Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
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Book One
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Ψ
Gregg Neville
2 Of Gods and Men
The Duology of Postius Malantis 3
And toXXXXX,
who showed me the stories and XXXXXX,
who taught me the word.
4 Of Gods and Men
The Duology of Postius Malantis 5
Book One
Life
6 Of Gods and Men
The Duology of Postius Malantis 7
Ψ
Prologue
S and blew on the open winds of the harsh deserts of the north as the
boy dashed across the shadowy dunes, the glow of the moon
lighting his way, while the leather of his sandals stretched against
the force of his feet. His hands clasped the rough parchment, pumping
back and forth in front of him, leading his sprint through the night.
Suddenly, he broke the heights of the dune’s valley, bursting up into the
wind’s full might as sand poured and swirled around him in a dusty
spectacle. Brushing back the locks of his hair, he peered out at the sight
before him. He had reached the Pinnacle, home of the Exiles. Pressing
on, he ran down the bank of the final dune, jumping and soaring as his
feet blasted into the soft sand with each step until he came to stand
before the temple and all its might.
It stood before him, tall and menacing; its many flaming torches
casting darkened shadows and eerie glow as he walked between two
towering obelisks, the guardians of the doorway. Sand ripped across the
building’s features, sending wispy trails into the night sky as his feet
lifted to ascend the hard limestone steps. Running through main door,
now out of the desert’s fury, he pressed on through columns of the
8 Of Gods and Men
temple, rushing to find his masters. Two figures stepped out of the
shadows before him, blocking his way.
“Make way! I have a message for the gods!” he yelled out to
them.
The two figures whispered to each other and then parted,
realizing the value of message that lay in his grasp and revealing a small
doorway covered only by a thin curtain. He pushed it away quickly as
he burst into the light of the main chamber.
“My lords!” he screamed as he ran across the lush red carpet
leading to the gathering place of the Exiles. Entering the hall, he fell to
his knees before staring up at the faces of his masters.
“Rise, messenger. What have you brought to us, my child?”
spoke the voice of his master.
“My lord, Nasina…they have called for a gathering of the
council…there is outrage over what has been done,” he gasped,
attempting to catch his breath.
“Thank you, child,” dismissed his master.
His god turned to his fellow immortals, “You know what this
means,” he said.
The Exiles nodded knowingly, one of them rising to speak, “They
will vote for an Intervention.”
“Yes,” nodded the high lord. “We must prepare for what is to
come. It is time for our plans to be set in motion.” The high lord looked
once more at the boy, “Let the others know what is happening.” The boy
nodded and turned, rushing back into the blowing desert night.
The Duology of Postius Malantis 9
1
Nasina
His friend turned his head to face him until Poseidon could see
into the hood of his black robe, smiling Erebus’ eyes came to rest on
him. Poseidon watched as his friends’ eyes began to glow with a bright
yellow-green, a color the Council members had termed neon. The green
energy filled the whole of his eyes and began to smoke and haze out of
them, drifting into the air above his eyebrows. The shadows that had
been cast on his friend’s face before now grew slightly darker, “I know
what they say,” his voice echoed in the darkness around them, yet did not
extend out across the night sky, "Come now, Poseidon, “behind my
back?” You know better than that. They may gossip about me when I am
not around, but they forget that their shadows follow them everywhere
they go, and I am the shadows," he stated calmly, “Besides I converse
with you.”
Poseidon smirked, “Yes, me and no one else.”
“Nothing anyone else says is ever of any importance to me,”
Erebus shrugged. “You are the only friend I need.” His friend winked at
him before he allowed the light in his eyes to dim once more.
Poseidon looked back out at the water and watched the waves
move around the lake. He swirled his finger about in the air and watched
as a small whirlpool formed in the water below them.
“Why do you always come down here? I have not visited my
quarters here at home in over two millennia,” asked Erebus.
Poseidon looked back at his friend; they had been through much
together. They had been born not far from each other and had been
raised here at Nasina. As a rule all newborn immortals stayed at Nasina
for their first thousand years of life, it allowed them plenty of time to
learn the universe and how they would affect it.
“On Earth, Erebus, I am a God, Lord of the Sea. I control all the
water in the world, but none of it is mine. Everything I do must be
according to the Council’s wishes. And so, I guess, the reason I am most
fond of this balcony and these waters is because they are the one thing in
the entire universe that belong solely to me.”
The thoughts about the Council reminded him of what he had
been thinking about before his friend had arrived. “Why do you think
they’ve called us here, Erebus? The next gathering was not to be for
another five hundred years.”
Erebus settled once more on the railing beside him, “I suspect
that it has something to do with the Exiles.”
“I suppose you’re right. It must be important for them to call us
all here,” replied Poseidon.
12 Of Gods and Men
“Yes, It is. I have lost control of the darkness in their realm and
have been instructed to cut off our realm from them.”
Poseidon froze and looked at his friend. “Then they make to
challenge us?” Poseidon thought aloud. His mind began to reel. Erebus
and one of the exiles were the only two beings in the entire universe that
had the power to control the darkness.
Before the Exile had been arranged, gods like Erebus and his
Exiled counterpart had worked together to manage the forces of the
world. After the Exiles broke away from the Council, the effects on the
Earth were devastating as gods still allied with the Council acted
separately than those with the Exiles. To stop the horrific affect this had
on the planet without an immortal war, the Council struck a deal, which
gave both sides part of the others dominion of power. Poseidon had been
lucky, as there was no Exile who commanded the sea as he did. And yet
for hundreds of years as Poseidon had carried on as usual, Erebus had
been dealing with his exiled equivalent. A fact neither he nor any of the
other gods who were forced to do this were very pleased with.
And now the Exiles were pulling gods like Erebus’s access to the
forces they controlled in the Exile’s part of Earth, thus breaking the
agreement that had been struck just a few hundred years ago. A move
that Poseidon had expected would happen from the first time the deal
was proposed and a move that Erebus would most likely be very pleased
with being that his friend was not afraid to use force to get what he
wanted.
“I would not doubt it is a challenge, we both knew that the Exile
would not be enough, even if your brother and the other families felt it
would be.”
“You know it will be our family’s turn to deal with them,”
commented Poseidon.
Erebus smiled as one who had been waiting many years for a
moment like this, “Yes, I know.”
Poseidon shook his head sarcastically, “They will never let you
kill them, Erebus. Even with it being our turn, they will force us
Olympians to return them to exile. Besides you know I don’t think they
should die.”
“Just as you know that the Exile will never work,” returned the
God of Darkness.
“I prefer keeping them in exile to the idea of open war, Erebus. I
presume that we shall just have to see how the Orb will handle it,” stated
Poseidon. Of all the mysteries of the Orb that existed, its ability to
control fate was its biggest. It seemed to change what the gods who
The Duology of Postius Malantis 13
“It has been awhile since I have been with the living, I have
forgotten how quiet they are,” stated Erebus as the two of them walked
through the door and headed up the spiraling ramps to the Council
chambers that lay on the highest level of Nasina.
The mortal keepers of Nasina had kept it quite beautiful for eons
and the décor of the halls always pleased him. Being one of the few
gods who used his quarters, the humans had taken much effort to make
sure he was happy. There were vast arrays of banners, which were an
even grander array of colors. Murals lined the walls of the levels they
passed through, depicting the great feats of the gods whose quarters each
floor was home to. Poseidon looked down at the small mortal boy that
was leading them through the corridors. He knew that if they continued
walking at this pace he would surely be late for the meeting. He tapped
the boy on the back. Spinning quickly, the boy stared up at him.
“Young boy, how would you like to go for a ride?” asked
Poseidon. He looked over at Erebus, who smirked in his sarcastically
sinister way and began to conjure up a great seem of shadow in the air to
his right. Poseidon looked down at the boy and said, “I may be god of
the sea, but many do not realize that I am also a god of horses and of
mighty earthquakes.” With this he searched for Torrent in his mind; an
ability which confounded many humans, but to Poseidon was as easy as
moving his hand. He need only envision his prize horse and he would
come to be. Waving his hand in front of him, blue light appeared in his
palm. The air below it shivered until a strong, tall horse appeared.
White, with a blue mane, Torrent had been with him since his childhood.
He had ridden him everyday as a boy and trained him to be the greatest
horse that had ever lived. And he was.
“This is Torrent, boy, the fastest horse in all the world,” he
explained. The boys’ eyes were quite wide and big now, to the point
Poseidon wondered if such a thing were good for a mortal. He reached
down and picked up the small boy and placed him atop Torrent. He then
mounted his steed himself. He looked over at Erebus, who now sat atop
his own horse.
“I don’t know, Poseidon, Shadow and I have ridden through the
mires of the Underworld, chasing down fleeing souls. It might just be
that Torrent over there is getting a little old,” commented Erebus from
the back of the blackest horse he had ever seen. He noticed that the
animal had the same glowing green eyes that Erebus had when he used a
lot of his power. Poseidon maneuvered to prepare to ride through the
halls, laughing to himself at the idea that his immortal horse was getting
old.
The Duology of Postius Malantis 15
2
The Council
Erebus and he lowered into theirs, which lay slightly behind that of Zeus.
Looking forward, he became aware of the great light that emanated from
the Orb. Due to its magnificent size, its presence commanded the
attention of any that entered the room. In front of him, he noticed his
brother begin to shuffle through the tablets he had arrayed before him.
To his right, he could feel Erebus’ uneasiness. His friend did not like
being in a place where the Orbs’ rays cut off all of the darkness that
made up his beloved shadows.
While his companions prepared for the meeting ahead, Poseidon
looked down the row of Chairs that made up the crescent chamber.
Some of the other Immortal families had already seated themselves and
like the Olympians were waiting for the arrival of the others.
In the chairs to Poseidon’s right, the great immortal Anu, father
and ruler of the Sagiga family sat with his entourage. Behind him sat his
son, Enlil, one of the immortals that helped with the keeping of the sky.
Next to Enlil, the sun god Shamash played idly with a small flame that in
his boredom allowed a spark to jump back and forth between his palms.
On Poseidon’s left, the great poet and sun god, Ah Xoc Kin, Lord
of the Mayano family, sat with the rain god, Choc, and the wind god of
his dominion, Kukulcan; in what Poseidon understood to be a land on the
other side of Earth, far from Greece, known as South America.
Ending their side of the crescent, the other side of the Mayano
Gods gave way to the great Hindi family lead by Brahma, the creator;
who waited patiently for the gathering to begin. The immortal Vishnu,
the preserver, and the mighty Shiva, the destroyer, accompanied him.
Their many arms had always interested Poseidon, who had never been
brave enough to ask any of them how they came to have such limbs; he
had settled with Erebus’ explanation that it didn’t matter when you
realized the tremendous power they were able to unleash from them.
Across the chamber, forming at the other point of the crescent,
were the only seats that would remain open during the meeting. They
were the seats of the Exiles, who even in exile were always invited to
attend the council; even this meeting, which was solely arranged to deal
with them. Alas they had not been to the Council Chamber since the
original deal of Exile had been enacted.
Poseidon noticed the other family of gods that ruled the land
known as South America walk into the room and make their way toward
their seats. Quetzalcoatl, a medium sized, bearded old man was a god of
the wind and represented the Aztec family; he smiled at Poseidon.
Camaztli, a warrior god, and Chalchiuhtlicue, a goddess of lakes and
streams, who Poseidon knew as Chalchi, followed him. They had spent
The Duology of Postius Malantis 19
some time together many eons ago as children. Being that they both
were immortals with the power to control water, they had trained
together and grown up with each other.
Entering behind the Aztecs were the Shinto, coming from an
island called Japan, these gods were the most honorable of all. For the
Shinto ruling goddess Amateras’ great honor and wisdom at the
discovery of the Orb, the discoverers had given her rule of the great plain
that lay beyond the mountain lakes of Nasina known as the Plain of
Heaven. Therefore she and her family of immortals had claimed only one
small island on Earth and were the only family of gods other than the
Exiles who controlled humans that lived around Nasina. They took their
seats beside Quetzalcoatl.
