed between it and the rings. Each ring had small irrigation rivers that allowed this built up water to flow slowly down, as each ring lay gradually lower than the first; until the water burst out into the open ocean, an ocean that now seemed to be quiet and still, an echo of the power it had just unleashed into the world. Postius stared over at Pothmos and smiled to himself. His friend was lost in the amazement of the city around him. He could tell that his friend was taken with the dark colors of the building and the rocks of the mountain itself. There did not appear to be much greenery on the island, as the water rushed only over a dark, somewhat bluish, granite. The stone itself made up the buildings, which were stressed with the glow of some inner blue flame. Postius suspected it to be the essence or vibrations of the Orb that lay between his friend and him. Gradually as he followed the path of the glowing blue lines that seemed to power the

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city, he noticed movement. As he looked more closely he could see the forms of men, hundreds if not thousands moved across the cold stone carrying out the chores of the city. As he analyzed what appeared to be his new found kingdom, one of the native men emerged over the top of the stairs that led to the temple’s heights. “My lord, Postius,” he said as if asking a question, yet seeming to know already who he was. He was kneeling now, with an air about him that seemed to suggest he was of great power. “I am Tritian, Steward of Atlantis. We are at your service,” he spoke as his arms flourished around him, ending in a respectable pose behind his back. Postius glared down at him and inside he felt his stomach churn. Here he was. It was time. The prophecy was falling into place, just as he had asked for. His mind raced. The ideas of what was and what would be overwhelmed him. His breathing steadily increased and for a moment the sight before him seemed blurry. Then he heard the words of his father, “What are you looking for my son? What keeps your mind in check?” The words bounced around his skull, as if searching for an answer that lay deeply fixed in his mind. Until finally they rattled too hard, and the solution shook loose and was realized. He stood strong and let his shoulders drift slowly back, presenting his chest in a bold and powerful way. “I am glad to have you, Tritian. I am new to you world, would you show it to me,” he declared, confidence filling him more and more with every word. Tritian only smiled and with another great flourish, he motioned for the two of them to follow. Postius turned to Pothmos and as if mocking the movements of the Atlantean, he motioned for his friend to follow him as he was shown the splendor of his new kingdom, the kingdom of the prophecy. His kingdom. Now that it had shaken loose, he could not stop its vibration. This was his destiny. It was his time. And he would take great pleasure in showing off to his friend. Pothmos only rolled his eyes as if to disregard any notions of being impressed. Yet Postius could see it, they had not spent their entire lives as friends and he not be able to see through the emotional shield Pothmos now displayed. Walking bravely, he made his way down the steps of the temple. There were quite a lot of them and they slowly twisted around the outside of the building itself; yet due to the temple’s square shape, the steps came in short and steady bursts that came and ended with a landing as they reached the base of the mountain, they past a great door. “Tritian?” he asked, getting used to the man’s name.

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“Yes, my king?” he answered. The words slipped into his ears and brought a sinister pleasure with them. “Where do those doors lead?” “My king, those lead to your throne room. I shall take you there later on, but it too, is an amazing sight. But I believe you would be much more interested in what lies on the outer ring,” he responded informatively. His tone of voice seemed to echo the way he carried himself. He had obviously been running the city for many years and as they made their way down to a small boat that sat on the edge of one of the many rivers draining down to the other rings a startling idea formed in his mind. “Tritian, how old are you?” Tritian smiled at him. It was a smile of self amusement; one he had seen often from his father when recollecting things of the past. “Let’s just say my king, that, in the order of worldly things, we Atlanteans came not long after the waves themselves.” “What do you mean?” he asked quizzically, confused by the man’s words. “What I mean, my king, is that when the great Poseidon finished creating the sea, he then turned to creating us.” His response drifted through Postius’ levels of understanding, until he realized the amazing seniority of the mortal man walking next to him. “So you are basically as old as the sea? How is that possible?” gasped Pothmos, quite in awe of such an idea. “Poseidon has granted us eternal youth,” he stated wisely. “So you’re immortal?” Pothmos wondered aloud. “Not exactly,” replied the aged man. “How is this possible?” Tritian only smiled. And a sense of intimidation slowly returned into Postius. This man, with his dark black hair and proud demeanor, was thousands of times his elder. The armor he wore was unlike any Postius had ever seen, its plates were the same dark black of the man’s hair, yet between the plates where there should have been some type of exposed skin or in some cases Postius had seen a leather tunic, this armor had more plates. There was not a part of his body below his throat that revealed itself to the dull gray of the sky above. And between each of the tightly and seamlessly placed plates was the same odd blue energy that ran through the buildings. All this came together to give the man an amazing presence that only now as Postius brought his mind back under control, instead of lost in the glory of being king, did he notice.

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After finding their way to the boat and taking a seat, Tritian pressed an odd shaped tablet that rested on the front of the boat. Postius was not surprised when it moved forward; sailess and without oars. The boat moved slowly down the small canal and as they drifted past the remaining buildings of the center mountain island and into the open moats between the rings, Tritian began to explain the sights they were seeing. “The main island is yours my lord. It is made up of the great Palace of Poseidon and the buildings there below it are the homes of your generals.” “Is that where you live?” Postius asked wonderingly. Tritian smiled, “Yes, my king.” And that was all he said. Postius had expected a description or some glimpse into the man’s life, but there was nothing. He seemed to have the same distaste for discussing personal things as Postius did. They made their way into the first of the three rings and it was here that Postius was once again taken aback. “This is the inner ring. It is where all the citizens of Atlantis preside,” Tritian said as he grinned at the sight of his fellow men. “There’s thousands,” Pothmos whispered solemnly. Tritian stared blankly at him, “The army of Atlantis consists of five hundred thousand men.” Pothmos only gaped and Postius could see his friend’s amazement at there being such an army under their command. Yet Postius was not so happy with the idea of so many men looking to him for answers. He looked back at Tritian and the way the man now sat silent. The general had an emotionless face and seemed to be staring down into the water. Postius could see that Tritian did not like the idea either and Postius realized he would not like it if his soldier’s lives were now entrusted to some young boy he had never met. As he looked back at the people of Atlantis, a great quiet grew within him. The people smiled and children played and laughed, sliding stones across the granite roads of the inner ring. Then suddenly it happened, he saw her. The stones clicking echoed silently. The memory of the young mother he had seen on the streets of Ephesus just days ago popped into his mind. Click…Click…Click… bounced the stones as the boys giggled. The memory was followed by a great burning. Stone clacked against stone, landing in a small circle of leaves. He could see the mother and her child. Feel their hope. Their fear. The very essence of their lives seemed to imprint itself fixedly into the front of his head. And as quick as the picture was there, it was gone. The young children

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of Atlantis and their simple game of stones resumed its place as the only thought in his mind. He breathed slowly. Surprised to find his hand holding his head, he removed it and placed it quietly in his lap. He looked quickly to Pothmos to see if his friend had spotted his weakness. Pothmos only stared out at the Atlanteans; Postius’ mood was lightened by the idea that his friend was most likely looking for women. This was quickly dampened again though when he looked over at Tritian. The general stared at him knowingly. “We will do anything you ask us, my King,” whispered the great leader as his gaze pierced into Postius. The weight returned once more. How could he handle so many things, so many lives? He was only one person. The boat continued on down the river and passed into the next ring. “These are our fisheries,” commented Tritian, once again resuming his superior tone. “We eat only fish here in Atlantis.” Stone buildings took in what looked like an endless stream of fish from medium sized boats. Postius could not see where the fish went, but something inside him told him that it was a process beyond his comprehension. There was one thing that puzzled him though… “There’s no smell?” he asked amazed. Tritian smiled, “A gift. From Poseidon.” Postius nodded. There was no reason to question the fisheries or their missing odors. They drifted through the last of the irrigation rivers and into the moat between the second and outer ring. This pool of water was gigantic and what struck him about the outer ring was that it was a wall, a monstrous wall. Ephesus’ great barrier looked like a wooden fence compared to this. Towers larger than any he had ever seen reached out into the sky. They were made of the same black granite that the rest of the islands were and rose up into the same bent point, resembling the plume of the Spartans of nearby Greece. This was once again powered by the deep blue energy. The line wrapped through the wall and the towers in a design and pattern that he had never seen before. Along the walls stood soldiers, hundreds of them; yet, unlike the Ephesians and their bows, every Atlantean held a spear. A magnificent spear as he had never seen before. The end sloped up into three prongs, not quite a trident; it resembled the tips of three great waves. Waves sharper than any he had ever felt rush across his body. And then as they turned and began to circle around the great ring of water that lay between the wall and the fisheries, they came into view, hundreds of them.

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“My king. Pothmos. Behold. The fleet of Atlantis. The Phindae,” beamed Tritian. His arms waving splendidly to cast direction to their gazes, which soon fell upon the greatest ships Postius would ever see. Their sails rose into the air, higher than the towers and even though they sat tethered to the docks around them, Postius could feel their speed, could feel their greatness and their restlessness to be out in the open water. The ships themselves seemed to be made of the granite which so beheld this island and above them, their sales blew in the light wind of their day, a vibrant light blue. Turquoise maybe, he couldn’t decide on a name for such a color, but the sails stuck out against the dark gray sky of the ocean around them. “Those are ours?” asked Pothmos happily. Tritian only nodded. Postius could see the Atlantean’s dislike for his friend already. “When can they be ready to sail?” Tritian stared and then looked at Postius, “Whenever the king wishes,” he said, a look of hope in his features, seeming to suggest that Postius remember what he said. “What do you have in mind, Pothmos?” asked Postius as he tried to hide himself from Tritian’s glare. “Have you forgotten so quickly, Postius? Your own people starve and die under Persian rule, while you sit here and daze at your own power,” slided his friend. Postius cringed. Pothmos was right, his people were endearing Zeus knows what, while he gaped in awe at these new wonders. He looked over at Tritian. The man stared back at him, expressionless. “I need to free my people,” explained Postius. A part of him knew he was asking these people to risk their lives for people they had never met, but his heart yearned to return home and find his father. Besides these people were given to him, weren’t they? His mind stirred, he was asking men to risk their lives for other men. Men who may not even be worth saving. Tritian only stared. The mother in the streets of Ephesus burst into his mind again. The general’s eyelashes flashed, blinking. The small Atlanteans skipped their stones. Deep blue eyes of the seas greatest admiral stared into his soul. Her face. The children’s face. Her hope. The children’s hope. The centennial gaze of a people stared. Their fears were all the same, they were all the same. He spoke without removing his eyes from their entrapment with Tritian’s. “The navy leaves tomorrow, we head for Ephesus,” he said. His father’s words returned to him, “What are you looking for, my son?” His mind sorted and calculated. The gaze hardened. “How long for us to reach the city, Tritian?”

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“If we leave in the morning we shall be there to see the sun rise on the next,” his words returned once more to a subordinate tone. Accepting. Knowing. Trusting. The eyes did not release each other until the Atlantean turned and headed for the docks. As he walked, Postius noticed him look up at the sky as if looking for something. Postius followed his stare and it was met only by gray. Was it always cloudy in Atlantis?

