One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: that word is love.

--Sophocles--

W

ake up Rhea, Wake up. Her muscles ached, and her head felt heavy. Wake up Rhea, said the same distant voice that seemed to come from the wind itself. And then once more the voice spoke, Wake up Rhea. She opened her eyes. The hot sand scratched her cheek as she laid face front on the ground. With a tired groan she raised her head witnessing the marvel of the bright emptiness with vast sand dunes that looked like frozen waves sparkling under the sun. Her dark tunic, which was as black as her long silky hair, flapped against the blowing air. The voice was gone, but the wind kept swirling around her, defending her from the heat that reigned over the lifeless desert. She threw her hood off her head and raised her stare. Around her crumbled structures and collapsed pillars protruded out of the sand. It was the remains of ancient city claimed by the desert.
Hades, she thought. This is no longer the land of the living but the realm of daemons. She sat up, a protective shadow descended upon her making her shiver as she felt a sharp stare drilling on the back of her head.
She turned; a sudden shudder took a hold of her as before her was a Cyclops staring keenly at her. She let out a sigh of relief as she realized the eye to be only a carving on the side of a towering obelisk. The stone pillar rose over twenty feet high and had elaborated writing of a long ago forgotten language running around its waist. The eye which was known as the Eye of Argos was near the crest of the pillar and heading west where the sun would go rest at night.
For a second Rhea thought the voice that had told her to wake up was the Eye of Argos.
“Are you alright, Rhea,” an old man with black hood and a silvery beard came before her. The shadows of his hood hid most of his scars, but the one crossing the left part of his face going from his forehead past his left eyebrow all the way to the set of wrinkles under his bright blue eye was clear as always.
“Yes…I think I am.”
Nurmitor helped her up to her feet, and took a quick examination of her, looking at her from head to toe. As long as she can remember old Nurmitor had watched over her like a mother bear over her cub, although he was of no relation to her, she often regarded him as her overprotective uncle.
“Their close!” cried Dardanus who stood up a sand hill, holding his bow firmly on one hand, while his other hand drawn between his brow length black curly hair and his dark squinted eyes. At the age of sixteen Dardanus was two years younger than Rhea, she had known him since she was six years old and since the day they had met they had been always closest friends.
Rhea followed his gaze; a trail of sand cloud headed their way.
“We have to move now!” Nurmitor took a hold of her hand and they went off.
With her legs still numb, Rhea found it difficult to climb up and down the endless sand dunes. The soft sand was treacherous as it gave up under her weight, if not for Nurmitor’s grip she would have had rolled down the sand hills several times already.
Before her and Nurmitor ran Faustulus the shepherd who had acted as their guide, for no one in all of Argos knew the Aegean Desert as well as he. Faustulus had short black hair, slender torso and yet broad shoulders and a skin that had turned almost brown from all the years he had been shepherding in the deadly desert. He used his shepherding stick as help as he dragged himself up the last hill, before he stopped still, his long red tunic moving silently by the chanting of the wind.
“By Mother Gaia,” said Dardanus as he too stopped by the sight that unfolded before them.
It was a large valley surrounded by sturdy sand dunes that reached for the heavens. Down at the valley three black pyramids erected, standing silently like rock islands on a still ocean. The middle pyramid which was the largest casted a shadow over the two other ones, who wouldn’t stand up to the largest ones might even if they were combined. Stream of sunlight brushed gently against the three colossal monuments making them enveloped in otherworldly glow.
“Before us is the last piece of history left behind by the Titans,” said Faustulus as he started down to the valley. “These are the Gates of Tartarus.”
“Which one of these three will lead us to him Rhea?” asked Dardanus.
She didn’t respond, her attention stolen by the marvel of the black pyramids.
“Rhea which one?”
She blinked and looked at him. “The middle one.”
“Are you certain?”
She trailed her gaze back to the middle pyramid. “Aye,” she nodded, her blue-eyes watery from pure admiration.
Even though the pyramids looked they were close from up the hill, it took over ten minutes for them to reach their shadow, and another ten to reach the small entrance leading inside the middle pyramid.
Nurmitor turned to look at the top of the hill they had stood twenty minutes ago.
Rhea followed his stare.
A dozen of shadows stood there, Rhea counted thirteen men, each of them mounted with horses.
“Who are they,” she asked Nurmitor.
“Bounty hunters, slave traders, who knows,” he stated “But I do know that they will be here in less than five minutes.”
Dardanus reached for his quiver that was slung on his back and took out an arrow. “Then you best move now,” he pulled the string, his muscles stiff and ready to shoot the riders. “I’ll slow them down.”
“No, Dardanus!”
“Rhea I don’t have time to argue, leave now!”
“They’ll kill you, you fool!”
Dardanus looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “We have come too far and sacrificed too much to fail now Rhea, you have to go now!”
Nurmitor grabbed her arm. “His right, if we don’t find him all will be lost.”
“No let go of me! He’s going to die!”
Dardanus looked at her deep in the eyes, his stare fierce, almost furious and said, “He’s the only one who can save our people, Rhea! He’s the only one who can put an end to this madness, so go! Go find him! He’s our last hope!”

