The Gift From Poseidon: When Gods Walked Among Us (Volume 2) (12 page)

Diedrika’s voice was soft, yet as unfeeling as stone: “‘Sapiens in their native, virgin form holding sway over every creature of every land they touch’ … Desdessandra’s prophecy is not looking so good these days.”  So brash, so true, Diedrika’s tongue inflicted a stinging wound as if the sharpest of blades dipped in hot coals.

Marseea winced as she felt its deep burn.  Speechless and rightly so, she turned her head away from the callous Mermaid.  Although brazen for the moment, of what Diedrika spoke was perfect truth.  As a nation, as a race, as a people, the timelessness of the centuries looked on as Sapiens – with the utmost precision – squandered their privileged existence.

*****

Desdessandra … there would never be another like her.  Nor should there be.  Coming close to doing so then, the world just might break if there ever was.  A hopelessly flawed sorceress with goddess-like ability no age had seen before
or
since, Marseea could barely imagine such power let alone wield it.  Desdessandra’s great skill with magic so evident, her peers chose her as the youngest ever Triumvirate member of the long ago dissolved Magic Guild of the Sapien Realm.

The daughter of Queen Medea, Desdessandra was the creator of not just one, but
two
races of creatures.  One born from enraged malice caused by jealousy, the other spawned in a heroic quest for redemption; she was the unintended mother of the Mermaids and, with the help of her brother, the fire-starter Hephaestus, the deliberate creator of the Centaurs.

Two millennia ago, her heterochromatic eyes of orange and blue struck fear in the hearts of foes and demanded caution from friends.  The contrast of Desdessandra’s striking eyes told of a hidden scale balanced upon her shoulders.  Wickedness on one side of her mortal self offset an equally weighted compassion on the other.  In the end, her charcoal black hair foretold the side of this scale the wispy feather of jealousy and forgiveness would eventually fall.

The best years of her charmed life equally spent and equally ahead of her, this life turned tragic.  The petty philandering of her betrothed, Kassandros, unleashed in her an evil flurry of vengeance.  Cursing his newfound love, the beautiful commoner Thessalonika, was the first step onto a disastrous path of ruin – a prison cell became her home thereafter.  Three short years after his sister’s apex, Hephaestus collected what was left of her.

A myth Sapien parents told their children as a bedtime story grew to a legend believed by some, only to become certain fact to all.  Let out of her earthly prison, Desdessandra was forever free to extract an eternal revenge on any soul who had a helping hand in her downfall.  Kassandros, the vain, selfish cheat she was to marry; Deianira, her wicked rival from the Magic Guild from adolescence; the mighty general, Eurytion, who came within a whisper of striking her down; the Queen Mother who abandoned her until her final night of decay – with Hades craftily pulling the puppet strings as Persephone howled out in glee, this was Desdessandra’s Underworld now.  Those who scorned or hurt her were just dead in it.

Hephaestus would carry on for another five centuries.  This was but one of many shocking predictions made by Desdessandra to come true.  During these five centuries, in one way or another, he had a hand in nearly every notable happening in Terra Australis.  One event, a fulfilled promise Hephaestus made to Desdessandra the night she passed, stood above all others.  A shocking secret hidden from all but a select few since ––

Had the time finally come to reveal it?

The most desperate of times now upon her kind, a grand temptation begged of Marseea to partake of it.  Only she and Komnena knew of Desdessandra’s
true
prophecy.  From a young age, all others had learned – and openly laughed at – the very misleading short version: ‘Sapiens in their native, virgin form will someday hold sway over every creature of every land they touch’ – this was simply the result, NOT the path to do so.  Only the true prophecy revealed such a path.  The fleshy stones gathered all around her, Marseea would need just the right mix of death, destruction, and chaos to lay this path properly for all to march down.  And at just the right time.

Every Mermaid ever born owned a scrap of the same malice Desdessandra buried deep inside Thessalonika that fateful night.  It was especially strong in Diedrika.  The young queen beyond ambitious and the fiercely loyal King Judiascar at her side – the risk was overwhelming.

And oh so tempting!

But could the most watchful of schemes many years in the making both temper
and
unleash Diedrika’s dominating will in just the right manner?  Was such a grand plot even possible?  Marseea would need to take care, great care, if she hoped to make it so.  To keep a newborn safe while holding him with tongs glowing red would be easier – but she had to try.  The reward could not be greater.  Failure could not be more dreadful.