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7 The Return

T

he night sky lapsed against the edges of the ships. The Phindae cut silently through the throngs of waves and swells that formed the ocean around them. Postius could see the hundreds of other ships around him and watched as the moonlight sparkled against their wet hulls and the winds bellowed into their full sails. There was only the sound of the wind and every now and then the yells of the Atlanteans, who worked steadily to command their magnificent crafts. His fingers rubbed the cold stone of the boat he was on, felt the smooth fluidity of it. His gaze looked once more out over the serene night, not staring at anything in particular, just staring. Thinking. He heard the click of someone's heels on the deck behind him. It was very late and most of the ship had been asleep for quite sometime, attempting to get some rest before the morning's battle. He looked over his shoulder and saw the shadow of a man creeping out to the bow of the ship. The figure seemed to turn and look about to make sure no one was watching him, yet the man did not notice Postius in the gloom and resumed its creeping. Postius stood fast and began to listen as the shadow reached the bow of the ship and began to whisper. "My lord, Poseidon," it mumbled. There was no answer that Postius could tell as the great ship

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continued to cut elegantly through the open water. And then he felt it fall upon the ridge of his cheek. A rain drop. He wiped it away like some remnant of a tear and watched the figure. The drop became a light sprinkle and then a calm mist. And suddenly he saw it. "What is it, Tritian?" echoed a misty voice that sounded dampened, as if it was trying to whisper, but only failing. The cloaked figure stood, leaned over the bow of the ship next to the old Atlantean. "Will you help him tomorrow?" spoke the general, not the least bit intimidated by the presence that accompanied him. "We shall see, I can not always do everything for him, but if he asks I shall." "I fear if he does not, many of us will die," stated Tritian. His head lowered and seemed to peer into the depths of the ocean. "You will do what you must," spoke the seaward god. "I will not turn my back on one to help another, but this is what must be done. The world will need him and you must help. Give him time.” Postius watched Tritian only shake his head knowingly, "I shall do what you ask, my lord, but he is so young and inexperienced. He is not ready to lead an army such as ours." The cloaked figure let out a small chuckle, which to Postius came as a gurgling like one hears when they step quickly into a puddle. "You were young once. Do you remember what that was like?" he asked. Tritian's shadow nodded, "I do." "Just be patient, my friend. He will learn.” With this a great gust of wind blew threw the mist, blowing the cloaked figure away with it. Postius turned his head quickly out toward the water as Tritian turned around. He could feel the admiral’s eyes find him. A sigh of relief came to him as the heels resumed their clicking against the stone and Tritian returned to his cabin. As the sun began to lift up out of the water, Postius analyzed what he had just heard. Poseidon was helping him. But why? And Tritian. What was his part in this? Was he there only to help Postius along? Had Poseidon forced the man into this against his will? Postius' mind raced. So much had been thrown to him in the last couple days. Postius had no idea how to handle these things, why him? What was so special about him? He was tired of stressing about all these ideas and once more he pushed them out of his mind. Better to leave things that were out of his hands, out of his thoughts. Paranoia was a dangerous thing. Suddenly he heard it: "BAAANNAAAANEEEAAAHHH!"

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sounded a great and elegant horn. Tritian burst from the cabin once more, horns bellowed loudly the tunes of Atlantis as word spread like fire between the ships until it came to Tritian from the boat to their right. "My lord, the Persians have spotted us. Their fleet approaches from around the bluff," cried a young Captain as he pointed out into the dismal light of dawn. Tritian seemed to peer out restlessly to the east. "My king, you cannot see it, but land is not a thousand paces to the east. Ephesus lies just behind a great bluff and it seems Cyrus awaits us.” Postius nodded, "I know of the bluff, Pothmos and I used to play there as children." "We shall have to fight our way through the Persian fleet if we wish to free the city," hurried Tritian as he rushed to what appeared to be a pedestal of rock, but when activated with the touch of his hand sent the blue light of the ocean city spiraling through the ship in streaking lines. The lines seemed to travel throughout the great ship and as the lines cutting through it embraced the rock, the Phindae seemed to speed up. The ornate design seemed to power the ship through its sharp angles and searing light. Postius glanced around him and stared in awe as blue light lit up each of the hundreds of Atlantean ships. The sky blue sails of the Phindae fleet filled with a wind that was not there, a wind Postius had felt only in the presence of Poseidon. Pothmos emerged from the cabin of the amazing ship with his hand held over his crusted eyes to keep the brightness away. "Have I missed anything?" he yawned whipping his eyes clear of sleep's grime. Postius smiled and then Tritian motioned to him, "My king, you and your friend should have a seat," he said inferring that the two of them get out of the way. It was then that the admiral showed why he was the Steward of Atlantis. With a slight turn of his head, he stared at Postius and winked. From the base of his armor a helmet seemed to grow up the back of his neck and then spread across his face. It was a sight both eerie and amazing at the same time. Tritian turned once more to his fleet. "Phindae! Left flank wrap around. Right flank pull and hold. Archers ready," he cried. Suddenly, the fleet of Atlantis roared. Men began to scream out orders and boats began to heave. The great raking ships of the Phindae followed their master's breath. The land of his home came into view, a sandy line on open blue that gave way to the pinks and blues of the rising sun. Ropes spun and sails flapped as they went about their naval tendencies with pinpoint precision. The sails continued to amaze him; he had never seen such advanced ships. As they pulled and wrapped in

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accordance with Tritian's demands, the Phindae slowed and came to a steady drift. Waiting. Postius peered out at the calm waters of his home, watched as the birds of his city flew out into the open waters of the Mediterranean and over the ships of Atlantis. They came slowly at first. Starting as a few, the fleet of Persia rowed perilously into view. Their fleet was much like the Ephesians' ships, most likely parts of it was, being so they were manned by rowers and powered by oars. He could hear the chants even at this distance. "HEAH...HAAH...HEAH…HAAH," moaned the men of Persia in time to their rowing. Behind the eerie mask, Postius thought he could see Tritian smile. Part of Postius felt sorry for the Persian citizens. Their fleet was nothing compared to that of Atlantis, but they had taken his family and his home, burned his city and tortured his people. They had chosen their fates and now he would deal them. "Attack them, Tritian," he commanded. "As you wish, my king," acknowledged the admiral. His arms flourished in formations that made him look quite foolish, yet suddenly the great fleet began to move. The sails fell, swooped in by some divine power and archers poured onto the decks of the great ships. The archers wore the same wondrous helmet that Tritian wore, silver with sky blue inset and their armor too, ran with the energy of the great orb. Their bows, made of a wood unknown to the world's surface, arched back. As the Persian fleet came into range, Tritian raised his arm, hand stretched flat. The Archers drew their great bows and held steady. Tritian's fist closed. The archers touched a portion of their arrows, bursting the arrows into blazing bolts of energy. Tritian let his arm fall to his side. Arrows poured into the sky. Up and up they rose, disappearing into the heights of Zeus. For a moment there was a great calm. Silence, save for the lapping of the waves and the heaving of the Persian rowers. And then it rained. The arrows thundered down onto the unsuspecting Persians. There was nothing, save screams as thousands of men, heralded the end of their own lives. Postius felt a deep sorrow grow inside his stomach, but a quick look at Pothmos forced him to push it down. He must save Ephesus. Nothing else mattered. Tritian raised his arm once more and the archers leaned back. More screams, Persian vessels exploded into amazing spectacles of fiery death. Waves of fire burnt through the fleet of Cyrus, and as the Phindae drifted into view of the dying men, Tritian once more waved his arms and arrows flew from the ships. The Phindae sailed straight through the shattered remnants of the Persian fleet. Postius stared down at the tattered ships passing by. The bodies of men lay bloody and the smell of

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death drifted into his nostrils, causing him to gag a little. Coughing, his mind blanked. The mother smiled back at him. A young Persian, pierced by several Atlantean bolts, lay grasping at his wounds. The stones clicked across the granite of Atlantis. Tritian jumped over to the man's craft and leaned over him. "The Plains of Elysium shall love you. Fear nothing, Zeus is waiting,” Tritian whispered as his arm stretched out to his side and a bright blue spear formed along his forearm. The man's eyes widened and stared at Postius as Tritian's blow eased his escape from their world. As Tritian jumped back onto the Atlantean ship, Postius could not take his eyes away from the bloody face of the Persian. "As is war," whispered Tritian into Postius' ear as he patted his shoulder and began to give orders. All Postius could see was the death in the Persian man's eyes, the feeling of guilt grew large and his mind listened for an answer he would never find. Pothmos came up behind him. "They earned this. Next time they will think twice before they threaten Ephesus and Postius Malantis," he grumbled. Once more giving him a pat on the back, but where Tritian's was one of lesson, Pothmos' was one of gloat. The Persian ship and the young soldier floated past Postius moved his gaze from the dead men to the bluff coming into view. Ephesus lay just beyond the rocks. He wondered if his father would still be there. He wondered what he would have done if he were in Postius' position. Tritian gave the order for the fleet to form up for the invasion of the city and soon they were turning the comer into the bay. It came into view, the sun sparkling across its marble stones. Ephesus, his home, was waiting. He could see the signs of damage the fire had caused; feel the fear of his people and the unease of the scrambling Persians. Looking upon his city brought the true feelings of fear he had been hiding for his father. Had he and his mother made it out? Were they safe? The fleet began to align itself for the final blows against the city. It was then that he saw Tritian staring at him. “We await your orders, my king," he said softly.” Thoughts of the general’s mysterious meeting with Poseidon flitted into his mind. Postius stared at the Atlantean; he had gazed so deeply into this man's eyes. He had learned so much from them, yet he had said nothing to him. Tritian had shown him so much about himself, but had never spoken a word. Sighing, he thought to himself about what to do now. He did not want to risk the lives of these Atlanteans and after the quick defeat of the Persian fleet; he didn't wish to see the death of so many for

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no reason. His eyes dropped from Tritian's. "I shall ask Poseidon if he shall help us rid the city of our enemy," he said as he walked to the bow of the ship, readying to call for the sea god. Pothmos coughed, "Poseidon? Postius what need do we need him for? Look around us, the Phindae can defeat these Persians in no time." Postius could feel the hair on the back of his neck begin to tingle, he shivered and spoke, "There's no need for people to die, Pothmos. Poseidon can do this all without a single death." Pothmos shrugged, “I suppose. How long will it be, Postius, before you grow up and take care of your own problems? You're no equal to the gods. You just ask a god to help you, just like any other man." An angry heat caused Postius to sweat. Part of him wanted to ignore Pothmos and call for Poseidon, but the other part knew he was right. Eventually people would die, it was either the Ephesians or the Persians. He'd rather it be his own people that lived. He turned to Tritian. "Free the city, Tritian," he commanded. He could feel Pothmos' happy glee behind him. He hated when his friend got to him, but it always seemed to work out. He was Postius Malantis, an equal among gods. Tritian only stared blankly at him, as if waiting for him to change his mind. "Tritian?" he reassured. "Give the order." Tritian looked sadly into his eyes, "Yes, my king." His arms waved and the ships began to fill with archers. Postius stopped and watched as the great general moved into action. The waves began to crash into the ships and suddenly he heard them. He felt the waters around them stir as they came. They broke through the surface of the water, thousands of them. Tritons burst out of the ocean's depths and into the air; Atlanteans, riding on the backs of the great rays; their tails steering them through the air. Postius watched the amazing creatures fly through the air, swooping and diving, cutting down the Persian occupiers. The towers of Ephesus poured arrows out at the Tritons, but soon Tritian's arm raised and fell. Arrows rained down on the towers, cutting them to pieces. The Tritons carried out their mission quickly and efficiently. It was not long before the Phindae were pulling into the harbor. Postius' mind drifted to that fateful night not long ago as the ships began to unload and the people of Ephesus were informed of their freedom. Postius stayed and gazed up at the patrolling Tritons,

