The Path of Ravens (Asgard vs. Aliens Book 1) (9 page)

"Splendid," Ares says. "Then we
shall leave you now to consider. I fondly hope you will elect to join
us.    As you and we have learned, this land has its
dangers. We shall be stronger united than divided in the face of
common threats."

I take a step closer to Ares, but only one, yet
wary of the spears of his inhuman Spartioi entourage. "Before
you go... you have avoided giving clear answer to the question of our
comrades. How many Atlanteans came with you to this world? Is every
one of them safe?"

A frown replaces Ares' nearly omnipresent smile.
"There were twelve," he answers, not a little reluctantly.
"After our arrival, three of those were lost when their hunting
party was attacked by giants."

My breath sticks in my chest, but I force out
words. "There was a woman, Ayessa. What of her?" Suddenly,
I care not what my fellow Atlanteans might think of such a display of
favoritism by their leader.

Ares' dark expression presages his answer: "She
was among the three."

I gasp. My heart ceases to pound.

"In her case alone, no remains were seen,"
Ares continues. "However, given the evidence, there is a ...
rather likely explanation for that."

I know his meaning. I saw Perseus slung over the
giant's shoulder like slaughtered game, saw the gnawed bones at the
entrance to the cave.

"No..." I breathe. I sink to one knee,
and Crow rushes to my side, offering support. "It cannot be."

"We felt deep sorrow over their loss,"
Ares offers.

"No..." I repeat, regaining my feet
and shrugging off Crow's aid. "Had she died... I would know it.
If no remains were seen, then Ayessa lives. I am certain. Was any
effort given to finding her?"

Ares' head shakes, sympathetically. "A
search was conducted. No trace of her was found."

I do not say it, lest my brethren think me
obsessed, which perhaps I am, but I know what I must do. I will
search for Ayessa myself, for as long as it takes either to find her
or to satisfy myself that she is truly gone.

"How long ago did the attack occur?" I
ask.

Ares cocks his head in thought. "The walls
of Neolympus were not yet complete, so... seven months ago, perhaps
eight."

Uncomprehending, I stare at him. "
Eight...
months?
" I attempt to grasp how this might be possible, but
my mind spins circles. "How long have you been in this world?"

Ares' dark brow furrows momentarily, then his
sharp eyes show understanding. "Ahh," he intones.
"Interesting. Evidently, there must exist between our world and
this one some discrepancy in the flow  of time. In the minutes
or hours it took you to follow us, seasons passed here. That goes far
toward explaining your current living conditions, and why we have
only just learned of your presence."

I do not find this new knowledge interesting,
nor do I care for explanations. I only know that Ayessa is missing
and her trail hundreds of days cold. I know what course I must take.
My sense of duty to these  people whose leader I have made
myself is strong indeed, but stronger still is the pull upon me of
she whom once I loved so dearly that even death failed to separate
us. She who in her current form despises me.

She who in another life I called... 
Wellspring
.

But it is not only concern for her which compels
me; my desire to pursue Ayessa is also a selfish one, for I feel that
only through her can I ever reclaim the knowledge of who I once was.

Soon, I decide in that moment, I must pass on
the leadership of our people to Crow, that I might embark on my own
quest of my own...

But I cannot speak of these things. For now, no
one must know.

I turn and address my fellow Atlanteans. "Do
any among us have cause to reject the invitation of Ares?    Do
any not wish to dwell in peace with the Chrysioi in the city they
have built, that greater safety might be found in combining our
strength? Speak now!"

No voices are raised. I turn to Ares, who smiles
as I bid him, "Take us to Neolympus."

Well before we reach the city, I can see why the
Chrysioi chose the site on which they have built their new city.
Unless giants are better climbers than folk of our stature (which is
the case, for all I know) then Neolympus would seem to have only one,
arduous route of approach. But inaccessibility is not its only
defense. A surrounding wall, carved from the stone of the mountain,
makes the city all but invisible from afar. It remains so until one
is almost upon it, at which time the sight inspires awe.