 

CHAPTER I: SON OF ARES

Across the fires of Hades,
through the abyss of Tartarus,
there bound to his throne wrought of stone sits the man with no name,
speak to him the name of his beloved and you shall free him off chains.

 
Darkness reigned. The torch that Nurmitor carried was the only shield against the oppressive shadows that trailed behind their each step.
Now and then Rhea caught a glimpse of figures engraved on the walls. First she saw a bearded man washing ashore with his shipwreck. The second one was depicting the same man receiving an amulet from a young boy. On one wall there was cryptic writings running under a series of engravings showing the building of a great monument on the centre of a round city. The monument rose high, where its tip touched the sky itself. On top of the monument was a keenly staring eye. Rhea had seen it countless times before; it was the Eye of Argos.
Despite the gloominess of the tunnels, and the fact that they had been venturing the endless maze over an hour, all Rhea could think about was, had Dardanus survived? Her heart ached with the difficult choice she had made, to leave her closest friend behind for the good of all. She would honour Dardanus’ belief on her by finding the Son of Ares. She was the only one who could find him.
Faustulus, who walked behind Rhea, suddenly stopped.
“What is it?” asked Nurmitor, whipping the torch to his direction.
“Listen,” he said.
Rhea did as told. Nothing, only the silent flickering of the torch Nurmitor carried. But then, a low growl echoed. Rhea’s heart hammered wildly, she gulped as two floating yellow gems appeared in the pitch-black tunnel behind them. Only they weren’t gems, it was the deadly gaze of a bloodthirsty beast.
Faustulus grabbed his slender sword that hung on a rope strapped around his waist. “When I give the signal, you run and no matter what don’t look back.” He brought his sword before him, “Do you hear me Rhea? You go find him.”
Rhea shivered, not from fear, but from the thought of knowing that another person would die, for her to succeed on her mission.
“NOW!” Faustulus leapt forth.
Nurmitor yanked Rhea from her arm, not letting go of her he sped for the darkness that waited hungrily before them. Rhea bit her teeth as she heard echoes of violent cries and ferocious growls.
“What kind of monster was that,” she said trying to keep up what the pace set by Nurmitor.
“It does not matter, what matters is that which way we go from here,” he said stopping before a cross section.
Rhea looked at the both tunnels; one leading left the other right. She closed her eyes, blocking out everything around her, her heartbeat, her breathing, the scent of the burning torch, the moist air, everything. What only mattered was the sign she was searching for, and then like a sharp touch on her skin, she knew.
“The left one,” she said.
Nurmitor didn’t even ask if she was certain, that’s how much he trusted her. They went on the direction she had chosen, and as on countless times before, she was right. Before them was a large chamber populated with stone pillars that reached for the ceiling, and a large army of warriors standing on a long row that went along a carpeted way.
At first Rhea was overthrown by fear and joy, fear by the fierce faces of the warriors and joy by the extent of their manpower.
As though reading her thoughts Nurmitor said, “their not real, only statues.”
He was right, the lifeless stares of the men, the rigid postures and the faded brown colour that was by now grey made it clear, these were only decorations.
“What is this place?” Rhea looked around the sea of statues.
“This is the land of the forgotten,” said a strong voice.
Nurmitor shed his sword, and instinctively stepped before Rhea.
Rhea peeked from behind him; the voice came from the end of the long carpet that ran between the two seas of statues.
“This is the land of the damned, the land of cursed. This is the dungeon with no exit, this is Tartarus.”
“Show yourself,” demanded Nurmitor.
“This might be a prison, but it is still my home, and you will show me respect here, old man.”
“It’s him,” Rhea stepped forth, ignoring the disagreeing glance from Nurmitor. “You’re him the Son of Ares.” She squinted, at the end of the carpet was throne sculpted from rock. On that throne Rhea could make out the silhouette of a man sitting there.
“I’ve been known by that name,” he said then pausing for a second before continuing, “What has brought you unfortunate souls to my realm.”
“We are here to because of you, noble being. We are in need of you,” she paused as he let out a chuckle. “This amuses you?”
