The Gift From Poseidon: When Gods Walked Among Us (Volume 2) (8 page)

Early in the third period, the blackened bronze team was down by 60 points.  After a long pass to Viracocha, he found himself with just one player to beat – Artafarnah.  Diving at him, the Arachna missed badly and he had a clear run at Simonacles.  Alexander gave chase as Viracocha sprinted westward.  Just past the centerline, he finally caught up.  While Alexander focused on the ball, Viracocha focused on his face.  Close to his own defensive zone where he could not enter, Alexander dove wildly for the ball: A smash to the chops with the butt of a xistera was his thankless reward.  Simonacles left with no defensive help, Viracocha scored an easy 100-point goal.  After a brief celebration, he strutted back toward the bloodied mess he left behind and shook his xistera at Alexander.

“No matter how great your father and grandfather were at Harpastum,” Viracocha declared, “you will
never
have more talent than a slab of spoiled meat!”  Other players that had caught up – even some on his own team – now laughed openly at Alexander.  “Ha!  Weak and worthless you are,
Alexandra
!”

The beaten up Centaur stumbled to his hooves and limped past them.

“The time has come, Viracocha!” a Gryphon shouted.  “I think he’s ready to be gelded!”  More heckles at Alexander’s expense followed.

“Laugh it up now,” Alexander hissed as he spat blood, “we’ll see who’s laughing at the end.”  This response got a good many snorts and chortles.

Play restarted and matching 70-point goals came soon after.  As the periods wore on, multiple players – not always still moving – lay injured across the pitch.  Arachna medics in their blood red cloaks worked to pull the crippled and unconscious from the field.  To Viracocha’s growing anger, Alexander had yet to become one of the sprawled out injured.

Because of the high, gradually slanting walls on each long end of the arena, the ball rarely went out of play.  Quirky bounces of the ball off these walls and the stone surface itself allowed for plenty of bone-crushing hits.  The crowd roared in delight with each collision and did so loudest when a player suddenly had too little courage or blood left to stumble back up from one.  Rules allowed for freely made substitutions monitored by the Mermaid umpires.

Late into the fifth period, a Mermaid switched the yellow flag over to black – not much time remained.  Viracocha’s dark bronze team had definitely swayed the crowd to their side; they had made most of the biggest hits, received nearly every cheer, and led by 80 points.

Achaemenes now sought to put the game out of reach.  Aiming for the wide-open 20-point goal, a Gryphon’s stick altered his shot just enough.  With an ear-shattering gong, the ball glanced off the goal post and bounced to the ground.  A shooter could miss completely a toss at the goal with no penalty.  If he hit the metal, however, and the shot
did not
go in, there was a 10-point penalty.  10 points subtracted from the dark bronze team’s score – they still led, but only by 70 points.

“Come on, come on!” Seneferre shouted to his teammates.  “Ball, ball, ball!”  Artafarnah lobbed the ball to the Nubian and they frantically moved it toward the other end.

Simonacles flew off the pitch and the Gryphon that replaced him raced to join the others.  Let down for the moment, the rowdy crowd shook the stadium in anticipation of a great finish.

So many players packed inside the dark bronze team’s goal box and defensive zone, there was barely enough room to move around in.  Centaurs not allowed into this zone smashed into the backs of any opposing players trying to score who drifted too close to them.  Those who defended inside the zone desperately swiped for the ball.

Limping as he ran, bleeding from near everywhere, and covered in filth – all deserved – the true villain on this day sought to play the hero.  As Alexander ran behind his teammates, Viracocha gave chase.  After he scooped up a wayward throw, Alexander sprinted north and looked for a path to cut through.  Finding it, he turned suddenly and headed straight for the goals.  Cursing his prey, the hunter could no longer pursue the hunted.  Two Gryphons about to crash into him, Alexander spun to his right and they slammed into each other.  With the 70-point goal wide open, the cocky Centaur shot for the 100-point goal Xavier had well covered.

The ball launched from Alexander’s xistera, Xavier reached for it.  The tip of his talon on it and partially deflected … it still nestled into the silk net Alexander had aimed for.  A clank of the ball hitting the goal and it going in, the crowd cheering wildly, a roar of anger, a crippling smash into Alexander; Viracocha – now well within his own defensive zone – leered over the unconscious Centaur.