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reflecting on the things he had done. * * * Postius stepped carefully down the hollow plank of wood that led down to the docks. He thought of how his sleep had taken away the earlier days problems. Landing on the dock, he was reminded of that fiery night once again. Pothmos landed next to him, preferring to jump from the top of the ramped plank. He stomped up and down on the wooden boards of the pier. "Why is it whenever I walk along these wooden paths I’m happy to see them?" he commented. "Maybe because they're always either saving your life or leading you home," responded Postius as he turned and made his way down the rickety trail across the water. Eventually, he found his feet sink into the soft brown sand of his home. The warm, sun heated grains poured over the sides of his sandals. A shiver overtook him, removing the thoughts of guilt that had plagued him the night before. As he walked up the sandy beach, he kicked his feet up and down purposely sending clouds of Ephesus up into the air around him. He smiled happily and even when he saw Pothmos' disapproving glare, he couldn't help himself. He was home. "Come on, Postius. Let's go," he said confidently, a slight grin cracking in the comer of his mouth. "I'm coming," he replied as he brought himself somewhat under control without losing to much of the child like glee that had seized him. As his feet met the hard stone of the cities roads, a young Atlantean soldier ran up to him. : Kneeling, he spoke, "My king, your father awaits you in the palace." The young soldier seemed as if he was struggling to keep a smile out of his face. Postius glanced over at Tritian, who had been following them closely since they left the boat. "How does he know of my father?" Postius asked happily, flowing with relief at the word that his father still lived. "I explained to the men why we had come to this place. They wished to help their king in anyway, including his search for his father," smiled Tritian. The general looked much better today than he had the day before. Postius could see that while Tritian was a great warrior, he preferred peace to the blood of war. Now that his job was done, the

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killing could stop. "I thank you, Tritian, for freeing my people," commended Postius as they moved onward down the streets. Soon; however, as they made their way through the dusty roads, Postius began to lose his glee. Ephesus was in tatters. The city's homes wore marks of scorching and the smell of death could be felt more and more as they moved deeper into the city. While his spirits were still high, he had to work to keep them that way as he watched the patrols of Atlantean foot soldiers remove the bodies from the street. The more and more death Postius was shown the more he learned to block it out. Life went on better when he didn't think of the consequences of his actions. As he moved through and watched the men work, he saw her lying in the street, covered in mud and blood. His feet failed to continue their steps. Pothmos and Tritian stopped to see what was holding him up. Slowly, Postius moved into the dust alley. He leaned over her body and knelt by her side. Her hair was the most pure almond brown he had ever and her skin felt softer than any he had touched before, as he wiped the mud laden dust from her cheek. "She's beautiful," he whispered slowly. His eyes moved down the length of her body, until they came to rest upon the wound in her side. An Atlantean bolt. It was lodged in her abdomen. A small tear formed on Postius' cheek. And yet, still his mind would not take blame for such a thing. He looked up at Tritian and as he stared into the man's eyes once more, she coughed. His head flashed back to the young woman's face. Coughing and sputtering, she began to lift her head. Postius quickly supported it, his hand resting beneath her fragile head. And then her eyes opened. Green. Emerald. Perfect. His eyes looked to hers. Neither of them could break the connection they now shared. "She's Persian," smiled Pothmos. "I told you they were gorgeous." Postius could barely hear his ignorant friend. This was not like any girl Pothmos had ever been with. She was different. Postius could feel it. Her eyes soon began to close from fatigue. "We must get her some help," Postius breathed. Tritian nodded, "We will take her to the palace with us, my king." Tritian motioned to a nearby patrol. Giving them orders, they brought out a small piece of wood and stretched the young women across it. As Postius made his way to the palace, he kept one eye behind him on the wounded frame of the Persian girl. It was not long before Pothmos noticed his worry. "Did I not tell you, Postius?" he said boastfully.

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"Tell me what?" he responded back, part of him wondering what comment his friend would come up with next. Pothmos grinned spitefully, "I told you I'd find you a wife on these streets," he said as he waved his arms around to encompass the city. Postius only shook his head; he was becoming more annoyed with Pothmos as time went on. His gaze returned back to the girl, she was very beautiful. He wondered what his father would think of him bringing in a girl off the streets he did not know. They were soon at the base of the mighty steps of Ephesus' palace. As he began his ascent up the steps, a cry came from inside the great doors. He stared intently up at the doors as they burst open and his mother rushed out to greet him. "Postius!" cried his mother. "We thought you were dead." "We?" he asked, his mother now containing him in a boisterous hug. "Yes, We," stated a commanding voice from behind his mother. Postius looked over his mother's shoulder and watched as his father came out of the shadows. He had a warm smile on his face and though Postius could see the relief in his father's face, the man would never openly show it. He was enthralled by his father's gaze for quite some time, until he remembered the stunning figure that lay injured behind him. "Father, this woman needs help. She was struck by an arrow," he said, motioning toward the woman. His father looked keenly at the girl on the board, "She's Persian," he stated flatly, a look of hate overtaking his features. "But father, she is hurt," spoke Postius. Laeto stared intently at Postius, "I will not help a Persian. She deserves the fate she has been dealt." Postius could not believe the words he was hearing. His father would let this girl die, only because she was a Persian. "Father, she is dying," he reiterated. Laeto did not move, "And?" "And we will help her father!" Postius said loudly. He could feel the tension growing and the unease building in the Atlanteans around him. His father only stared defiantly at his son. "I will not have a Persian in my home!" he declared loudly. Postius felt an inner rage building up inside him, he did not know why he was fighting his father on this. He did not even know this girl and here he was fighting a father he had thought dead, in the hopes that he could

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save her life. He had felt something when he had stared into her eyes; different than the things he had seen in his gazes with Tritian. This was a connection. An understanding. His mind turned back to his father, "We will help her father. Whether you like it or not," Postius said softly. His father's face was quite red with anger now, "What did you say, Postius'?" A commanding tone leaking into his voice. Postius looked fiercely into his father's deep eyes, "I said," his voice was quiet, then became louder, "I am Postius Malantis and I say we shall help her." The people around him took a step back at his words. Laeto's face filled with shock and then sadness. He tilted his head down and took his eyes away from Postius'. Instantly, Postius regretted the way he had disrespected his father, but it was too late to turn back now. He turned to the Atlanteans carrying the young girl. "Take her up to my quarters and find someone who will treat her wounds. I shall be there in a moment," he commanded, his eyes unable to look away from the shattered ego that was his father. A great abysmal guilt filled his stomach. He would have to apologize. . "Tritian, finish cleaning up the city. Set a perimeter around it. Cyrus won't take kindly to us destroying his fleet," instructed Postius as he walked up the stairs past his father. He heard Tritian give a faint, "Yes, my king," before he began his ascent up the stairs to his quarters. The stairs had a lush soft carpet draped along them. His sandals sunk comfortably into the stairway as he rounded the comer and placed his hand on the cool handle of the door. His wrist strained slightly as he pushed the door open. A cool wind blew through the doorway and across his face as he entered. It reached his eyes causing him to blink repetitively. He wiped his eyes quickly and made his way through the room. The girl lay sleeping in his bed. An Atlantean soldier knelt at her side. In his hand was a strange tablet like the ones he had seen in Atlantis so many times. It was held over the girls wound and was glowing with that same surreal blue energy. As Postius walked in the soldier seemed to be finishing up. He rose and bowed when he saw him. "My king, she will survive. She needs rest now, "the soldier informed peacefully. "Thank you," he said as he dismissed the man. As the soldier left the room, Postius walked around his bed and took a seat next to the woman. She had a smooth innocent look as she slept. Postius could not explain what he felt from her. It was a deep

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connection, a feeling that told him to keep her safe. As the light of day slowly dove beneath the waves, Postius sat and waited. He didn't know what he was waiting for. Maybe to talk to the girl, learn her name. He couldn't place it really. He just wanted to be at her side. As the night approached, he heard a slight squishing of carpet. It was followed by a hollow knocking at the door. "Who is it'?" he asked warily. "Your father," coughed the familiar voice. Postius looked around unknowingly. He knew he needed to talk to his father. Why not now? He made his way over to the door and creaked it open, "Come in." His father meandered quietly over to his favorite chair and took a seat. Postius walked back over to his chair next to the young woman. “So…” said his father nervously, "It looks like you’ve done well since I last saw you." “Yes,” he said nonchalantly. He would not be the one to cut the thick feeling of awkwardness. "Quite the army out there," said his father suggestively., his hands twitching and playing with the ends on the arms of his chair. "Sure is," replied Postius. "Postius," "Yes. Father?" "I'm sorry for turning away this girl. I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that I've lived under their control for the last couple months and finally, when the son I thought had died comes back with an army greater than any the world has ever seen, the first thing he does is ask me to help a Persian," apologized his father, his head not quite looking at Postius; instead preferring the company of the floor. Postius kept his gaze locked on the face of the young girl. Maybe his father was right. Postius could understand how he felt, but still. This girl had no reason to be punished. How could she have had a hand in the torture inflicted upon his city? "She's beautiful; isn't she father?" His father only looked at her, "She is," he said hesitantly. Postius turned and looked at his aging father for the first time. "What would you say if I told you I wanted to marry her?" Laeto coughed, "Marriage'?" he said, the words lost in the thick air. He leaned forward, "Postius, you've never even spoken to this girl. You don't even know her name." "I don't need to know her name. I can feel it. She is the one," he returned. Postius could see the veins in his father's forehead getting larger,

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"No king of Ephesus will marry a Persian, while I live!" he cried. "When she is healthy she shall leave!" I Postius stood. He was tired of bickering with his father. He was no longer a child. "Father, I do not have to continue to listen to you. If you don't want me to be happy than I don't need you around anymore. If this girl agrees, we will marry," he said boldly. His father's anger subsided, replaced by a keen stare. "Who are you, my son? What has happened to you?" "I am Postius Malantis. King of Atlantis. You hold no power over me anymore," he declared. Laeto only stared at him, "I asked you once what you were looking for and I never got an answer. Do you have an answer now'?" Postius glared at him, "What am I looking for, father'? I am looking for you. I'm looking for you to leave me alone and let me live my life. I am Postius Malantis, father. I no longer need you to watch over me" His father sighed, "You've let it get to you, my son. I tried so hard to keep it away, but I guess it was inevitable." Postius had had enough, "You may leave now, father. Maybe one day we shall speak again. I shall leave for Atlantis in the morning." As Laeto made his way through the door, he poked his head back in and gave one more haunting line, "You may not have me watching you anymore, Postius, but you would be fool to think I was the only one who has been watching you.”

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8 The Serpent Stirs

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himsical air blew gently across the determined and squinting face of Pothmos. Rising and falling with the waves, his stomach felt disrupted, but he knew no mound of water had created the uneasy feeling inside him. His eyes were locked solely on the two people sitting on the boat only yards from his own, Postius and Tara. They'd been spending every second together since their boat had left the shores of Ephesus. Now in route to Atlantis, their excessive giggling and carousing was starting to get to Pothmos. He couldn't understand it, here they were, in the midst of the greatest army the world had ever seen and Postius was consumed by the flaunts of a woman. Pothmos could not understand why they were returning to Atlantis. In his mind they should be conquering the world, not conquering some Persian whore. Alas, here they were, sailing back to the lost city. Pothmos watched the two of them closely; they were seated side by side on a small stone pedestal. The Persian girl’s long brown hair blew beautifully in the open ocean air, but in Pothmos' mind it was just another one of her devilish tricks; tricks that he, a man of much experience with such women, could easily see. Bending slightly, he tried scratching the shiny surface that made up the boat's hull with his finger.