I do not know exactly how many Chrysioi there
are, but no matter the number, I find it hard to comprehend how they
could have accomplished so much in so few seasons. As we near the
great timber gates of the wall, I realize that each stone block is as
tall as I am.  Did I not know better, I would think this the
work of Pyrakmon's people. The wall is ... Cyclopean.

It is a sobering sight. If the Chrysioi can
build this, we cannot possibly stand against them. If they were to
insist on making slaves of us, we would have but two choices:
submission or death. If it turns out that Ares has spoken falsely in
drawing us here, I honestly cannot say which of those two I would
choose.

Behind the stark surrounding wall lies a
paradise. There are more structures than I can count, many of 
them with peaked roofs supported by columns. Gardens everywhere are
filled with broad-leafed plants the likes which I might have seen
before in my unremembered life, but not in this one. Looming 
behind it all is a sheer wall of purple mountainside down which
cascades a slender waterfall that erupts at its base into clouds of
billowing mist.

As I marvel, a familiar sound turns my head.
Perched on a peaked roof, cawing, I see not one but two ravens. One
is that which has dogged us since our arrival in this place; it has
followed us here. The second looks to be his twin.

The several male and female Chrysioi we see on
entering the city look nothing like the ragged refugees that we must
seem; no, they are clean and well-dressed, and the name of Golden
Ones suits them. Most wear grins and offer us friendly greetings
which we are happy to return, but a few, likely those who view us as
strangers looking out from the eyes of men and women they once knew.
I can scarcely blame them; I only hope that those who despise us are
a minority which can be held in check by Ares' command.

Scanning the faces of the Chrysioi, I find one
which I have never seen, but whom I recognize by some fleshly
instinct, or simply the way her bright eyes fix on me and me alone.
She, like Daphne and some others of the female Chrysioi, wears battle
dress, a sheathed sword hanging at her hip, dark hair tied sleekly
back and gathered in tightly wound braid. She is Enyo, wife of Ares
and mother to Enyalios whose flesh I have usurped, and she conveys
from afar, without need for words, her hatred of me. I let  my
gaze fall upon her only briefly, returning nothing, and thereafter I
avoid looking upon her.

"Ares," I say, drawing to a halt in
this mountain paradise of cut stone and lush greenery. "I would
speak with you privately."

The Lord of the Chrysioi smiles and invites me
to walk with him. Letting Crow know with a look that our people are
in his charge, I accept.

In a garden of broad-leafed trees and flowering
vines near the base of the gentle waterfall, far enough from the
others to afford us some privacy, I address Ares: "I have three
demands."

"Demands?" he echoes with a smirk of
amusement.

"Yes," I reply humorlessly. "Three,
at present. First, a question."

Ares' smile fades. "By all means."

"Your breastplate."

He looks down upon its gruesome visage—I
decline to follow suit—and answers, "The Aegis. An
artifact of great power. It protects the wearer from all physical
harm. It was my sister Athena's."

"Who led the Chrysioi before you," I
recall aloud. "That you now wear it says it failed her."

Ares nods, almost mournfully. "It did and
did not. Athena yet lives, and is here with us in Neolympus. But
since the battle in which she fell to the swarm, she 
sleeps
,
and cannot by woken by any means we have yet discovered."

"I see." It is of some interest to me
to know that the Chrysioi have among them a potential leader other
than Ares, even if she presently cannot rule. But that interest is
neither immediate nor pressing. I continue, "My demands are
reasonable. One, Medea must endeavor to help us regain our memories.
Two, a fresh search will be conducted for our missing sister, led by
me and with aid from the Chrysioi. And three, if we Atlanteans truly
are to be treated as equals, then the fruit known as Ambrosia must be
shared equally with us."

I fall silent, awaiting Ares' reply. After a
moment's consideration, he gives it:

"To answer your last point first, the small
stock we of the fruit which we brought with us has been depleted.
Ambrosia grew in but one orchard in all of Olympus. If and when we
succeed in getting the trees to take root in in this land, it will be
many seasons before they can bear fruit. At that time, if it comes,
then the harvest will gladly be shared.