It was then that Poseidon noticed the final representative of the
Council enter the room. El Shaddai, the Lord of the Canaani family of
Gods, moved past the others and came to rest on his seat between the
Shinto and Sagiga. One of the discoverers, he had been a good friend to
Poseidon’s father, Cronus, before he had been received by the Orb. Anat,
his daughter, an amazing archer, and his son Baal, a god of the sun, took
their places behind him. El Shaddai called over to Zeus and Poseidon.
“It pleases me to see the youth of Cronus so healthy,” he stated.
Poseidon had always enjoyed the way El Shaddai spoke.
“Just as it pleases us to see you healthy, El Shaddai” replied Zeus.
“I’m starting to tire of this wait, when do you think we will start?”
El Shaddai smirked, “When the Mediator reveals himself,” he
answered.
Poseidon watched the two doors that led into the chamber, one of
them opened as it had for him and a small, mortal man walked through it.
He wore a gray robe that complemented the emerald green of his eyes,
his cane tapping the marble floor rhythmically with each step he took.
The hair on his head was slightly aged, yet still had the brown shine of
the mortal youth and his sturdy cheeks showed hints of his former beard.
Walking past El Shaddai and Anu, he made his way along the path that
led directly into the Orb. Once he found the chair that rested on the
circle platform in front of the Orb, he sat down. For a moment he paused
and stared at each of the immortals seated before him, and then his eyes
came to rest on the empty seats of the Exiles. Poseidon could see the
expression of failure that formed on the man’s face. Turning back to his
audience, Daven the Prophet, the mediator for the past twenty years
addressed the Council.
“Welcome, my lords. As some of you may have heard, it seems
the Exiles have turned back on their deal once again,” he spoke.
20 Of Gods and Men
Poseidon heard the whispers that rumbled through the Council. Daven
continued, “They have blocked off the access of the gods that deal with
their world, and in turn I have commanded our gods to cut them off from
all the dominion ruled by Nasina. I wish to inform the Council that I
believe it is time a decision is made on how to deal with this. I fear the
Exile is not a solution and so I turn to you to decide. Any ideas on how
to handle this would be appreciated,” he asked, his voice paling in
comparison to that of the immortals.
Brahma raised one of his hands and Daven nodded at him.
“My friends, I cannot believe that we cannot make the Exile
work. Since the discovery of the Orb, there has been only one immortal
that has lost their life.” Poseidon’s heart sunk a little as he remembered
the loss of his father. “I will not accept that the only solution is to kill
them,” urged Brahma.
Quetzalcoatl rose and Daven recognized him.
“What would you have the council do then, Brahma. Should we
continue to appease them? I think not,” spoke the bearded god.
“Whatever it is I will never approve the murder of the Exiles,”
retorted the Hindi lord.
Daven turned to Anu, “As the Sagiga’s land is most in danger
from the Exiles. I ask you, Anu, what would you have us do?”
Anu turned behind him and spoke with his accompanying gods.
After some discussion, he faced the Orb once more. “The Sagiga
recognize the threat that the Exiles pose to our territory. Yet, we feel that
the risk to our people is worth whatever needs to be done to solve this
problem. I have confidence in the Olympian family and as the
responsibility of this situation now falls on them, I feel that it is time to
end this once and for all. And though I understand your statements
Brahma, I also know that the Exile is obviously not working and that for
the safety of all mortals, something must be done. It is therefore that I,
Anu of Sagiga, feel obligated to be the one to propose an Intervention.”
Immediately, shouts rang out across the Chamber and the Council
members began to scream back and forth at each other. The outraged
gods rambled and argued, as Poseidon watched the small mortal man
whose shadow, created by the light of the Orb, dwarfed the whole of the
Chamber. Daven rose slightly from his chair and stared forward. His
small mortal voice began to speak, as Poseidon sat, watching his lips
move, knowing full well the small mortal was being ignored by the gods;
the softness of his voice failed to penetrate the outcries of the immortals
even slightly. His mouth soon gave up the useless try at speaking, and he
gave a small sigh. His cane tapped against the floor.
The Duology of Postius Malantis 21
energy; a peace unlike any he had felt before began to over take him.
Suddenly, nothing else in the world mattered. No longer did he have
responsibility, no waters to look over, no Exiles to deal with, nothing.
Only himself and his inner emotion. It was as if he had finally, for the
first time in all his millennia of existence, sat down and rested. Each
breath seemed to let loose the problems plaguing his mind and relax all
the muscles in his body, for a moment it was as if his body had left him
and all that was left was Poseidon, the man. He felt as if he had finally
found eternal life, inside he wondered if this was what the mortal found
when they passed on from the world of the living. The god’s mind soon
thought of Erebus, Zeus, and Cronus. Eventually, all the people he had
ever helped and all the things he had ever done began to personify
themselves into one eternal thought, the life of Poseidon. Until finally,
just as he began to let go of all these things, his mind remembered
Erebus. His friend’s green eyes stared at him and a deep concern rose in
his thoughts. At this moment, a voice greater than any he had ever heard
strike the cords of the throat spoke out to him.
“He will need you before this is over, Poseidon. Remember him
and all those who rank among the living. For they are your brothers,
your equals, my child, and they still have need of you. And you still
have need of them. Thus shall I grant you the knowledge of
Intervention. You will know what must be done and you shall carry out
the demands of your fellow beings,” spoke the soft voice of Nasina.
And with this a great shock exploded through the idea that was
Poseidon, until all at once he slammed back into his body. Once again
Poseidon, God of the Sea was whole; yet now, his mission became clear
and he knew what must be done.
“Go now, Poseidon, serve those who follow you and remember
why you are here and do not forget your friend,” trailed the voice. With
this the sphere soon became one with the mind and body of Poseidon,
realizing each other once again and taking notice of the world around
them.
He found that he was kneeling on the platform next to Daven.
“Is it done?” asked the voice of Man.
“It is,” he replied gasping. Legs found feet and feet found marble
as he rose from the ground and turned to face the world once again.
“Erebus and I shall need your help, mediator,” he instructed.
“I shall be glad to serve, my Lord Poseidon.”
“Erebus?” Poseidon asked.
“Yes, my friend?”
“We leave for Ephesus.”
24 Of Gods and Men
3
Birth
burst from the edge of the great forest. Their two horses reared into the
air, neighing furiously in the stormy night as the riders brought them to a
quick halt.
“There Laeto, upon the hillside!” yelled his king, fighting to
make his voice heard through the beckoning assault of the storm.
Laeto looked up into the dismal night cast out before him and
found his eyes come to rest upon a faint twinkle in the night. It was a
torch, marking the way for the weary men who traveled to this great
place.
“Come, we must push on!” screamed the great man as he wiped
the grimy water of the storm from his eyes and gave a quick click of his
heels to the sides of his horse. Sending the two of them once again,
racing across the open fields that lay between them and the flickering
light.
Laeto followed loyally and edged his horse behind the king.
Wind swept across them, beating at Laeto and the package. No longer
under the cover of the great forest, the men experienced the full and
awesome power of the storm.
The king glanced back at him and called out, “I fear, good Laeto
that Zeus does not wish us well in our mission.”
Laeto stared menacingly at his king and glanced about him at the
fury of the world he was in.
The bundle in his arms wiggled. He smiled to himself.
“No, good Croesus, the gods would not abandon us. Maybe great
Zeus uses the storm to keep others away? Or perhaps his anger comes
down on others who deserve it?” he yelled back to the King of Lydia.
“Hah!” he cackled back to him. “You are always an optimistic
one, Laeto.”
Laeto forced a smirk onto his grimy face. He did not like being a
king ruled by a king, but he did what he must for his people’s well being.
The rain kept up mercilessly and he leaned his body closer to his
horse as to cover the small package in his arms. He and Croesus tore on
over the small hills, ever following the light that burned in the dark sky.
Suddenly, Croesus’ horse reared into the air in front of him, and
Laeto fought his horse to a stop. He looked upon his new king’s face and
traced his gaze down the hill that they rested upon. His body shook at
the sight before him.
Tall and menacing great columns of marble rose into the sky
below a great mountain, forming the supports for a great slab of granite.
The apex of the temple’s broad roof was ornamented with some of the
most splendid sculptures in all of Greece. A dim shimmering light
The Duology of Postius Malantis 27
emanated from inside the great building. And the giant trees of the forest
enclosed the small opening that the building lay in, protecting it from the
wrath of Zeus’ storm; it reminded him of the Temple of Artemis back in
his home of Ephesus.
Before the great building laid a pool of pristine waters, it was not
the size of the pool that shocked Laeto; it was the fact that through all the
storm that raged around them and the building, the pool remained
smooth as though no wind had ever touched it. The entirety of this
picture before Laeto lay nestled safely below the heights of a great
mountain.
“Come, Laeto! We have made it,” yelled Croesus.
Laeto followed him as they rode to the forefront of the great
temple. Dismounting at its steps, Laeto cradled the package tenderly in
his arms. They began to race up to the entrance, hoping to make it out of
the grips of the menacing storm. As they reached the top, they passed by
great torches that cast shadow all through the columns of the place of
worship. Finally, he slid between two of the columns and found himself
rescued from the storm’s onslaught.
Looking around, he began to focus through the grim and wet
lines that were his bangs. By the glow that vibrated from the great
torches, he could make out what appeared to be a lobby of some sorts.
In the center of the lobby, stood a great obsidian statue of Atlas and upon
his back lay the world, cast in the purest form of gold yet created. The
floor itself was tiled with opaque green marble as one would see in the
algae of the swamp. Many chairs lined the walls of the room, made of
gold and lined with a red cloth Laeto had never seen before; they seemed
to be calling to him to take a seat. The bundle in his arms twitched,
reminding him why he was there. Croesus nudged him and began to
walk through the chamber. Laeto followed as they made for a doorway
across the room.
As Croesus and he emerged into the next room, he immediately
froze.
A golden arm rose up from the floor in the middle of the room,
yet it was not the arm that caught Laeto’s attention, for it was the size
and shape of any normal man’s, but what lay in its palm was more
fantastic than any sight he had ever beheld. A small sphere of blue
energy, the substance of which he could not even attempt to fathom
floated slightly above the hand. Around this great spectacle lay a circle
of burning torches. As Croesus and Laeto’s gazes remained fixated upon
the ball of divinity before them, two cloaked priests entered from side
doors.
28 Of Gods and Men
of all those who occupied it. And the light shined through to every seem
of darkness; until all Laeto could see was the wonders of blue light and
the forms of the two priests.
The words emanated through the room and seemed to burn into
Laeto’s very soul, he did not know it at the time, but he would never
forget a single word of the great prophecy he had just been foretold.
The light calmed and slowly, the darkness reentered the area.
That feeling of being watched suddenly returned to Laeto. He looked
over at Croesus, who had a great smile on his face. Laeto cringed. He
did not like to know what the king who now ruled him was planning for
his son. The city of Ephesus would revel in their new prince; it would
give them some much needed happiness. His people had not had much
of that since Croesus and the Lydians had taken over.
The Priests of Delphi began to speak once more. “Laeto, keep
the prince safe and teach him well. The gods have great interest in this
child and they shall help,” the cloaked men informed.
“I shall, great priests, we will return to Ephesus quickly, he
should be safe there,” Laeto replied.
“Yes, they shall watch with you until it is time,” they responded.
“Until it is time?” asked Croesus, conveying a question Laeto
himself had been about to ask.
“Until it is time for the…” the two priests stopped halfway
through their sentence and looked at each other.
30 Of Gods and Men
His sword lay on the ground beside him, reaching for it he felt it
form to his hand. With every ounce of his very existence he shoved
forward at the being.
He felt his sword slide into flesh…
The creature smiled at him, in a way Laeto could not ever explain
to any man, the creature smiled at him. His sword drew no blood,
instead just resting in the animal’s side. The great fear began to fill him
once more and he began to get cold. Suddenly, he thought of his gods.
“Great Zeus, Please! Save my boy, save Postius!” he yelled into
the heavens.
