On the shores of the Mediterranean Sea a great battle was set to commence. The sun was hot, the swords were gleaming, and the fear of death shrouded the land like the shadow of a storm. Birds extended their wings through the air thousands of feet above a fleet of boats that were making their way to the Saharan shores. The men, disenchanted by their previous losses, shared stories about the battles that had come before them, about who they’d fought and how they’d beaten them, about how they’d just barely lived to tell their tales. The tales they told one another reminded them of the importance of fundamental swordsmanship, lest they be wounded by making the same mistakes. Or worse, dead.
After Troy, this was the most anticipated battle in the history of the Greek Empire, having the potential to end a century’s long conflict between them and their new rivals, the Egyptians. Egypt had occupied most of the Levant and was slowly creeping its way up the coast of Canaan, sneaking its way through the back door of the Hittites, where it was met by a head-on collision with Greece. Some 100 years had passed since that epic war Homer was to write about centuries later. All the drama that ensued, such as Aeneas’ founding of Rome and the rise of Thutmose III, had already passed by the time the Greece sought to extend their reach into Hatti and Musur.
Towards the eastern bank of a peninsula that jutted into the sea they rowed, unaware of any scouts on lookout yet anticipating their watch. The defenders of the peninsula, the last of Hatshepsut’s regiment, were all that remained of a once lethal military. Her stepson, The Scarab King, stood far behind his army on a rise beyond the shoreline, taking in the pride of the rising sun with the queen and his top general Hemaka standing nearby. For many battles they’d held off the Greeks, but as time went on their numbers had lessened, all the way down to a measly 500. And yet, the Greeks had only sent about 20 boats to finish them off. The Scarab King judged the size of the fleet to be a rather ambitious one for the Greek attack. Undoubtedly, they’d known that their numbers were low, in which case they’d have tried to make a final push to gain the desert frontier. But if they’d known, then why were there so few of them?
“Perhaps it’s a trick, sire?” spoke Hemaka.
“No.” The King scanned the scene before him with hawkish eyes. The archers were ready atop the first rise of the beach, while the infantry hid in multitudes behind them. He and Hemaka analyzed the scene before them on a slowly rising plateau that covered the majority of the peninsula. “Their numbers are small because they are arrogant. The Red One is with them.”
Hemaka looked at his King in horror. “I thought he was dead.”
Queen Hatshepsut stepped off her carriage and drew a veil from her face. She looked upon the shore with the same kind of distance the King had in his eyes. They both knew something extraordinary was going to occur once the boats reached shore. The fate of their empire hung in balance.
Out in the lead, The Red One’s shield sat on the edge of his boat, looking like an ornament upon a sea of immortality. A wave broke as the boat crested before falling to the shore. No sooner had a strapping general launched himself overboard than a monsoon of arrows flooded the boat. The general charged forward, unhindered by the arrows due to a massive shield that spanned his entire body. To the defenders it looked like a slow cannonball was coming at them. The Egyptians, now familiar with these Greek tactics, reasoned that the shield must be lighter material than bronze, yet still strong enough to be able to hold off the arrows. Behind the general came a storm of other attackers who looked the same way he did.
The general stopped short of the rise to allow his barrage of soldiers to charge the Egyptian infantry. From out of the center blitzed the fastest man that any of them had ever seen. The Red One threw his shield diagonally at a line of dumbfounded archers, scattering them about like bowling pins. At the same time he unleashed both a smaller shield and a golden sword from his belt. Behind him, the general who’d lead the charge fell in line with the rest of the attackers as the clash of soldiers began.
Gossips of The Red One’s talents were true. The man tore a dagger through the heart of the lines. Anyone who touched him bled instantly. He moved with a graceful elegance so profound that oncoming defenders slowed in their footsteps, put into a trance by the motion of his movement just before his sword sent them to the Underworld. The rest of the Greeks weren’t bad fighters themselves; they were slaughtering Egyptians left and right.
Zapotec, one of their best, set to take on the general. A crowd gathered around the duel, blocking the King’s view.
Soon the other boats came ashore. These reinforcements didn’t even need to aid the Greeks who were currently there, as their skill looked to be enough to defeat them alone. But they came anyway, and because of this the King knew they were finished. He exchanged a look with the Queen- an intuitive one that spoke volumes about their future together. She told him that she loved him with her eyes; beautiful, spicy eyes that had haunted the souls of men she’d known all over the Middle East. The desert mystique was in them, telling him what he feared the most: that their land would be lost forever.
The general fighting Zapotec appeared to be holding his ground, which gave the King only a speck of hope.
“Undoubtedly it’s Tarius,” suggested Hemaka.
The King nodded in agreement. His gaze shifted to The Red One, who had made the greatest progress through the Egyptian lines. He'd bolted over the rise and was now beginning a steady ascent up the plateau. Some of the finest warriors in the Empire stood in his way, but this man, this beast, seemed to run right through them with his quick thrusts and calculating offense. Soon it became clear what his plan had been, because none of his companions were charging the plateau with him. Apparently they all had faith that The Red One was going to defeat The Scarab King and his top general by himself. The odds of him succeeding were ludicrous, but a talent like his couldn’t be underestimated.