And just what would be the ruinous result if Marseea failed?

Quite simply, that Desdessandra’s timeless revenge would not only befall the world of the dead, but of the living as well.

Regents rise and cities fall; all the while historians dutifully scribe when and how.  Little more than a quarter of the way through my reign, I have done many deeds most would consider great – more to the point, near impossible.  It is not in my nature to be humble, yet I do not parade such deeds – THAT is the task for a historian.  Thrust into our world by Poseidon to seek out and fulfill a greater purpose than all others, this blissful burden gives me both a strength and will few can imagine and only I possess.  To be a part of history mere child’s play … I WAS BORN TO DOMINATE IT!

– Diedrika, Mermaid Queen

– Mid-Fall, Year 4,241 KT
[11]

A day that took five years to reach after her reign began, but would lay nearly every brick along the path of what was to come, had finally arrived.  For it would be on this
one
day when Diedrika would impose her will on not only the Centaurs, but on her own kind as well.  A pike length away from her, she looked down upon the three Centaurs in the same way the most regal of royals would do so upon the most useless of rabble.

“The Alpha Centauri,” the Centaur Chiron began, “have once again asked me to express their disappointment.  They plead with you to reconsider your tradition of not respecting theirs.”

Diedrika slid off Judiascar, landed on the soft, overgrown grasses of the empty stadium, and made her way toward the shifty Huaxia.  She wore her crown and white stola atop a tight-fitting, long-sleeved purple tunic.  Diedrika had never met with a Chiron in the presence of the three members of the Alpha Centauri nor would she.  When the time came for rulers or emissaries to address the Centaur leader, it was tradition for the Chiron and his three blind counselors to do so at the top of a single skyward tower to the rear of Lacanesia.  And always at sunset.  It was here where the spoiled trio wasted their days in blissful sightlessness.

Poseidon’s tail – what a FARCE!

“I have told you and your council before, Ruòkelián,” Diedrika said confidently, “leader to leader is how business between nations too important for emissaries is done.  Today, tomorrow, until my last day as regent, I will refuse to do so any differently.”

“I will remind them.”  The Chiron’s unsteady voice turned hopeful and greedily so.  “The caravans with the fall harvest to last us through winter are on their way, yes?”

For longer than anyone still lived, with each new harvest, Mermaids provided Centaurs with a little more seafood than the year before.  After Diedrika assumed the throne, however, she put an end to such needless goodwill.  The bountiful seafood harvests carried east were many times more than the fruits, vegetables, and prepared meats sent west; Centaurs were supposed to earn the difference, but in recent years had rarely done so.  Gryphons had already paid enterprising Centaurs to rebuild their own district badly damaged by the dam breach five years ago.  Also not helping their cause: At both Atagartis and the Mermaid prefecture in Antediluvium, there was little to repair and even less left to build.

“They are,” Diedrika returned slowly, “for the most part.”

“For the
most
part – what does this mean?” her unequal peer gasped.

Diedrika took her time as she began to circle the wary Chiron, his historian, and new lead general, Seneferre.  She cared little for the historian and not at all for Ruòkelián, but Seneferre had always impressed her.

Such size, such strength, but rarely hasty – he was much like a Gryphon!

Like many well off Nubians, Seneferre wore a thin, gold helmet molded over his shaved scalp.  At its front was a crest of twin upright cobras made from emeralds and rubies encrusted in more gold.  Even with this helmet, a tight-fitting white caparison across his horizontal back, and blue tunic to cover his vertical one, Diedrika could still see the deep scars those horrible claws had left behind.

Across from them, Judiascar and Xavier, the newly christened lead Gryphon general, looked on as Penelope dutifully scribed away.

As Diedrika continued to circle her prey, she took in the still unrepaired ruins of the stadium and amphitheater.  For now, workers focused on finishing repairs to the great dam that would once again provide water for every district.  “By late spring of the coming year at the latest,” Horus had assured the regents.  The weather was cool enough to warrant extra layers, but the sun shined brightly.  Diedrika’s circle now complete, a grin swept across her face as if brought about by the pleasant breeze.  This wide smile was a perfect ruse, of course, for what would come next.