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"Trying to destroy my ship, are we?" asked a gruff voice from behind him. Pothmos continued his grinding. The Atlanteans were becoming more and more irritating. "I believe it is actually Postius’ ship, is it not Tritian?" he replied slyly back at the admiral. Tritian to a seat next to him, his back facing Postius' boat, "I suppose it is," he said loosely. "But as the length of your command beside my king seems to be shortening, I would be a little more considerate about such things if I were you, Pothmos." His words gnawed at Pothmos. "And what do you mean by that?" "Oh...I don't know...Maybe just that the king seems to have a new friend, that's all," he mused. Pothmos hated Atlanteans. "We shall see about that. Postius may be taken with that fool girl's beauty now, but soon he will realize what is truly important in this world," Pothmos said flatly. He no longer felt the need to hide his angry tone. Tritian stood, "I would watch how I spoke of the girl, Pothmos. She may just be your queen very soon and what then? Would Postius need a friend anymore? I think not." Pothmos turned and faced him now, "Postius needs my help to control his armies. No queen could ever take my place along side him." Tritian smiled, "Of course not, but am I not the one who runs the army? And what need would Postius have for a military advisor if our army remained docked in the harbor. Do you really think that Postius would risk the health of his new queen for some foolish quest for land and power? He is King of Atlantis. What need does he have for power?" The Atlantean was too bold now, "You would hold your tongue, Atlantean. When I have dealt with this, Postius and I shall spread your people to all corners of the world and they will die. They will die for our causes and not yours. Thus was the wish of Poseidon when he gave you to us." Tritian leaned in close to Pothmos' face. Pothmos could see the man's anger swelling in his cheeks. "You forget one thing, boy!" he whispered. "Lord Poseidon gave Atlantis to Postius. Not you." Pothmos' arm began to rise beside him. Tritian had gone too far. "Pothmos!" Pothmos swung around to the direction of the voice. It was Postius. "Pothmos, my friend. Come over to my ship, I have great news!" he cried, his smile beaming even from this distance.

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Pothmos stared bewildered. His friend had not seen, nor heard, his arguments with Tritian. Pothmos looked back at Tritian, who for a moment seemed ashamed until he too realized Postius had no idea what was going on. The two of them now were locked in a menacing gaze. "The king is calling on you. I think it best that you do as he says," spoke Tritian in a calm and yet mocking voice. Pothmos squinted and tried to bore a hole through the Atlantean’s forehead. Finding his plan impossible, he spat at Tritian's feet and turned away. His mind now set on figuring out what Postius' great news could be. Making his way down the length of the ship, he began to look for the podium. As he turned the corner of the small cabin, it came into view, a small round stone, sparkling in the afternoon sun. Overtaking the space between him and the stone, he stared simply at the contraption before him. It had several complicated scripts on it of a language Pothmos did not know. No doubt it was Atlantean, but Pothmos could never figure it out. He glanced around looking for one of the wretched ship hands. He loathed asking an Atlantean for help, but a wrong move could send the ship of course, possibly colliding with one of the ships alongside it. Walking along the side of the ship, an Atlantean came into view. He seemed to be very intent on whatever it was he was doing as he stared up at the sails, but Pothmos felt no guilt about interrupting the man. "You there!" he yelled in his most commanding voice. The Atlantean looked over at him and then seemed to look around himself, as if hoping Pothmos were calling to someone else. Upon seeing that he and Pothmos were alone, he looked back in Pothmos' direction and made a faint gesture with his hand as if to say, "Me?" "Yes, you. Come here," Postius yelled. The young man put down the tools he was carrying and taking his time walked over to Pothmos. "How my I help you, Lord Pothmos?" he asked, a slight mocking tone was connected to his voice. Pothmos just stared cunningly. "Your king has asked for my company aboard his ship. I need your help," he stated matter of factly. Since Postius had asked Tritian to inform every Atlantean that they were obligated to obey his orders; a statement that was intended to include the general himself, though he often seemed to forget this. Making his way over to the small stone podium, the ship hand began sliding the rocks on the face of the slab. Arranging the strange

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scripture into a design Pothmos had never seen, the man's fingers brought the pedestal to life. The strange bluish light overtook the podium and flashed brilliantly, quickly and effectively. While Pothmos watched, the Atlantean walked confidently back to his work. "Excuse me?" asked Pothmos, insulted by the man's exit. "I asked you to help me?" The man motioned back to the water. "I did," he said. Pothmos looked back at the sea to see if the man's statements had any credit. To his amazement, a giant Triton burst from the barrier between ocean and air. Magnificent and sleek, the creature broke the surface cleanly, gliding into the sky above him. After a few aerial maneuvers, the beast soared beautifully downward and came to a smooth, sliding landing on the deck before him. Pothmos could only stare. He had seen the animals before, but never this close. From this distance he could see the soft leathery skin of the Triton's back. Its large fishy eyes stared knowingly up at him as if asking for him to jump on. Walking cautiously, he approached the ray; its gills breathing in and out, exhaling remnants of the salty depths against the base of his shins. Raising his leg carefully, he began to mount the beast until just as he was almost comfortably seated; it took off. Pushing hard with its wing-like fins, it popped into the air violently, sending Pothmos' arms sprawling for something to grab onto. Luckily they grasped the blubbery shoulders of the beast, where they stayed white-knuckled, clinging for their lives. It seemed the Atlantean’s dislike for him had even found its way into their beasts of burden. Pothmos sulked as they slipped stunningly though the air, thinking to himself of the myriad of ways he could get back at the citizens of the lost city. The flight between the two ships was not long and being so they were soon swishing through the sky above Postius' flagship. The ship itself was just like any other in the Phindae fleet; its two main sails taught with the captured wind of the afternoon. The only feature that separated his ship from all the others was the long pointed pinnacle that extended out across the front. Shaped in the form of a great and narrow trident, the point was a sign to all those watching that these were the ships of Poseidon. Slashing through the air and weaving majestically through the masts and sails of the ship, the Triton began its descent down toward the rear deck. They were soon closing in rapidly on a landing platform; similar to the one on Pothmos' ship, this deck held a podium of glowing

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stones and an area for the Triton to land, but on Postius' ship there looked to be room for five or more of the creatures to drop onto. As they approached for their landing, Pothmos began to sense the speed of their drop; the creature had barely slowed. Racing in to the deck, the Triton and he crashed against the stony cradle. The collision threw Pothmos from the creature’s back and sent him sliding across the deck. He was eventually stopped by the hard rock of the ship's outer railing. Shaking his thoughts back into place and grasping the new bruise on his head, he stood back and turned to look at the creature. It sat perfectly; well within its intended area of landing. Pothmos stared into the beast’s fishy eyeballs and much to his anger, saw a look of mockery in the animal's pupils. These Atlanteans and their animals would definitely get what they deserved. Walking past the animal and giving him his worst look of spite, he made his way down the side of the boat toward Postius. As he traveled the Atlanteans in the riggings above him managed a smug giggle; they had obviously witnessed the creature's making a fool of him. He held himself high and ignored them as best he could, thinking to himself of the various ways he could order them to their dooms. As he turned around the cabin area of the vessel, Postius and his new flower came into view. They sat lazily together on a small stone slab, their arms intertwined and the girl leaned in close to his ears. No doubt speaking suggestive undertones into his mind; some of which seemed to embarrass the new king as his cheeks glowed red from time to time; an expression which was followed by the girl's flirtatious giggles. Pothmos shook his head knowingly as he made his way over to the two of them. He had seen sly maneuvers like the ones the girl was working on his friend often; usually they were saved for the street brothels. As he approached, Postius caught sight of him from over the Persian's shoulders. "Pothmos!" he announced, his words causing the girl to separate from his friend. "I was just telling Tara here all about our flight from Ephesus." "Really," spoke Pothmos, pretending to be interested. “Why yes, Pothmos. It sounds quite exciting. I asked Postius to call you over so I could make sure he wasn’t telling tall tales,” she said as she giggled at Postius, who consequently became a dark shade of red. The young girl's smile beamed up at Pothmos. He gave her a quaint squint and returned to his purpose. He allowed his awkward silence to show his refusal to answer before he continued. "Postius, I was wondering if I might speak with you...alone."

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Postius waved his arms innocently, "Why Pothmos, whatever it is you have to say, I'm sure it's nothing that Tara could not listen to." Pothmos felt his nerves begin to warm, "Of course," he said, irritated, “Well…I was wondering what you had in mind for the future?” Postius squinted as the topic changed quickly on him, “Actually, I haven’t really given it much thought." This came as no shock to Pothmos. No doubt the woman's vices had kept his friend's mind filled with things less than civilized, let alone how the king was going to rule his great kingdom. "I guess I was just thinking we'd return to Atlantis and figure things out from there. I've promised Tara that I'd show her the walls and gardens of the Lost City." "Oh yes, Pothmos. Postius has told me much about Poseidon's people and their home. I can not wait to see it," piped Tara. Pothmos was beginning to become annoyed with this girl’s toying. He sighed loudly, "There is no time for pleasantries. Do you think that the world will rest now? An army created by the gods and led by a man is not something they’ll ignore. With one quick strike, it was able to stamp out the armies of Cyrus. Do you think that the Athenians and Spartans will just let a defeat such as this go unnoticed? Postius, this is more than just Ephesus and Greece now, the world shall hear of such a grand spectacle as flying spearmen and ships that sail without wind. From far and wide shall they come, to see the threat that is Postius Malantis and all you want to do is show a pretty girl around your palace?" At first, a creeping sensation of what Pothmos could only interpret as his friend’s usual cowardice seemed to flow through the eyes of Postius, but suddenly something stirred to life. Something Pothmos had never seen before. "This may be so, Pothmos. I have discussed just such a thing with Tritian and he has informed me that no spy could infiltrate the lost city. In fact, he gave me his utmost assurance that mine and Tara’s stay in the palace would be a safe and perfectly appropriate escape." Pothmos cringed; the Atlantean had beaten him in his own game. Anger echoed down his shoulders as he realized the grizzly general had known of Postius' inclinations the entire time Pothmos talked him down on the other ship. After a moment of sulking and a keen glare from Postius, Pothmos let out a loud laugh. Upon seeing the laugh, Postius allowed a smile to slip across his face.

