Anio, Son of Poseidon
&
The Rookie
by David N. Brown
Smashwords edition copyright 2011 David N. Brown
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Anio, Son of Poseidon
After this and many more adventures, Anio and his noble shark came to the Pillars of Hercules, that bound the strait called the End of the World, where the Seas meet outer Ocean, and then he passed beyond them. He circled Iberia, he explored the mist-shrouded isles of Cimmeria, and the Sea of Nereids where trickster spirits create mirages in the air. He followed the coasts of the Hyperborea, where the sun ever shines on the Sea of Ice, and beheld the Titan tribe of Ice Breakers who with enormous clubs and chisels carve great bergs from the cliffs of ice. He met men of fair skin and hair of gold or copper, others of dark hair and still others of dusky skin also. While Anio was at harbor in Cimmeria, he beheld a ship bearing the ambassador of Hyperborea sunk by the unseen beast. From the wreck of the ship, Jargus's sharp nose detected a scent like no man or fish or whale, and the northerners cried out that it was the Wer-beast.
It was thought to be sired by Proteus, a sea god of mutable form, and itself hunted in three guises. So great was its cunning and stealth that men knew it only by its terrible spoor: The jagged hole in the ice where a man's track disappeared, a print of a paw bigger than a bear's but with the four toes of a wolf next to a pillaged sled, and a print of a giant's foot, long as a child is tall, next to a smashed and empty igloo. Their grandfathers' grandfathers had abandoned all hope of battle against it, but Anio swore on the Styx to slay it or die in the attempt. From that moment on, hero and shark followed the trail relentlessly. For days, weeks and finally months they tracked the beast through mazes of reefs, rocks and fjords. Many times, they passed through bloody wreck and ruin, and Anio called to the gods for vengeance.
In the Sea of Ice, he finally sighted his quarry, as a black whale. Jargus swam after it, quickly gaining, but just before she caught the beast, it smashed upward through the ice. Anio emerged and saw the form of a huge wolf already growing small with distance. He followed the trail of its prints, and caught sight of the beast, only to see it dive through a freshly smashed hole in the ice. Anio rejoined Jargus in the water and rode after the swift form of the whale. And so it continued: Again and again, the beast escaped Jargus by bursting onto the ice, then eluding Anio be returning to the water. Even so, it could not lose its pursuers.
But the labors of hero and shark almost came to naught. As Anio emerged through yet another hole in the ice, he found a trail doubling back. He whirled around to see the beast pounce through the ice onto Jargus. It did not bite, but rammed the shark with iron-hard snout. Her mail-like hide was unpierced, but her soft bones were broken. But she took the dearer toll, rending the beast's side and maiming its fin with a single snap. By the time Anio reached Jargus, it had disappeared back through the ice. The trail he found was that of a wolf with a lame paw. He gave chase. Behind him, a brooding albatross surveyed his steps.
Having no refuge in the water or on the ice, the wer-beast fled toward a bare isle where one of the swarthy northern tribes made camp. Anio almost overtook it, but a terrible marvel occurred: Though the Sea of Ice is too cold for dew, and even snow is scarce, a mist fell over Anio and the beast, so that the hero lost sight of his quarry. He cursed the unknown god that had sent the mist, and made for the isle. He stopped at a native village, long enough to warn them, “Take to your sleds! A Wer-beast is come!” Even as he spoke, a woman shrieked that her child was gone. Men raced for their spears, and women for their children, and all was chaos, and from the very midst of the bedlam came the gleeful howl of the Wer-beast.
The beast rushed about the milling crowd like a wolf among sheep, killing at will and driving those who lived where it wished. Three times Anio raised his harpoon at the beast, but each time the mist or a fleeing northerner got in his way before he could cast. Then he heard cries from one of the igloos, and ran toward it. He was passed by a woman and two children fleeing, but the cry of a lone babe still came from the igloo. He saw the giant tracks at the threshold, and froze. Suddenly, the beast leapt at him, not from inside the igloo but over it. It would have had Anio's throat, but its lame paw brought its leap short. Even so, it was past the reach of Anio's harpoon, and its jaws closed on his mailed forearm. A paw fell with staggering weight on his shoulder, and became a huge black hand at his throat, and the beast reared over him as a hairy black giant.