“Is he d-d-dead?” Artafarnah gasped.

“WHO CARES!” both Xavier and Viracocha crowed in unison as they grinned at each other.  Gryphons more indifferent toward Centaurs than the outright hate they felt for Arachna; nevertheless, this was as close to bonding as the two kinds would probably ever get.

Upon a sudden jab into Viracocha’s chest by Seneferre’s xistera, the melee began.  A reason to unleash his savage nature finally found, Xavier let out a screeching growl and rushed for Seneferre.  Only the tangled legs of Arachna in his path slowed him.  Gnashing, biting, punching, other players rushed onto the field as did the Mermaid umpires atop their Gryphons.  To Viracocha’s chagrin, Arachna medics fought through it all to drag Alexander away from the close to eighty scuffling creatures.  Horns blew wildly and, loving this scene, the crowd cheered just as wildly.  By the time the players separated from each other, it was determined that time had run off and the game was over.  The polished bronze team – Alexander’s team – had won.

By the time Mermaid umpires restored order, Alexander had awoken from his smash-induced stupor.  Viracocha watched in disgust as the other side celebrated joyously.  Most of the players would soon forget who won this game, but not Viracocha – this was just too personal.  Tutored under his grandfather in the hope that he too might become the Centaur historian someday, Viracocha owned a keen sense of history.  As such, he realized the importance of this day.  All five historians now scribed every event those alive today would always remember and those yet to come would learn.

Sick of watching the other team celebrate, Viracocha exited the playing field to search out his sister.  By the time he found her, he almost wished he hadn’t.

*****

Carolinica was easily one of the most beautiful Centauresses alive – Viracocha hated to admit this about his sister, but it was the truth.  A bit shorter than Alexander, she playfully messed with the filthy fool’s grungy reddish blond hair.  As her deep brown eyes gazed into his worthless hazel ones, they shared repeated kisses.  It took all he had in him for Viracocha to hold down his vomit.  He watched them talk for some moments before stepping out of the massive shadows cast by the arena.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Alexandra.”  Viracocha’s tone was beyond snobbish.  “I suppose sometimes it really is better to be lucky than good.”

A deep breath marked his realization that he was unable keep the Aeropid inamorato from his Olmec inamorata.  This simply made the angered stare he burned into each of them that much harsher.  He did so first to Carolinica; then, for about twice as long, to Alexander.  Finally, Viracocha pointed with intent at his chief rival.

“I will no longer stalk you, but know that
this
conversation, right here, will be the most civil one we ever share.”

Alexander kissed Carolinica’s hands and swaggered toward Viracocha.

“It’s good to see that you finally realize my victories extend beyond just the Harpastum pitch.  And one last thing: My name is
Alexander
.  Learn it well.”

Viracocha glared at him with burning eyes as Alexander, now victorious at Harpastum as well as with his sister, paraded away.  Turning his head back toward Carolinica, a stern slap met the side of his face.

“If you were not my brother I would still be slapping you! 
How dare you?
”  Speaking in the Olmec tongue, Carolinica’s voice cracked as it turned from hate to hurt and tears pooled in her eyes.  She then shoved him in the chest still sore from the end of Seneferre’s xistera.  “Savage brute – you could have really hurt him!  Think long and hard about what you did today, Viracocha.  You defended
nothing
and shamed us both.  Alexander lost more honor today than you will ever earn!”

With these smarting words, Viracocha stood motionless in shamed silence.  His eyes now stung just as badly as his cheek.

Carolinica buried her head in her hands and cried.  She then folded her arms across her chest and stared past his left shoulder.

“Nüwa and Abarah are waiting for me.”  She uncrossed her arms and gently rubbed the cheek she had just slapped.  “Please, brother,
please
,” she pleaded with gritted teeth, “never hurt me like this again.”

Viracocha turned to watch as she rushed past him.  Carolinica quickly joined the other Centauresses and each gave her a much-needed hug.  Since the three could babble each other’s names, they had been close friends.

A sinewy, but still attractive Huaxia, Nüwa was the oldest of this trio and already married.  No Centauress more skilled with twin swords; she was one of a handful of females who could probably survive a Harpastum game.  Five months pregnant, she was finally starting to show.