“I am sorry, it is just that try to see this from my point of view. I’ve been locked down here for countless years and now those who once deemed me dangerous to all of Argos, are now seeking me to save them?”
“I know nothing of your imprisonment or why you where thought to be dangerous, all I know is that you are the only one who can save us!”
“Is that so? Then might I ask, save you from what?”
Rhea glanced unsurely at Nurmitor; he stood straight beside her gripping firmly the handle of his sword. He nodded to her.
“War, persecution, exile,” she said raising her voice. “The Land of Argos is dying and with it are its children. The desert stretches further than ever, sea levels are on constant rise. The snow from the mountains already touches the ground. Violent storms come and go more frequently. As the land withers the remaining areas capable of sustaining life are under constant conflicts as chieftains’ fight for it.”
“Most disappointing for you, but why do you think that I would help you?”
“Because I know her name!” she blurted.
For the first time Rhea spotted the dark figure move, he lowered his hands on his lap and sank his head deliberative manner. “Who are you speaking of?”
“I know her name, the one you have dreamt about every night, the one you have sought for so long. I know the name of your beloved.”
He stood up, even though he was cloaked by the shadows, Rhea could make out his slender and yet strong build. “How could you possibly know this?”
She didn’t respond, only averted her eyes away from him.
“Fine. Then you may leave,” he said mildly.
“We can’t, you have to come with us!”
“I don’t have to do anything for you,” his voice rang around the room. “You should be glad of what I offer you, few who have entered this place have left alive. And take this one with you.”
Before she could ask who he meant, a large creature stepped from his side. The creature was white and had a long golden mane and burning sets of yellow eyes. Rhea gasped, she had only heard stories of such beast, it was the Nemean Lion. She had thought the lions to be extinct along with the valley of Nemea. The lion dragged with its teeth a thin man wearing blood soaked garments.
It was Faustulus. “What have you done with him!” Rhea would have rushed to him, if nor for Nurmitor who seized her by her arm.
“I have done nothing,” he said calmly. “If not for my intervention Cerberus would have feasted with his flesh. You may take him with you, but I warn you that his wounds are too severe, he won’t last long.”
The lion retreated to the shadows. Faustulus moved slowly, unable to stand up he crawled.
This was too much for Rhea; she yanked her arm off Nurmitor’s grip and rushed to Faustulus. She took a hold of him and rested him on her lap as she took a close look of his wounds.
His clothes where torn as were most of the skin on his back, exposing his bare bloody muscles. His left arm hang loose by few muscle threads, and his chest had a deep carving running from his abdomen up to where his throat began. There was no question about it, he was dying.
“Faustulus, I’m so sorry,” Rhea wept as she gazed at his hazy stare. He moved his lips, but there were no words. “I can’t understand.”
Nurmitor’s hand descended on her shoulder. “He said that, he’s our only hope.”
Rhea looked back at him, but his eyes where already closed. He was gone. A sudden flow of emotions rushed to her chest, she wanted to cry like the wolf does by the sight of full moon, instead she rested Faustulus lifeless body on the ground and looked angrily at the throne. There was nothing there, he was gone.
“Where did you go!” she cried.
“Rhea,” said Nurmitor who looked at the entrance of the chamber.
She looked too, her eyes went wide. Six men stood there, not statues, but real warriors. All of them where tall and had long dark hairs. They whore leather garments and on top of them light chest armors. Two of them whom stood on the side had pulled the strings of their bows back aiming their arrows at her and Nurmitor.
The one on the middle had a long blade set on the throat of a young man, who was unrecognizable under all the blood that covered his face.
Rhea gasped, she didn’t need to see the young man’s face, he’s curly dark hair was enough for her to recognize him. “DARDANUS!”
“Don’t move,” said the one holding him. He smiled revealing wide gap on where his front teeth should have been. “Or I’ll swear I’ll cover this place with his blood.”
Rhea froze still.
Nurmitor said nothing he stood silent as always, holding his sword ready.