The Rookie
54 hours had passed since 838 and IX303A “Davey” had been deposited on the Northern Arizona flood plains. Fortunately, the last 12 had seen a marked improvement in their situation. While IX202C's shot had severely dented the cover of 838's processor housing, it had done no direct damage to his circuits, and Davey had shown him how to cover the breach in the integument with a headdress, known in human parlance as a “doo rag”, which would be found innocuous. Davey had also attracted a new transport, an HKM 115 hovercraft.
The 30-foot craft cruised over water, mud and sand at up to 70 knots. In the bow, a standard HK torso towered like an oversized figurehead. In the rear, Davey and 838 rode with ten Model 789 terminators. Terminators rarely communicated with each other except for signals necessary to their mission, and the T789s were proving even more taciturn than might be expected. But the intelligence unit circled the deck, repeatedly querying the terminators verbally despite repeated transmissions of, State queries in electronic form. Eventually, Davey exerted sufficient influence upon T789.105 to rope him into an exercise, along with 838. “We will practice a human exercise in psychological manipulation and risk assessment,” Davey said. “It is called a `poker game', and has proven difficult and dangerous for machines. Seven of thirteen attempts by Skynet units to participate in the field resulted in the unit being fired upon.”
The three units sat in a triangle, and played with a deck of cards and rolls of pennies in 838's duffel. Pennies had long become standard human currency, easily fetching a hundred times their pre-war value, and so were always issued to units on extended infiltration missions. Decks of cards also were usually provided: Though Skynet had had found no useful and effective application for them, it had long been recognized as among the seemingly useless items improved the chances of being accepted as human considerably. Davey dealt the first hand, and Unit 105 won.
“It is against the rules to use active imaging to scan the non-identical faces of the cards,” Davey said.
“But the mission objective is to determine which unit possesses the superior assets,” 105 said in a monotone painful to 838's sensors.
“Yes, but mission parameters prohibit direct observation,” Davey explained patiently.
“Revising mission parameters,” 105 said.
838 spoke: “But what purpose do humans find in the exercise? They lack our sensory capabilities, but they must have found ways to identify cards with certainty. Once this had been done, the exercise would become obsolete.”
“They do have such techniques,” Davey said, after an unusual pause of 1.1775 seconds. “Identified forms include `marking', `counting' and `stacking the deck'. They are collectively known as `cheating', and elicit extreme negative reactions from humans.”
838 dealt next, after Davey shuffled for him. 105 folded at the star. 838, possessing what he knew to be a strong hand, remained in. After three rounds in which each made the ante, he raised two pennies, and Davey raised four in response. He put in four, and Davey responded with eight. By then, the other T789s were gathering to observe. 838 did not feel what humans would have called temptation to cheat, but he experienced an unusual sensation, like what he felt in battle, but not at a known threat but at the unknown. After long seconds, he folded, then immediately looked at the other players' cards. He had 3 kings, 105 had 2 jacks, and Davey had a jumble of number cards. “Your hand was worthless. Even 105 could have beaten you,” he said. “By probability and risk analysis, you should have folded immediately, as 105 did. Instead, you risked fifteen additional pennies. Why?”
T789.105 was more blunt: “ IX303C should be inspected for defect.”
“There is no defect,” Davey said. “It is called a `bluff', and I am the first to emulate it successfully. Humans take pleasure in danger. Skynet has calculated with 99.734% certainty that that is the main reason humans play these `games'. Greater known probability of failure gives greater pleasure, and greater pleasure still when they win nevertheless. Success appears to depend upon the convincing simulation of confidence, through nuances of voice and physical posture, which are subject to ongoing study, and also by demonstrating the willingness to take risk.”
“For that alone, the humans deserve termination,” 105 opined.
“If they can take pleasure in proceeding despite the highest probability of failure, then they will never stop fighting us,” 838 said as he handed the deck to 105. “They could even enjoy it.”
“In all probability.”
“Might their resistance be a bluff?”
“Definitely possible. But Skynet can never be bluffed.”
838 decided he would like to bluff. But, unfortunately, there was no third hand. T789.105 tore the cards to shreds trying to shuffle.
Anio, Son of Poseidon
Prologue: The Book of Shapes
A Demigod Is Proclaimed!