“He’s coming for us... General Hemaka”, spoke the King. He directed his arm forward with a mammoth sword, the meat of his massive arm growling in the sunlight. This was a signal to Hemaka, ordering him to fight him first.
“Sire, I suggest we fight this... Thing together. He can’t defeat both of us at the same time.”
“He’ll tire. Make him work. I’m counting on you, old friend.”
Hemaka gulped, giving his King a dire look of despair as he took off for the battle.
The Red One sprinted up the rise, kicking up clouds of dust behind him. The concurrence of his golden sword swinging through the air and his running torso gave him the appearance of a man with three legs rather than two. In the blink of an eye, he outmaneuvered a defender ahead of Hemaka, seemingly keeping his pace in the process. Then he soared through the air, slashing the throat of another. Most frightening was that he didn’t seem to lose any stamina after expending so much energy.
Once Hemaka approached him, he slowed down to obstruct his path, but The Red One jumped right over him. From behind, he crashed the brunt of his shield with a force as powerful as an ox. Hemaka blocked a couple of his cuts before tumbling over in submission.
A feeling engulfed the The Scarab King unlike any he’d had in a long time: the feeling of fear. I’ve never seen a man kill like this man before. Is he even mortal?
The queen staggered backwards as The Red One picked up speed again. With her hands covering her mouth in horror, she whispered her stepson’s name.
Thutmose saw his army crumbling right before him. The rest of the fleet had finally caught up with the Greeks, manhandling anyone in their path. Zapotec and Tarius were still battling each other. A crowd of Greeks now surrounded them, cheering their general on. Even if Zapotec won the duel he wouldn’t survive, for there were too many Greeks for him to defeat alone. The fight was now for sport and glory- those vain, immaterial medals that people are remembered for, even after death.
The Red One loomed ever closer, kicking up dust as the sun rose higher in the sky. Sweat fell from his sunburned skin like wax. Drawing up his shield, Thutmose focused on his opponent with the same kind of intensity he’d had before the battle. Queen Hatshepsut watched nervously from inside the palanquin.
The warrior slowed, angled left, and swung a hard blow to Thutmos’ shield from the side. The King- a six foot five beefcake of a man- held his ground and countered with an overhead swing that missed entirely. The Red One doubled back, taking three swings at the King, each bouncing off his black, beetle-shaped shield in succession. On the fourth swing the King finally clashed swords with the warrior, overpowering him in the process. The Red One staggered backwards, avoiding the King’s offense swiftly.
He’s mortal after all.
Soon the two were stuck in an apparent stalemate. Thutmose was stronger, but the Greek was faster. They were both intelligent fighters, but the Greek seemed to have an endurance that could rival the Gods. The man hadn’t stopped moving since the invasion, even until now. Remarkably, he still maintained the superior skill and precision as when he'd started, before slaying some thirty or forty men. If The Scarab King was going to defeat him, it had to be soon, or else he’d tire before the Greek did.
The King gambled and made a lunging strike, exposing his backside- a rare location where his armor exposed the flesh beneath. The Red One took advantage. Using two hands to defend the blow, he sidestepped the King’s lunging body, released the hold, and spun around to slash the opposite side of it. Thutmose gave out a cry of pain, but ignored the wound once his relentless opponent came at him again. The King looked into his eyes, eyes that were concealed behind the shadows of a bronze helmet. To him the opening bore a resemblance to some ungodly portal to the Underworld.
Next The Red One faked a blow to the right, then tumbled off to the side. The King quickly slashed his sword into the spot where the Greek’s trajectory had taken him. However The Red One had stopped in midair, balancing on one foot. The King’s sword struck the sand but disappeared underneath the trapping of The Red One’s shield. His eyes grew wide. With blinding speed The Red One resurfaced from beneath the shield, slicing his opponent’s hand off and slicing again into the exposed side of his chest. This time the connection was deadly. Thutmose’s skin oozed blood as he tumbled backward into the sand. The legendary warrior had defeated the Pharaoh of Egypt in less than a minute.
Queen Hatshepsut wailed from inside the palanquin. A thousand soldiers cheered their hero on from the shore of the sea. The Red One turned to face his companions, spotting Tarius standing triumphantly over the body of Zapotec. So he finally juiced the sucker. Smiling, the general lifted his sword to the sky.
Aries, face veiled by his helmet, arms glimmering with sweat, pointed his golden sword back towards the general to salute the army beneath him. A deafening roar received his thrust, a roar that stamped the history books with a statement of victory.
The Temple of Jux
King Juxses VIII stormed into the Temple of Candles with eyes of fire and a couple of very confused guards. Priest Azatlan sat motionless on a throne above the altar. Candles illuminated every corner of every mosaic, painting, and sculpture that adorned the baroque apse. Down the aisles and sides of the Temple candles were glowing more intermittently but still in high numbers, giving the impression of a thousand beady eyes staring at a lost wanderer through a forest during the night. The King, no stranger to surreal extremes, ignored the imposing atmosphere, glaring straight at the High Priest of Jux.
“You told Gemini about the crone’s vision!?”, he shouted.
