The Gift From Poseidon: When Gods Walked Among Us (Volume 2) (40 page)

With the bulging eyes of a choking condor and teeth any fish would be ashamed of, Aurikos looks my way and smirks as if possessed.  This one a wrinkled wraith in every sense, a diseased mole rat offers a more welcome face.  Stationed in her chariot to his right, the daughter laughs maniacally.  She is not so haggard, but no worries portly wench, you are well on your way!  Red of drawn blood, black of wicked intentions their colors – they play the part well.  If ONLY it was play.

– Penelope, Mermaid Historian

– Mid-Summer, Year 4,254 KT
[40]

It was a warm day, but not so warm that Penelope’s hands should be sweating like this.  The tighter she gripped the whip and reins, the more slick her palms became.  She let go of both, drew her palms together, and bronze-made a simple cube in the hope that bronze-making something, anything, would help dry her hands.  Penelope then dropped this cube over the right side of her chariot.  The grasses it landed in would know what to do next.

“That’s not going to help,” Perseos said dryly.

Penelope nodded – her hands were still just as wet and clammy as before.

“To be nervous is not such a bad thing,” he continued.  “It will keep you sharp, keep your head on the swivel you will sorely need as we race around those tight turns.”  Perseos pointed in the direction of the eastern gate and took in a deep breath.  “Just stick to the plan as best you can.  Don’t you worry about the ‘whites’, Penelope, just be wise to the ‘reds’.”

“Oh, that certainly is rich, General,” she said breathlessly.  Penelope peeked at Aurikos; with a crooked grin twice as wide as before, he still stared at her.  “If I was, as you say, ‘wise to the reds’, I’d have more sense than I do now and would be sitting comfortably inside the arena,
not
shaking inside my chariot.”  She shuddered.  “That reputation, what I have read of him, now with his conniving daughter at his side, I am not ashamed to say they terrify me.”  Penelope picked up her whip, retook the reins, and turned back to Perseos.

“As they should,” he replied cheerfully.  “Aurikos and whoever rides with him has won hundreds of chariot races and probably cheated in one way or another in every single one.  A starving chicken has more meat on its bones, but he’s stronger and even more devious than he looks.  He has not ridden in the games for many years and I do not know why he is so keen to do so now, but you and I, we are not so bad ourselves.  We are ready, our horses are ready, trust me, Penelope, we will do well.  You are riding with me because you beat out a good many others – or do you not remember?”

Penelope rolled her eyes and threw Perseos a playful smirk.  “I think Marseea put me under a spell that day!”  She again looked at Aurikos – that withered loon still gawked at her!  “Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind if she put me under a spell on this day as well.”

Even from hundreds of pike lengths away, Penelope could hear the chants and cheers coming from the stadium grow louder with each passing moment.  She looked to her left.  Twenty-four horses lined up in a neat row nervously pawed at the grass and the colored plumes atop each head bounced up and down in a rhythmic, but guarded motion.  Even the six Gryphons who held large shields to hold the horses and their chariots in line appeared anxious.  Penelope’s gaze wandered in the direction of the Pillars of Fire and her thoughts drifted to the southern sea just beyond.  Eyes now to the front but pointing down, the eight blue caparisons covering hers and Perseos’ horses rippled in the wind as if the waves of this sea.

“Laigria and I would wish you luck, ‘blues’,” Aurikos snarled, “but all the luck in the world won’t help you win!”  Those beady eyes then focused directly on Perseos.  “That you are father to the Fish Queen,” he spat at the ground, “makes every victory over you that much sweeter!”

His wretched wench of a daughter wedged between them threw her head back and laughed heinously.

There was a day when such vile words would rile up Perseos – Penelope had seen plenty of them – but those days were long gone.  Oftentimes he said just as much with but a twist of his face as he did with words and this was one of those times.  Perseos rolled his eyes and nodded his head slowly.  Next, he bronze-made a sword and pointed it at Aurikos.

“I would cut out your tongue, fiend, if you had but a little more time left to live in which to use it.  The gods punish those with such bad manners – Poseidon especially so.  Enjoy the race, Aurikos,” Perseos threw the blade into the ground, “it’s going to be your last.”

This vile man who seeped an even viler confidence suddenly did not look so sure of himself.  He looked away and again spat on the thin strip of grass that separated his chariot from that of his nasty daughter.