The Fall of Havilah and the Birth of Anio
Anio's Youth
The Devourer of the Dead
Escape
Anio Acknowledged
Anio and Athena
Anio, Artemis and Thanatos
The Wer-Beast
Anio and Scylla
Nalath
Interlude
Anio and Equila
The Challenge of Ah-Nubyss
Assembly of the Heroes
The Voice of Kthon
Seas of Peril
Strife
Battle of the Sea of Ice
The Pearls of Death
Battle of Claquon
East and West
Epilogue
Prologue: The Book of Shapes
In the days long before our time, but long after the world was made, Socrates spoke to a crowd at the shrine of the Unknown God in Athens. The crowd was mostly young men. Of the few older men in the crowd, one showed himself favorable to the philosopher. The rest scowled, or jeered, except for one who stood behind a column, peering out frequently to examine faces in the crowd and then hurriedly scribbling in a small scroll concealed in his robe. The gathering had begun before noon, and at two hours after sunset continued by torchlight.
“Teacher,” said Phaedrus, Socrates’ most precocious pupil, “do you think that the stars guide the fates of men?”
“I should think,” Socrates said, “that the stars have better things to do.” There was long and loud laughter. Socrates continued, pacing as he spoke, “I think another question should be asked: Why, when men inquire of the stars, do they ask what will be? I can think of other thinks that ought to be at least as interesting: what never was, and what might have been, and what might yet be.”
As he walked, he accidentally knocked over a torch, which did not go out but continued to burn upon the ground. Socrates halted in surprise at the sight of his own shadow, which now loomed to the top of the wall. “I say,” he mused, “I am but a small man, but look what a great shadow I may cast.” He picked up the torch, and then walked toward his one elder admirer, holding the torch as high as he could. “And look! Nikos is the tallest among us, but by this light, his shadow is shorter than mine!” There was more laughter and a number of frowns, from young as well as old, and the man with the scroll took an especially long look at the crowd.
Before the laughter died down, a young man named Plato, who sat closest to Socrates, saying little but listening most attentively, spoke: “So which is a man's true shape: the man, or the shadow?”
Socrates frowned, and was silent for long minutes before saying: “That is a good question indeed. I should say that it is the man himself, as it is his body from which the shadow comes. And the same body may cast many shadows... But, what if the body of the man is itself a shadow of another form? A man's sight and a man’s reason are but a torch torches, and for each shape it reveals, it casts a shadow which may deceive. Only by the light of the Divine can a shape be known in truth.”
“It is strange that you speak of these things,” said an elder, one who had often scowled but never jeered. “This very day, I purchased this scroll from a traveler from a far land. He could not read it, but knew its legend for Greek. The title reads, `The Book of Shapes'.”
He handed the scroll to the philosopher, who unrolled it. “This is what it says: `This is the Book of Shapes. Each who receives it is to copy it, and add to it a story he finds fitting to its theme. But none is to sign his name upon any part of it, for it is by and for all mankind.
“'This book will tell of the shapes of things, and their shadows; of reality and appearances; of the world as it was, and is, and will be, and as it never was, and might have been, and never will be. Let all men learn from it what the light of their reason may reveal...”
He advanced the scroll. “Much of this is not in Greek... and some of the Greek is of a kind no longer spoken... But here, there are familiar letters and words. It is called, `The Journeys of Anio, Son of Poseidon.'”
Then he read this tale...
1. A Demigod Is Proclaimed
In the days long before our time, but long after the World was made, the god Poseidon reigned in His palace-city Nereidon. When He was not in Nereidon, He was in Olympus. When he was to be found in neither, as frequently happened, he was wandering the World, seeking women, mortal or immortal, to seduce. Frequently, it came to pass that He sired a son. And one day, to His very gates, such a son came.
This man was clad in golden armor, and bore a great sword. He rode upon a fierce Hippocampus. Before him stood Nereidon, a dome of rock as wide as an island, and so tall that its foundations vanished into darkness and its top stood above the lowest lapping of the tides. No hewn stone was to be found in Nereidon, for the palace is built not by mortal or immortal hands, but by the very waves, which wear rock smooth and build up ramparts of sand, and by corals that built their great reefs in columns, arches and domes. Its great portal was wider than any city's, and around it were four minor portals, each large enough for a mortal palace.
The door of the great portal was open, but at his approach the valves swung half-shut. From one of the minor portals, a creature like a man with a fish’s tail in place of loins and legs swam forth to block his way. This was Triton, legitimate son of Poseidon by Queen Amphitrite. He blew a note with a great conch shell, and raised a trident. “Halt in the name of the gods!” he said.