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"A break must sound nice, even to you, Pothmos," he spoke, thinking Pothmos' laugh was caused by his realizing the folly of his worries, a thought that was quite wrong. His amusement was caused by his reflection on how well the wily Atlantean could play with men. It was an adversary Pothmos had not expected. The laugh was also a bit of disgust at how easily his friend was being played by the Persian wench and the old Atlantean. "That it does, my friend...that it does," Pothmos grinned, still somewhat surprised by Tritian’s move. With this the dark skinned woman began to tickle Postius, causing all thoughts to return to her. Pothmos could see that Tritian was working against him. The Atlantean's so called "teachings" had began to work and along with the extra confidence this girl was pumping into him; his friend was beginning to change. He could remember when they were kids and he and Postius would sneak outside the city walls and into the hills. There they had pretended to be great men and heroes. Postius always the great king who would make Pothmos his general, just as Pothmos’ father had been to Laeto. Ever since they had always gone on knowing that that would be their future, but it seemed Postius was beginning to forget this. All his knew partners seemed to shine brighter than his old friend. Pothmos’ anger at Postius and the Atlantean general soon settled down once more. Thinking to himself, he giggled once more as he made his way back toward the Triton deck. Postius would never forget him. He was just blinded by his beautiful new friend. Soon he would bore of the girl and return to Pothmos. Together, they would be great and the world would know of Postius Malantis and his friend, Pothmos. *

*

*

Tritian watched the young Ephesian walk slowly away from his royal friend. Something about Pothmos had always bothered him. “What is he up to, my lord?” he asked. The figure beside him stared eyelessly. Poseidon’s power and presence had always astonished Tritian. Ever since he first came to lead the Atlanteans and was brought before the great sea god, he had been amazed at his vast knowledge and abilities. “My lord?” he repeated. Poseidon’s gaze never faltered. Suddenly his head snapped and Tritian stared into the deep blue shadow of his hood. “Watch him. I

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shall return,” whispered the misting voice. With a gust of wind, he was gone. Tritian shivered, the lord of Atlantis had never left so quickly and for a moment he wondered if he had sensed something that he had never seen in his god: uncertainty. * * * The springs of the royal garden trickled slowly around the bases of Pothmos’ sandals. Slishing through the flowing puddles of Atlantis’s most beautiful room, he paced back and forth. His eyes stared down and traced the ripples created by his every step. He had visited this place often in the past weeks. Postius seemed to need a little more time with his new toy, so Pothmos had decided to spend it down here in the lush foliage of the sea. Trees of porous stone rose into the ceilings of the domed hall in many different colors. Below them grew watery, massive blades of what appeared to be grass, growing in a small pool of water that circulated throughout the whole of the gardens; it was in one of these pools that he had been visiting. Inside this pool lay what appeared to be a map of a world and beyond a few misconceptions and stray islands, the stone shapes formed a perfect picture of the Mediterranean and what appeared to be the land around it. While this in itself was amazing to Pothmos, it was the organisms on top of these rocks that intrigued him the most and continued to bring him back to this place. They were small mites, barely visible individually, but in large groups they formed big blotches that consisted of nine different colored variations of the creatures. He couldn’t quite figure out what exactly the colors meant, but he had been staring at them for quite a while. Over the weeks, Pothmos had come to think that maybe these insects might represent the people of the world. The stone’s discovery had given him something to keep himself occupied with while Postius forced them to stay in the lost city. He had thought about asking Tritian what the things meant, but his spite of the Atlantean was too much. Lectures from the old man were not something he wanted to listen to. Kneeling down into the pool, he shivered as the cool water encompassed his shins. The maneuver sent small waves across the puddle, causing the mites to rustle. After weeks of staring he was suddenly overcome by a wave of curiosity, a willingness to reach out and touch the mites. As he reached out his hand, the mites shivered along the rocks, scaring him, for a moment he pulled his hand back. Regaining his courage, his fingers began to extend again. As they inched closer,

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something flickered on the rocks. It was again the mites, only this time it was only one color. The black mites seemed to stop and all at once changed direction as if they were staring straight up at him and his fingers. What seemed odd to him was the location of these black mites; just below Atlantis. His fingers soon found the tickling shapes that were the mites crawling over them as they slid some mites aside and touched the smooth stone underneath them. Slowly, but surely, the small bugs crawled up his fingers, making them appear dark and alive with movement. Then suddenly, he watched his hand become covered in the small things. And then his wrist. Soon the bugs were crawling up his arms, thousands of them. They seemed to be pouring out of the rock and onto his arm. He pulled away violently. Viscously, he began swiping and swatting at his arms; it was to no avail. The creatures continued their advance up his arm and around his shoulder. The group of them was soon around his neck, his hands clenched around his throat attempting to prevent them from moving forward. The insects merely crawled over his knuckles once more, sending Pothmos heaving and spasming in a desperate try to save himself. Black mites soon wrapped around the back of his head. The swarm flowed down over his face and into his mouth, leaning back, he screamed out and suddenly they were gone. His eyes opened. He looked about him, glaring into darkness. He could see nothing; all he could hear was his huffing breath. Tapping his feet on what appeared to be stone tiles, he spun quickly. Nothing. “Hello!” he yelled. He was answered only by his echoes. “Is anyone there?” his mind was racing. Where was he? What happened? Moving slowly, he continued to spin, keeping every angle in his site as often as possible. Suddenly there was a voice, “Pothmos,” it whispered in a haunting tone. He turned once again attempting to find the speaker of the words, but the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere, “Who’s there?” he called back. A tapping of footsteps came from his left, reeling he stared as a figure came into view in the shadows. “Pothmos…Pothmos,” slithered the figure in it’s wispy voice. “Who are you?” he demanded, raising his fists. The figure seemed to chuckle, but it came out as more of a gurgling whistle.

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Pothmos stared, without realizing it he felt his arms fall to his sides, “Whatever you are, you cannot hurt me, for Zeus walks beside me,” he called. The figure let out a wracking scream, “Zeus!, “ it cried, “Zeus cannot help you here!” The figure laughed, disappearing into the shadow. “Here, Pothmos.” He whipped around to find the figure behind him. “You are mine, mortal. You always have been.” “What are you talking about? I am Pothmos, greatest friend of Postius Malantis! If you do anything to me he and the power of Poseidon will come for you!” he yelled defiantly. Slowly, a faint light began to glow behind the figure, building the shadowed being into a large and dark absence of light. “Will they? It seems the King’s graces have moved away from you,” it slithered. Pothmos’ eyes shook back and forth, attempting to understand the shadow. “How could you know about that?” he wondered aloud. The haunting chuckle returned once more, “I know many things. I know of Postius and his new found Tara. I know of your dislike of the Atlanteans. How does it feel to be left behind?” Something inside Pothmos told him that this being knew more than he ever could imagine and instead of the source of his words it was the words themselves that sunk deeper into his mind. “Postius still needs me. We’ve been together since the beginning.” “Where is he now? Where is he when you’re ready to face the world together? With her?” The slithering seemed to creep into his heart. “He’s just spending time with his new love. He will come back to me when he is ready,” Pothmos called back to the figure. “Will he? She is gaining his favor, Pothmos. He won’t need his friend when they are finally united.” “Even if they do marry, he will still need me to battle the world,” he returned. “Why would he leave Atlantis, the greatest city in the world? Postius is weak; you know this. He would rather live in peace than use the power of Atlantis to conquer the world.” “It is our dream. It is his dream to be Postius Malantis, a hero of men. He will fight to fulfill the prophecies.” Of this, Pothmos was certain. “Unless he thinks he already has?”

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The figure’s musings were beginning to make Pothmos angry. Moving toward the creature, he found the bravery to challenge it. “Who are you? Why am I here?” No longer did the creature laugh. It leaned forward and Pothmos found himself staring up the beak of the most amazing creature he had ever seen. The blood in his veins seemed to freeze where he stood. “I created you, boy. You have one purpose and one alone. And now, I have become impatient. Postius is gaining too much confidence; it is time. Unfortunately for your friend, It appears you have succeeded in your mission too well and now I will finish what you do not seem capable of.” Pothmos found what little courage he could muster and glared into the creature’s bird eyes. “I don’t know who you are or where I am, but it is time I left this place.” “You will go no where!” shrieked the birdman, “You are mine now!” Pothmos had had enough, he swung his fist. It stopped dead. The being stared and then made an attempt at whispering, “It seems your jealousy will never grow enough to challenge Postius.” “My jealousy? Challenge Postius?” “That is why I left you with the Ephesian so many years ago, Pothmos, for your jealousy to fester and turn on Postius.” The words chilled down his spine. “Laeto? What about my father, the general?” “A story, mortal, created by Laeto to keep his own ignorance of your origins from you.” “I don’t believe it!” The bird seemed to shriek softly, “The time for stories is over, boy; I do not have time for this. If you won’t ruin Postius, then I’ll do it for you.” Pothmos’ anger built. As much as he hated the Atlanteans and the Persian vixen who had stolen his friend away, he would never have hurt Postius. He kicked out at the creature. Once more his foot froze. He felt his entire body go limp. He was frozen in the air before the creature. “Relax, Pothmos. It will soon be over.” Slowly, the hawken man raised his right arm. Its ascent brought it just past Pothmos’ eyes before he felt the cool fingers slide into his forehead. The last thing he saw was the piercing eye of the beast before him and then there was only pain.

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9 Remembrance

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ritian watched Postius shake his friend violently, “Tritian, what is wrong with him? What is all this?” he said as the king stared down at the fallen frame of his friend and the odd shaped stones beside him. “I have never seen such a thing here, my king.” Tritian hoped the tone of his voice did not give away the fact that he was keeping secrets. He had seen the Stones of Earth once before when Poseidon had taken him to a world beyond this one, but never would he have imagined that such a thing would ever be found in Atlantis. “Pothmos? Pothmos, can you hear me?” Postius continued, trying to revive his friend. Tritian was watching carefully. No doubt Pothmos’ boredom and want to get away from the Atlanteans had caused him to voyage down into the gardens, but Tritian could still not figure out how he had ended up in this state. Pothmos’ body shook and shivered. Tritian could see a sense of life flow back into the young boy’s body. Even with his hatred of the Ephesian and his dreams of war, Tritian still felt a wave of relief come over him at the sight. The boy’s eyes soon opened and Tritian immediately lost all sense of the feeling he had just felt. “Pothmos? Are you alright?” asked Postius urgently. The face of Pothmos turned and looked up at Tritian. An evil smile spread across his features.

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“Quite alright, Postius, quite alright,” spoke the voice of Pothmos. Tritian shivered as he stared into eyes he had not seen since his visit to Nasina millennia ago. They were eyes he had hoped to never see again. * * * Tritian watched excitedly, his nerves were on fire as his anticipation grew. They had been waiting for this day for a long time. Now he knew his people were safe from the unneeded violence that would have resulted from the conflict amongst the gods, but there was still much to be decided. The Shinto Intervention had succeeded and Tritian now sat patiently, waiting for his captured enemies to enter the council chamber. In all the times Poseidon had brought him along to attend the council and witness how his world was run, he had never been to a meeting of such importance. The majestic doors opened slowly, paving the way for the entrance of the traitors. Walking slowly, their leader appeared in the doorway. Behind him followed the rest of his family, bound and chained they too walked with their heads down, all of them except for one. He stood tall, his menacing beak signaling the ferocity of his intent. Tritian looked at the creature before him, knowing its incredible power, trying to shake away the unease that filled him as the being walked. Suddenly, its eyes locked forcibly with his own, sending terror running down his back. The evil in such eyes would haunt him for the rest of his days. A strong pat on his back broke the gaze between he and the beast; he turned and looked at Poseidon. “The traitors are submissive, all except for him. The rest have seen the Intervention’s power and fear it, but he still fights for their cause,” spoke the sea god. “If he is the only one who fights, then why doesn’t the Intervention punish him alone?” he asked wonderingly as the traitors made their way between the seats of the council chamber. The gods of the world peered skeptically at their advance. Poseidon smiled at him, “Do not let the innocence of the rest of them fool you, Tritian. They too, are still traitors. The bold one is still young, not even a hundred years released from his tutelage here at Nasina. The others are wise. The leader there in the front; he was there at the discovery with my father, his cunning is well known among the gods. We shall see what the council decides.”

