The Gift From Poseidon: When Gods Walked Among Us (Volume 2) (11 page)

“We are waiting for him,” Melanippe proudly chimed in ever so sweetly, “just as he told us to!”  She happily held up the basket of towels for him to see.

Another smile, another reminder of a promise he failed to keep – Hezekiah nearly collapsed.  Simonacles and Judiascar trailing him, their lowered heads made clear that they were close enough to hear the twins’ tragic questions as well.  The cart led by Viracocha and Alexander toiled not far behind.

“Your father?  Yes, young ones, he will make his way here shortly,” Hezekiah answered with a heartbreaking lie wrapped in wounded truth.

Once the three Gryphons were inside the palace, Simonacles and Judiascar caught sight of Queen Marseea to their right; many pike lengths away from them, they hurried toward her.  As she watched them do so, a tree could not be more still or more silent.  Aside from the gleaming red gem that lay against her chest, a shadow black as pitch shrouded her.  Hezekiah watching from the sprawling foyer just a bit beyond the entrance, only the ghastly chill that now coursed through him kept his heart from stopping.  Under the watchful eye of Simonacles, Judiascar revealed to Queen Marseea the demise of every one of the fifteen men so eager to help the Centaurs.  Thirteen precious males capable of procreation gone – every Sapien father had fallen.

A harrowing shriek tore through the foyer.  From Hezekiah’s left, Komnena dashed toward Marseea.  His shivering body, lowered head, and sad eyes peeking up at her stopped Komnena cold.

“Hezekiah?” she pleaded.  Tears flooded her eyes.  “Where is he, Hezekiah …
where is my Nico
?”  The moment he began to shake his head, her tears rushed forth.

“The bravest I ever knew,” Hezekiah said in a soft voice, “he saved so many of us.”  Komnena slammed her head into her hands and dropped to her knees.

Piercing moans and screams echoed off unyielding granite walls.  These screeches cruelly announced great despair, devastation, and shattered hearts.

If only this was all they declared.

Komnena crumpled on the floor next to him, Hezekiah turned to the palace entrance.  The cart pulled by Alexander and Viracocha with Nicephorus’ silk wrapped body as its only load had arrived.  The girls no simpletons, Hezekiah knew what would come next.

Although under a thick blue cloak, the fatherless siblings knew who lay lifeless inside.  With sharp cries, the young twins burst into tears.  The teacup and saucer dropped atop the stone walkway and basket of towels cast aside, each leapt into the cart.  One on each end of the body, they frantically hugged and kissed the silk cloth.  Penthesilea cradling his feet or head – Hezekiah could not tell which – she wiped her streaming sorrow against the soft shroud.  Melanippe tearfully shook Nicephorus’ body as if attempting to awaken him from a deep sleep.

“Father, wake up!  It’s me, Melanippe,” she begged in moaned sobs.  “W
ake up
!”  Each tearful plea was even more desperate and heartbreaking than the last.

The glum faces of the young Centaurs closer to death than not, Alexander and Viracocha continued to pull the cart indoors.  And as they did so, the hopeless screams of the twins rhythmically joined with those of Marseea and Komnena.  A mighty orchestra of sorrow that not even time could mend rang throughout the palace halls.  This sad symphony announced without words to all within earshot a hurtful, undeniable truth:

The Fall of Sapiens was at hand.

That you can do none of what you promise emboldens you, my dear Komnena, with a power the divine devils can never know.  For all the world to see – and it does see it – with blinding light your sorrow defeats the darkened shadows cast by their malice.  It is the gods’ greatest shame that we must wait until our first moments among them to discover the plain truth: WE are the ones with true power, my friend, not them.

At any time, we can die and be rid of the cruelty the world inflicts on us.  The gods, however, must watch on for all eternity, no matter how greatly it pains them to do so.  They are immortal, but wretched.  We are mortal, but beautiful.  THIS is our greatest power.  THIS is their most crippling weakness.