The figure jerked quickly, as if shocked by what Laeto had said
and looked around them. It pulled Laeto’s sword from its stomach and
tossed it aside. The being seemed to become uneasy. Laeto examined
his surroundings quickly too, the Temple of Delphi lay in ruins.
Everything lay flattened as if a great hammer had come down and
smashed the divine temple. Rubble and small fires lay flaming around
the site. The bodies of the two priests lay in pieces, scattered throughout
the ruins. A few feet away from him he could see Croesus’ body laying
still. The storm had stopped, Zeus would not here his cries, he was
alone, for there was nothing there with him but darkness…
The bird headed being gazed back down at him and resumed its
smile, and then it spoke.
“Zeus will not help you now, mortal.” The voice pounded into
Laeto’s ears and resonated through the air around him. He had never
heard a voice so loud and so threatening.
As if by their own power his legs pushed back and he began to
scuttle away from the being before him.
Then suddenly as the great beast drew nearer he saw it again.
The darkness shifted. He wasn’t just imagining it. It had shifted! Was it
the beast? He stared back at the being and looked around the area again.
Nothing.
He continued to shuffle backwards, sliding on his back across the
marble and pushing himself with his feet. Postius held closely in his
arms, he lifted his head, looked between his legs and noticed that the
thing had stopped following him. In fact it had stopped doing anything,
it seemed to be staring…just above him? Laeto laid his head back down
and stopped. He felt his insides slowly twist.
His eyes widened as they peered up at the form that appeared
above him.
Two bright green eyes, as bright as the great sphere he had just
seen, gazed down at him from the depths of a shadowy black hood. The
32 Of Gods and Men
green energy that the eyes were made of seemed to be evaporating into a
smoky mist from a face in the hood that seemed to grin at him; but
suddenly, the black robed figure stared across the ruins at the falcon
beast.
“You play a dangerous game, Exile,” spoke the dark figure.
“Erebus!” squealed the beast. “I see the Council seeks to stop us
once again. Unfortunately, your attempts are useless. No Intervention
shall stop us this time, boy.” With this the being’s feathers bristled. It
lunged forward and began to run at him. Moving so fast that it appeared
as a blur in his eye, the creature flashed across the distance between
them. In a glimpse, the birdman tossed Laeto and his son across the
remains of Delphi and engaged the shadowy Lord of Darkness. Laeto
soared through the air, until his body struck a cracked pillar, instantly
knocking the breath out of his lungs. He lay battered and beaten beneath
the pillar. Looking into his arms and expecting to see his son, his heart
leapt. He had dropped Postius! Scanning the ground around him
fiercely he saw the bundle lying between him and the great beings,
which were now engaged in what seemed to be a vicious hand-to-hand
battle, the speed of which baffled Laeto. Crawling across the stone slabs
of the home of the oracle, he rushed to retrieve his son before one of the
divine beings defeated the other. He grabbed the bundle and looked
around once more and suddenly, was struck aghast when he saw another
bundle, exactly like the one in his hands, lying on the ground to his right.
He struggled to open the bundle in his arms to peer inside at his child,
but there was not time, the immortal fight in front of him had ended.
The bird creature backed away and disappeared into the night
sky. Before him a shadowy being, whose green eyes glowed with a
foreboding sense of power and around who the darkness itself seemed to
mold and warp, made his way across the ruins. Laeto dove, grabbing the
other package, and stood staring the being down, knowing that there was
no use in running after witnessing the amazing example of speed he had
just seen.
“Relax, Laeto. The gods have great interest in your child. We
would not let him go so easily,” spoke a voice of darkness. “You must
return to Ephesus now. Do your best to protect him there. You must act
in haste; though, I cannot think that the Exiles will not return soon.”
“The Exiles?” asked Laeto.
“Do not worry about it, Laeto. The affairs of the gods are for
your son to deal with. You just keep him safe and things will be fine,”
said the shadow lord. “I shall return when the time is right. Go now.”
The Duology of Postius Malantis 33
Laeto walked over to Croesus and woke the old man, “Come
Croesus, we must go, quickly.”
Croesus replied shakily, “Yes, I think… that would… be wise.”
Croesus looked at the two forms that Laeto carried and stared at him
confused.
Laeto shrugged and returned with his own confused look. He
peered down at the two bundles in his arms. Somehow he wasn’t
surprised when the two of them wriggled in his hands.
As Laeto helped Croesus to his feet and began to make his way to
their horses he looked back at the dark figure and was not surprised to
find that the ruins were empty. The figure was gone. Yet as Laeto,
Croesus, and the two bundles rode off, he knew the darkness was
watching him. It was a feeling he would carry with him for the next
eighteen years…
34 Of Gods and Men
The Duology of Postius Malantis 35
4
Ephesus
Croesus becomes when he thinks of you. And not just Croesus, but you
too and how such knowledge affects your young mind.”
Postius sighed; he didn’t like being referred to in context of his
age. He knew that he may not be the bravest or boldest of men, but he
was by no means young. “Your worry is unneeded, Father. I am quite
able to take care of myself. I wouldn’t allow the prophecy to get to my
head.”
Laeto only smiled at him, “But my son, it already has. I have
seen you in the square, walking with such pride as all can see, but yet
even as you walk you always look around. What are you looking for my
son? What sways the pride of your steps? What keeps your mind in
check?”
Postius’ hands stroked the wooden arms of the chair. He did not
like the idea that his father would be so bold as to say such things, but
then; he was the king and he was his father. “I don’t know really.
Perhaps I am watching for those who would spy on me?” he hinted with
a grin of sarcasm. The merry chuckle that shook his father’s body
flowed over into his own.
“I would not call it spying, my son. Think of it as merely,
checking on the well being of my young prince,” he said. His playful
tidings slowly drifted and he leaned forward; somewhat serious now,
“But really, Postius. Why has your own pride not come to rise to such
heights as Croesus’?”
A weird heat came over Postius. He didn’t like self-reflection
very much and he liked telling people his feelings even less; especially to
his father. “It is nothing. I…I don’t…It really isn’t anything you need
worry yourself over, father.” He did not feel like doing this kind of thing
today.
Laeto only lowered his head a little. After a small pause he
leaned back, “Well, I hope whatever it is you figure it out. Maybe
Pothmos could help?”
“Maybe.” Pothmos would not be of much use in such matters.
In truth his friend may have been part of the problem. Young princes
were expected to be quite confident in such matters of royalty; especially
those with such a prophecy as Postius. Yet, he wondered if other princes
felt the foreboding or unknowing that came with having to live up to
such things. The prophecy was something Postius had always believed
in, but sometimes the great scale of what he was supposed to become
dwarfed him. Maybe his father was right, maybe he was still too young
to summon the confidence to lead and live up to the Oracle’s telling.
The Duology of Postius Malantis 37
His father rose from the chair that he had been residing in for the
past couple hours. “Croesus and the army shall return soon. Our scouts
predict that the battle would have ended not two days ago and we should
hear word by midday. Your mother and I will be waiting in the throne
room if you need us.”
“Yes, Father,” he whispered as the king exited his quarters.
Postius sighed once more and rose from his chair. Walking past
his bed and toward the window of his royal bedroom, he glanced out at
the midday light, the crisp clear colors of the blue sky and wispy clouds,
coming together to paint the mural of Ephesus firmly in his mind. His
room was part of the grand palace were his family and he resided. It had
tall columns that were left over from the construction of the Temple of
Artemis, which lay just down the main road of the city. With beautiful
curves and grand sculptures adorning most of the outside, the palace was
an astonishing presence for his small city. Had Artemis’ Temple, one of
the Seven Wonders of their world, not rested down the street, it would
have been the main attraction for his home city. The roads were paved
with flat stones that made for smoother riding when traversing them.
Three main roads came to a point in front of his palace: from the north
came the Abydosian road, which heralded from the coastal city of
Abydos; from the south came the Miletean road, which led to a city
about the size of his own known as Miletus; and from the east came the
great roads of Persia, which led to the Lydian capital Sardis and
continued on to the roads of Cyrus the Great.
Postius bent down and grabbed a small glass, making his way
across the dusty stone floors of his room to the bowl of water that lay
next to the doorway. He filled his glass patiently and took a couple quick
swigs of the crisp clean water. As he drank, a sharp knocking came from
the door, causing him to choke on his water and as a little dripped from
his lip, he caught it in his palm and managed to spit out a few words.
“Who’s there?” he coughed.
“It’s me, Postius. Let me in,” called the familiar voice of his
friend. Postius opened the door and let Pothmos in.
“Why are you all wet?” Pothmos asked quizzically.
“You surprised me,” the young prince answered.
Pothmos squinted and then shrugged. “What were you and the
king talking about?” he said as he grabbed a cup of his own and filled it.
Sloshing down a few large gulps before taking a seat in the chair Laeto
had occupied just a few moments ago.
“Nothing really, just some stuff about Croesus and his
campaign,” replied Postius nonchalantly.
38 Of Gods and Men
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. I’m sure Croesus took care of the
Persians and tonight you and I will be gorging in the plunders of his
greatness. And you know, the boys down in the market say that there is
not a more beautiful creature to be found than the Persian woman,”
slighted his pompous friend. Pothmos had always been one to fool
around with the women of the city, often trying to convince Postius to go
out with him, citing the idea that he’d find Postius a great queen, right
out of the gutters of Ephesus. Being that Postius’ nerves seemed to get
the better of him whenever the female sex was around, he had never
taken Pothmos up on his offer; besides, Ephesus couldn’t have its prince
just wandering around sleeping with some girl off the street.
“I’m sure they are quite beautiful, Pothmos,” he said with a
solemn smirk. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and Croesus will bring one back
for you.”
Postius could see his friend’s face brighten at the idea of Croesus
returning with a cart full of Persian women ripe for his picking. “I can’t
wait for him to return. This will be a grand day for Lydia,” he added.
Postius’ heart sank. His father had taught him not to trust the
Lydians, even when Croesus himself came often to visit him and tell him
of his great adventures around the world. Laeto had always reminded
him that the king only came because of the prophecy that surrounded the
young prince. “I’m sure it will be a great day for all of Ephesus too.”
Postius allowed too much sarcasm to shine onto his words and
Pothmos picked up on it. “Of course Ephesus too. I know your father
has been at you about not trusting Croesus, but come on now, he is your
king and you must respect that,” spoke Pothmos with a tone that seemed
to mock Postius’ pride in his city.
“You know I respect him, Pothmos. Just as you know I would
gladly get rid of him if it helped our city.”
Pothmos smiled, “Ah…what does it matter Postius? You’re
Postius Malantis, an equal among Gods and all mortals,” he mocked.
The glimmer in Pothmos’ eyes was one he recognized well. It
always appeared when his friend mentioned the prophecy; he had been
doing so for as long as Postius could remember. According to his father,
Pothmos was the son of a great Lydian general who had helped Ephesus
in its time of need and convinced Laeto that Croesus was a king they
would be safe under. “We shall see about that,” Postius whispered under
his breath.
Pothmos heard him, but like usual ignored his comments. Postius
knew his friend thought him weak and maybe he was right, but Pothmos
did not have the weight of such a destiny on his shoulders. He could run
The Duology of Postius Malantis 39
freely through the city, doing as he pleased. With his dark, tan skin and
freshly shaved head, his friend didn’t even where a toga; preferring
instead, to wear a small piece of cloth that draped around his waste and
hung down to just above his knees. This left him shirtless, which had as
much to do with attracting women as it did with his stubbornness about
the heat of the summer sun.
“Let’s get out of here. Head down to the walls and watch for
Croesus’ return,” started Pothmos. Postius knew they would have a great
view of the king’s return from the ramparts of the city’s outer wall.
“Sounds good,” he said as he scrounged up his sandals. Lacing
them up quickly, he grabbed his short spear that served as his walking
stick. “Let me just check with my father first and then we can go,” he
added as Pothmos made for the door.
His friend was not amused, “Oh come on, Postius. It’s just down
to the wall, what will he care?” said Pothmos. His friend had away of
striking at Postius’ pride that got to him often.
