The Gift From Poseidon: When Gods Walked Among Us (Volume 2) (10 page)

Perhaps the lure of so many helpless souls ripe for the taking was, for even a steady handed god, too much to refuse.  As if Hades himself had punched a hole through it, the top of the dam blew apart.  The bottom of this semicircular hole was about three-quarters of the way up the dam’s face.  These two more lucky than good, the blast knocked them to the avenue of which only a dozen pike lengths or so remained.  Alexander crawled to the dam’s edge and Nicephorus hurriedly followed.

“Oh no!” they gasped as if a single being.

Massive blocks of granite fell from the sky; pieces as small as pebbles raced downward as well.  As the unluckiest of spectators gathered below looked up, the harbingers of their doom rushed forth to meet each terrified gaze.  A deluge of catastrophic misery in the form of titanic sheets of water suddenly smashed into throats with the force of a thousand arrows.  And of what the water missed, granite and debris destroyed the rest.  So many having risen to meet the daunting challenge, so many fell in the act of heroically failing to do so.

Nearly everyone Alexander had seen but moments ago work to release the valves along the dam face hurtled to his tragic death as well.  Centaurs, Arachna, Gryphons, and Sapiens alike – gone.  Hades’ cackling laugh no doubt rippling through the Gates these souls now waited at, his rabid demon, Mellivoros
[8]
, would soon be free to feast at his leisure.

To those who understood little of water pressure and the stress of structures, at first glance, this hole might have appeared as if a blessing.  Alexander and Nicephorus knew better.  The release of pressure at the top lip of the dam would now propel the waters inside it to push forward.  Now
all
the water was free to seek an escape from this exit.

“Come Alexander, let us make our escape!  The rest of the dam could break at any moment!”

Nicephorus pushed the bewildered Aeropid on and the two struggled to climb onto the massive Centaur sculpture.  Once they had done so, the silky structure spanning it and the Arachna monument amazed them.  The distance between the monuments too far to jump, to remedy this, Artafarnah had ‘shot’ silk webs to link them.  Now on the sculpture of his own kind, he had already secured and wrapped his webs around the front legs of the Centaur monument.  Finishing just as Alexander and Nicephorus arrived, a bridge that appeared much like a flattened funnel was the grand result.  Fresh silk soft and somewhat sticky when first spun; the watery mist in the air swiftly stiffened this silk bridge.

“Come, Viracocha!  Cross quickly!” Artafarnah commanded from the opposite side.

Viracocha moved slowly across the makeshift bridge.  The Olmec nearly to the end, Alexander spun around; nothing but misted air was there to greet him.  His heart having stopped in fear, it started again only after he caught sight of a shadow in the mist.  Nicephorus had snuck back to the stone wheel.  Alexander nimbly made his way across the Centaur monument and back to the wheel valve.  Having done so, he took in the most amazing sight.

As to why the gods did not dare show themselves to mere mortals, Alexander gazed upon the answer.  Gritted teeth, popping veins, straining muscle fibers, and a determined mind working together greeted his stunned look.  As Nicephorus’ gleaming, rippling body turned a wheel designed for three, Alexander realized he had never seen anything quite like this.  And as the gods did not have the courage to try to match such magnificence, he probably never would again.  The massive valves on this side of the dam let out a great hiss as Nicephorus pushed the wheel forward bit by bit.

“Do not bicker, young Centaur!” he yelled before Alexander could force a protest from his half-opened mouth.  “Go back and cross the bridge!”  The hiss grew even louder and Alexander now heard waves of water rush out in relief behind him.  “The rest of the city not yet drenched and still standing, it just might have a chance to stay that way.  Almost done – now go!  I will soon be on my way!”

Alexander scampered back to the webbed bridge as ordered.  A raging river now rushed between the two monuments; a good amount of debris rushed out as well.  He gawked at this for a few moments before carefully making his way across.  The Arachna monument’s helmet was so large and somewhat flat that there was easily enough room for them all to stand on safely.  Alexander told Viracocha and Artafarnah that Nicephorus was on his way and they eagerly waited for him.

“Where is he?” Alexander demanded.  “Where is he?”  After a few more moments had passed, he determined he would go back across.  Just as he was about to announce his intentions, Nicephorus appeared on the other side.