“Get ready, Penelope,” Perseos told her suddenly as he pushed his helmet onto his head.  She fumbled with hers to do the same.  “The signs are on their way!”

Marseea had told Penelope and the other charioteers to expect something ‘unexpected’ before the traditional silver silk scarf fell to the ground to start the race; her only clue was that ‘fire from the sky’ would lead the way.  And true to her word, from high above, many dozens of arrows engulfed in flame now headed straight for them.

One after the other, each flaming arrow landed in the exact same spot a half dozen or so pike lengths away from the line of horses.  But instead of extinguishing or even setting the grasses they landed in ablaze, they instead morphed into thin columns of flame that began to meld into each other.  The moment the last arrow landed, this melding of fire began to take shape.

Twisting, turning, molding, rising,
living
– Queen Marseea now stood before them.  Blue, white, red, and orange flames made up this burning silhouette, but the real Marseea was still inside the stadium.  At least Penelope thought she was.

“The chariot race ready to begin – depart my Gryphon friends or be trampled into the grasses,” the Sapien queen not of flesh, but of fire commanded.  These six Gryphons no dunces, they hurriedly flew off.  “Listen well, charioteers!  Penthesilea’s arrow now on its way, when the silver scarf this last arrow leaves behind falls to the ground,” the voice of the burning Marseea turned positively wicked, “I suggest you give your best effort not to fall to the ground with it.”

Sure enough, a single arrow that more resembled a column of water than it did anything else made an arc in the sky and now hurtled down toward them.  It did not hit the ground with a thud or any noise at all.  Queen Marseea engulfed in flame suddenly gone, a wispy silk scarf now floated gently in the air where her glowing silhouette had just stood.

Down … down … down it floated before finally nestling in the grass.  The charioteers were now free to trample the scarf – and each other – into oblivion.

“May the Grim be with you, FOOLS!” Aurikos shouted as hooves tore into grass and every chariot exploded forward.

Penelope snapped her reins and shared a quick glance with Perseos as his chariot shot to the front.  Keeping with their strategy, she hung back a bit as the ‘reds’ and one of the ‘whites’ charged in front of her.  The other ‘white’ stuck behind Penelope, three chariots directly in front of her twelve horses abreast, Perseos in the lead, the cheers turning near deafening … the most dangerous part of the race drew near.

The eastern gate was
just
wide enough for a trio of chariots twelve horses wide to squeeze through.  Its design planned by minds much more devious than Penelope’s, it dared you to take the chance.  Just as the three chariots ahead of her were about to pass through, Aurikos turned his horses into Laigria’s and she too leaned her horses into those leading the white chariot.

“No!  No!  You cannot do this!  NOOOOOO!”

Eight black horses, two red chariots and their riders, and four white horses slipped through.  The rider of the white chariot did not.  Its right wheel had caught the front of the eastern gate’s granite wall and snapped off.  This then forced the disabled chariot into the unforgiving wall and the Sapien female smashed into it.

Seeing this, Penelope guided her horses to the left side of the gate’s entrance.  The white chariot shredded and its Sapien rider’s helmet ripped off, she bounced off the inside gate wall and hurtled through the air straight at Penelope.  Stunned by this, she looked down just long enough to see the bloodied face land on her right wheel before thrusting what was left of this poor Sapien downward.  With a rough bump as the battered body passed under her, bloodthirsty applause celebrated the first crash of the day.

Six charioteers now five, Penelope guided her chariot to the right and began her first lap around the north side of the centerpiece.  With a quick glance across the centerpiece to the other side, she eyed Perseos; he was already a good half lap ahead of her.  With vicious whips crackling both the air and the rumps of their steeds, the ‘reds’ chased hard just behind him.

‘Blue’, ‘red’, ‘red’, ‘blue’, ‘white’ (living), ‘white’ (dead) – the order stayed the same for the first three laps.  Although these chariots led by such fine horses moved swiftly, to Penelope, time seemed as if it barely moved.  Every next hoof hit the ground a long pause after the last and the brisk wind in her face felt like stale air that had long been dead.  It even smelled foul.  Perseos was still ahead, barely, but it took only one on the team to win.  The race now nearly half over, the real fun was about to begin.