“Fine, we’ll go to the wall,” he said quickly.
“Good, I was beginning to think you were going to baby your
way down to the throne room,” said Pothmos sarcastically. While
humorous, the comment caused Postius to hold his head down most of
the way out of the building, reflecting on what he would have done and
how childish it seemed.
As they emerged from the cool shade of the palace and into the
sunny warmth of Asia Minor, Postius glanced upwards and noticed
something odd. The birds that usually soared above the city were not to
be found. “Pothmos, where are the birds?”
His friend glanced around as they made their way down the road
leading to Sardis, “Who knows, maybe the fish have drifted into the
harbor. It makes for easy fishing,” Pothmos shrugged.
They made their way down the beaten trail and as they went
Postius glanced at the buildings they passed. Small wooden stands, with
foreign cloths draped over the top, showcasing various items from far
off, exotic places. Young children played in the streets, thoroughly
covered in all manners of dust and soot, their fun would leave the
mothers of Ephesus busy with washing their young ones throughout the
night. The air was full of many different scents; whether it be the foul
odor of rotting fish that was commonly known to drift down into the city
from the harbor or the smell of the roasting meat being prepared for the
return of Ephesus’ soldiers of war. Wooden shacks served as homes for
many, built from the nearby forest cedar and thatched with many
interesting strands, Postius imagined what life in such a home would be
40 Of Gods and Men
like. Seeing a young mother smile as her boy played in the sand outside
their rustic home, Postius knew that such a life; however poor, was a
good one. Pothmos on the other hand, did not have the respect for his
fellow man that Postius did.
“You should tell your father to send the guards out when they
return. These children are getting unruly and these homes…it’s as if a
tree fell here and these mongrels decided to put walls around it.”
“These homes are not that bad, Pothmos. And the children are
just playing, what is wrong with them being happy?”
“They’re in our way, Postius. You know if you’re going to be
some great king, you need learn to make people respect you. I wonder
about you sometimes, my friend,” he said disgusted.
Postius put his head down again and followed Pothmos. Maybe
he was right. Maybe he did need to start thinking like a king. Would his
father have let the children rove about in his way? Probably not. The
business of the king could not afford to be delayed by small boys. He
sighed once more and brought his head up.
“There’s the wall. And look there, the whole guard is up there
waving the Ephesian flag,” said Pothmos. Postius stared ahead and
could make out what looked to be thirty or forty soldiers mounted on the
wall, looking out in hopes of being the first to spot the returning army.
The green and white flags of Ephesus flew valiantly from the towers that
lined the wall. Green banners with white depictions of the great god
Artemis flew high accompanied by the red and yellow colors of Lydia.
As the two of them approached and began to ascend the ramp that
led up to the heights of the wall, a strong looking man with a raspy
voice, adorned in grand armor made his way across the ramparts and
greeted Postius.
“Greetings, my prince! W’re pleased you join us here on the
wall,” spoke Corin the, Commander of the Ephesian Guard. Postius had
learned all his knowledge of military strategy from this grizzly veteran.
“How are you, Corin?” smiled Postius.
“I’m doin’ well, very well, looking forward to seein’ King
Croesus and my men come over the ridge there,” he said as he pointed to
the natural formation outside the wall. Two tall hills stood on opposite
sides of the road to Sardis, creating a natural valley for the road to cut
through. About two hundred yards down the road, the path sloped down
out of site from the wall. It was an easily defensible entrance to the city.
“How long do you suppose before they arrive, Commander?”
questioned Pothmos excitedly.
The Duology of Postius Malantis 41
The commander himself was anxious for the army to arrive too,
“Oh, I suspect to see them banners wavin’ bove the ridge anytime now.”
Postius nodded and Pothmos and he continued on down the wall.
Taking a spot on the ledge where they could both see the whole of the
road, they joined the rest of the Guard in scanning the horizon for any
sign of the Lydian forces.
“You think they’re really that beautiful, Postius?” asked Pothmos.
“Who? The soldiers?” he answered bewildered.
“No, not the soldiers,” he scowled somewhat embarrassed. “The
Persian women.”
Postius rolled his eyes, “Is that all you think about, Pothmos?”
His friend smiled cockily at him, “I’m going to get you a woman,
Postius. Then you’ll see. You’ll get your queen, right off these very
streets. If I have to…”
“Croesus! Sound the horns! Our King returns!” cried one of the
guards interrupting Pothmos.
Great horns and trumpets rose into the air, blowing a heralding
cry across the open sir of Ephesus as the people of Ephesus began to
gather behind the main gates. Eager to greet the returning soldiers,
wives began to weep in anticipation as they imagined the return of their
warrior husbands. The children jumped and laughed, Postius could not
help but be excited to see the return of the fighters as his youthful joy
took him over.
He watched as the banners of Lydia began to rise into view.
Starting out with only a few heralding flags and swarming into hundreds
than thousands of magnificent banners, the army of Lydia approached
the gates of Ephesus. Surely Croesus rode in front of them, leading his
men home.
“This is a great day is it not, Corin?” he asked with a broad smile.
“Yes…my prince?” he replied quietly. A look of concern slowly
engulfed his rugged and aging features.
“What’s wrong?”
“The flags…” he spoke slowly, his eyes squinting in the
afternoon sun. Postius could feel the worry beating off of Corin. Postius
had never felt such a thing from his battle hardened teacher.
“What? …What about the flags?” he asked impatiently.
“There’s…too many!” he thought aloud. Quickly he turned to
the guards to his right.
“Sound the alarm! To arms!” he cried in a flurry, slashing around
Postius and making his way to the rack of bows resting just behind the
edge of the great wall. Grabbing two, he strung them and tossed them to
42 Of Gods and Men
Postius and Pothmos. Pothmos grabbed two satchels of arrows and made
his way to the side of the wall. A great horn blew out once more, this
time in a squeal of war.
“No, Pothmos! Postius and you must get to the docks. The guard
will escort you,” he yelled out as he made his way back along the
ramparts. Men began to pour up the ramps and assemble across the lip
of the walls. Corin began directed them, giving young captains
demanding orders and preparing his troops for battle.
Postius looked back out at the army and as he watched he
glimpsed the banners disappear, slowly being replaced by the browns
and reds of the Persian army. Croesus had lost; Cyrus was on his way.
Without an army to protect it, Ephesus would fall and his father and him
would surely be killed.
“Postius! Go!” screamed Corin as cries of the warriors of Persia
began to drown out all other noise.
Pothmos grabbed him and pulled him close, “We’ll be fine,
Postius. Come, we must get to the boats.”
They sprinted down the ramp into the city and as they reached the
ground four members of the guard grouped around them for protection.
Postius looked up at the sky, which was beginning to blacken as night
fell on the land and cast shadow throughout the city. Running down the
Sardis road they quickly made their way to the intersection in the middle
of the city, glancing down the two other roads; Postius’ chest began to
pound. With the gates of the other two roads left practically unguarded
to make for the display at the main gate, the Persians had broken through
easily and now poured down the main streets. Pothmos and the guard
began to fire arrows at the incoming enemies. Slipping into the main
door of the palace, still shooting arrows behind them, they ran through
the main lobby. Postius turned to run up the stairs to the throne room
and his father.
“No, Postius!” yelled Pothmos as he unleashed another arrow,
“We must get to the boats. Your father would already be on his way
there.”
Postius shook himself, knowing that Pothmos was right. The
guard would have already taken his father out of the city and down to the
harbor to escape.
They rushed to the other side of the palace and out the back doors
that led down to the ocean. Emerging out onto the beach, Postius
glanced down the coastline toward the harbor. Darkness had fallen
thickly now and besides a few flames he could see nothing to indicate
any danger. Pothmos urged him on and the group continued their flight
The Duology of Postius Malantis 43
down the beach with the Persians close behind. As they ran one of the
four guards was struck dead by a Persian spear. Pushing on, the sands of
the Ephesian beach bounced into the air behind them as their feet dug
into the earth underneath them. Screaming could now be heard from the
city and it became apparent from the amount of fire burning in the city
that it would soon become uncontrollable. Reaching the edge of the first
pier, another guard fell with an arrow in his back. Pothmos pushed him
from behind, directing him down the rickety path of wood that led out
into the sea. Arrows rained out from Pothmos’ bow as he covered the
rear. Rushing down the planks, Postius began to loose his bearings.
“Pothmos, what about my father?” he yelled as they ran.
Screaming up to him as he continued to defend them, Pothmos
answered, “Don’t worry about it Postius. He’ll be fine. You just worry
about getting down this dock and finding a boat.”
Postius’ breathe was growing fast now. Trying to stay steady, he
scanned the night around him, searching for any sign of a boat.
Suddenly a horrible realization occurred to him.
“Pothmos! The boats! They’re gone!” he yelled, barely able to
orate the hopelessness of the situation.
His friend reeled, looking for himself. Postius could see the look
of disbelief overtake his features. He pushed past him and took the lead.
“Keep running, there must be one somewhere,” he commanded
as another of the guards fell to a Persian arrow.
Running as fast as he could, Postius followed closely behind his
friend. Struggling to keep his legs moving and prevent himself from
freezing in fear, he noticed that he now had no way of seeing the dock
beneath him. They were too far out from shore for the light of the
burning city to grant them any vision of their route. The final member of
their accompanying guard went down behind them; he had only Pothmos
and his trust in his friend to lead him on now. Suddenly in the middle of
their flight, Postius slammed into the back of Pothmos, sending the two
of them into a confused tumbling that left them in a twisted heap on the
aging planks of the dock.
“What’s wrong?” Postius yelled.
Pothmos didn’t answer, instead grabbing Postius’ arm and pulling
him forward. This was all that was needed though. Postius looked out
ahead of them and in the dismal light; he could make out the slashing of
the ocean’s waves.
“What do we do?” he cried to Pothmos.
Pothmos grabbed him, “Get a hold of yourself, Postius!” he
yelled. Pothmos glared at Postius with the most direct stare he had ever
44 Of Gods and Men
felt from his friend. “You are Postius Malantis are you not?” he cried;
the watery mist of the ocean dripping down his bald forehead and
distorting his fierce gaze.
Postius felt his insides twist. What was he doing? He was Postius
Malantis. The oracle did not lie. “I am,” he retorted angrily, his fear
now replaced by intent.
“Then start acting like it,” his friend snided.
“Fine, Pothmos!” he snapped back at his friend, now thoroughly
riled as confidence flowed slowly into him. He turned toward the sea
and its ravaging swells. Raising his hands in the murky light, he
bellowed, “Great Poseidon! God of the Sea! Hear my cry, for if you do
not, we shall surely fall!”
Pothmos looked at him skeptically. Postius merely glared back,
intent on disproving his friend. And then suddenly, his friend’s face went
white. Postius followed his gaze to the waters beneath them. Where just
a moment ago they had been fierce and wild with the night wind, they
now lay calm. Suddenly a light appeared in the ocean in front of them,
white and brilliant; it bobbed gently in the waveless sea. Time seemed to
stop. The cries of the city trailed off, replaced by the quiet whistle of the
wind. Their pursuers were no where to be found as if they had given up
chase. And as the white light came closer and revealed the small sailess
boat’s bow from which the small covered torch hung, Pothmos’ stare
changed from one of challenge to one of astonishment. The boat drifted
casually to the edge of the dock and for a moment Postius merely stared
at it. Finally, Pothmos gained his senses and spoke:
“What are you waiting for? Get in.”
Postius’ feet lowered down into the divine craft and were soon
followed by Pothmos’. The two of them reached for the paddles that
rested inside it and placing them in the water, began to row out to sea.
And as they drifted onward to an unknown destination, Postius’ fear
returned and prevented him from looking back.
The Duology of Postius Malantis 45
5
Child of the Depths
many hours of arguing about it with Postius, he’d given in and agreed
that it must be. Its bow was formed by a great plume that during the
night ignited into a divine lamp that Postius and he had been trying to
figure out for quite some time too. Inside the craft lay two small seats
and a set of paddles. Postius and he had paddled for the remainder of the
first night, until they realized that there was no need to paddle. They had
discovered that the divine ferry cut through the waves under its own
mysterious power. Therefore they were left to only guess at where the
boat was taking them.