The three cheered.  “Come across!  Come across!” Artafarnah yelled.  Nicephorus stepped onto the first of the two raised Centaur legs and then leapt to the second one.  He smiled at the others.  A few steps taken onto the bridge, Viracocha pointed to the sky at a returning Hezekiah.  Turning around, this indestructible man lifted his hand to wave.…

And then he was gone.

Both raised front legs of the Centaur monument snapped off at the shoulder from yet another massive quake.  Nicephorus’ steady base was no more and his absence of downward motion had gone with it – the webbed bridge fell harmlessly to the other side as if one side of a hinged trap door.  The Centaurs shaken to the ground, the young Arachna general still stood.  Alexander looking at Artafarnah with miserable, blurred eyes, he sprung off the Arachna monument and landed on the lower half of the dangling silk bridge.  Head to the sky, he then blasted every thread of silk his spinnerets could muster at the helpless man now in free fall.

With the collapsed part of the wall now gone, the avenue they had recently stood upon had vanished with it.  The rushing river brought about by the relieved valve grew larger and flowed even faster.  So much so, it was now only a pike length below Artafarnah.  And it was in this mess Nicephorus had fallen.  No doubt just as horrified as Alexander and Viracocha, Hezekiah dove to where his friend should be.

“There is nothing but water and mist!  I don’t see him!”  He landed on the Arachna monument with the others and appeared ready to break down in sorrow.

“I have him!  I have him!” Artafarnah screamed.  “Help me pull him up!”

With a second round of cheers, Alexander, Viracocha, and Hezekiah immediately moved to do so.  Each grabbed the unbreakable silk mesh of what was once the bridge.  Together, they yanked, tugged, and heaved.  Exhausted, cold as ice, shivering like mad, limbs bleeding from the unforgiving silk strands; the four chanted happily as they worked to haul up their friend.  Artafarnah now back up on the monument, he used his front limbs to gather the silk strands he had shot at Nicephorus.

“His hands!  His hands!”  Viracocha cried out.  “I can see his hands!”  With a gleeful cadence, they continued to haul in their catch until finally dragging Nicephorus onto the Arachna monument.

Tears and cries of blissful joy suddenly turned to those of painful grief.  Although set free from his fall, death gripped him in its steady grasp.  Trained in medicine like most educated Arachna, Artafarnah flipped Nicephorus to his stomach.  With both pedipalps, he then delivered sharp blows to his upper back.  Some water ejected from his mouth, but drowning was not the cause of this death.  After the fourth blow, Alexander’s heart sank as he noticed the scalp soaked in blood.  The failed Arachna did so as well and ceased his strikes.  He then turned Nicephorus onto his back again.  Next, Artafarnah laid him down as if a fragile, sleeping baby, and slumped next to the lifeless body.

“There is nothing we can do,” he mumbled in despair.  “He has left our world … off to another.”  Viracocha and Hezekiah crumpled as Artafarnah had done.  They owned the same vacant, disbelieving stare, but anger boiled as if molten lava through Alexander.  He picked up a sledgehammer and threw it wildly in the direction of the draining reservoir.

“AAAAAAHHHHHH!” Alexander screamed in painful agony at their failure.  “YOU GHASTLY, SOUL-SUCKING WRETCH!” he shouted toward the mountains.  “HAVE YOU NOT FED ON ENOUGH OF US FOR ONE DAY?”

The echoes from these shrieks bounced back with a solemn moan.  The others stayed silent as Alexander stammered in insufferable fury about them.  He had never seen another die before; at least not up close.  Finally, he stood silent and let his eyes settle on the – even in death – still magnificent man.  Hezekiah lay down and nudged his beak under Nicephorus’ head.

“Come, friend, join us,” Viracocha called softly, “… join us in mourning,” He all but choked on every word.  Next, he extended his hand in heartfelt, yet miserable fellowship. 

Although desperately not wanting to, Alexander accepted.  As if a vanquished warrior who could no longer deny defeat, he dropped to his knees across from Viracocha and wept.

Tasked with but one duty, I failed both Nicephorus and his kind.  This great shame as if a cloak, I will wear it until my own end.  Only then will I finally earn forgiveness for my greatest failure.  Goodbye, dear friend, noble rescuer … goodbye.