Into the second turn of the fourth lap, Penelope watched Aurikos try to squeeze by Perseos as he took too wide of a turn around the marble column.  Aurikos in the lead for but a moment, she saw through the centerpiece as Perseos swooped back to the inside of the track and smash into the red chariot.

“AH!  YOU MERMAID SWINE!”

As Penelope herself rounded the turn, Laigria nearly slammed into the slower moving chariot of her father.  She guided her horses around him and continued; he then hurriedly sped up as well.  Penelope could have passed them both just then, but resisted.  With Perseos close to a lap ahead, her job was to tail, not lead.  Perhaps remembering what became of her shredded teammate and just hoping to finish the race, the white chariot in last place made little effort to pass any of them.

On the first straightaway of the fifth lap, the ‘reds’ slowed and Penelope suddenly found herself pinned between them.  They could not catch Perseos, but they could – and did – catch her.  At the same time, both red chariots smashed into hers from each side.  All four of Penelope’s horses neighed in fear and her chariot shook.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“Just having a bit of fun!” Aurikos shouted back.  His chariot ran to Penelope’s left, closest to the centerpiece.

“No worries, Mermaid!” Laigria yelled.  “The ground doesn’t hurt
that
much more than the sea when you land face first on it!”

Penelope pulled back on the reins to slow her horses, but they ignored her.  Looking around frantically, one whip smacked into her shoulder from the left side – Aurikos had done this.  Then another hit her, but from the right side.  Penelope hurriedly pulled down her helmet’s face shield.

“A few scars will just pretty you up even more!” the daughter crowed. 

Penelope raised her own whip and struck at Aurikos – his lashings hurt a good deal more – but this only drove him to crack his own whip harder and faster.

Another smash jolting Penelope, the right wheel of her chariot and the left wheel of Laigria’s became tangled.  Around the turn, they stayed like this.

Now on the southern straightaway, Aurikos turned his horses hard into Penelope once more.  Feeling the reins about to slip out of her hands, she gripped them tight.  Just as she did so, Laigria’s whip suddenly wrapped around Penelope’s wrists.  With another hideous howl, the daughter pulled this whip toward her.  Her bound wrists following, Penelope’s horses then turned into Laigria’s and the eight horses began to tilt away from the centerpiece.  With a snapping sound, both interlocked wheels shattered and their chariots tumbled wildly in the direction of the southern stands.

Thrown from her chariot, Penelope landed face first onto the pitch now more dirt than grass.  Everything hurting, the dirt where she lay stained in blood ––

Shockingly she still lived!

Penelope groaned in pain and rolled over onto her right side.  She then tossed Laigria’s whip still tangled around her wrists aside and looked up.  Not two, but six columns made up the centerpiece where her blurred eyes now stared in the direction of.

“HELP!  NO!  HELP!  SAVE ME!” the shrill voice of Aurikos’ daughter shrieked.  Penelope turned her sore neck toward these screams.  Four horses without a chariot now dragged the bloodied woman around the arena.  Sapiens rode in chariot races with the reins wrapped around them.  Mermaids, very luckily, did not.  After a few tense moments watching this, Penelope saw one strap of the reins give way, then the other.  Whether they broke on their own, she somehow cut them, or however else ––

That despicable woman deserved no such luck!

Wobbly eyes inside her throbbing head almost back to normal, Penelope now looked again toward the centerpiece.

What in the world?

On the southern straightway, four black horses ran east.  On this
same
straightaway, four gold ones ran not east as well, BUT WEST!  Just as the chariots were about to pass each other, the roaring crowd let out a collective gasp.  Virtuous vengeance colliding with spiteful scorn, the blue shape of Perseos leapt out of his chariot, slammed into the red-cloaked form of Aurikos, and together they tumbled out of the red chariot and onto the ground.  After a brief struggle, Perseos used his tail to pin down Aurikos’ legs and now loomed over him.

All inside the stadium hushed as if turned to stone.

“HOW DARE YOU?” Perseos shouted as his first punch smashed into the wicked man’s face.  “YOU WORM-RIDDLED FILTH!”

Perseos landed another punch, but winced upon doing so.  He then grabbed a clump of dirt and shoved it into Aurikos’ bloody mouth.  His hands dripping in blood, he cried out in pain as he bronze-made a crude sword, and pointed its tip at that worthless neck.