Postius turned his face and stared expressionlessly in his
direction, “You think my parents made it out of the city alright?” he
asked.
Pothmos turned and wiped some sweat from his forehead, “I
suppose so. The Guard would have had them down to the beach as soon
as the battle horn was blown. They must have been the ones who took
the rest of the boats from the harbor,” he commented. Pothmos had been
wondering about those boats for some time. How could they have just
disappeared? They were part of the city’s royal escape plan and only
Postius, Corin, himself, and the King’s personal guard knew of the plans
existence. He allowed his gaze to once again fall on his friend.
With fair golden hair and deep blue eyes, his friend could be
quite strong if he wanted too. The girls down in the halls had always
told him how cute his friend was and how he should sneak him down for
some fun. Postius had never gone for it. He didn’t seem to have the
stomach to talk to the ladies yet, but Pothmos could see some life in his
friend in the way he strived to be a good prince. Always working hard
and obsessing over details, his demeanor had always made Pothmos
jealous in a way. His friend was to be a great king, an equal to the gods
even, but there had been many times where Pothmos had been skeptical
about that; for all of Postius’ strengths, he just couldn’t stand not living
up to his name. Ever since their childhood, Pothmos had been able to
con Postius into doing things by challenging his title. The latest example
of which had been just four nights ago when he had angered Postius into
calling for the help of the god, a feat which still baffled him, and which
had stirred the latest of his feelings of jealousy.
Laying his head back down onto the cool stone of the boat, he
began to stare at the bird once more. That was when his stomach started
to rumble.
“I don’t know how much longer I can handle going without food
like this, Postius,” he said lazily.
The Duology of Postius Malantis 47
His friend swiveled on his end of the boat and laid into a position
similar to the one Pothmos was in. “I’m hungry too. I’d say we could
fish, but I think that gull up there is eating anything that comes near us,”
replied the prince.
As if to mock them, the gull once more dove out of the sky and
picked up a small fish.
“What about your friend?” asked Pothmos, sitting up and staring
across the boat at the figure of Postius, an idea forming in his mind.
Postius sat up slowly, “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” he said, a sarcastic tone leaking into
his voice. He could see the defensiveness flowing into his friend’s
unknowing expressions, until suddenly the expression changed and one
of his friend’s deep eyes squeezed into a spiteful squint.
“Poseidon?” he asked.
Pothmos nodded. He had him now.
Postius’ glare only increased in the heat of the sun, “What are you
trying to get at, Pothmos?”
Pothmos allowed an innocent, yet sarcastic look appear on his
face. Waving his hands in an attempt to brush any blame away from his
remarks, he spoke, “I’m just saying, we’ve been drifting out here for four
days with nothing but this boat and that bird up there. I’d just assume
that the God of the Sea might help us out a little,” he insinuated, his lip
forming into a drooping sign of carelessness.
“And what makes you think he’d do that?”
“You are Postius Malantis, are you not?” snided Pothmos.
Postius’ defenses were now quite strong, yet blind, “I am…I am
Postius Malantis,” he returned softly.
Pothmos only shrugged, “Then call for him and ask him for some
food,” he mocked.
Postius’ demeanor was now one of self proof and he glared
menacingly at Pothmos, “Fine,” he retorted. “But I’ll do better than
that.” The way he said this last part struck Pothmos off guard, his friend
now had an oddly confident look about him. Pothmos did not see
confidence in Postius often.
“Poseidon! Great God of the Sea! I am Postius Malantis, Son of
Laeto, Prince of Ephesus, Equal among mortals and all Gods! Give me
the power to free my city from the Persians. Allow me to become that
which was foretold. Bestow upon me the fate which I have inherited!”
he cried into the silent ocean air.
The two of them, now standing, began to glance about the water
around them. Out of the corner of his eye, Pothmos saw the old gull
48 Of Gods and Men
flying into the vastness of the sky, disappearing from view. Yet in the
area around them, they were answered only by silence. And then chaos.
Their boat began to spin furiously as the sea around them swirled
in an unnerving whirlpool of spraying aqueous plumes. Suddenly, the
boat froze, jerking the two of them violently in their seats. On the right
side of their marble craft a great typhoon began to spiral slowly from the
endless blue of the sea. Starting first as a small drooping cone, and
curving slowly into the air; it seemed to wrap itself around an invisible
pole of energy. Coalescing into a single tornado of mist, brilliantly
defined in the light of the sun. As he turned and stared at the awe at his
friends face, he knew that they were not ready for this.
Looking back at the laces of blue that made up the typhoon, he
jumped in his seat as he now gazed into the face of a god that had arisen
in the waves before him. Made up of pure water, the mask of liquid,
stared calmly out at Postius. And as Pothmos stared awestruck at the
features depicted in the water of the typhoon, he noticed the hot beams of
the sun slowly disappear. Glancing quickly into the air, he saw a large
cloud covering up the light of the sun, casting a slight shadow and cool
breeze over the boat. He wondered where such a cloud had come from,
only a moment ago the sky had been clear for miles around. His gaze
once again dropped back to the amazing sight before him.
“I am Postius Malantis,” spoke his friend quietly.
The figure only stared back at him.
Then suddenly, “Speak loudly, mortal,” rang a booming voice, a
sound that seemed to resemble the spattering of raindrops on stone, yet
forming into words that burned into their ears.
Postius gained his footing and stood once more to stare up at the
shape, “My Lord, Poseidon, I am Postius Malantis. I wish for you to
bestow my fate upon me and to help my friend and me once more,” he
yelled out to the wave lord.
Its threatening gaze settled on Postius, it nodded as if
acknowledging some unknown question, “So be it Postius Malantis,
Prince of Ephesus!” it cried magnificently. “The Child of the Depths is
yours!”
And with that the face splashed into the center of the typhoon,
and it once more began to spiral downward back into the eternity that
was the blue water. Yet as the tip of the typhoon made its way to the
ocean’s surface, it stopped. The end of it seemed to open up and
blossom like a flower, yet where there should have been a flower, there
was a great blue orb that seemed to flame with golden yellow energy. It
formed out of the oceans depths and slowly levitated to rest on the boat
The Duology of Postius Malantis 49
in between the two of them. He now knew why there was so much room
in the middle of the boat. His gaze stayed fixated upon the magnificent
orb, unable to take his eyes away, he became lost in the milky haze of the
orb’s energy. It was not until quite a while later did his friend wrestle
him away from his staring.
Looking across the boat just over the orb, he could see his friend
locked in the same frozen stare.
“What is it?” Pothmos asked.
His friend fought to grasp the words to describe it, “I…I…have
no idea.”
The two of them stared intently into the vibrantly vibrating
energy that bounced across the face of the blue orb; “Is there anything on
your side?” asked Pothmos, his voice echoing his fascination.
“It…It looks like hand prints?” Postius mumbled suggestively.
Pothmos snuck along the edge of the boat and peered into the orb
from Postius’ angle. There just in front of his friend lay two perfect
handprints. The blue splintering energy traced the outline of a hand; a
hand that Pothmos could only assume was Postius’. “Touch it?” he said
as he returned back to his side.
His friend looked over at him and glared at him as if his
suggestion was crazy. Pothmos stared back at him blankly, “Go ahead,
just put your hands on it. An equal to the Gods would do…”
“Fine, Fine, Fine, I’ll do it,” interrupted his friend, obviously
seeing where the comment was heading. Pothmos only smiled inwardly
and thought to himself how he’d never be foolish enough to press his
hands against a giant glowing ball of burning energy.
Postius began to lean closer to the orb and Pothmos only focused
on his friend’s face. As the young prince extended his hands and began
to move them forward, Pothmos noticed the sky become darker. The
cloud that had not existed now covered most of the afternoon heights and
as Pothmos glared across the heavenly boat into his friend’s eyes and
glanced into the darkness that consumed their boat, he could see only the
luminance of the orb’s light on the face of his friend and the bright
reflection of the orb itself in Postius’ eyes.
Palms met light, and light shifted to brilliant energy as Postius
pushed forward into the orb. It was then that the earth shook and the
world transformed around them into the most spectacular vision it had
yet seen on its face.
Pothmos looked on as the wondrous light beamed out in great
rays, brighter than anything Apollo’s fire had ever shined down on the
mortal realm. The ball of blue reflected and then contorted itself and
50 Of Gods and Men
then suddenly, dropped. Straight through the bottom of their divine boat,
it burned a hole equal to its girth. The two boys leaned forward to stare
down the hole of light. Then suddenly, it exploded. Water burst out of
the hole before them, forming a sight which he could not believe.
Pothmos had heard stories of water plumes known as geysers, but those
descriptions were nothing compared to the great spectacle he now
espied. As the plume of water soared into the dark and cloudy sky, the
mist drifted across his exasperated face, forming a mixture of divine
water and mortal sweat dripping down his chin. More and more, the
water poured vertically into the air and as the giant fountain shot the sea
around them into the sky for miles; they themselves began to descend.
Walls of water began to build up all around them as they dropped. In his
excitement, he stuck his hand out into them, feeling the cool flow of the
liquid pour through his body as if releasing the little bit of fear that came
from such an experience.
The roar was monstrous, blocking out all other sound. Even
though his friend lay on the other side of the torrentious fountain, a part
of him could sense his friend’s smug glare penetrating into him from the
opposite side of the boat. And as the water slowly ceased its blasting out
of the crevice, Pothmos felt as if the water’s departure marked the
beginning of his jealousy’s arrival.
This was soon forgotten as the sea calmed and the walls around
him fell back into a horizontal state. Postius stood for the first time and
began to look around himself.
“Pothmos, would you look around us!” he beamed as his arms
waved in an expression intended to take it all in.
Pothmos stood and did as he was instructed. There would be a
time later on when he would regret this day, but for now he was left to
gaze at the awe inspiring glory and greatness that was Atlantis.
The Duology of Postius Malantis 51
6
Atlantis
P ostius gazed out across the expansive scenery that now occupied
the newly formed island. They stood on a giant pinnacle, a
mountain that rose into a culminating point. Upon this point
existed a grand temple, a palace of sorts. It was on top of this that their
boat laid. He looked out upon the island around him. It was made up of
three rings of land that wrapped respectively around the main mountain.
On these rings existed great buildings of a strange design. They rose like
the local weeds of Ephesus, yet bent and twisted in their ascent until they
peaked in a sort of drooping point. The great mountain unleashed a
torrent of water falls that flowed downward into the small moats formed
between it and the rings. Each ring had small irrigation rivers that
allowed this built up water to flow slowly down, as each ring lay
gradually lower than the first; until the water burst out into the open
ocean, an ocean that now seemed to be quiet and still, an echo of the
power it had just unleashed into the world.
Postius stared over at Pothmos and smiled to himself. His friend
was lost in the amazement of the city around him. He could tell that his
friend was taken with the dark colors of the building and the rocks of the
mountain itself. There did not appear to be much greenery on the island,
as the water rushed only over a dark, somewhat bluish, granite. The
stone itself made up the buildings, which were stressed with the glow of
some inner blue flame. Postius suspected it to be the essence or
vibrations of the Orb that lay between his friend and him. Gradually as
he followed the path of the glowing blue lines that seemed to power the
52 Of Gods and Men
After finding their way to the boat and taking a seat, Tritian
pressed an odd shaped tablet that rested on the front of the boat. Postius
was not surprised when it moved forward; sailess and without oars. The
boat moved slowly down the small canal and as they drifted past the
remaining buildings of the center mountain island and into the open
moats between the rings, Tritian began to explain the sights they were
seeing.
“The main island is yours my lord. It is made up of the great
Palace of Poseidon and the buildings there below it are the homes of
your generals.”
“Is that where you live?” Postius asked wonderingly.
Tritian smiled, “Yes, my king.” And that was all he said. Postius
had expected a description or some glimpse into the man’s life, but there
was nothing. He seemed to have the same distaste for discussing
personal things as Postius did.