– Hezekiah, Gryphon Historian

– Start of Fall, Year 4,236 KT
[9]

With talons as sharp as a blade, Hezekiah tenderly stroked the top of Nicephorus’ head.  He stared in disbelief at the lifeless body Komnena had ordered him to watch over and wept miserably.  Hezekiah finally sat up, but kept his head low.  All around them, blood and grime stained the fine marble surface of the Arachna structure.  Although water and mist surrounded them, his voice cracked as if a dried leaf in desperate need of moisture.

“His daughters … they wait for him.”  Hezekiah paused for a moment to take in a gulping breath.  Tears as much as air rushed into his lungs.  “One with hot tea to warm his bones, the other with a basket of towels to dry his brow … they will forever await his return.”

After many painful moments of mournful silence passed, he spoke again.  “Years ago, Nicephorus made a brave promise to himself.  To celebrate his 250th year, he told us all he would play Harpastum in the coming summer.  Not only play, but finish as well; he pledged that, no matter what, he would walk off the field under his own power.”

Each of the three listeners peeked up at Hezekiah with one interested eye while keeping the dismal other on Nicephorus.

“I told him he was mad,” Hezekiah continued.  “His wife, his daughters, Queen Marseea, anyone he told, they all said the same.  Like in the days of old – it would be just him, his Gryphon, and his armor.  And the one he rode that day was me.  I had only played a few times before then and it showed.  Although more than twenty years have passed since, I still remember every aching moment.  Once the game started,” Hezekiah chuckled weakly, “we were nothing more than a slow squirrel amongst stomping bears.  Nevertheless, his heart – his desire – would not allow any creature to deny him.  Gryphon, Arachna, and Centaur alike repeatedly smashed us into the ground.  It even felt like some on our own team targeted us.  To this day, I have never seen another effort quite like it.”

Hezekiah took in a deep breath before he could go on.

“Multiple broken bones, scars that still decorate his body, enough blood left behind to fill a goblet; by his unbending will, he kept his promise.  This man possessed a strength none of us could ever know, yet he also owned a noble tenderness, a dear appreciation for life.  A handful of ancient Sapiens might have owned his strength, some might have shown to others the kindness he showed to all, but none ever had both.…”  Hezekiah could speak no more and wept.

Perhaps the spirit of Nicephorus begged him to do so, maybe it was something else, Hezekiah did not know.  Either way, the strength to tell another story – a much more meaningful one – now swelled inside him.  He took in many deep breaths, looked at the three lowered heads, and then spoke again.

“Only a precious few know this, but I owe my very life to Nicephorus.  A story I often begged him to retell me; no matter when or where, he humbly did so every time.  And so, in his honor, I would like to tell it to each of you.”

The others looked up with sad eyes and nodded one after the other.

“My mother in labor to birth me and my sisters more than four decades ago,” Hezekiah began, “Nicephorus just happened to be at Hakleddamm on this very same autumn day.  Fascinated by medicine, he thirsted to learn more.  Arachna medics stationed inside our capital finally gave into his pleas and allowed him to tag along as an apprentice.

“Born first and with little issue, a medic casually bathed me.  Nicephorus always made sure to tell me that a calm peace wafted about the air as the medic did this.  As he watched, Mermaid midwives worked to bring the next little miracle into our world.  Screams and shouts suddenly rang out.  The two midwives who tended to my now struggling mother, Ahaziyah, called for aid from the medic.  Just a squeaking newborn, he pulled me out of the shallow tub, placed me atop a blanket on the ground, and rushed over to help.

“Everyone now tending to my mother, no one tended to my little self the medic left behind.  Blind and with wings that did nothing but get in the way, I crawled back into the warm water of the shallow tub.”  Hezekiah’s voice cracked as he imagined himself as an infant cub in such danger.  “The water a little too high … it came in so fast.”

After a few more deep breaths, he continued.

“Nicephorus turned to look for my now drowning self.  He told me that he never knew why he all of a sudden did so, but I am thankful that he did.  Not even able to squeak for help, because of him, I did not need to.  Nicephorus hurried over and scooped me out from the waters eager to drown me.  Gently, this massive man pushed from my tiny, waterlogged lungs the precious liquid that with an equal vigor both gives and takes life.  As crisp air rushed back in, he joked that I happily gulped as if taking little bites.  Nicephorus then wrapped me in a blanket and held me safely in his arms until my mother was ready to do so.”  Hezekiah’s voice turned to barely a whisper.  “Who would have thought that the largest Sapien alive could save the life of the tiniest Gryphon?”