– Marseea, Sapien Queen

– Early Fall, Year 4,236 KT
[10]

The avenue directly in front of the Sapien palace connected the five prefectures.  A perfect circle, it was both the longest and widest avenue in the city.  Not far from the palace’s steps waited fifteen funeral pyres set in a straight line atop this avenue.  To the west were seventeen pyres for the fallen Gryphons.  Further west, and then turning south, stood over 200 others.  These were for half of the Centaur dead.  To the east, twenty-eight were set aside for the Arachna and continuing south, stood another 200 more for the rest of the taken Centaurs.

The palace steps just behind her, in the center of it all stood Queen Marseea.  With a heart heavy from the burden it now suffered, she looked to her left.  The Centaur Chiron and his entourage whispered kind words to those who approached them.  King Achaemenes and important Arachna had gathered to the left of these Centaurs.  Others of the nobility mixed behind the Centaur and Arachna leaders.

“Awash in death, without rest and without fail, we did it,” Achaemenes bragged quietly.  “Nearly 500 silk funerary wrappings weaved in a day and a half by less than a hundred weavers – they did the impossible.”  Artafarnah just nodded.  He obviously owned better manners than did his king.

To Marseea’s immediate left was Cassiopeia.  She had heard this comment as well and just shook her head.  Marseea then leaned into her dearest friend – aside for Komnena, of course – of thirty years and, with her eyes, pointed at the two Arachna.

“Could any words be more tasteless?”

“Could any words,” Cassiopeia scoffed as she turned toward Marseea, “make more obvious the grand immaturity of the young king?”

“Many hundreds of Gryphons scoured Terra Australis for enough frankincense, myrrh, and other spices to prepare the many dead for their journey to the Underworld.  Their success just as impressive – I have yet to hear Judiascar crow about this to others.”

“And you never will,” Cassiopeia returned in a proud voice.  “Excellence and honor expected by those of the West, the lords of the East can only hope to stumble upon such things.”

A day and a half ago, Marseea demanded a most morbid goal: By sunset of this night, every soulless body needed to be swathed in a silk wrap and set atop his or her own funerary pyre.  This decree given, those Gryphons Cassiopeia had alluded to took to the skies.  Their soaring bodies melding into one, they cast a great shadow of death over a grieving world stained in misery.  Once the first few returned, Arachna who had mastered the art of funerary wrapping went to work.  And as they did so, helpers of every kind labored to build the makeshift funeral pyres that now dominated the avenue.  The time for preparations was then; the time for suffering was now.

Marseea moved her watchful gaze to her right.  Although not a single Mermaid had perished, they appeared equally downcast.  Aside from two, of course.  Her face a blank canvas, Queen Diedrika was to the left side of King Judiascar.  He too appeared as if barely bothered by so much death.  Clustered in a half circle behind the new regents of the West, Mermaid and Gryphon nobles looked on.

“Why, Hezekiah, why did this happen?” Ahaziyah moaned more than once.  She was bookended by her son, Hezekiah, and former king, Simonacles.  Of all the Gryphons Marseea laid her eyes on, Ahaziyah cried the most and appeared the most pained.

“I do not know, Mother,” Hezekiah returned sadly each time, “I do not know.  Heroes do not live like the rest of us.  Nor do they die like us.”  When not pleading with her son for an explanation, Ahaziyah stood motionless in a sorrow-induced stupor and stared off into nothingness.

Marseea also spotted Xavier ‘comforting’ a pair of females.  Both faces glum and pained, Perseos held his silently sobbing Andromeda in his arms.  In between wiping away tears, Penelope scribbled this sad setting onto bamboo strips.  The remaining Sapiens – old males and females of different ages – stood behind Marseea in silence.  Satisfied with this, she then stared straight ahead.  Here, those mourning the fifteen fallen men knelt before them all.

Twilight was now upon their world, but not a single star dared look down upon this mass of wretched misery.  Aside from the proudest or most cold-hearted, every eye swelled with redness and every cheek was wet.  Perhaps drawing on tears set aside for the next day and even some thereafter, eyes with none left for this day continued to cry out.  Expected by all, but all looking shaken upon hearing them, a deep below erupted from two massive horns.  This told Centaurs at the east and west ends of the funeral pyres to light the most southern ones.  Moans and fiery dots of light slowly made their way from each end toward the center of this somber scene.