“I honor the names of all the gods, and I will obey their commands,” the warrior said. “But if a god would give me a command, I have the right to see him face-to-face and hear it from his own lips. I seek audience with Poseidon!”
“What mortal presumes to demand audience with the Sea King?” Triton said with a sneer.
”I am Anio, son of Poseidon by Amphyla, princess of the kingdom of Havilah, which is no more, and descendant of the daughters of the river Pishon,” the warrior answered. “I come to claim my birthright.”
Triton chuckled. Behind him, the valves slammed shut “It takes rare courage to pronounce one’s self so boldly, and rare foolishness,” he said. “What makes you think there is any birthright to claim? What makes you think that others, hearing you, would not strike you down? Be gone, rogue!”
He blew his horn, and from one of the minor portals came Ktenos, Sea Weaver, who with eight arms weaves near-unbreakable nets. The Weaver cast his net at the intruder. The hippocampus was entangled by many threads, but the warrior was caught by only one, which he cut to escape. Ktenos spun another web. With the cast of a trident, the warrior knocked the half-finished net from Ktenos’ grip, so that the Weaver was snared in his own web. The warrior then hewed the Weaver with his sword. Ktenos was left with no limbs, as helpless as he had meant to make his opponent.
Triton glared in anger, but there was no longer only scorn in his eyes. “Even if your claim be true- which I doubt- there is naught for you here, unless it be danger of death. Learn better to consider before taking the bedtime tales of a river tramp as truth, and learn more discretion in what you say at a god’s very doorstep!”
”I know you,” said Anio. “You are Triton. I would have given you honor as half-brother, whether you bade me enter or go. But I do not easily pardon insult, least of all insult against my fair and noble mother, even from one as great as yourself. I would fight you, Triton.”
”I would not fight you, even if you made mortal insult against all the gods in Olympus above and Hades below and Ocean beyond,” Triton said. “Why should I so dignify the braying of an ass? We have beasts to deal with beasts. Slay, Knedos!” At his words, a green lion with webbed paws and a mane of stinging tentacles swam forth from another minor portal. It sprang immediately upon Anio. He thrust once with his sword and pierced the brow of Knedos, fierce lion of the sea. Even as Knedos perished, its deadly mane lashed out, but Anio’s mighty arms held it at bay.
Triton spoke again, his tone of contempt gone. “I can see you are a mighty warrior. I grant you to leave with your life, and I shall tell my lord of your coming. A suitable arrangement may be arrived at...”
”I did not come to be pushed away and then quietly coddled,” Anio declared. “I demand to see the Sea King! Now, Triton, unbar the door, or bar me with the cast of your trident!” Triton swam between him and the gate, but he did not raise his trident but held it level before him. Anio lunged over the trident and cut off Triton’s head. From about his hewn neck, Anio took the key to the gate and his mighty horn. He unlocked the great portal and blew the horn, then cast the articles aside.
”Mortal fool,” said Triton, for no wound can slay a full-blooded god. “You will find that there are others besides the King himself in Nereidon, and they do not welcome new companions- if Jargus were not to consume you first.”
Anio swam through the great portal. Behind him, the last minor portal opened, and out came the shark Jargus, queen of fishes. Her scales were like bronze mail, and her teeth like iron daggers. She was long enough to span the great portal, and her jaws gaped wide enough for a great warrior to walk upright through the arch of her upper jaw. Anio thrust his shield between her closing jaws, and she crushed it. He lunged at her flank and hacked with his sword. His blade shattered, leaving only shallow scrapes to show for his mighty blows. She swung her head from side to side, knocking him senseless with a blow from her snout. She ducked her head to snap him up. But when she came up, the hero was not in her jaws, but poised before her mighty fin. “Mistress Shark, I do not wish to slay you. I would count it an honor even to be slain by you, for you are a terrible and beautiful shark,” Anio said. At the sound of his voice, she paused from her thrashing. “But why should either of us slay the other? We are both creatures of the Sea King. Why should we not go together into his courts?”
How much Jargus understood him, no mortal knows. But, if she did not understand his words, she understood his will. For she did indeed cease from her attack, and turn about to carry Anio through the vast halls of Nereidon. All the denizens of the court retreated, fearing Jargus and fearing even more the one who had mastered her. They drove unopposed to the very door of Poseidon’s throne room. Only then did they meet some who stood their ground, the six Titan slaves of Amphitrite who guarded Poseidon’s throne room. These swung their ship-long lances across the door. But they then withdrew their spears and opened the valve. “Anio, you may enter,” said the chief guard. “Poseidon will speak to you, but He wishes it to be known to you beforehand that He will not have you question Him. He will question you, and if you answer completely and truthfully, His reward will be as much knowledge as you need.”