Hezekiah inspected the other three.  Exhausted mentally, they were a mess physically.  The hairs on Artafarnah blacker from the dirt and blood that soaked him than his usual cobalt blue, the two Centaurs were just as filthy and even more bloodied.  The glacier white of Alexander’s skin and hide looked as if canvas smeared by a youngling with crimson paint.  More torn away than intact skin hung off Viracocha’s hands and forearms.

The surviving four were – to this point – unaware as to the scope of damage below.  So busy in their frantic, futile efforts, they had yet to have the cruel chance.  Hezekiah watched as Artafarnah now gawked in disbelief at the formerly splendid city.

“Such damage is shocking to the eyes and ruinous on the heart,” Artafarnah said sadly.  Alexander came alongside him.  An Arachna could not shed tears, but his voice made his despair clear.  “Mangled structures look unhappily upon crumbled monuments.  These crumbled monuments lay atop avenues suffering crippling cracks.  And all covered in drenched filth – curse the gods, what misery!”

The Centaur and Gryphon prefectures, farthest south of the pentagon shaped city and closest to the dam, had witnessed the greatest destruction.  The eastern side of the dam sloped away from the city.  Just as the Centaur ancients had designed, the water released by Nicephorus now rushed for the fields that separated Antediluvium from Lacanesia.  If not for him, the entire dam would have surely collapsed and swept away a good many of them.  Far below, hundreds of bodies lay scattered about the lower pool and everywhere close to it.  Many Centaurs and a handful of Gryphons and Arachna gathered to grieve, look on in horror, or do what they could to comfort others.

Hezekiah removed his forest-green cloak and spread it out atop the cleanest part of the marble surface.  Alexander and Viracocha then moved Nicephorus onto it and they folded this cloak around his body.

The two Centaurs and Arachna headed down the walkway on the eastern side of the Arachna monument.  Hezekiah flying ahead of them, in his talons, he cradled Nicephorus’ wrapped body.  His flight quick, but painful with each beat of his wings, he soon landed where others now brought the many dead.

“Do you carry a fallen Sapien?” a sweet, but pained voice asked.  Most aware who this young beauty was, Hezekiah’s swollen eyes turned to the young Centauress.  Carolinica knelt down, pulled the cloak from Nicephorus’ face, and let out a sharp gasp.  Hands across her mouth, she shook her head from side to side.

“Oh, Hezekiah, no!”  Tears streamed down her face.  After many moments, Carolinica was finally able to speak again.  “He taught us so much and was always so patient, so kind.  Summer studies will be insufferable without his steady hand.”

Along with Queen Marseea and Komnena, a few Sapiens along with the other historians sometimes took part in these teachings as well.  Nicephorus taught students what most Sapiens knew barely a sliver of: ethics and moral beliefs of intelligent beings.  Popular with all, young male Gryphons and Centaurs often wrestled him.  And
always
lost.

“There are others here,” Abarah called sadly from behind.

Hezekiah allowed a couple of Centaurs to carry Nicephorus’ body and he glumly followed them.  In a tidy row, seven other Sapiens lay dead in their own soaked and soiled cloaks.  Marseea’s fears suddenly dawned on Hezekiah.  He spun around and caught sight of two more wrapped Sapien bodies.  Both male – that made ten.  As Alexander and Viracocha wearily approached, Carolinica ran to them.  She hugged not the one or the other, but both at once.

“I was so worried,
so worried –
thank the gods you are both safe!” she cried.  Carolinica pulled their heads to each side of hers, wiped her tears on filthy faces, and kissed them both.

Hezekiah’s heart broken into a thousand pieces, this tender scene allowed at least some of these wayward pieces to mend themselves back together again.

Hezekiah and the three young Centaurs then approached the ten Sapien bodies.  Others had brought and continued to bring Centaur, Gryphon, and Arachna dead to resting places around them.