“You are of Amulius’ people aren’t you? And here we thought we were chasing common slaves. I know a certain king who would pay fortune to get his hand on one of your kind,” he chuckled as did some of his men. “Before we take you with us I have to ask, what brought you to this forsaken place?”
Rhea looked at Dardanus, under the blood she could see his eyes, there was still fire there.
The man holding him smiled as he noticed Rhea’s stare. “Brave little on he sure is, took six of us out with his bow. What a shame Quinrinus would have need of a man of his valor.”
“That name, say that name again,” said a sudden voice hiding among the shadows of the statues.
“Who was that?” the man said raising his blade so that it was now direct on Dardanu’s Adam’s apple.
It’s him, Rhea thought. The Son of Ares.
“SHOW YOURSELF!”
Then silence, an abrupt whoosh sped past Rhea, before she could blink one of the men holding a bow was nailed to the wall with a spear.
The other one stretched his string readying to fire at the direction from where the spear flew, but then a low growl froze him. Cerberus jumped out of the shadows, sinking it’s fangs on the archers arm and then dragging him back into the shadows, where the man’s desperate cries could be heard.
Nurmitor wasted no time; he jumped forth and with one strike opened the chest of one warrior, killing him in an instance.
Rhea ran for the one who held Dardanus, as he was disrupted by Nurmitor’s sudden attack. Nurmitor exchanged blows with a man who was twice his size and half his age, but this didn’t matter for she knew there was few men in all of Argos who could match his skills.
Rhea snuck from the behind the warrior holding Dardanus, but then a powerful arm grabbed her from the throat and slammed her against the wall. Her sight went dark for a second; she opened her eyes only to see a blade looming before her.
She tried to struggle, but the man held his grip pushing her tighter against the wall.
“Don’t come close old man!” cried the one holding Dardanus as Nurmitor started for Rhea. “And you in the shadows, your quick, but you can’t save them both. So I suggest you let us leave.”
“N-no! Don’t l-let them take h-her!” cried Dardanus. “S-save her! Save her!”
“SILENCE!” the man cried making a small cut on his throat. “The next one will go through your throat!”
“Let him go!” Rhea couldn’t bear to watch as her friend was being tortured.
“Shut up you whore!” the man squeezed her throat so tight that she thought she was going to faint. She closed her eyes, desperately gasping for air.
Then a heavy clunk. She opened her eyes; a large round golden shield was attached to the wall right next to her. There were nine circles decorating it, begging from the centre and moving outward, each circle had strange markings running along them. If not for the blood spatters spread over it, the shield would have been an object of great beauty.
Rhea looked at the man who held her, where there was once a head, was now only a bloody neck. She screamed as hard as she could, pushing away the headless torso that still had a dead grip on her. When her eyes met the head of the man lying on the ground with his gaze set on her, she was on the verge of throwing up.
“NO!” the other man cried and drove his sword through Dardanu’s chest and then yanked it off.
That’s when Nurmitor threw his sword at him, piercing the last man’s head and sending him dead to the ground.
“DARDANUS!” Rhea ran for him, grapping him before he collapsed to the ground. She held him warmly at her embrace, rivers of tears running down her cheek. “Please don’t die, please.”
“Rhea…y-you have to f-find him.”
“She found me son.”
Rhea looked up; she could see vaguely his figure standing in the dark. Then he stepped out of the shadows, revealing a man of normal height clothed only in a loincloth and a sword that hang from his waist. He had lean muscles and broad shoulders, and a skin of dark brown color; which was not tanned by the days spent under the sun, but was acquired by birth. He was unlike anyone she had set her eyes on.
He walked past her to the wall where the shield was attached to. With one strong pull he jerked it off the wall. “The pain of not knowing where she is, what she looks like, or not knowing even her name is as wrenching as the one you’re having now. So I will ask you this only one time, do you know her name.”
“I know her name,” Rhea responded.
“Then take me to your leader,” he looked at her, his stare bathing in the glooms of his red horsehair crested golden helmet. “Tell him that the Son of Ares is ready to aid you.”

Story continues in chapter two

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 13.07.2009

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