“I accept the terms of the Sea King,” Anio said. To his new mount, he said, “Thank you, Mistress of Sharks. I should like you with me wherever I may go, but the King does not invite you with me.” He swam into the great portal. Jargus circled in farewell, and bit a lance in two as warning to any who might harm him.
The fall of Havilah and the birth of Anio.
Poseidon’s throne room was a spherical chamber in the center of the dome of Nereidon. A great column of coral stood in the center of the chamber, and the middle of it was hollowed out into a three-cornered chamber for Poseidon’s throne, which was concealed by three veils. Luminous plants lined the walls, flooding the chamber with light while casting no shadows, save that of Poseidon upon the veils. As Anio approached, a lamp lit above the throne, and one of the veils parted. The mortal hero thus beheld the form of Poseidon, but not his face, for like all the great gods, save one, Poseidon wore a mask, his being of silver and of the form of a thickly bearded man.
“Welcome, Anio,” said Poseidon. “You have proved yourself a hero worthy of the gods’ attention, though it remains to be judged whether to reward you for virtue or punish you for hubris. I am convinced that you are sired of the gods. But whether you are a son of mine is another matter. What is the name of your mother, her title and her land?”
“My mother’s name is Amphylah, princess of the lost kingdom of Havilah, which stood upon the shores of the river Pishon, of whose daughters she is descended.”
The form of Poseidon nodded. “I have known that land within this generation of mortals. What do tales tell of how she conceived and gave birth?” Anio answered with tales, and his answers brought more questions, till one tale multiplied into many. The sum of the tales was this.
The river of Pishon once ran from mountains that overlooked Poseidon’s Sea, southward to the shores of the outer Ocean. On the shores of Pishon, bare desert gave way to fields, pastures, vineyards and lakes full of fish. Mortals had found the lush land, settled and multiplied, and founded the kingdom of Havilah, between Babylon and Arabia. The stock of the kingdom was different and fairer than any of the nomads of the surrounding desert. According to legend, this was because the men who settled it found a tribe of water nymphs, children of a river goddess, and took many in marriage. Once or twice in every century, a child was born of such fair appearance as to be judged a demigod.
Many superstitions arose about the treatment of such a child. Boys, when grown, were treated as seers, and many won indisputable renown as such. Girls were viewed with even greater reverence, as the mortal counterparts of the River Goddess herself. It was believed that if any harm were done to one of these Daughters of the River, the River would rise in wrath to avenge her. Nobles had been executed simply for whispering ill words for such a girl or woman. It was also thought that such a child could not be married off in a normal fashion. She was to marry a king, or else remain a virgin priestess or prophetess.
The last King of Havilah had only one child, a daughter named Amphyla, who was one of these fair folk. He sent her to live in the north, in the headwaters of Pishon, where she swam and bathed daily. One day, while she was in the river, a great mist descended. When it lifted, the Princess was gone. Her servants were so distraught, they had to be restrained from slaying themselves. The captain of the guard went to the King with the news, and the request that only he and not his men be put to death. But the King pardoned them all, and spoke words of hope: “How shall a Daughter of the River come to harm in the very headwaters of Pishon? And if she had, would the river not be already rising to avenge her? Fear not. Amphyla is in the hands of the Goddess, and She will protect her own.”
That night, the King had counsel with his Seer, the most renowned of the Sons of the River. The Seer did not despair, but showed greater concern. “To be sure, the Princess is in no mortal danger. No beast or mortal man, but only a god could snatch the Daughter of the River from the River itself. And by their unbreakable oaths upon the Styx, the gods themselves must abide by certain rules. Among the oldest and greatest of these, sworn by Hades to Demeter and accepted by all the gods with her, is that the gods are to do no harm to each other’s children, and if a god abducts the child of another, the child must be returned within six moons. By this pledge, our princess is safe, and will soon be returned. But that may not be the end of the matter. Who may say what wrath or jealousy she might arouse between the gods?”
Within a week, the words of the King and the Seer were proved true. Amphyla was found on the same shore from which she had vanished. She said she had no memory of what had happened. Throughout Havilah, great feasts and dances were held to celebrate her return. But within a month, dark news was told in the king’s most secret councils: The Princess was with child.