Azatlan held his gaze with a steady ease. Juxses was fuming at his ears. His broad face was framed by sheets of golden hair that was slightly graying. To Azatlan he looked like a giant that was crying after eating something too spicy. Inside he was laughing, but outside he knew better.
“Relax, my King. Gemini is a loyal subject to the throne. I thought it only fitting that-”
“SILENCE!”
Juxses' roar sent all the flames in the temple leaning, some even blowing out. Several of the altar boys flinched, standing agape. Azatlan himself shifted in his seat. The ornate, systematic design of his toga relayed the cold aura of his old face. Wrinkled by years of solitary thinking, his forehead drizzled with a clean haircut that had been grayed by his stoic nature. The King continued, “Gemini has the biggest mouth in the empire. It’s a miracle he came to me first.”
The crown on his head seemed to bob in agreement with every tantrum the King threw. Tiny jewels of topaz and opal glistened over the piercings of his face. Necklaces of gold, copper and obsidian hung from his neck and wrists. The King’s attire consisted of a robe of orange silk with waves of fire embroidered down the sides. The appearance seemed fitting for his mood.
“Calm yourself, my dear king. The second son deserves the right to the know the details of his fate. There’s no way of knowing whom the Gods truly favor in the manner of rulership.”
Azatlan’s look was condescending. Juxses slowly walked closer to the throne.
“Azatlan, by all the power invested in me, if you betray my trust again I will see that you are permanently exiled.
“But sire, it is written in The Book. Every potential future King must know of the-”
“That’s enough!" The King looked around the temple, distracted. “Gemini is not the sort of man with consistent virtues- none of which he considers moral, anyway. You don’t have the authority to go about inciting mayhem about some silly prophecy. You’ll leave these matters to me, understood?”
"Yes, my lion."
Azatlan left his throne to make his way out of the temple, but not before spitting out one last state,emt: “He would have found out sooner or later, your highness.”
The High Preist’s mock tone stood in the air for several seconds as he left the temple. The guards and altar boys soon followed him. The King stood alone with his head hanging in disdain. When he looked up, all the candles of the eery Temple seemed be looking right through him, right at the center of his heart. They flickered mysteriously, taunting him for a future he knew himself unable to see.
Enchanted Athenians
The wind blew merrily over the hills of Athens, where two lovers were flocking in a meadow under the sun. The Parnithian Hills overlooked the city, which itself overlooked the Ionian Sea to the east and the state of Sparta to the south. For centuries people had come to Parnithia delighting in picnics, running on the bark trails, and making love in its pristine meadows. It was a magical place for children too. Legends told that the vast hills offered them an endless exploration of nature. Consequently the remains of childhood adventures littered the land, such as mahogany forts, water-logged capes, and dolls stitched with lace.
The lovers ran, jumped over logs, and scooped up butterflies that nested on the petals of wildflowers before allowing them to fly up into the sun through their outstretched hands. Together they rejoiced in songs of victory, praise, and love while dancing with prancing deer and tumbling into the brooks. They had not a care in the world for any passersby, for the entire city was alight with the music of victory. From the top of one of the higher hills they saw kites over the city that ignited the sky. The wind carried their snake-trails to all stretches of the land. The distant sounds of celebration could be heard as far as their eyes could see.
The legion was returning home.
Athens the capital shimmered grandly on the plain below. It always did when the sun was out, for the skyline was predominantly engineered of gold, pyrite and topaz. It was a grand skyline, but no structure was quite as imposing as the great palace itself. Red parabolic roofs outstretched on golden gutters that curled like eyebrows. Above them rose turrets that waved large pom-pom flags in the wind. Every building was framed by an elaborate armory of golden curls cascading down them like the hair of a beautiful woman. The rest of the skyline seemed to mimic the palace's architecture, but nothing came close to the sheer grandiosity of the gem in the middle of it all.
“Look at it, Electra. Have you ever seen the city so alive?”, said the man.
“No, Libra. It’s as if Amphitrite had flooded the land under a wave from the sea and cleansed it with a crescendo of harmony. The times are changing.”
Libra turned to face his lover with a grin so wide and carefree that all the lies in the world could be rendered transparent through it. His eyes sparkled with the liveliness of a lion, while long, black hair blew behind him in the wind. She’d never found him more attractive than she did now.
“Yes, my love. When I am emperor the city will be cleaned daily. We’ll build libraries and monorails... Great sculptures that illustrate the mythologies. I’ll tax the rich and import large amounts of gemstones, spices, and instruments to harmonize the splendor of our empire.”
Electra giggled. She looked into his eyes with a naive type of lust that tickled the base of his spine. Her tanned skin glowed faintly with oils that secreted strong pheromones into his nostrils. Her white gown wrinkled under the stress of her fair breasts, which were framed by long tendrils of blonde hair. Pink streaks were mixed up in them randomly, giving her the appearance a human-sized fairy dressed as a princess. Coupled with all the pollen in the air, the mixture was intoxicating to him. “And how will my new King harmonize his blushing bride?”, she teased.
“I’ll show you.” Libra moved into her embrace for a deep kiss. Together they collapsed into the flowers and lay together.
To be continued...
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