Abarah, a very pretty Nubian, could bring a smile to any Centaur’s face with just a glimpse of her own.  Even that monstrous Seneferre she now had her arms wrapped around – with a sudden scowl by the Nubian in his direction, Viracocha quickly departed.

A descendent of the infamous general, Eurytion, only the strength of Nicephorus’ character exceeds his physical power.  Not the most learned Sapien, but as a steward of honor and steadfast morals, we consider him one of our wisest.  His character so unbecoming of his kind, this majestic man would gladly die a thousand deaths to save but one life he barely knows.  Please, good Hezekiah, I beg of you, protect the friend – my husband, your rescuer – dearest to us both.

– Komnena, Sapien Historian

– Start of Fall, Year 4,236 KT
[6]

Dawn crept lazily upon the sleeping splendor that was Antediluvium.  From the lowest of rabble to the stuffiest royal, rowdy parties had raged across the shared city since the night before.  Those still awake so near daybreak no doubt exercising modest forms of playful mischief and subtle debauchery; aside from these, all lay asleep.

Until now.

No matter the quantity or quality of slumber; young or old; healthy or ill; fully aware of his or her surroundings or barely so by their own drunken accord – all awoke to the ground-shaking explosion.

Komnena sat up with a start.  Although a thick wall met her gaze, she looked from where repeated roars now came.  In all her 219 years, she had never heard
anything
like she did now.  She looked anxiously to the other side of the bed, but Nicephorus was not there.  Nothing more comforting than silk sheets on naked skin at night, Komnena pulled them up to cover her bare bosom.  Hoping to find her beloved daughters, she scanned the large bedchamber.  Komnena saw not those she sought but the one she would have next – Queen Marseea.  Fully dressed in her robes, she stood ashen faced and motionless in the doorway.

“My queen, what ––”

“A volcano to the west has erupted,” Marseea interrupted coldly.  “I have already sent the twins to the observation tower.  Hurry and join us.”  This command given, she twirled around and was gone.

Another crackle tore through the palace and frightened Komnena even more than the previous ones already had.  She looked down upon her silk sheets and squeezed them tight in both hands.

“Oh, Nico, where are you?” she whispered.

Despite the rumbling that she could feel as much as hear, Komnena closed her eyes, released her grip, and rubbed both palms over the soft silver sheets.  She did so in the sinking hope that this would not be the last pleasant feeling of the day – or for many days to come.  Komnena then leapt from her bed, threw on the stola she had worn the night before, stole her first look at the chaos now engulfing the shared city from her southern balcony, and hurried to the observation tower.

As Komnena raced from the seventh level to the ninth, horrid thoughts pranced morbidly about her mind.  The smoky plume and molten lava rocketing into the heavens was dreadful enough, yes, but were not what rigid structures and fleshy bodies feared most.

That would be the
.…

An angry giant holding the palace in his hands could not have shaken the sprawling structure more viciously.  Five steps away from the observation tower, a colossal earthquake knocked Komnena down a full level of stairs.  As she tumbled down the stairwell, frightened screams from above scraped at her soul as if scythes.  Despite scratches suffered, she bounced up, raced back up the stairs, and bolted through the doorway.  The three waiting for her had just picked themselves off the floor as well.  Thankful to see her sororal twins, Komnena ran into their waiting arms.

From the tallest tower of the Sapien palace – the highest point in Antediluvium – Queen Marseea and Komnena gazed down upon the turmoil below.  Her precious girls – terrified and rightly so – clung to each side of Komnena.  Both buried their worried faces in their mother’s goldenrod stola.  This color her favorite, its color brought out the auburn streaks in her mostly brown hair and the flair in trusting amber colored eyes.  Marseea stood next to her favorite of the two, Penthesilea, and nervously played with her ponytail.  Komnena’s stola soaked with tears, the twins finally gathered the courage to look down as well, but disbelieving whispers were all they could muster as they took in the shock and awe of the fiery display above and bedlam below.

Just as enough time had passed from the initial earthquake to allow such murmurs, another hit.  Again, every structure shook.  This one was not as violent – the four still stood – but sought to finish the destruction the first one started.

“Mother, what’s happening?” Melanippe pleaded once the shaking stopped.  To calm her, Komnena stroked her caramel hair just as Marseea did to her other daughter.