They made their way into the first of the three rings and it was
here that Postius was once again taken aback.
“This is the inner ring. It is where all the citizens of Atlantis
preside,” Tritian said as he grinned at the sight of his fellow men.
“There’s thousands,” Pothmos whispered solemnly.
Tritian stared blankly at him, “The army of Atlantis consists of
five hundred thousand men.”
Pothmos only gaped and Postius could see his friend’s
amazement at there being such an army under their command. Yet
Postius was not so happy with the idea of so many men looking to him
for answers. He looked back at Tritian and the way the man now sat
silent. The general had an emotionless face and seemed to be staring
down into the water. Postius could see that Tritian did not like the idea
either and Postius realized he would not like it if his soldier’s lives were
now entrusted to some young boy he had never met.
As he looked back at the people of Atlantis, a great quiet grew
within him. The people smiled and children played and laughed, sliding
stones across the granite roads of the inner ring. Then suddenly it
happened, he saw her. The stones clicking echoed silently. The memory
of the young mother he had seen on the streets of Ephesus just days ago
popped into his mind. Click…Click…Click… bounced the stones as the
boys giggled. The memory was followed by a great burning. Stone
clacked against stone, landing in a small circle of leaves. He could see
the mother and her child. Feel their hope. Their fear. The very essence
of their lives seemed to imprint itself fixedly into the front of his head.
And as quick as the picture was there, it was gone. The young children
The Duology of Postius Malantis 55
of Atlantis and their simple game of stones resumed its place as the only
thought in his mind. He breathed slowly. Surprised to find his hand
holding his head, he removed it and placed it quietly in his lap. He
looked quickly to Pothmos to see if his friend had spotted his weakness.
Pothmos only stared out at the Atlanteans; Postius’ mood was lightened
by the idea that his friend was most likely looking for women. This was
quickly dampened again though when he looked over at Tritian. The
general stared at him knowingly.
“We will do anything you ask us, my King,” whispered the great
leader as his gaze pierced into Postius. The weight returned once more.
How could he handle so many things, so many lives? He was only one
person.
The boat continued on down the river and passed into the next
ring.
“These are our fisheries,” commented Tritian, once again
resuming his superior tone. “We eat only fish here in Atlantis.”
Stone buildings took in what looked like an endless stream of fish
from medium sized boats. Postius could not see where the fish went, but
something inside him told him that it was a process beyond his
comprehension. There was one thing that puzzled him though…
“There’s no smell?” he asked amazed.
Tritian smiled, “A gift. From Poseidon.”
Postius nodded. There was no reason to question the fisheries or
their missing odors. They drifted through the last of the irrigation rivers
and into the moat between the second and outer ring. This pool of water
was gigantic and what struck him about the outer ring was that it was a
wall, a monstrous wall. Ephesus’ great barrier looked like a wooden
fence compared to this. Towers larger than any he had ever seen reached
out into the sky. They were made of the same black granite that the rest
of the islands were and rose up into the same bent point, resembling the
plume of the Spartans of nearby Greece. This was once again powered
by the deep blue energy. The line wrapped through the wall and the
towers in a design and pattern that he had never seen before. Along the
walls stood soldiers, hundreds of them; yet, unlike the Ephesians and
their bows, every Atlantean held a spear. A magnificent spear as he had
never seen before. The end sloped up into three prongs, not quite a
trident; it resembled the tips of three great waves. Waves sharper than
any he had ever felt rush across his body. And then as they turned and
began to circle around the great ring of water that lay between the wall
and the fisheries, they came into view, hundreds of them.
56 Of Gods and Men
“If we leave in the morning we shall be there to see the sun rise
on the next,” his words returned once more to a subordinate tone.
Accepting. Knowing. Trusting. The eyes did not release each other
until the Atlantean turned and headed for the docks. As he walked,
Postius noticed him look up at the sky as if looking for something.
Postius followed his stare and it was met only by gray. Was it always
cloudy in Atlantis?
58 Of Gods and Men
The Duology of Postius Malantis 59
7
The Return
T he night sky lapsed against the edges of the ships. The Phindae
cut silently through the throngs of waves and swells that formed
the ocean around them. Postius could see the hundreds of other
ships around him and watched as the moonlight sparkled against their
wet hulls and the winds bellowed into their full sails. There was only the
sound of the wind and every now and then the yells of the Atlanteans,
who worked steadily to command their magnificent crafts. His fingers
rubbed the cold stone of the boat he was on, felt the smooth fluidity of it.
His gaze looked once more out over the serene night, not staring at
anything in particular, just staring. Thinking. He heard the click of
someone's heels on the deck behind him. It was very late and most of the
ship had been asleep for quite sometime, attempting to get some rest
before the morning's battle. He looked over his shoulder and saw the
shadow of a man creeping out to the bow of the ship. The figure seemed
to turn and look about to make sure no one was watching him, yet the
man did not notice Postius in the gloom and resumed its creeping.
Postius stood fast and began
to listen as the shadow reached the bow of the ship and began to whisper.
"My lord, Poseidon," it mumbled.
There was no answer that Postius could tell as the great ship
60 Of Gods and Men
sounded a great and elegant horn. Tritian burst from the cabin once more,
horns bellowed loudly the tunes of Atlantis as word spread like fire
between the ships until it came to Tritian from the boat to their right.
"My lord, the Persians have spotted us. Their fleet approaches
from around the bluff," cried a young Captain as he pointed out into the
dismal light of dawn.
Tritian seemed to peer out restlessly to the east. "My king, you
cannot see it, but land is not a thousand paces to the east. Ephesus lies
just behind a great bluff and it seems Cyrus awaits us.”
Postius nodded, "I know of the bluff, Pothmos and I used to play
there as children."
"We shall have to fight our way through the Persian fleet if we
wish to free the city," hurried Tritian as he rushed to what appeared to be
a pedestal of rock, but when activated with the touch of his hand sent the
blue light of the ocean city spiraling through the ship in streaking lines.
The lines seemed to travel throughout the great ship and as the lines
cutting through it embraced the rock, the Phindae seemed to speed up.
The ornate design seemed to power the ship through its sharp angles and
searing light. Postius glanced around him and stared in awe as blue light
lit up each of the hundreds of Atlantean ships. The sky blue sails of the
Phindae fleet filled with a wind that was not there, a wind Postius had
felt only in the presence of Poseidon.
Pothmos emerged from the cabin of the amazing ship with his
hand held over his crusted eyes to keep the brightness away. "Have I
missed anything?" he yawned whipping his eyes clear of sleep's grime.
Postius smiled and then Tritian motioned to him, "My king, you
and your friend should have a seat," he said inferring that the two of
them get out of the way. It was then that the admiral showed why he was
the Steward of Atlantis. With a slight turn of his head, he stared at
Postius and winked. From the base of his armor a helmet seemed to grow
up the back of his neck and then spread across his face. It was a sight
both eerie and amazing at the same time. Tritian turned once more to his
fleet. "Phindae! Left flank wrap around. Right flank pull and hold.
Archers ready," he cried.
Suddenly, the fleet of Atlantis roared. Men began to scream out
orders and boats began to heave. The great raking ships of the Phindae
followed their master's breath. The land of his home came into view, a
sandy line on open blue that gave way to the pinks and blues of the rising
sun. Ropes spun and sails flapped as they went about their naval
tendencies with pinpoint precision. The sails continued to amaze him; he
had never seen such advanced ships. As they pulled and wrapped in
62 Of Gods and Men
death drifted into his nostrils, causing him to gag a little. Coughing, his
mind blanked. The mother smiled back at him. A young Persian, pierced
by several Atlantean bolts, lay grasping at his wounds. The stones
clicked across the granite of Atlantis. Tritian jumped over to the man's
craft and leaned over him.
"The Plains of Elysium shall love you. Fear nothing, Zeus is
waiting,” Tritian whispered as his arm stretched out to his side and a
bright blue spear formed along his forearm. The man's eyes widened and
stared at Postius as Tritian's blow eased his escape from their world.
As Tritian jumped back onto the Atlantean ship, Postius could not
take his eyes away from the bloody face of the Persian.
"As is war," whispered Tritian into Postius' ear as he patted his
shoulder and began to give orders. All Postius could see was the death in
the Persian man's eyes, the feeling of guilt grew large and his mind
listened for an answer he would never find. Pothmos came up behind
him.
"They earned this. Next time they will think twice before they
threaten Ephesus and Postius Malantis," he grumbled. Once more giving
him a pat on the back, but where Tritian's was one of
lesson, Pothmos' was one of gloat.
The Persian ship and the young soldier floated past Postius
moved his gaze from the dead men to the bluff coming into view.
Ephesus lay just beyond the rocks. He wondered if his father would still
be there. He wondered what he would have done if he were in Postius'
position. Tritian gave the order for the fleet to form up for the invasion of
the city and soon they were turning the comer into the bay.
It came into view, the sun sparkling across its marble stones.
Ephesus, his home, was waiting. He could see the signs of damage the
fire had caused; feel the fear of his people and the unease of the
scrambling Persians. Looking upon his city brought the true feelings of
fear he had been hiding for his father. Had he and his mother made it
out? Were they safe? The fleet began to align itself for the final
blows against the city. It was then that he saw Tritian staring at him.
“We await your orders, my king," he said softly.” Thoughts of
the general’s mysterious meeting with Poseidon flitted into his mind.
Postius stared at the Atlantean; he had gazed so deeply into this
man's eyes. He had learned so much from them, yet he had said nothing
to him. Tritian had shown him so much about himself, but had never
spoken a word. Sighing, he thought to himself about what to do now.
He did not want to risk the lives of these Atlanteans and after the quick
defeat of the Persian fleet; he didn't wish to see the death of so many for
64 Of Gods and Men
* * *
Postius stepped carefully down the hollow plank of wood that led
down to the docks. He thought of how his sleep had taken away the
earlier days problems. Landing on the dock, he was reminded of that
fiery night once again. Pothmos landed next to him, preferring to jump
from the top of the ramped plank.
He stomped up and down on the wooden boards of the pier.
"Why is it whenever I walk along these wooden paths I’m happy to see
them?" he commented.
"Maybe because they're always either saving your life or leading
you home," responded Postius as he turned and made his way down the
rickety trail across the water. Eventually, he found his feet sink into the
soft brown sand of his home. The warm, sun heated grains poured over
the sides of his sandals. A shiver overtook him, removing the thoughts of
guilt that had plagued him the night before. As he walked up the sandy
beach, he kicked his feet up and down purposely sending clouds of
Ephesus up into the air around him. He smiled happily and even when he
saw Pothmos' disapproving glare, he couldn't help himself. He was
home.
"Come on, Postius. Let's go," he said confidently, a slight grin
cracking in the comer of his mouth.
"I'm coming," he replied as he brought himself somewhat under
control without losing to much of the child like glee that had seized him.
As his feet met the hard stone of the cities roads, a young Atlantean
soldier ran up to him.
:
Kneeling, he spoke, "My king, your father awaits you in the
palace." The young soldier seemed as if he was struggling to keep a
smile out of his face. Postius glanced over at Tritian, who had been
following them closely since they left the boat.
"How does he know of my father?" Postius asked happily,
flowing with relief at the word that his father still lived.
"I explained to the men why we had come to this place. They
wished to help their king in anyway, including his search for his father,"
smiled Tritian. The general looked much better today than he had the day
before. Postius could see that while Tritian was a great warrior, he
preferred peace to the blood of war. Now that his job was done, the
66 Of Gods and Men
save her life. He had felt something when he had stared into her eyes;
different than the things he had seen in his gazes with Tritian. This was a
connection. An understanding.
His mind turned back to his father, "We will help her father.
Whether you like it or not," Postius said softly.
His father's face was quite red with anger now, "What did you
say, Postius'?" A commanding tone leaking into his voice.
Postius looked fiercely into his father's deep eyes, "I said," his
voice was quiet, then became louder, "I am Postius Malantis and I say we
shall help her." The people around him took a step back at his
words.