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Tritian turned once more to the event at hand, the traitors now walked slowly out onto the platform that led to the Orb. Reaching the circular landing upon which Daven’s pedestal sat, they turned and faced the rest of the council. Daven stood beside them, looking toward the chamber doors. Tritian looked over his shoulder and watched as the Intervention entered casually through the main doors and followed the path of the traitors to the center of the room. “Then we may begin,” spoke Daven calmly, his soft words contrasting the furious burning of the Orb’s energy behind him. The Shinto Intervention stepped forward, “Lords of Nasina, I am Hiro of the Shinto, an equal among all gods and men,” he announced boldly as the traitors stared angrily at his shadow. “I have done that which the council asked of me. I have defeated the traitors and returned those enslaved by their evil to their rightful places. I give their fates to you now. Decide as you wish, but take heed, for their evil intent still burns in their vengeance and they will not easily accept your demands, nor agree with what you set out for them.” He stepped down and gave the attention of the floor to Daven, who stepped forward onto his podium. “Nasina thanks you, Hiro of the Shinto. Your great deeds shall be remembered throughout the ages by gods and mortals everywhere,” he said, his soft, young voice turning now toward the assembly. “Gods of the Divine Council, we move on now to the fate of the traitors. They stand before us on charges of enslavement, influencing, and treason against the tower of Nasina itself. Their enslavement of the people of Earth, their appearances before mortals as to switch them to their faith, their total disregard of the rulings of this body and the murders of Dorian, my predecessor, and over five million Shinto warriors, are offences that have never before been committed against Nasina. Therefore, I, Daven, Voice of man, leave their punishment to the families of Nasina,” he said forcibly, trying to stand tall in the face of such monumental beings and working to show them that though he was young; he was still a man who could handle the position he now occupied. Tritian watched as arms began to rise and a solemn chant of “Death” began to ring out across the chamber. Daven nodded toward the Canaani. El Shaddai stood, silencing the room, “My fellow lords, the atrocities committed by our former friends have now come to outweigh the bonds we once shared with them. I stood beside their leader when he, along with Cronus and I, first found the Orb millennia ago. If I knew what he would do with his power then,

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I would never have let him join us in the creation of Nasina. If we allow him and his family to return to Earth, they will resume their plight of our world. He no longer has the heart and purpose he once did. His vision is now one of power and self-glorification. Such a thing cannot be allowed to exist beside Nasina. I propose the execution of him and all those who follow him; otherwise, their tyranny will continue!” His words echoed loudly throughout the chamber. “I second the Canaani Proposal!” yelled Zeus, a move Tritian agreed with. “I support the execution of the traitors!” called out Anu of the Sagiga. “As do I!” came the voice of Amateras. Her vote no doubt influenced by Hiro. Brahma stood tall, “I disagree! I do not believe that execution is necessary. There must be some other way.” Ah Xoc Kin rose as well, “I agree with Brahma. Murder is no solution. We are better than such a primitive punishment, Nasina is better this.” “The Aztec do not see the point either. The traitors can be punished without death.” Tritian stared on as all heads turned toward the young mortal on the podium, Daven looked out at them. “What says man?” cried Brahma, who was soon echoed by the other gods. Daven’s hands fidgeted on the stand before him, trying to gather in the decision for the entire mortal world. Finding the courage, he spoke quietly, “I…I agree with Brahma…I…I don’t think execution is necessary.” The council stood quiet. Tritian looked around, shocked. Nasina was at a standstill, its democratic process of majority ruined by the traitor’s lack of involvement in the proceedings. The vote was equal and none knew how to break it. And then El Shaddai stood. “There is only one way to solve this,” he said softly, knowing what his next words would mean. “We must involve the traitors in their own trial. Nasina can not function without their vote.” At first Anu raised his hand to protest, but soon realized it was of no use. El Shaddai was right. “Let them vote,” he said. The Shinto Intervention stood once more, “I do not think this wise!” he spoke loudly. “It is not of your concern any longer, Hiro. You have given their fate over to us,” spoke Amateras, the Intervention’s god.

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He looked intently into her eyes before making his way off the platform, toward the door. “Then I must go. I must prepare for their return.” With this, he stormed out the door. Amateras looked once more toward the traitors, “Let’s hear what they have to say.” All heads looked back toward the beings standing before the Orb. Their leader walked boldly forward. “I,…” “Stop!” spoke Daven, cutting him off. “Your names are no longer spoken among the walls of Nasina.” The leader grinned sinisterly, “As you wish, mortal.” The god’s rasping voice made Tritian’s heart feel hollow, relieving him of the warmth within. “I, Lord of those who no longer exist, agree with the Hindi lord. I say, we live,” he smiled evilly. Tritian felt an anger fill the void the being had caused. The traitors would go fee. “Then so you shall,” said Daven. “But there will be limits.” The leader stared back at him, “So be it.” “What kind of limits?” called out Quetzalcoatl. Tritian listened to the rumblings that followed, still unable to believe that the traitors would live. He had fought hard and lost many men alongside Hiro and still the traitors would go free and there was nothing he could do about it. “What about an exile?” yelled out Brahma. “An exile?” asked Daven. “Yes,” continued Brahma. “They shall be banned from the lands outside their own, where they will be watched. This way they shall be held in check and still be allowed to participate in the Council.” The gods discussed the issue amongst themselves, while Daven thought the idea through. Tritian sat behind Zeus and in between Erebus and Poseidon. He turned to Poseidon, “Exile? Why can we not just kill them?” he asked bitterly. “Relax, Tritian. This may be for the better,” he said, his tone reflecting the amount of thought he was putting in to the idea. Erebus spoke from his other side, “We should just kill them.” Daven looked up once more and addressed the Council. “An exile seems appropriate and appears to be the perfect solution to our problem. I, Daven, Voice of Man, propose an exile of the traitors. All those in agreement, speak now.”

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The gods stood one at a time. “I Lord of the Shinto support an exile!” “I Lord of the Canaani support an exile!” “I Lord of the Mayano support an exile!” “I Lord of the Aztec support an exile!” “I Lord of the Sagiga support an exile!” “I Lord of the Hindi support an exile!” “I Lord of the Olympians support an exile!” Daven turned now toward the beings behind him, “What say you, traitor?” The god smiled once again, pleased with the decision, he replied, “If the Orb agrees.” The gods all turned and looked up at the glowing ball of power. El Shaddai spoke first, “The Orb has already given you a part of itself. I presume this means it has some wish for you, traitor.” The traitor winked back at El Shaddai, “Then I support this exile of yours.” And so it was that Daven rose once more to the podium, “From this day forth the traitors shall live in exile. They shall remain within their lands and retain their settlements on the Plain of Heaven. If they comply, they shall be allowed to attend this Council. Maybe one day they will return once more to their standing among the Council.” The meeting was over. Tritian watched as the gods began to pick up their things and the traitors walked slowly back toward the exit. “They will never be back,” whispered Zeus from in front of him. “They’ll be back,” returned Erebus in haunting words. As the traitors crossed the room, the god Tritian had seen earlier looked him over once more. The gaze shining into his own as he stared. Poseidon stared with him. Leaning in close to Tritian, the sea god spoke, “He knows that when next they challenge Nasina, the order of our chairs in the rotation of the council shall leave the heading of any force in the hands of the Olympians.” Erebus spoke once more, “We shall not make Hiro’s mistake. We shall deal with the traitors before they ever make it before the council.” Tritian nodded as his gaze with the beast was broken by the hard slamming of the chamber doors. He shivered.

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10 Stricken

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he body of Pothmos shivered, whipping the sweat from its forehead as it pushed itself off the cold stone of the floor. “You are too bold, “Pothmos spoke into the shadows. “Tritian recognized you.” The haunting snicker echoed violently around him, “Rest, mortal. The Atlantean is of no concern now.” Pothmos knew the beast was right, he didn’t know how or why, but Tritian could not stop what now possessed him. His body walked slowly to the edge of the royal gardens. “Pothmos, are you sure you are alright?” asked Postius. “I am fine, my friend, but I think I’ll go rest for a while.” Pothmos’ mouth moved without his mind asking it too. “Where are we going?” Pothmos thought. “You shall see,” replied the voice of the beast. Pothmos stared through his eyes as his feet carried him up the steps of the Atlantean Palace. Pothmos could not get rid of the creeping sensation that followed each time the voice spoke to him. He had spent what seemed like hours arguing and fighting with the beast inside his mind, but in the end it had proven useless. Now his body was at the beast’s mercy. He seemed to exist as just an afterthought, a conscience behind his presence.

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His legs rounded the corner of the Temple’s highest walkways. They emerged into the brilliant light of the afternoon sky, Pothmos shivered inside himself as he saw it come into view and felt the beast’s glee emanate through his body. Feeling his knees hit the ground, Pothmos peered curiously out his eyes as the beast knelt before Poseidon’s Orb. “Not Poseidon’s,” whispered the beast inside him. Pothmos stared keenly into the blue energy of the ball. “If not his, than who’s?” The beast responded, but his voice was different; somewhat mystified. “Even I do not know that. It is the Orb of Nasina and it is everything.” “Everything?” “You shall see.” The voice set Pothmos on edge once more. “What are you doing up here?” called a voice from behind them. His eyes flashed to the direction of the speaker: Tritian. Pothmos felt the beast’s anger rise within him. “I was examining the Orb, Atlantean. Intervention’s Orb is quite beautiful, is it not?” The words seemed hollow coming out of his mouth, he had never actually listened to his own voice. “Pothmos,” said Tritian. “What?” The beast and him thought at the same time. “I know who you are, Exile. I have sent for Poseidon.” Pothmos’ spirits jumped. Poseidon was coming. “Poseidon…Let him come, Atlantean. My job will be done by the time he gets here. Do not stand in my way,” spoke his voice. A deep sense of dread filled him. Job? Whatever it was Poseidon could not stop him in time. Pothmos stared hard into the space before him. Concentrating as hard as he could, he began to fight again. Slowly, his thoughts came to rest on his right index finger. With all his might he worked to force it into motion. It began to twitch before his eyes and the small success built his confidence. And then it noticed. A blast of pain crushed into his conscience and his arm rose into a fist before him, a reassertion of the power of the beast. “I hope you are done, mortal,” it thought matter of factly. As Pothmos struggled to gather his thoughts he watched himself walk past Tritian. Tritian only stared back at him, knowing he was powerless to stop what was inside him. They walked back down the stairs, this time their pace seemed hurried and Pothmos’ anger had risen again after his recent attempt to regain control.

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“What did Tritian mean, by “Exile”?” he asked. “You are clever, Pothmos. But do not assume you can play mind games with me.” Pothmos sulked for a moment as he wondered what Tritian could possibly have meant by Exile. “Where is the armory?” the Exile asked. Pothmos laughed inside, “Why would I tell you?” he said. Thinking how stupid the beast must think he is to reveal the location of the great Armory near the gardens. “Ah, yes, the gardens,” it thought aloud, an eerie smile formed across his face’s lips. “How could?” he thought. “Your thoughts are mine now, Pothmos. We are one.” They were soon descending the steps of Atlantis at a pace unlike any Pothmos had ever seen his legs move at. It seemed the beast had powers of its own that it was using through his body. It was not long before they had entered the long armory of Atlantis. “Lord Pothmos?” asked a young Atlantean boy. Pothmos wished to yell out to the boy to warn him of what he was. “Amazing how quick you are to like the Atlanteans when you’re faced with the evil that is I,” thought the Exile. “Young boy, could you point me to the spears?” it asked calmly. The young boy looked curiously into his eyes, and then responded, “Yes, my lord, back here.” He led them down a long stone corridor. From wall to wall, swords and shields, helms and bows hung, as thousands lined the grand hallways. They walked for quite awhile until they came to the greatest of all the hallways in Atlantis. The spear line. Triton daggers and speared tridents hung gleaming from floor to ceiling. Pothmos’ hand made its way to the first of the speared Tridents it came upon. Light and sturdy, the granite shaft led up into a three-pronged spear. It was a weapon that in the hand of a skilled warrior could decimate any other in combat. His arms twirled it dangerously around and around his body with a mastery that Pothmos had never possessed in his lifetime. “We are ready,” spoke the Exile. It was a statement intended for both Pothmos and the young boy. The young boy stared up in awe at Pothmos. “Come boy, I need your help,” asked the beast. “My lord, I must watch the armory. It is my job,” stated the boy. For a moment, Pothmos wondered why the Atlanteans would leave such an inexperienced child to protect their weapons.