“Is this the end of our world, my queen?” Penthesilea sobbed.  Komnena turned to her slightly younger daughter just in time to glimpse Marseea pull back on the ponytail.  Penthesilea immediately sucked in a deep breath and began to wipe away her tears.

“A sorceress does not fear the unknown,” Marseea said sternly.  “It is the unknown that fears the sorceress.  Clumsy, stupid, devoid of purpose –
this
is the unknown.  But
you
, Penthesilea, are cunning, focused, a wielder of magic with no limits.  Revel in your power!  Do as I command, my child, and the unknown stands not a chance.”

With her olive skin, coal-black hair, and blue eyes, Penthesilea looked more like Marseea than Komnena.  Melanippe, however, was a gangly clone of her porcelain-skinned mother.  Although their looks begged the opposite, it was the taller Melanippe who wielded the sword and Penthesilea the spells.  Easily the most gifted mystic aside from Marseea, Komnena’s sorceress daughter spent every free moment under the teachings of their queen.  And for so much time and knowledge given freely, Marseea had earned the right to wield the rod.

“It appears quite dangerous, my dear daughters, but do not worry.”  Komnena and Marseea shared dual smirks.  “I am sure the Centaurs will make things right.”

Residents of every district flooded the streets as warning bells scratched the sky.  Legions of Gryphons soared above to assess the damage as Centaurs scrambled along the wrecked avenues to gather help.

Wide fissures tore through sturdily built avenues and bridges, walls holding back canals split open as easily as a Gryphon beak would a crunchy nut, and elegant monuments and fountains had crumbled to rubble.  Although somewhat ruined, every structure was replaceable and of no threat to the dumbfounded souls meddling around them.  Every structure but one.

Today the first day of autumn, the reservoir had already swelled past half the height of the great dam’s wall.  An unimaginable amount of melted glacier water swirled angrily on just the other side of this wall.  Easily enough water to destroy the city.  Easily enough water to drown them all.

“Mother, look!” Melanippe cried.  She hopped at her mother’s side and pointed to the avenue below.  “It’s Father with a group of Gryphons and many men!”  Far below, the foursome watched close to a dozen Gryphons and even more men approach.

Curse the gods, they had better not be marching this way because ––

“Come, let us meet them,” Marseea commanded before Komnena could finish her thought.

Nine levels down, the twins in their simple sheath dresses more skipped than ran down the winding stairway as Komnena and Marseea followed close behind.  Shawls spread out as if capes behind them, Melanippe and Penthesilea rushed through the palace doors.  So ready to embrace Nicephorus, the crowd of Sapien men and Gryphons stopped the young girls in their tracks; it was not often they had the chance to gawk at such awe.  Komnena stopped next to her twins as their queen brushed passed them.  Komnena felt a bit winded, but Marseea appeared barely so.

“This is quite the motley crew that now stands before me,” Marseea declared in a loud voice.  “As for why the lot of you has gathered at the steps of the palace, I very much hope I am wrong as to the purpose.”  Both her stare and words were stern, almost defiant.

“Centaurs, Good Queen, need help to secure the dam,” Hezekiah began.  “Horus, the Nubian master builder, has warned us that the dam is filling up and might burst at any time.  We must take action to prevent this!”

“Why can I
never
be wrong about things like this,” Komnena seethed through gritted teeth.  Only the queen and her confused daughters, who now looked up at her, were close enough to hear.

Marseea raised her chin pompously high.  Her tone stayed unyielding.

“I know the path your words wish to take me down, Historian, but I will not allow our handful of still living fathers to walk down it.  You and the Centaurs see a city and its dam in need of protection … I see a race that needs it more.”

If Marseea’s heart had already frozen solid in defense of more pleas, another shaking of the ground cracked its icy cage.  The twins gripped their mother as if hanging at the edge of a cliff.  This quaking his command to step forth, Nicephorus did so.  A simple brown tunic belted around his waist and flowing to his knees showed humility Sapiens far too often lacked.

“Are we so selfish,” he began in his deep voice, “as to let Centaurs toil alone with a bursting dam that provides life-giving waters to us all?”  His head – bald as a river-worn stone – dripped with sweat.  Soft brown eyes searched smoky greys.  “Our shared city at stake as well, we
must
help them!  I have gathered men and Gryphons eager to do what we can to prevent a catastrophe to us all.  My queen, do we have your blessing to do so?”