Laeto's face filled with shock and then sadness. He tilted his head
down and took his eyes away from Postius'. Instantly, Postius regretted
the way he had disrespected his father, but it was too late to turn back
now. He turned to the Atlanteans carrying the young girl.
"Take her up to my quarters and find someone who will treat her
wounds. I shall be there in a moment," he commanded, his eyes unable to
look away from the shattered ego that was his father. A great abysmal
guilt filled his stomach. He would have to apologize. .
"Tritian, finish cleaning up the city. Set a perimeter around it.
Cyrus won't take kindly to us destroying his fleet," instructed Postius as
he walked up the stairs past his father.
He heard Tritian give a faint, "Yes, my king," before he began his
ascent up the stairs to his quarters.
The stairs had a lush soft carpet draped along them. His sandals
sunk comfortably into the stairway as he rounded the comer and placed
his hand on the cool handle of the door. His wrist strained slightly as he
pushed the door open. A cool wind blew through the doorway and across
his face as he entered. It reached his eyes causing him to blink
repetitively. He wiped his eyes quickly and made his way through the
room. The girl lay sleeping in his bed. An Atlantean soldier knelt at her
side. In his hand was a strange tablet like the ones he had seen in Atlantis
so many times. It was held over the girls wound and was glowing with
that same surreal blue energy. As Postius walked in the soldier seemed to
be finishing up. He rose and bowed when he saw him.
"My king, she will survive. She needs rest now, "the soldier
informed peacefully.
"Thank you," he said as he dismissed the man.
As the soldier left the room, Postius walked around his bed and
took a seat next to the woman. She had a smooth innocent look as she
slept. Postius could not explain what he felt from her. It was a deep
The Duology of Postius Malantis 69
connection, a feeling that told him to keep her safe. As the light of day
slowly dove beneath the waves, Postius sat and waited. He didn't know
what he was waiting for. Maybe to talk to the girl, learn her name. He
couldn't place it really. He just wanted to be at her side.
As the night approached, he heard a slight squishing of carpet. It
was followed by a hollow knocking at the door.
"Who is it'?" he asked warily.
"Your father," coughed the familiar voice.
Postius looked around unknowingly. He knew he needed to talk
to his father. Why not now? He made his way over to the door and
creaked it open, "Come in."
His father meandered quietly over to his favorite chair and took a
seat. Postius walked back over to his chair next to the young woman.
“So…” said his father nervously, "It looks like you’ve done well
since I last saw you."
“Yes,” he said nonchalantly. He would not be the one to cut the
thick feeling of awkwardness.
"Quite the army out there," said his father suggestively., his hands
twitching and playing with the ends on the arms of his chair.
"Sure is," replied Postius.
"Postius,"
"Yes. Father?"
"I'm sorry for turning away this girl. I didn't mean anything by it.
It's just that I've lived under their control for the last couple months and
finally, when the son I thought had died comes back with an army greater
than any the world has ever seen, the first thing he does is ask me to help
a Persian," apologized his father, his head not quite looking at Postius;
instead preferring the company of the floor.
Postius kept his gaze locked on the face of the young girl. Maybe
his father was right. Postius could understand how he felt, but still. This
girl had no reason to be punished. How could she have had a hand in the
torture inflicted upon his city? "She's beautiful; isn't she father?"
His father only looked at her, "She is," he said hesitantly.
Postius turned and looked at his aging father for the first time.
"What would you say if I told you I wanted to marry her?"
Laeto coughed, "Marriage'?" he said, the words lost in the thick
air. He leaned forward, "Postius, you've never even spoken to this girl.
You don't even know her name."
"I don't need to know her name. I can feel it. She is the one," he
returned.
Postius could see the veins in his father's forehead getting larger,
70 Of Gods and Men
"No king of Ephesus will marry a Persian, while I live!" he cried. "When
she is healthy she shall leave!" I
Postius stood. He was tired of bickering with his father. He was
no longer a child. "Father, I do not have to continue to listen to you. If
you don't want me to be happy than I don't need you around anymore. If
this girl agrees, we will marry," he said boldly.
His father's anger subsided, replaced by a keen stare. "Who are
you, my son? What has happened to you?"
"I am Postius Malantis. King of Atlantis. You hold no power over
me anymore," he declared.
Laeto only stared at him, "I asked you once what you were
looking for and I never got an answer. Do you have an answer now'?"
Postius glared at him, "What am I looking for, father'? I am
looking for you. I'm looking for you to leave me alone and let me live
my life. I am Postius Malantis, father. I no longer need you to watch
over me"
His father sighed, "You've let it get to you, my son. I tried so hard
to keep it away, but I guess it was inevitable."
Postius had had enough, "You may leave now, father. Maybe one
day we shall speak again. I shall leave for Atlantis in the morning." As
Laeto made his way through the door, he poked his head back in and
gave one more haunting line, "You may not have me watching you
anymore, Postius, but you would be fool to think I was the only one who
has been watching you.”
The Duology of Postius Malantis 71
8
The
Serpent Stirs
Pothmos stared bewildered. His friend had not seen, nor heard,
his arguments with Tritian. Pothmos looked back at Tritian, who for a
moment seemed ashamed until he too realized Postius had no idea what
was going on. The two of them now were locked in a menacing gaze.
"The king is calling on you. I think it best that you do as he
says," spoke Tritian in a calm and yet mocking voice.
Pothmos squinted and tried to bore a hole through the Atlantean’s
forehead. Finding his plan impossible, he spat at Tritian's feet and turned
away. His mind now set on figuring out what Postius' great news could
be.
Making his way down the length of the ship, he began to look for
the podium. As he turned the corner of the small cabin, it came into
view, a small round stone, sparkling in the afternoon sun. Overtaking the
space between him and the stone, he stared simply at the contraption
before him. It had several complicated scripts on it of a language
Pothmos did not know. No doubt it was Atlantean, but Pothmos could
never figure it out. He glanced around looking for one of the wretched
ship hands.
He loathed asking an Atlantean for help, but a wrong move could
send the ship of course, possibly colliding with one of the ships
alongside it. Walking along the side of the ship, an Atlantean came into
view. He seemed to be very intent on whatever it was he was doing as he
stared up at the sails, but Pothmos felt no guilt about interrupting the
man.
"You there!" he yelled in his most commanding voice.
The Atlantean looked over at him and then seemed to look
around himself, as if hoping Pothmos were calling to someone else.
Upon seeing that he and Pothmos were alone, he looked back in
Pothmos' direction and made a faint gesture with his hand as if to say,
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Come here," Postius yelled.
The young man put down the tools he was carrying and taking his
time walked over to Pothmos. "How my I help you, Lord Pothmos?" he
asked, a slight mocking tone was connected to his voice.
Pothmos just stared cunningly. "Your king has asked for my
company aboard his ship. I need your help," he stated matter of factly.
Since Postius had asked Tritian to inform every Atlantean that they were
obligated to obey his orders; a statement that was intended to include the
general himself, though he often seemed to forget this.
Making his way over to the small stone podium, the ship hand
began sliding the rocks on the face of the slab. Arranging the strange
74 Of Gods and Men
scripture into a design Pothmos had never seen, the man's fingers
brought the pedestal to life. The strange bluish light overtook the
podium and flashed brilliantly, quickly and effectively. While Pothmos
watched, the Atlantean walked confidently back to his work.
"Excuse me?" asked Pothmos, insulted by the man's exit. "I
asked you to help me?"
The man motioned back to the water. "I did," he said.
Pothmos looked back at the sea to see if the man's statements had
any credit. To his amazement, a giant Triton burst from the barrier
between ocean and air. Magnificent and sleek, the creature broke the
surface cleanly, gliding into the sky above him. After a few aerial
maneuvers, the beast soared beautifully downward and came to a
smooth, sliding landing on the deck before him.
Pothmos could only stare. He had seen the animals before, but
never this close. From this distance he could see the soft leathery skin of
the Triton's back. Its large fishy eyes stared knowingly up at him as if
asking for him to jump on. Walking cautiously, he approached the ray;
its gills breathing in and out, exhaling remnants of the salty depths
against the base of his shins. Raising his leg carefully, he began to
mount the beast until just as he was almost comfortably seated; it took
off.
Pushing hard with its wing-like fins, it popped into the air
violently, sending Pothmos' arms sprawling for something to grab onto.
Luckily they grasped the blubbery shoulders of the beast, where they
stayed white-knuckled, clinging for their lives. It seemed the Atlantean’s
dislike for him had even found its way into their beasts of burden.
Pothmos sulked as they slipped stunningly though the air, thinking to
himself of the myriad of ways he could get back at the citizens of the lost
city.
The flight between the two ships was not long and being so they
were soon swishing through the sky above Postius' flagship. The ship
itself was just like any other in the Phindae fleet; its two main sails
taught with the captured wind of the afternoon. The only feature that
separated his ship from all the others was the long pointed pinnacle that
extended out across the front. Shaped in the form of a great and narrow
trident, the point was a sign to all those watching that these were the
ships of Poseidon.
Slashing through the air and weaving majestically through the
masts and sails of the ship, the Triton began its descent down toward the
rear deck. They were soon closing in rapidly on a landing platform;
similar to the one on Pothmos' ship, this deck held a podium of glowing
The Duology of Postius Malantis 75
stones and an area for the Triton to land, but on Postius' ship there looked
to be room for five or more of the creatures to drop onto. As they
approached for their landing, Pothmos began to sense the speed of their
drop; the creature had barely slowed. Racing in to the deck, the Triton
and he crashed against the stony cradle. The collision threw Pothmos
from the creature’s back and sent him sliding across the deck. He was
eventually stopped by the hard rock of the ship's outer railing.
Shaking his thoughts back into place and grasping the new bruise
on his head, he stood back and turned to look at the creature. It sat
perfectly; well within its intended area of landing. Pothmos stared into
the beast’s fishy eyeballs and much to his anger, saw a look of mockery
in the animal's pupils. These Atlanteans and their animals would
definitely get what they deserved.
Walking past the animal and giving him his worst look of spite,
he made his way down the side of the boat toward Postius. As he
traveled the Atlanteans in the riggings above him managed a smug
giggle; they had obviously witnessed the creature's making a fool of him.
He held himself high and ignored them as best he could, thinking to
himself of the various ways he could order them to their dooms.
As he turned around the cabin area of the vessel, Postius and his
new flower came into view. They sat lazily together on a small stone
slab, their arms intertwined and the girl leaned in close to his ears. No
doubt speaking suggestive undertones into his mind; some of which
seemed to embarrass the new king as his cheeks glowed red from time to
time; an expression which was followed by the girl's flirtatious giggles.
Pothmos shook his head knowingly as he made his way over to the two
of them. He had seen sly maneuvers like the ones the girl was working
on his friend often; usually they were saved for the street brothels. As he
approached, Postius caught sight of him from over the Persian's
shoulders.
"Pothmos!" he announced, his words causing the girl to separate
from his friend. "I was just telling Tara here all about our flight from
Ephesus."
"Really," spoke Pothmos, pretending to be interested.
“Why yes, Pothmos. It sounds quite exciting. I asked Postius to
call you over so I could make sure he wasn’t telling tall tales,” she said
as she giggled at Postius, who consequently became a dark shade of red.
The young girl's smile beamed up at Pothmos. He gave her a
quaint squint and returned to his purpose. He allowed his awkward
silence to show his refusal to answer before he continued. "Postius, I
was wondering if I might speak with you...alone."
76 Of Gods and Men
* * *
Tritian watched the young Ephesian walk slowly away from his
royal friend. Something about Pothmos had always bothered him.
“What is he up to, my lord?” he asked.
The figure beside him stared eyelessly. Poseidon’s power and
presence had always astonished Tritian. Ever since he first came to lead
the Atlanteans and was brought before the great sea god, he had been
amazed at his vast knowledge and abilities.
“My lord?” he repeated.
Poseidon’s gaze never faltered. Suddenly his head snapped and
Tritian stared into the deep blue shadow of his hood. “Watch him. I
78 Of Gods and Men
shall return,” whispered the misting voice. With a gust of wind, he was
gone.