“So many dead, so many wounded!” Nüwa sobbed as she shook wildly.  “It’s just so terrible!”  Nüwa crossed her arms over her chest as if this could stop the chill.  The Huaxia tribe known for their stoic demeanor any other day, those openly hurting such as Nüwa suggested that today would be different.

Body after body passed by.  A good many important Centaurs and Arachna soon arrived to do what they could to comfort the grieving.  A few dozen or so Gryphons also amongst this murky mess of misery, Hezekiah had yet to spot a single Mermaid.

Now early afternoon, it had taken three full turns of the clepsydra to find and collect the dead.  Those who searched them out brought the deceased together and arranged each body as if it were part of a gruesome puzzle.  The sweeping floods and damage spawned by this catastrophe had drowned or crushed so many, so quickly, so cruelly.

“Hezekiah,” the Centaur historian called.  He held out a bamboo strip and Hezekiah took it.  “I have not the courage to tell you the words written on this.”  He turned halfway around.  “Neither do I have the courage to watch you read it.”  These grave words spoken, he rushed back over to his Chiron.

Once more, Hezekiah took to the air.  More damage, more dead, more chaos, met his stinging eyes.  Recalling the bamboo strip he still carried – it was the death count.  Over four hundred Centaurs, twenty-eight Arachna, and seventeen Gryphons had lost their lives either in valor or in the glorious pursuit of it.

The tally to this point shocking, if to hear it did not leave a spot of vomit in your mouth then you had no heart.  And then there was the Sapien death count….

Once Hezekiah turned east, a somewhat comforting sight made its way southwest.  A wave of Mermaids atop Gryphons had just landed and now marched for the minor pool of the dam.  Simonacles, his former king, carried his former queen, Andromeda.  Perseos, the Mermaid general, sat atop the soon to be retiring Gryphon one.  Xavier, who all knew craved this opening position and, although only twenty-two, probably deserved it most, carried Penelope.  And of course, atop King Judiascar and with her head held high no matter the chaos, rode Queen Diedrika.  Hezekiah quickly landed.

“My king, I dearly wish a better day could have greeted your first day on the throne.”

“Yes, Historian, as do I.  Such a day is not of my choosing, but there will be many others much more to my liking.  We simply need wait for them.”

“Kings and queens of both past and present,” Hezekiah told them in a soft, aching voice, “please, we must speak in private.”  The five of them slowly moved away from the others.  “The Sapien dead, all males … they number fifteen.  Do you know what this means?  All thirteen fathers ––”

“They are done for,” Queen Diedrika interrupted.  She showed no emotion.  Neither did she speak with any.  “The race that started it all will not be here to see the end.  From which Mermaids were molded, the mystic masters who created the Gryphons – their meddling draws to a close.”

“Yes, my queen,” Hezekiah replied.  “I will bring Nicephorus’ body to the palace and tell Komnena.  As for Marseea …” he paused and slowly turned to Judiascar.

“Come, my son,
my king
.”  Simonacles’ tone was a mix of pride and pain.  “Sweet glory welcomed one day, another has come to deliver sorrow.  As no other among us is strong enough, it is your duty to do so.”

Judiascar nodded his understanding.  No more words needed, Hezekiah then bounded off.

“Viracocha!  Alexander!” Hezekiah called.  “We have a most thankless task ahead of us, young Centaurs.”  He motioned for them to hitch up to a wagon, and they did so.  Others then gently laid Nicephorus’ body inside it.

With Simonacles and Judiascar in the lead, they began their trek north.  Their steps weighed down by sadness, Hezekiah cursed each one.  During the long, dismal trot, nearly all who saw them stopped and stared.  None spoke a word.  Once close to the Sapien palace, the three Gryphons flew ahead of the burdened Centaurs.

*****

As they approached the main entrance, Penthesilea and Melanippe stood waiting.  Hezekiah in the lead, a chill coursed through him as he glumly started up the stairs to the entrance.  As he did so, Penthesilea’s innocent smile greeted him with a glowing warmth he dearly wished for himself.

“Master Gryphon, is our dear father on his way?”

To see the young darling holding a piping hot cup of peppermint tea in her hands nearly broke him.  Hezekiah breathed its scent in deeply; he had smelled nothing but death, destruction, and despair since the day began.  Predictably, this only caused more pain.