At that time, a string of great calamities befell the kingdom. Up the river from the Ocean to the south, a fearful tribe of raiders came: Talans, men with unbreakable hides of bronze, who rode in boats of iron which had neither sail nor oar, yet could outrace any ship of the king’s navy. The Talans took no plunder save metal and precious stones, and rather than wrestling these things from the hands of living men, they used terrible jets of burning pitch to burn away all else, then sifted their prizes from the ashes. Some tales said that they also took coals, which they consumed to feed fires in their bellies. From the north, there came an untimely flood of foul water which brought only death. Fishermen found their nets filled with swarms of fish already dead and putrid. Farmers harvested crops already rotted by mold and damp. Women and boys who went to wells and cisterns returned with dark sludge which gave plague to any who drank it. But after the flood, the river only dropped, and it was whispered that it would soon dry out.
In the king’s councils, the Seer said, “It is as I feared. Amphyla and the child she bears have become subjects of a feud between the gods. It is on their account that we suffer. By their oldest oath, no god can slay a mortal by his own hand, save Zeuss the sender of thunder. And, after the fall of great Troy, they pledged never again to take arms against each other, unless it is at a time which may come when the world is unmade and made again. But they may sent forth plagues, and cataclysms, and beasts, and spirits of madness to plague the mortals who displease them. For the violation of Her daughter, the River has closed Her flow, and we know what penalties She will exact if we abuse the Princess to make her miscarry. But, as I read it, there are gods we do not know at work, one who would destroy the child unborn, and another who might take vengeance if the child is not born. I prophesy on the Styx, that the kingdom will not outlast this quarrel of gods. Thus is our doom.”
The king’s Alchemist said, “There is known a salamander whose venom can be made into an elixir. If a woman with child drinks it, she will bear untimely and still, yet be herself unharmed.”
The Admiral said, “My finest ship is still at harbor. It can take Amphyla far into the Ocean, perhaps beyond the reach of the gods which feud over her, or else at least draw their wrath away from us.”
The king spoke in anguish: “What desperate impiety is this? How can a poison still the seed of a god? How can a ship out sail the hand of the gods? The Seer is right: Havilah is doomed. But while we endure, we shall care for and protect Amphyla, both my only daughter and Daughter of the River.”
But the kingdom did not share the will of the King. It was the King’s own brother who led the masses to overthrow the King’s plan. Men who had feasted the Princess’s safe return now joined the mob that marched on the palace. Even the king’s guards joined the rebellion, except for 8 loyal guards who were overpowered and locked away by their fellows. The loyal admiral summoned his sailors, threatening to besiege the rebels in the palace. But all the fighters paused when the prince breached the throne room and faced the King. As calm and terse as haggling merchants, the brothers set their terms. The King agreed to resign his throne in return for Amphyla’s safe passage out of the kingdom. The Prince demanded that his brother be imprisoned in one tower of the palace, so that he could not orchestrate any counter-revolt from abroad. The prince declared that the Admiral, the Seer, the Alchemist and the 8 loyal guards could not be allowed to remain in the kingdom. The King demanded that they not be executed, maimed or dispersed, but given the Admiral’s best ship and crew to sail as Amphyla’s honor guard.
So it was that Amphyla was borne away upon the Ocean by the Admiral's finest ship. As they passed from sight of shore, the Seer prophesied, “I cannot see the fate of this voyage. But these things I do see. It is a power of the Ocean that ranges against us and our ward. We cannot escape its reach, though we sail to the furthest seas where eternal fire and eternal ice meet. This I also see, that none of us will return to familiar shores.”
Later, the Seer made another prophecy: “I have seen the future of Havilah, and it is this: That, when Amphyla's water breaks, Pishon will burst its bounds, and when her child draws breath, great Ocean will surge forward to drown the River. And I also see a vision of the present. Twelve iron boats of the Talans stalk us, circling at a distance like sharks. They mean to encircle us and strike from the points of a sundial, but their ring is only two-thirds formed. Steer south and west, lest our enemies come before us as well as behind!