“Every day without fail – from early spring until late fall – dozens of Centaur fishing ships drop their nets on the edge of the seas we claimed long ago.  And a good many sail far past this edge.  Although it amuses them on some days to do so, on most others my Orca and Gryphon patrols grow tired of chasing your fishing ships from our waters.  Every league
[12]
from land until glacier marked by a towering beacon so high and bright a blind man could see them – you know where our borders begin, Ruòkelián!”  As she came close to the Huaxia Chiron, a glow emanated from palms not together, but still far apart.  “As have they, I too grow tired of this game Centaur anglers seem a little too eager to play.”  Diedrika retreated until again next to Judiascar.  “A seafood harvest ten percent less than last year –
this
is the penalty for past incursions, Chiron!”

“But, Great Queen, please ––” Ruòkelián began to babble.

“Prepare to hear the penalties for future ones!”

These harshly spoken words her queue, Penelope stored her bamboo strips and stylus in her pack.  She then came forth, handed a scroll of parchment to the Chiron, and unfurled in her hands an exact copy.  This was more the task for a messenger than a historian, but the forthcoming decree was just too important.

“A decree,” Penelope began with her chin held high, “given on behalf of Queen Diedrika on this 35
th
day of autumn in year 4,241 of the Knowing Time … please listen well, my lords.  ‘In response to repeated breaches of Mermaid waters, it is declared that no vessel – fishing or otherwise – is to pass onto our side of the northern sea ever again.  Anyone captured who does so and is determined guilty will face a ten-year prison sentence behind the walls of Atagartis.  Neither station nor need will be grounds to reduce this sentence.’”

“This is in no way f ––”

“‘
Furthermore
,’” Penelope interrupted with a raised voice, “‘for any trespasser caught, a charge of espionage will follow.  It will be the burden of the accused to prove that he or she is
not
a spy.’”  She lowered her voice.  “I need not explain what the penalty is for this offense.”

This second part was really at the clever insistence of her royal court, but Diedrika claimed it as her own.  For one convicted of spying, death was the ONLY punishment.

“No, never!” the Chiron shouted.  “I will not allow it!”  Ruòkelián looked from side to side and appeared on the verge of outright panic.  His historian and green general of sculpted brown offered no comfort.

“And it is most certainly in your power to do so!” Diedrika squealed happily.  Her face then turned hard.  “But may I remind you that Atagartis is hungry as well.”  She raised her hands to the air.  “No doubt a hero’s welcome awaits the queen who returns home with every scrap of seafood she departed with.”

“You are giving us less than last year – again,” Ruòkelián mumbled in disbelief.

To Diedrika’s pleasure, he sported the haggard frown of just one more she inflicted her unbending will upon.  But this was almost too easy.  She had no idea how this weak-willed Huaxia ever became Chiron in the first place.  The crusty, but capable Nubian who greeted her at her coronation had died soon after.

Why the Centaurs had voted for this rube to take the dead Nubian’s place – did the breached dam engulf Lacanesia in some sort of inbreeding craze she was unaware of?

“The number of mouths grows but our harvests do not,” Ruòkelián said sadly.  As he spoke, he took turns looking at Penelope and then at the two Gryphons.  “Even with more plantings across new lands, farmers can barely keep up; we will see shortages this winter for the first time.  Under the weight of over 10,000 bellies to feed, the breadbasket that is our part of Terra Australis weakens just a bit more with each passing year.”

Centaurs fished for themselves of course, but the sea east of Elkabydos was more like a calm bay where little life existed.  Hemmed in by glaciers to the north and east and the landmass of Terra Australis to its south; this area contained nowhere near the bounty of the colder, rushing waters north of Atagartis.  Soon after Sapiens abandoned Elkabydos, Mermaids set claim to the seas west of the most eastern walls of the first city.  At the time, neither the Centaurs nor Arachna bothered to protest.  These failed leaders of old had not the foresight to claim the seas where fantastic catches awaited, but the ones of today most certainly wished they had.

The pathetic Huaxia finally focused on Diedrika.  “If any Centaur starves this winter, it will be because of you and none other.  Can you live with yourself knowing you caused the death of an innocent son or daughter, a beloved mother or father?”

A beaming smile graced Diedrika’s face and she bowed low where her rippling midriff met the top edge of her tail before returning upright.  “Every day of my life, Ruòkelián, and happily so.”  She kept this smile firm until the three Centaurs finally turned around and, with tails between their quivering legs, left the stadium.