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“Who would take them?” answered the Exile with a strong thought. “Come boy, you will help me. I have something special planned for you,” commented the exile. Pothmos could only guess at what the beast had in mind. The boy followed them slowly. This time the Exile could not use his powers without giving something away to their new helper. They began to head back up toward Postius’ quarters and Pothmos began to worry for his friend. If Poseidon was too far away for Tritian to bring here, how could Postius call him to help. His mind was stuck on finding a way to stop the oncoming plot as they approached the door to Postius’ quarters. No doubt Postius would be back in his room, they had been wandering around Atlantis for most of the day. He watched his feet close in on the doorway and prepared himself for what was coming. “You worry to much, young Pothmos,” thought the Exile, “If I had wanted to kill Postius, I would have done it by now.” Pothmos’ thoughts raced. What was the beast up to? “Young boy, can you show me where the lady Tara’s room is?” it asked kindly. The boy stared back confused, “Why my lord Pothmos, don’t you remember, its just around the corner here,” he said. “No we don’t remember. Do we Pothmos?” snickered the beast. Pothmos stared ahead unaffected, he had never felt the need to see where the girl was sleeping. No doubt she was in one of the guestrooms near his; seeing as she was not yet queen. Turning the corner, a small wooden door came into view. Pothmos felt a hint of anticipation work up into his tense muscles. The Exile had been waiting for this. “Knock on the door, boy. Call for the lady,” it said. “No! Don’t!” he thought. His pleas were nothing but flickers in the conscience of his body’s new mind. The young boy approached and knocked slowly on the door. “Who is it?” asked Tara from inside the room. Pothmos began to focus his mind as hard as he could on the hand holding the spear. “Lord Pothmos, my lady. He wishes to speak to you,” answered the boy. “Pothmos?” came the young girl’s voice, no doubt she was bewildered as to why he would want to talk to her. “Yes, my lady,” responded the Exile innocently.

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“One moment, Pothmos. I’ll be right there.” His mind struggled against the invisible barriers, trying to force his way back into control. “It is useless, Pothmos. Like I said, We are one now. You can do nothing to stop what is to come. It is as the Orb commands,” it thought to him. Pothmos had heard enough about this Orb, his mind flailed about, bashing against the bonds that trapped him. The boy moved behind them as his body and the spear approached the door. Waiting. Her footsteps came slowly, contrasting the battle that raged on inside him. The door creaked open and then swung. The screeching of the hinges sounded as it formed an opening between them. In seconds the spear flashed, spinning in his body’s hands and slashing upward across Tara’s throat. With horrifying ease, his arms spun the spear shaft over his shoulder, flipping the spear around and with a swift stab slaying the young boy. The Exile finished the maneuver with a flourish of his spear; Pothmos watched the young boy fall to the ground lifeless. The slaughter was over. He could do nothing to stop this being. “Why did the boy have to die?” he asked, sadness overwhelming his thoughts. “It is the mortal way, Pothmos. Remember that. Besides, we need an assassin.” Pothmos barely heard the Exile call out “Murder!” He took no notice when the guards poured in from all around; dozens of Atlanteans searching for an explanation to their future Queen’s death. This was all ignored as Pothmos struggled to keep himself together. It wasn’t until he saw Postius turn the corner that his mind snapped back to the world around him. When he saw Postius’ face, bitter anger flowed into his thoughts. His friend was more devastated than he had ever seen him. Postius’ eyes shed not a single tear as he kneeled beside the fallen body of the woman he loved. His friend only looked up and stared at him, an expression of undying grief covering his face. “Bring me the one that did this, Pothmos.” The hatred and sorrow of his friend’s vengeful statement burned into Pothmos’ guilt. “Don’t feel bad, Pothmos. It was you that killed them,” mused the Exile, torturing his mind. The beast’s cackling was soon drowned out by hatred.

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11 Deceit

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othmos watched keenly as his body walked into the open chamber of the throne room. Making its way across the lush blue carpet that led across the granite to the throne, his mind raced trying to find a way to stop what was happening around him. “You try too hard, Pothmos. Like I said before, these things are inevitable,” spoke the voice inside him. He had gotten used to ignoring the Exile, but made sure to always listen to what the beast had in mind for the things around them. After Tara’s murder, he had spent the last few days gathering his emotions and pushing through the anger that raged inside him. The scars of many pointless street fights had taught him to not let his anger get the better of him; especially now, when he didn’t have much thought to waste on being mad. They had crossed the open court between the doors and the throne quickly, their robes blowing behind them in the cool breeze that blew through the room. His eyes looked up at Postius. Fallen and forlorn, his friend lay awkwardly in his great throne, his head resting on his shoulder as he no doubt mulled in his own grief.

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“Grief brought on by you,” added the Exile with his usual sincerity. Around the throne hung two giant banners, draping down along the black granite. They were deep blue, with the sky blue border and white trident of Atlantis. Beside Postius, stood Tritian. The Atlantean’s fingers grasped his trident firmly as if ready to strike out if Pothmos made a move toward his king. Around them were dozens of Atlantean nobles, all of whom stared wretchedly at Pothmos. The Exile and him had soon found their way to Postius’ feet and began to kneel. “Get up, Pothmos. Tell me what you’ve found.” Postius’ words echoed fiercely throughout the chamber. His friend was in no mood for tradition. Pothmos squirmed as the Exile put his plan into motion. “I don’t know if it would be wise to discuss this here, my king,” stated the Exile. Postius’ eyes narrowed as the beast’s words found their way to him, “Whatever it is you have found, Pothmos, you will tell me now.” Pothmos felt the muscles in his neck tighten as his head stood tall and his shoulders arched back with menacing posture; the Exile continued with his plan. “As you know, Postius, the boy was a worker in the armory,” he said, pausing for a moment. “Go on,” whispered Postius as the Exile let his words sink in to those in the room. Pothmos knew the beast needed them to follow his thoughts precisely for his plan to work. “I made my way to the boy’s quarters on the second island, near the fisheries. I spoke to the Atlanteans on the docks outside his home and after much protest they provided me with some valuable information about the boy’s recent whereabouts.” Pothmos could hear the Exile laugh to himself as he remembered the beating of the fishermen on the docks. “It seemed the young boy had come across good fortune, too good it seemed for a mere armory boy.” “Where is this going, Pothmos? Spare the details, what have you found?” Postius sniped unamused. Pothmos smiled to himself as the Exile found his elaborate story disrespected. The beast pushed on though, unhindered, “Postius, the boy’s room was full of coins. No doubt an assassin’s rewards.” The words fell on unimpressed ears; everyone in the room had surmised the boy had not acted alone. The Exile’s findings seemed useless. “Pothmos, this means nothing to us,” Postius sighed angrily. “Postius,” interrupted the Exile.

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Pothmos watched Postius stare coldly into his eyes as if he was looking straight through them and right at the fleeting conscience that was all that remained of his friend. The Exile reached into their pocket and pulled out a single gold coin, moving slowly, he flicked the coin up at Postius. Postius’ hand flashed, catching the coin in mid air. The veins in his wrist were seen clearly as he held his fist in the air. He twisted his hand around to examine the small piece of soft metal in his hand. His face sunk, the pride of revenge sucked from his body. The Exile grinned from within. Pothmos writhed in anger. The coin shined brightly in the Atlantean sun; the head of Leato dominated the currency of Ephesus. “How?” was the only word, Postius’ ravaged mind could provide. “The boy rode with the fleet, my lord. He was in Ephesus with us.” The Exile gloated inside as his plan exposed itself. “My father?” stammered Postius. The Exile only nodded. The weight of his father’s betrayal pushed Postius lower into his throne. It was here that, Tritian had heard enough. The grizzly Atlantean stood, “Postius, Pothmos lies. He is not what he seems!” he yelled. Pothmos’ happiness jumped with excitement, the Exile’s anger began to build. “The armory boy could not have been in Ephesus. None his age are taken to war,” explained Tritian, his knuckles white from his grasp on the trident. Postius slowly began to rise in his seat, the ideas dislodging the Exile’s plan. “What of this, Pothmos?” “Postius, I am certain he was aboard. The anglers on the dock confirmed this. How could Tritian know if this young boy had been aboard one of the ships?” struck the Exile. Postius head now turned toward the Atlantean, whose mouth gaped at Postius inability to see what was happening. “My lord, I am commander of the entire fleet. You’ve seen the discipline with which we sail. If a small boy had snuck aboard, I would be the first to know of it,” returned Tritian. Pothmos could see his friend’s mind swaying back and forth. “Tritian would know if the boy had been on the voyage, Pothmos,” pushed Postius.

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The Exile’s anger flowed through Pothmos’ veins; he had not expected this to be so difficult. “Would you believe an Atlantean over me? You know your father disliked Tara. Tritian knew it too. Perhaps your father and he planned it together?” he cried, allowing visions of desperation to shine in his expressions. Pothmos could only watch as the suspicion flowed over Postius’ features. Part of him was happy that his friend still had so much trust in him, but the other could not rid itself of the anger that flamed inside at the Exile’s abuse of their friendship. “Tritian?” he asked slowly, his grief of Tara and the envisioned betrayal of his father was leaking away, replaced once more by the furnace of revenge. “My lord, how could you think such a thing? Pothmos is not Pothmos, he has been consumed by a force greater than ourselves. You must believe me,” pleaded Tritian as he knelt before the king. Pothmos began to press his limits of control once more as the Exile took pleasure in watching the old Atlantean grovel uselessly. “The seeds are planted,” mused the Exile, edging on Pothmos; the both of them knowing there was nothing Pothmos could do to stop any of this. “I will hear no more of this, Tritian. Are you or are you not a part of this?” bellowed Postius, rage burning through his eyes. Tritian could only stare back at him in disbelief. The Exile’s glee wracked against the anger of Pothmos’ inability to act. Suddenly, as his eyes watched Tritian, the Atlantean changed. His posture rose and his body stood tall as the confidence of understanding overwhelmed him. He no longer appeared weak and confused; the steward of Atlantis once more understood his limits. He saw what was going to happen and he was ready. “What will you do then, Postius? Will you send the Phindae to hunt down your father? Will you let loose your vengeance on those whom love you? Will you listen to your friend? Pothmos, a man who has always disregarded your title?” Tritian’ words hung in the air as Postius’ anger seemed to warm the cool ocean breeze that blew through the hollow chamber, his forehead sweating with indecisiveness. “He won’t do it. He loves his father,” whispered Pothmos. “He’ll do it,” said the Exile, his laughter was gone, replaced by purpose.

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“Postius, Tritian has a point. Something must be done. Your father must pay for this,” spoke the Exile through Pothmos’ body. “What would you have me do, Pothmos? Kill my own father?” cried Postius, his anger slipping. The breeze had cooled once more. “He killed your future Queen, Postius. What kind of father is that?” returned the Exile bitterly. “I couldn’t, Pothmos. He wouldn’t,” sighed Postius, a hint of a whine slid along his words. “He did, Postius, and now he must pay for what he has done. What will other kings think when they see that, Laeto, a poor lord of Ephesus can challenge the king of Atlantis and not feel the wrath of the Phindae?” “He is my father, Pothmos!” cried Postius. “And who are you, Postius? Are you nothing?” “I…” “You…that’s all I’ve heard from you ever, Postius. It is time…It is time to claim what is yours, to be what you were created to be. It is time to be Postius Malantis!” challenged the Exile. The words hung in the air, no one made a sound. All that could be heard was the warm breezing that rustled through the columns of the chamber. Postius’ face showed no emotion. It became hard and cold. As he rose, his coldness warmed the air around him. His arms and shoulders clenched in a display of power. His eyes locked viscously with Pothmos’. “I am Postius Malantis!” he yelled, the force of his words shuddering against the granite of the lost city. “Go Tritian. Send the Phindae to Ephesus. Before they kill him, have them tell my father that I was right. The only thing watching me was him, and he will never again watch me or anyone else. These are the orders of Postius Malantis, Lord of Atlantis. Go now!” The admiral of the Phindae bowed his head, “Yes, my lord.” With this Tritian and his guards exited the room. Postius stood and began to approach Pothmos, “Come, Pothmos, we have not spoken in a very long time. We have much to talk about.” The Exile followed Postius loyally; the battle between good and evil was being fought within the conscience of one mortal’s mind.