“I offer my services against the Talans, as indeed I labored long in the service of the King to defeat them by Natural Philosophy,” said the Alchemist. “As far as is known, the Talans' flame ranges but a hundred span. Our catapult can throw better than twice that range, but no bullet can breech the hull of the Talans’ armored ships. But they may be repelled, through the virtues of the lodestone. It is the virtue of this stone to draw iron to itself. The stone has a lesser-known virtue to align itself north and south, and a great adventurer who once bought passage on a Talan boat found that they are too weak of sight to sail by sun or stars, and so navigate with a lodestone instead. I have four bullets of lodestone. If we cast a lodestone bullet upon a Talan ship, their navigator will be confused. And, however ungraciously they expelled us, we must also give thought to the people of our kingdom. I have the salamander; let me milk the venom and mix the elixir which may still the demigod seed which draws divine wrath upon the realm.”
The Seer shook his head. “No. I do not foresee such a plan succeeding. I believe that the seed is beyond harm. The salamander is but a lesser descendant of the River. The child unborn is heir both to the River Herself, and to a power greater than the River.”
That day, they sighted the Talans. The iron boats were short, broad and low, more like barges than war ships, and could scarcely be seen above their own spray save for a dome atop the hull that held the weapon of flame. To port and starboard were the ships of the unfinished ring. Ahead, but well to starboard, were three ships which would finish the ring. Seeing their quarry escape, the three boats gave chase. One set its course directly to intercept them. The other two moved to port and starboard, releasing jets of flame that burnt upon the sea. “I believe they mean to board us, not to sink us,” said the Admiral. “Do not mistake this for mercy. The tales of what the Talans will do to captives are as terrible as they are few.”
The iron boats at their sides sailed through their own flames, to draw alongside the Admiral’s ship, while the one ahead closed in. It was then that the Admiral had the bombardiers cast the first of the lodestone bullets. It struck the ship before them, and as the Alchemist predicted, the iron boat slewed from its course. It overshot the Admiral’s ship, and slammed into the side of the ship to starboard. Its bow transfixed the other iron boat, and both careened toward the wall of flame. The Admiral ordered a hard turn to follow them, and so escaped the trap through a breach in the flames. The ship which had stood in their path had to turn about. The captain of the ship which had been to starboard was named Epimethion, and was famously merciless even among the Talans. In his bloodlust and wounded pride, he ordered his ship drawn back from its fellow. leaving the pierced boat to sink. The ship of Epimethion swiftly gained upon the Admiral. But the lodestone was still stuck to the iron deck, and so the navigator set a course that ran it aground on a notorious reef.
The last of the iron boats fell behind the Admiral, long enough for the ship of Havilah to reach the strait to outer Ocean. By then, the rest of the Talan fleet was catching up. The Admiral ordered a launch prepared for the Princess and her entourage. “We cannot hold our lead, but I can make a stand here,” he said to the Princess. “Great is the honor of those who go with you. Greater still is the honor of we who stand and die that you may live!” No human witness lived to tell of the battle, yet the people of the Ocean’s coast would tell of a ship of a land across the sea that stood against the Talans. It was said that the ship drove into the midst of the Talan ships, and that it sank one of them in a final grapple in the midst of the strait. It was known that, for some time afterward, the strait was blocked by a wreck, until a swarm of Talan ships came and broke it up.
The launch sailed away from the coast, seeking one of the islands known to exist offshore. The Princess was accompanied by 10 men: the Seer, the Alchemist, and the eight faithful guards. They had food and drink for seven days. At dusk on the seventh day, they sighted land. Within another seven days, the princess gave birth. On that day, the kingdom of Havilah was destroyed. It was told that Pishon rose and ran red, devastating the kingdom. Then there was a great earthquake, which sent torrents of water, mud and rock into the sea, and in the midst of the quake, the sea drew back from Havilah’s shores. Finally, the sea returned in a great, moving wall of water that did not stop until it had overrun the length of Havilah. The waters never returned to their former bounds, and to this day, the sea covers the land that was Havilah.
Anio’s youth
On the night the Princess and her party went ashore, they were warned by the Seer: “I see a savage people on this island, with skins nearly black. They have sighted us, and withdrawn in fear. As we speak, they quarrel as to what we are: Some say we are spirits of the dead, because we are so fair. Others say that we are pirates and slavers from the west, because we bear metal weapons. In either case, they fear us too much to attack us at once, but I foresee that that will soon change. For they fear more than anything a creature they worship as their god, and it demands from them human flesh.