Having set ablaze each beloved dead and sobbed their goodbyes, some of these Centaurs made their way toward the Sapien palace.  Others who could bear no more pain ran off.  The rest simply stayed slumped on all four knees and watched the flames consume the departed.  Fading embers from other cremations now dotted the avenue in each direction as far as Marseea could see.  Smoldering ever more dimly, the glowing coals slowly followed the path of those their flames consumed as lightning began to flash in the far distance.

The funeral pyres were in no particular order aside from a single Sapien one.  Not known for sure if he was the very last Sapien father to fall, this did not matter; Nicephorus was easily the most admired.  In a symbolic gesture, the regents decided to cremate Komnena’s husband last.  The extinguished final hope for all future generations, only this centermost pyre remained unlit.

Marseea caught a stream of befuddled red out of the corner of her eye and focused on the funeral pyre to Komnena’s left.  She leaned into Cassiopeia once more.

“That little girl is and will forever be the last Sapien ever born.”  Marseea’s tone was of a soft sadness and she fought to hold back tears.  “It is just her and her mother now.”

This tiny wretch stood over her motherly one and looked down in despair upon her last remaining loved one.  On her knees, the grief-stricken woman trembled as if riding a horse-drawn carriage across a cobblestone road.  She uttered not a peep, did not once hold the torch, and paid no heed to her daughter.  The girl still held the barely lit torch with not a clue as what to do next.

“Her father has already been swallowed by flame,” Cassiopeia noticed.  “A very brave thing to do if so, it appears the youngling lit the funeral pyre in her wrecked mother’s place.”

Scutaria was a pleasantly pretty, very young child with flowing curly blonde locks.  On any other day, her sparkling pale blue eyes glistened with cheer.  Marseea did not know the youngling’s exact age, but she could not have been more than twenty years old.  For decades, her parents had served as the horse and giant panda stable masters.  Scutaria’s future now much dimmer, her mother alone to work the stables – Marseea pushed these worries out of her mind.

Issues infinitely more important than a hopeless woman and her sniveling babe needed tending.

Marseea now focused intently on Komnena and her daughters.  Penthesilea at her mother’s right side and Melanippe to the left, with lowered heads, all three knelt before Nicephorus’ funerary pyre.  As was the custom for Sapiens, females in mourning dressed in elegant, bright red robes and veils.  The veil covered the entire face except for a small region about the eyes: A laced grille woven in threaded gold covered this small area.  A grieving male would wear a similar robe, but with gold trim throughout and a hood in place of a veil. 

Penthesilea held the cup of peppermint tea while Melanippe clutched the basket of towels their father had asked for upon his return.  A homecoming that would now be forever unfulfilled.

Marseea stood about six pike lengths directly behind them.  The moment she gazed skyward, a light sprinkling of rain began to fall.

“Do you think he sees them, Cassiopeia?  From the heavens, does Nicephorus’ spirit look down at his precious daughters on each side of their loving mother?”

“Yes, my dear friend,” Cassiopeia answered kindly as she too looked up, “I believe he does.  Not even the gods could be so heartless to not allow him to.”  She held out her hands, caught a few raindrops, and let out a pained smile.  “And he weeps in great joy because of it.”

Cassiopeia was indeed a vain creature, but she knew empathy better than most.  Made a widow herself a handful of years after Andromeda was born, her own torment by way of tragedy had taught her well.

In both shaking hands, Komnena loosely held a lit torch.  The bright flame the torch gave off was one of the few sources of bright light that now disturbed the dark, silent night.  Thousands of still shocked mourners waiting for Komnena to set ablaze the final perished being, they all stared at this single brilliant point of light and spoke not a word.

The grieving widow motioned for the twins to rise.  The young girls did so and slowly walked the few steps to Nicephorus’ body.  With unsteady hands and no doubt trembling hearts, they stood next to their fallen father.  Penthesilea placed the cup of tea to his side and Melanippe did the same with the basket of towels.  They now turned to Komnena.  With a hand held out to their mother, they invited her to join them.  It was time to say goodbye.