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12 Death

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ostius burned from within as he made his way up the stone staircase that led to the top of Atlantis. His mind had been racing for so long now. Tara. She had been taken from him; the news had sent him into a dark place deep within. The past nights had been filled with only nightmares, tantalizing glimpses of the love he had lost that echoed in his mind each of the following days. And then today, Pothmos had exposed the thick plot of his father’s work. He had known his father disliked Tara, but to pay for her demise. His mind could still hardly grasp it. They came up into the dim white light of the afternoon, clouds covered the sky for miles, thick and milky, they shaded the sun until it bounced around and glowed down upon his face. They walked slowly at first, Pothmos on his tail as he made his way over to the edge. He stood on the brink of death, one false step and he would tumble down the mountain that was Poseidon’s temple. From this point he could look out across the entire lost city. He watched as the Phindae began to move out of the bay. The ships moved slowly. He could see the figure of Tritian on the docks. For a moment, he wondered if he saw the Atlantean look up at him. No doubt, Tritian was not happy about sending his men off on

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an assassination. Postius stared at them bitterly as they drifted out into the open water. His father would get what he deserved. He was Postius Malantis now and if his father thought he could play with his life as he wished. Then he was surely wrong. He listened to the cool ocean breeze blow across the plateau. Pothmos’ footsteps could be heard approaching from behind. Postius remained facing the city; he knew Pothmos was staring at him, but he didn’t want to face him. It wasn’t that he was afraid to look at Pothmos, it was the thing glowing behind his friend that he feared. He feared the power of the Orb and feared its purpose. His friend had been loyal; he had sought out the murderers and uncovered his father’s plans. For this Postius was undoubtedly grateful and if it had depended on this alone Postius still would have taken Pothmos’ word over Tritian’s, but it hadn’t. It had been much more. He had looked into his friend’s eyes and seen the ruthlessness with which he had undertaken the investigation. Tritian had told him earlier of the Atlanteans he had beaten for answers. Postius had taken it to heart that his friend, who held honor highly, had disregarded the cruelty needed to get answers. Pothmos had become ruthless for him. He had done everything in his power to help Postius find Tara’s killers and he had done it all for Postius. “Thank you, Pothmos,” he said, his anger was drifting. It had given him the strength to do what had to be done, but now with his friend behind him his grief began to take hold once more. “What for?” asked Pothmos. Postius sighed; glad to have a friend such as him. “For showing me the truth. You were right; my father had to pay for what he did. Postius Malantis should have seen that.” “You did see it, Postius.” “Not without your help. I would have listened to Tritian, if not for you.” That was for sure, he had almost given in to Tritian’s trickery. To think that Tritian would hide such a boy in the fleet. “You would have seen it, if not now, it would have been soon after. You could see it in your heart.” Pothmos’ words sunk in easily, “You helped me believe it though, Pothmos. I didn’t want to, but you showed me what I tried not to see.” Pothmos took a few steps closer; he was now just behind Postius, but not yet beside him. The corner of his eye gleamed with the shadow of his friend. “I helped you believe what you couldn’t believe to be true?” said Pothmos.

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“Yes, my friend, I wouldn’t have seen the truth without you,” smiled Postius. “But you did, my friend, you did. And I changed that,” said Pothmos, his voice gave of a resonating tone of anger. Postius stared back at him confused, “What do you mean?” Pothmos didn’t move, his face gazed out across the ocean, looking past Postius. “What I mean, Postius,” he said coldly, “Is that the truth I showed you was not the truth at all.” Postius glared menacingly into Pothmos’ face. “What are you saying, Pothmos?” A small grin appeared in the corner of Pothmos’ face, “Pothmos does not say anything now, mortal. He is gone.” Postius looked hard into the eyes of his friend; it was there that he noticed it. The man standing before him was not the Pothmos he knew. “What have you done?” he commanded, the anger began to flow into his arms once more. “I have done what he could not. I have taken your world from you, mortal. Pothmos, Tara, Laeto, and even Tritian. All of them are gone from you. You are alone. You are nothing now. The Intervention will end here,” slithered a dark voice from Pothmos’ lips. “Who are you?” he demanded as he pulled a sword from his side. “I am beyond you, mortal. I am what you will never be,” it whispered heatedly. Postius swung fast and hard, his sword slashing through the air toward the beast that now possessed his friend. Pothmos’ arm rose to block the blow. Sword met flesh, and stopped. Postius stood gaping as he looked into the eyes of Pothmos. Pothmos’ arm pushed the sword aside and returned to his wait. “You can do nothing to stop what is to come, mortal.” “I can stop you,” he said. “Like you stopped Tara’s death?” Postius’ anger began to push though his blood. “I had no idea that was going to happen, I couldn’t have stopped it.” Postius reassured himself. “You brought her here, mortal, knowing that you were a king of power. You knowingly put her in danger, just as you did with Pothmos.” “Pothmos has always been with me?” he said, the enemy’s comments distracting his rising anger. “It was your fault I came to Pothmos, you and your Prophecy,” it continued.

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“No, how? Why are you here?” he asked. Rage began to burn; each accusation fed its fire. “And Laeto, your own father? You just killed your own father, boy. What kind of man are you?” it pressed. “No! That was you, you tricked me!” he cried back. His arms were shaking; the weight of all his grief blew away on the winds of the ocean, replaced by the angry fire of vengeance. “I am Postius Malantis!” he yelled. “Yes, mortal. Postius Malantis the father killer, the man who let his own friend slaughter his wife and let him get away! You will live with shame for all your days.” The words were barely heard, his ears were on fire with the hatred that ran through him, “You did this, you used me!” he yelled back. “You will pay for this!” He swung the sword once more. Again it crashed uselessly against Pothmos’ arm. He swung again. Nothing. Again. The laughter of Pothmos echoed in the winds. With fury he hacked at the arm, but to no avail. “Give it up, mortal. You can not stop your end.” With this, the body of Pothmos turned and began to walk away. Postius could do nothing to stop it. He stared watching as the figure moved toward the Orb and the stairway behind it. His rage exploded. “Stop!” he screamed, his veins throbbing with heat. The force of his words made the body stop. “I am Postius Malantis!” The words bellowed across the granite of the lost city. “Poseidon! I am ready! I am Postius Malantis, equal among all gods and mortals. Give me the power I was meant to have!” The body of Pothmos turned and stared at Postius as he fumed. Postius could see the heat coming off of his own arms, warping the air around him. He looked into the eyes of his old friend; it was there that he saw it. Clouds billowed and lightning flickered in the pupils before him, reflections of the divine storm closing in on the lost city from behind him. He saw through Pothmos’ eyes, lightning greater than any the world had ever seen. Giant bolts slashed down, connecting with the towers of Atlantis. Docked ships, exploded into fiery cataclysms. And then he felt it, the tingling. His hairs began to rise around his entire body, until they stood straight. The muscles in his body, tightened by the angry heat, loosened. For one moment, his mind and body were at ease. And then it struck.

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The bolt blasted thought his shoulders, energy fell for miles, cascading into a momentous blow upon his soul. The hard, blue granite of Atlantis cracked beneath him. And then it was over. For a moment, he staggered as the glow of the heavens emanated from his arms. Understanding; now burned throughout his body, mixing with the anger until there was nothing but confused power. He raised his head from his chest and opened his eyes. The world glowed in a light he had never seen before. It was warped, as if inverted. The blue, black, and white of Poseidon’s world bored into his conscience. And yellow. Yellow exploded everywhere from the deep chasm of power that was the Orb through the eyes of the Gods. Its presence dominated everything. He turned and stared powerfully at the beast. He could see it for what it was now. Its birdlike eyes stared back at him. It was afraid. Postius raised his arms as the birdman backed slowly toward the Orb. He said one word and then it was over. “Die” He thought it and it happened. Blue flame poured out of his hands, streaking across the distance between him and the beast. It’s power electrified his body as it covered the distance. He saw the beast raise its arms to stop it, but the blast rocketed through its body. Postius watched it become one with the blue light, knocking the beast into the golden light of the Orb. The light took it and it was gone. The flame of energy pushed on, unhindered by the body it had destroyed, and then it bounced. The ricocheting energy sprung from the Orb, bringing yellow energy with it; the spiraled blue and yellow beam scorched the existence between him and the divine object. It hit him hard and fast, the blue energy of the spiral was absorbed by his new power, while the yellow energy ripped through his side, burning away the life within him. There he lay, the power of Poseidon fading from his limbs. He stared up into the storm and began to remember. The anger was gone, replaced by the cold dark of death. The understanding remained, to show him his life and what he had done. He thought of Tara and the love they had shared for such a short time. He remembered his father and the things he had learned from him. Responsibility. His life had echoed with it. Tritian’s teachings had reiterated his father’s statements and even then his inexperience had left him blind to truth. Now he sat, learned. Taught. Responsible. His power was more than any man before him had ever attained. And yet, here he lay, his life flowing from the wound in his side. Lastly, he remembered Pothmos, his friend who had wanted so much for them. His friend who had been lost to the evil brought on by his own prophecy.

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The cool wind of Atlantis blew across his face for the last time. He whispered to it. “I am Postius Malantis,” he said, “And I am no one.” With the little life left within him, he began to crawl. Inch by grueling inch, he made his way toward the Orb. He stared into it. It’s golden presence. Divine. Evil. Good. It was everything and nothing to everyone and no one at the same time. He gathered his strength and pushed himself to his knees. The agony of pain washed down his side, reminder of his returned mortality. It was nothing compared to the losses he had felt in his last days. His face stood inches from the Orb; its light glowing across his features. “None should have such power,” he whispered. His palms and fingers stretched out into the Orb. The winds of the ocean blew across the lost city for the last time.

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T

ritian looked on as the power of Atlantis washed back into the sea. In a spectacular spray, the temple descended, just as it had arisen. Tracing the orb with his gaze as it fell back into the water; he watched the wave return the child to its bearers. “That was dangerous,” he said quietly, the cool breeze blowing across his cheek. “Was it?” asked the hooded being to his right. “You gave him the power of a God.” “And what did he do with it?” Tritian looked down at his feet, somewhat ashamed, “He destroyed himself.” “Of course he did…He was only mortal.” “I thought he was an equal among Gods?” whispered Tritian, somewhat mockingly. The figure beside him did not seem in the mood for humor, “He will be.” Tritian stared into the eyes of his God. “What do you mean?”

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Poseidon looked hard at Tritian, a smile forming in the cold air, “Erebus?” he asked. The dark lord on his left stared out at the waves where Atlantis had just stood, “Yes?” Tritian noticed the green glow of the shadow master’s eyes squint eagerly. He knew Erebus had been waiting a long time for this. “Go get him.” The hooded figure grinned and walked into nothingness.

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