“This creature is called the Devourer of the Dead. It is, in truth, not a god, but a half-mortal beast. It knows not know age or illness, as a full mortal does, but it can be wounded and slain in battle, as a full god cannot. It was made in the first days by the Titan Prometheus, who also made all the breeds of men, and suffers eternally for giving men fire. Prometheus at first tried to make men and beasts more perfectly than they are now. He made the first races of men out of metal, so that they would not die. The Talans are descendants of these first men, made base and warlike by the gods. Likewise, he made the Devourer, eldest of the flesh-eating beasts, to consume all parts of its victims, so that nothing would go to waste. To this end, he gave it five heads, each of a different kind: On the right are the head of a crocodile, which takes the hands and feet, and the head of a vulture, which eats the flesh of the breast. On the left are the heads of a hyena, which by crushing bone eats marrow and brains, and a boar, which eats entrails. In the center is the head of an ape, which drinks blood.
“Every month, a live offering is made to the Devourer; every third month, the offering is a human victim, usually a slave taken from among the neighboring tribes. By Fortune, we have arrived but a month after the last human offering. When the time of the next human sacrifice approaches, the first attack shall come.”
The Alchemist said, “I can provide for our defenses. Not long ago, in payment for a fine potion, I was given instructions for creating a golem: A creature of clay, having the form of a man. It is very time-consuming, but requires only common elements.”
In a week, he finished his first golem. “The golem is based on the Principle of Sympathy,” he said in explanation. “The barbarians use sympathy to slay a man by destroying an effigy of him. The golem is created by a reversal of the process: The effigy becomes a living replica of the man. It lives and breathes as a man does. However, it does not have the mind or will of the man. It does only what it is told to do. It has the same strength as the man, but also the same needs and vulnerabilities. It requires food and water, and will die from injuries. There is an additional weakness: If the man dies, any golem based on him will also die. I intend to make seven golems from each of our warriors. Or, rather, I intend for the golems to do it for me.”
And so he did. Over the next week, he made another golem, and the first golem imitated him to create a third. On the third week, the Alchemist and the three golems made four more. In the fourth week, the alchemist attended to other duties, while the seven golems each made another. By the end of the sixth week, there were 56 golems to match the eight loyal guards. A number of problems were faced in making the golems into fighters. It was found that they made poor bowmen, though every one of the guards was an excellent archer. It was therefore left to the guards to shoot, while the golems fought before them. It was impossible to make any new swords or metal armor. Even wood and stone were difficult to come by without venturing into the forest. While some of the golems were given the swords and armor of the guards, most had to be armed with nothing but clubs, crude spears, and shields of leather.
Two hundred islanders, the finest warriors of the fearsome ruling tribe, struck indeed after two months. The seer foresaw it almost a week in advance. The guards and their golems erected a wall of stakes, with thorny vines strung between them. Then the guards and their charges retreated to a stockade, while the golems manned the barricades. In their first foray, the islanders retreated at the very sight of the wall. Two days later, they mustered their courage for a night attack. They won the wall, with volleys of darts blown from lengths of reed that paralyzed those they hit, and cut away the vines to climb the stakes. However, the guards’ bows outranged the islanders’ darts, and the attackers made easy marks. The islanders soon retreated, carrying three stunned golems with them. The Devourer was displeased when these offerings turned into mud at the first bite. In its wrath, it wiped out a third of the ruling tribe and decimated their vassals too. When the time came when a new human offering was to be made, the one chosen for the offering was the deposed chief of the ruling tribe.
The islanders did not attack again until the end of the first year of Anio’s life. Two rebellious vassal tribes had taken the place of the ruling tribe, and together they mustered 600 warriors. They arrived with much better preparations, only to find the defenses improved. The wall had been rebuilt stronger than before, the stockade was greatly strengthened, and wo trenches had been dug behind the wall. One was filled with a concoction of the Alchemist. The other had in front of it a low barricade of earth, studded with short wooden stakes. When the natives approached, what looked like water in the first ditch suddenly burst into flame. They nearly retreated at once, but their bravest and most resourceful warriors rallied the rest. They chopped down trees and used them to bridge the trench, though the guards’ arrows took a heavy toll. Those who crossed the bridge took still more terrible losses, but soon established a solid foothold. Defeating the second trench was not so easy, as warriors cresting the mounded earth in front were met by Golems with spears at the bottom. But by the second hour of the battle, the second trench was breached, and the warriors were encircling the stockade. One of the guards was stunned by a dart, allowing the islanders to reach the door. They chopped at the wood with stone axes, and soon had a door ajar. At that moment, a horn sounded.