"As to the first, your memories," Ares
goes on, "Indeed, I shall make the request of Medea that she
spare no effort in making you whole. However, I cannot say whether
the task is within her considerable power. I hope that it is, and
that she can help you obtain the answers you seek.

"Lastly, the question of your comrade,
Ayessa." Ares frowns sympathetically. "I sense that she
means more to you than the others. Thus does it pain me to repeat to
you my strong belief that she is not missing, but dead. However... I
see no harm in your leading a fresh search, so long as it is limited
in scope and duration. I understand your desire to find her, but
given our somewhat fragile position in this world, we can scant
afford an open-ended endeavor on behalf of one."

Ares smiles. "Do you see? Your every demand
is met with no thought given to recompense. Does this not bode well
for our future?"

"Aye," I concede. Ares offers his open
right hand, and I clasp it tightly.

As our hands part, a raven caws, drawing Ares'
eyes and mine to the black bird perched on a slender branch within
the garden in which we stand.

"That thing has trailed us since our
arrival here," I remark. "We have seen no others like it,
until today,  on your wall."

"That is no coincidence," Ares
declares in a darker tone than seems warranted, causing me to take
notice. "Its twin has spied on us almost constantly since our
own arrival."

"Spied?"

Ares raises dark brows at me in a look of mild
surprise. "Do you mean to tell me that in more than twenty days,
you have failed to draw that conclusion?"

"We were born twenty days ago," I
counter. "A bird did not seem of importance."

"Oh, but it is," Ares tells me. "For
they are not mere birds. Medea's magicks have no effect upon the one
which has watched us. Every so often, it leaves us to fly through a
certain pass in the mountains. Without doubt, it returns to its
master."

"Who?" I ask.

Ares shrugs. "Surely not the brutes we have
encountered thus far. If we are lucky, it is some solitary enchanter
who is wary of us. But if we are 
not
 lucky..."
He chuckles darkly. "If we are not lucky, Thamoth, then we must
be strong, instead. And uniting our two peoples strengthens us both
in the face of whatever may come."

"In all this time, have you not sent scouts
through this pass? To follow the ravens?"

Decisively, Ares shakes his head. "I have
forbidden it. If there is to be conflict, hastening it can do us no
good. Time is on our side. Either they will come to us in a spirit of
war or peace, or else, one day, when we are ready, and not before, we
shall seek out the ravens' master."

Sighing, I look about and scowl at the
brightly-painted roofs, stout walls, fluted columns, and verdant
gardens nestled in the shadow of a craggy, cloud-wreathed peak. I
believe Ares. Not to a fault, but enough to accept that Neolympus
will serve well as a home for my people.

Yet I myself will not long dwell here. I shall
stay long enough, perhaps, for the witch to restore my mind or,
failing that, to learn that she cannot. I must leave behind this, my
new home, before it even can become my home, and leave the people
whom I have led here, having fulfilled, for now, my obligation to
them.

I must seek Ayessa, and thanks to Ares, I know
with near-certainty where that search must take me. I must go where
the ravens fly. There, I will find answers, and there, if her bones
do not litter these mountains, I will find Ayessa.

I tell Ares, "This is cause for
celebration."

My own mood is not celebratory, but I wish for
my people, and theirs, to see our union as a joyous occasion.

Ares smiles again, and it is not the smile of
the hunter whose unsuspecting prey has taken carefully lain bait. It
is, as far as I can tell, a smile of genuine pleasure.

He throws his arms open and embraces me, as he
might a brother, or the lost son whose skin I wear.

Into that evening, we feast and drink wine made
by the uptight Kerion, whose evident distaste for Atlanteans fails to
sour us on his product, which we are happy to drain to the dregs. I
myself drink sparingly at first, that I might keep one eye always on
the two ravens.

My vigilance pays off. As the sky turns pink, I
witness one of the dark twins take to wing. I am able to follow its
path away from the city and make note of the distant mountain pass
through which it disappears. Thereafter, egged on by Crow, I permit
myself to partake more freely of the sweet Chrysioi  wine and
soon am able to enjoy myself. That night, two peoples take a small
step closer to becoming one, laughing and fraternizing as though no
distinction separates us.