Diedrika did not inflict such penalties to be cruel, but Atagartis was not a charity.  That the overflowing harvests from the sea were more than enough to feed every mouth who called their world home made not a shred of difference; for anything received worth receiving, she would gladly pay not just one harvest, but many.  Alas, to this point in her reign, the Centaurs had failed to consider anything of such value.  They might not have, but she certainly had.
 
As their bellies were not quite empty enough, the time had not yet come to ask for such things, but eventually would.

Well, probably more ‘demand’ than ‘ask’ – was there a difference?

Her premise was simple: Starve the Centaurs until desperation drove them to elect a true leader as Chiron.  To impose her will upon one as weak as Ruòkelián….

Where was the fun in that?

Diedrika needed someone who would challenge her not just with words, but action!  A certain old friend as a future Chiron, oh yes, who she had in mind would surely fit the bill.  Stronger than most, but too sensitive for his and his kind’s own good,
this one
would indeed be perfect.

It was none other than Queen Marseea herself who convinced Diedrika of the ten percent penalty.  She had argued for more, much more, but a cold, calculating Sapien owned a good deal more experience in such matters.  “A noose that tightens bit by bit around the neck still kills, but does so stealthily,” Marseea had reminded her.

Diedrika raised herself into Judiascar’s saddle and Penelope did the same into Xavier’s.  They then casually made their way to the west end of the stadium where her sky chariot waited.  Two of Hakleddamm’s strongest Gryphons waited guard next to it.

“Do you think the Centaurs will obey, my queen?” Judiascar asked.  To thank him for this question, Diedrika rubbed her protector’s mane.  She then grinned and locked eyes with Penelope.

“Are my expectations for them to do so?  Absolutely not!”  The others chuckled at her quip.  “And truth be told, I am counting on them not to.”

Diedrika and Penelope boarded the sky chariot that could easily seat six.  Although it would be too much of a burden for most Gryphons to lead their chariot both ways, Judiascar and Xavier happily hooked themselves up to the front once more.  Accounting for a few stops along the way, Diedrika guessed it would probably take at least six full turns of the clepsydra to return to Atagartis.  To fill her own belly full of purposeful, satiated will, Centaurs were just the appetizer.  As it was not yet noon, this was fitting, for it would be upon the twilight in her own city and among her own kind when she would devour the main course.

*****

The scent of salted air welcomed Diedrika back home as if she was the dearest of friends.  A grand sunset bathing the rear of Atagartis in red and orange, playful shadows now peaked through the gaps in the tallest columns of the city and set its eastern avenues ablaze.  Diedrika and Penelope exited the sky chariot and stretched for a few moments before they mounted Judiascar and Xavier once more.  For the grand finale to her day that awaited her arrival, the two Gryphons would accompany her.  Quite simply, there were times when a queen just had to show off a little muscle.

Diedrika modeled her reign not after a Mermaid queen, but a Sapien one: Cynisca.  Likewise, her queenship was not about the glory of one, but of the glory of all.  “Kicking, screaming, dying, let us drag them all into our fold,” the long dead sorceress queen once proclaimed.  Such words defined perfectly this queen’s intent as well – although she would make an effort to keep the dying to a minimum.

“Is Evagoria still awake?” Diedrika asked her mother as she entered her favorite room of the palace.

Her two-year-old granddaughter asleep in her arms, Andromeda sat in a grand chair and rocked slightly.  “I gave her the sleeping draught a mid-turn ago,” Andromeda answered in barely more than a whisper.  “The witch certainly knows her stuff – it worked quite fast.”

As Diedrika rubbed Evagoria’s cheek, she watched Penelope gaze at the most unique of Mermaids.  Cassiopeia came alongside them and looked proudly upon the sleeping babe as well.  No one outside her own family, Penelope, Judiascar, and Hezekiah had yet to lay eyes on her precious daughter.  But many soon would.  Both Evagoria’s appearance
and
silence were critical this evening.

Queen Marseea and Penthesilea were such gifted sorceresses that they could create charming potions for others that needed no spell.  Potions were nowhere near as potent as enchanted dust or spells cast on splendid objects and kept their magic for only a month or so, but this was better than nothing.