Halfway to a standing position, Komnena crumpled to the avenue.  Marseea, as well as others, gasped.  As if Komnena could no longer feel her legs, try as she might, they did not allow her to stand.  She tried once again, collapsed, and cried out a sharp moan – a sudden gust of wind blew across the avenue.  This gust the sharpest chill Marseea had ever felt; she could feel a great wave of grief sweep over the jaggedly broken widow.  As if an Orca had embedded his clamped jaws deep into her torso, Komnena began to twist and turn in every direction.

Each next moan was a sliver of suffering sharper than the last; after a flurry of these moans, Komnena could hold in her sorrow no longer.  Even louder than when Hezekiah had told her of Nicephorus’ death, she ripped her head back and cried out to the dark, starless sky.

“NOOOOOO!  You cannot take him!  He is not yours to take!  NOOOOOO!  No, no, no, no, NO!”  Komnena dropped the torch, collapsed forward, and buried her head in her quivering hands.

As the twins rushed to their dejected mother, sudden shouts to those rascals high above threw them to the ground.

“YOU HORRID, HEATHEN GODS!” the still kneeling Komnena screamed with her fists to the air.  “The
first
day of my own death, I will tear your heavenly wretchedness from you!  I will drink the mist that pours down the rains and devour the stars from which you were born!  I will smash your spirits into dust!  I HATE YOU!  DO YOU HEAR ME!  I HATE YOU ALL!”

As quickly as the outburst started, it ended.  Komnena again buried her head in her hands and wept uncontrollably.

“As much as it allows itself,” Marseea said softly, “my heart aches for your loss, my companion.”

As Komnena’s torment swept over them, Marseea could sense a pair of eyes upon her.  She looked down at the Heart of Terra Australis.  The scarlet gem acted as would a mirror and reflected the last flickers of fires all about – Diedrika did indeed stare at her.  Marseea fought the urge to meet the Mermaid queen’s gaze.  Her lips trembled as she whispered more kind words for Komnena and calculating eyes held tears in place as would a waterlogged sponge.

“Please, Mother,
please
,” Melanippe begged through her sobs, “Father is waiting.”  With these words and Penthesilea’s gestures of encouragement, the darling siblings convinced their mother to reclaim the fallen torch.

Komnena stammered forward and set ablaze the kindling around Nicephorus’ body.  Finally able to fulfill its sole duty, fuel and oiled cloth right away caught fire.  The light sprinkling of rain now turned into a steady downpour.

A sudden fear tore through Marseea – Komnena now leaned toward the burning funeral pyre. 
Would the motherly wretch dare thrust herself into the crackling blaze?

Ready to rush out to pull Komnena away, wandering, needing fingers calmed Marseea’s fluttering heart.  As if they could sense their queen’s fear, each daughter tightly grasped one of her mother’s hands.

“Don’t follow him,” Penthesilea cried into her mother’s scarlet robes.  “You are all we have left.”

Komnena stepped back, dropped to her knees once more, and the twins leaned into her.  Six arms desperately missing the two strongest ones wrapped around each other and the three wept together as if one.

Dancing flames transformed into a monstrous fireball.  The last Sapien male now one more star in the heavens, Marseea truly grasped the pitiful future – more specifically the lack of it – of the once dominant race.  Newborn Sapiens now impossible, the future bleak indeed, this last generation would live to see its own extinction.

Diedrika
still
stared at her.  This Mermaid queen, no doubt, found watching the miserable Sapien one a fascinating exercise.

“For our loved ones, for our kind,” Marseea said in little more than a whisper, “… it was not supposed to end this way.”

Words of this newfound hopeless reality were for no one in particular.  A pained blink of her eyes finally let loose the twin pools that drenched them.  Very much not wanting to, she slowly met Diedrika’s gaze.  Marseea knew better than to expect a touch of sympathy the Mermaid queen was incapable of offering, yet hoped for it anyway.

You fool, Marseea!  To stare back at you with that blank face scrapes the depths of her compassion.