Queen Marseea stared at the gaggle of intelligent creatures.  She clutched the Heart of Terra Australis that bounded upon her heaving chest and rubbed it as if trying to remove its gleam.  Uneasily, she then looked back to Komnena who stepped forward and now stood by her queen’s side.  As they continued to stare intently at each other, two minds owned the same thought:

Fifteen Sapien males in total, these last thirteen possible fathers were invaluable.  A crippling crisis was at hand, indeed, but what a horrible risk this would be
.

“My dear Nicephorus,” Marseea protested, “danger exists where you wish to go!  Do not tug at my heart with such a sensible plea!”

Stern silence was Nicephorus’ reply.  As if telegraphing his yearning to do what was right over what was safe, this silent stance became as if a shout ringing in Marseea’s ears.  At least how Komnena saw her cover them up and grimace, this appeared to be the case.

“Promise me, my noble friend,” Marseea said with slow, careful words through trembling lips, “that you will split up into separate groups, far away from one another.  Aside from this … I endorse all you see fit.”

Nicephorus’ eyes lit up and a great shout from the others erupted behind him.

“Yes, we will do this,” he pledged.  Nicephorus quickly kissed Marseea’s hand.  “In two groups, one will approach from the eastern end of the dam, and the other from the west.”  Next, he gazed at his beloved wife.  Melanippe stayed hidden behind Komnena, but Penthesilea lunged at him.

“Father, take me!” she pleaded desperately.  “I can help!  Do not leave me behind!”  Nicephorus knelt down beside her.  “With my magic, you will see,” Penthesilea continued to protest, “I can bend water to my will!  No else can do it, not even the queen, but
I
can, Father, you will see ––”

A single finger over Penthesilea’s cherry red lips quieted her.  Melanippe hurriedly came alongside her sister and Nicephorus wrapped his thick arms around them.  This man –
her man
– a physical wonder, his upper body was even more massive than that of the young Nubian Centaur, Seneferre.  And just as sculpted.  Nicephorus hugged each young beauty tight and showered them with a flurry of kisses.

“My dear daughters, I need you here.”  Nicephorus pointed to Penthesilea and Melanippe in turn and cleverly hid the fear in his voice.  “Stand ready to receive me upon my triumphant return!  You, my love, holding a cup of hot peppermint tea, and you, my treasured jewel, clutching a basket of warm towels – I will no doubt be soaked and shivering when I see you next!  Can each of you do these favors for me?”

Sadly, but obediently, both nodded their heads.  But no words, no matter how soothing, could dry the tears each seventy-one-year-old twin continued to spill.  Nicephorus stood and shared with Komnena a soft, heartfelt kiss.  A departing hug came next.  The twins joined in and squeezed both parents at once.

Nicephorus’ false confidence appeared to calm their cherished girls.  If not for long, enough time at least to allow him and the others a chance to depart.  Hezekiah tailed behind as they did so.

“Hezekiah, my old friend,” Komnena called to summon him back.  His wise eyes met her swollen ones.  She still trembled from head to toe.  That Nicephorus’ kiss felt as if more a fearful farewell than a cheery goodbye only made this quaking worse.  “Watch over my Nico … he is most precious to us all.”  Hezekiah nodded hastily to acknowledge her pleading words and sped off to rejoin the others.

The four females watched sorrowfully as Nicephorus and the other men mounted the Gryphons.  Awkwardly holding on for dear life, they soared into the sky.  Once out of view, the foursome rushed back into the palace and again headed for the observation tower.  The Sapien prefecture easily a full war ship’s length higher in elevation than the dam, despite such heights and this lofty perch, they could not see the dam itself as it was too far away.

As Komnena climbed up the stairwell once more, deathly fear with the subtlety of the most dreadful poison coursed through her.  With each step, she hated herself more and more.  Back to the top of the tower, she again gazed out at the tremors, terror, and turmoil that gripped the city and then buried her head in her hands.

Regret suddenly overpowered Komnena.  Still teary-eyed, both daughters nestled close – this only deepened her panic.

How could she have allowed her husband to rush off and risk his life with not one word from her begging him not to?

Why could she not have found the courage to join Marseea in demanding that the males not put themselves in such danger?