Tritian shivered, the lord of Atlantis had never left so quickly and
for a moment he wondered if he had sensed something that he had never
seen in his god: uncertainty.
* * *
The springs of the royal garden trickled slowly around the bases
of Pothmos’ sandals. Slishing through the flowing puddles of Atlantis’s
most beautiful room, he paced back and forth. His eyes stared down and
traced the ripples created by his every step. He had visited this place
often in the past weeks. Postius seemed to need a little more time with
his new toy, so Pothmos had decided to spend it down here in the lush
foliage of the sea.
Trees of porous stone rose into the ceilings of the domed hall in
many different colors. Below them grew watery, massive blades of what
appeared to be grass, growing in a small pool of water that circulated
throughout the whole of the gardens; it was in one of these pools that he
had been visiting. Inside this pool lay what appeared to be a map of a
world and beyond a few misconceptions and stray islands, the stone
shapes formed a perfect picture of the Mediterranean and what appeared
to be the land around it. While this in itself was amazing to Pothmos, it
was the organisms on top of these rocks that intrigued him the most and
continued to bring him back to this place.
They were small mites, barely visible individually, but in large
groups they formed big blotches that consisted of nine different colored
variations of the creatures. He couldn’t quite figure out what exactly the
colors meant, but he had been staring at them for quite a while. Over the
weeks, Pothmos had come to think that maybe these insects might
represent the people of the world. The stone’s discovery had given him
something to keep himself occupied with while Postius forced them to
stay in the lost city. He had thought about asking Tritian what the things
meant, but his spite of the Atlantean was too much. Lectures from the
old man were not something he wanted to listen to.
Kneeling down into the pool, he shivered as the cool water
encompassed his shins. The maneuver sent small waves across the
puddle, causing the mites to rustle. After weeks of staring he was
suddenly overcome by a wave of curiosity, a willingness to reach out and
touch the mites. As he reached out his hand, the mites shivered along the
rocks, scaring him, for a moment he pulled his hand back. Regaining his
courage, his fingers began to extend again. As they inched closer,
The Duology of Postius Malantis 79
something flickered on the rocks. It was again the mites, only this time it
was only one color. The black mites seemed to stop and all at once
changed direction as if they were staring straight up at him and his
fingers. What seemed odd to him was the location of these black mites;
just below Atlantis.
His fingers soon found the tickling shapes that were the mites
crawling over them as they slid some mites aside and touched the smooth
stone underneath them. Slowly, but surely, the small bugs crawled up his
fingers, making them appear dark and alive with movement. Then
suddenly, he watched his hand become covered in the small things. And
then his wrist. Soon the bugs were crawling up his arms, thousands of
them. They seemed to be pouring out of the rock and onto his arm. He
pulled away violently.
Viscously, he began swiping and swatting at his arms; it was to
no avail. The creatures continued their advance up his arm and around
his shoulder. The group of them was soon around his neck, his hands
clenched around his throat attempting to prevent them from moving
forward. The insects merely crawled over his knuckles once more,
sending Pothmos heaving and spasming in a desperate try to save
himself. Black mites soon wrapped around the back of his head. The
swarm flowed down over his face and into his mouth, leaning back, he
screamed out and suddenly they were gone.
His eyes opened. He looked about him, glaring into darkness.
He could see nothing; all he could hear was his huffing breath. Tapping
his feet on what appeared to be stone tiles, he spun quickly. Nothing.
“Hello!” he yelled. He was answered only by his echoes.
“Is anyone there?” his mind was racing. Where was he? What
happened?
Moving slowly, he continued to spin, keeping every angle in his
site as often as possible.
Suddenly there was a voice, “Pothmos,” it whispered in a
haunting tone.
He turned once again attempting to find the speaker of the words,
but the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere, “Who’s there?” he
called back.
A tapping of footsteps came from his left, reeling he stared as a
figure came into view in the shadows. “Pothmos…Pothmos,” slithered
the figure in it’s wispy voice.
“Who are you?” he demanded, raising his fists.
The figure seemed to chuckle, but it came out as more of a
gurgling whistle.
80 Of Gods and Men
9
Remembrance
Tritian turned once more to the event at hand, the traitors now
walked slowly out onto the platform that led to the Orb. Reaching the
circular landing upon which Daven’s pedestal sat, they turned and faced
the rest of the council. Daven stood beside them, looking toward the
chamber doors. Tritian looked over his shoulder and watched as the
Intervention entered casually through the main doors and followed the
path of the traitors to the center of the room.
“Then we may begin,” spoke Daven calmly, his soft words
contrasting the furious burning of the Orb’s energy behind him.
The Shinto Intervention stepped forward, “Lords of Nasina, I am
Hiro of the Shinto, an equal among all gods and men,” he announced
boldly as the traitors stared angrily at his shadow. “I have done that
which the council asked of me. I have defeated the traitors and returned
those enslaved by their evil to their rightful places. I give their fates to
you now. Decide as you wish, but take heed, for their evil intent still
burns in their vengeance and they will not easily accept your demands,
nor agree with what you set out for them.” He stepped down and gave
the attention of the floor to Daven, who stepped forward onto his
podium.
“Nasina thanks you, Hiro of the Shinto. Your great deeds shall be
remembered throughout the ages by gods and mortals everywhere,” he
said, his soft, young voice turning now toward the assembly. “Gods of
the Divine Council, we move on now to the fate of the traitors. They
stand before us on charges of enslavement, influencing, and treason
against the tower of Nasina itself. Their enslavement of the people of
Earth, their appearances before mortals as to switch them to their faith,
their total disregard of the rulings of this body and the murders of
Dorian, my predecessor, and over five million Shinto warriors, are
offences that have never before been committed against Nasina.
Therefore, I, Daven, Voice of man, leave their punishment to the families
of Nasina,” he said forcibly, trying to stand tall in the face of such
monumental beings and working to show them that though he was
young; he was still a man who could handle the position he now
occupied.
Tritian watched as arms began to rise and a solemn chant of
“Death” began to ring out across the chamber.
Daven nodded toward the Canaani. El Shaddai stood, silencing
the room, “My fellow lords, the atrocities committed by our former
friends have now come to outweigh the bonds we once shared with them.
I stood beside their leader when he, along with Cronus and I, first found
the Orb millennia ago. If I knew what he would do with his power then,
86 Of Gods and Men
I would never have let him join us in the creation of Nasina. If we allow
him and his family to return to Earth, they will resume their plight of our
world. He no longer has the heart and purpose he once did. His vision is
now one of power and self-glorification. Such a thing cannot be allowed
to exist beside Nasina. I propose the execution of him and all those who
follow him; otherwise, their tyranny will continue!” His words echoed
loudly throughout the chamber.
“I second the Canaani Proposal!” yelled Zeus, a move Tritian
agreed with.
“I support the execution of the traitors!” called out Anu of the
Sagiga.
“As do I!” came the voice of Amateras. Her vote no doubt
influenced by Hiro.
Brahma stood tall, “I disagree! I do not believe that execution is
necessary. There must be some other way.”
Ah Xoc Kin rose as well, “I agree with Brahma. Murder is no
solution. We are better than such a primitive punishment, Nasina is
better this.”
“The Aztec do not see the point either. The traitors can be
punished without death.”
Tritian stared on as all heads turned toward the young mortal on
the podium, Daven looked out at them.
“What says man?” cried Brahma, who was soon echoed by the
other gods.
Daven’s hands fidgeted on the stand before him, trying to gather
in the decision for the entire mortal world. Finding the courage, he spoke
quietly, “I…I agree with Brahma…I…I don’t think execution is
necessary.”
The council stood quiet. Tritian looked around, shocked. Nasina
was at a standstill, its democratic process of majority ruined by the
traitor’s lack of involvement in the proceedings. The vote was equal and
none knew how to break it. And then El Shaddai stood.
“There is only one way to solve this,” he said softly, knowing
what his next words would mean. “We must involve the traitors in their
own trial. Nasina can not function without their vote.”
At first Anu raised his hand to protest, but soon realized it was of
no use. El Shaddai was right. “Let them vote,” he said.
The Shinto Intervention stood once more, “I do not think this
wise!” he spoke loudly.
“It is not of your concern any longer, Hiro. You have given their
fate over to us,” spoke Amateras, the Intervention’s god.
The Duology of Postius Malantis 87
He looked intently into her eyes before making his way off the
platform, toward the door. “Then I must go. I must prepare for their
return.” With this, he stormed out the door.
Amateras looked once more toward the traitors, “Let’s hear what
they have to say.”
All heads looked back toward the beings standing before the Orb.
Their leader walked boldly forward.
“I,…”
“Stop!” spoke Daven, cutting him off. “Your names are no
longer spoken among the walls of Nasina.”
The leader grinned sinisterly, “As you wish, mortal.”
The god’s rasping voice made Tritian’s heart feel hollow,
relieving him of the warmth within.
“I, Lord of those who no longer exist, agree with the Hindi lord.
I say, we live,” he smiled evilly.
Tritian felt an anger fill the void the being had caused. The
traitors would go fee.
“Then so you shall,” said Daven. “But there will be limits.”
The leader stared back at him, “So be it.”
“What kind of limits?” called out Quetzalcoatl.
Tritian listened to the rumblings that followed, still unable to
believe that the traitors would live. He had fought hard and lost many
men alongside Hiro and still the traitors would go free and there was
nothing he could do about it.
“What about an exile?” yelled out Brahma.
“An exile?” asked Daven.
“Yes,” continued Brahma. “They shall be banned from the lands
outside their own, where they will be watched. This way they shall be
held in check and still be allowed to participate in the Council.”
The gods discussed the issue amongst themselves, while Daven
thought the idea through.
Tritian sat behind Zeus and in between Erebus and Poseidon. He
turned to Poseidon, “Exile? Why can we not just kill them?” he asked
bitterly.
“Relax, Tritian. This may be for the better,” he said, his tone
reflecting the amount of thought he was putting in to the idea.
Erebus spoke from his other side, “We should just kill them.”
Daven looked up once more and addressed the Council. “An
exile seems appropriate and appears to be the perfect solution to our
problem. I, Daven, Voice of Man, propose an exile of the traitors. All
those in agreement, speak now.”
88 Of Gods and Men
10
Stricken
11
Deceit
P othmos watched keenly as his body walked into the open chamber
of the throne room. Making its way across the lush blue carpet
that led across the granite to the throne, his mind raced trying to
find a way to stop what was happening around him.
“You try too hard, Pothmos. Like I said before, these things are
inevitable,” spoke the voice inside him.
He had gotten used to ignoring the Exile, but made sure to always
listen to what the beast had in mind for the things around them. After
Tara’s murder, he had spent the last few days gathering his emotions and
pushing through the anger that raged inside him. The scars of many
pointless street fights had taught him to not let his anger get the better of
him; especially now, when he didn’t have much thought to waste on
being mad.
They had crossed the open court between the doors and the
throne quickly, their robes blowing behind them in the cool breeze that
blew through the room. His eyes looked up at Postius. Fallen and
forlorn, his friend lay awkwardly in his great throne, his head resting on
his shoulder as he no doubt mulled in his own grief.
96 Of Gods and Men
12
Death
“No, how? Why are you here?” he asked. Rage began to burn;
each accusation fed its fire.
“And Laeto, your own father? You just killed your own father,
boy. What kind of man are you?” it pressed.
“No! That was you, you tricked me!” he cried back. His arms
were shaking; the weight of all his grief blew away on the winds of the
ocean, replaced by the angry fire of vengeance. “I am Postius Malantis!”
he yelled.
“Yes, mortal. Postius Malantis the father killer, the man who let
his own friend slaughter his wife and let him get away! You will live
with shame for all your days.”
The words were barely heard, his ears were on fire with the
hatred that ran through him, “You did this, you used me!” he yelled back.
“You will pay for this!”
He swung the sword once more. Again it crashed uselessly
against Pothmos’ arm. He swung again. Nothing. Again. The laughter
of Pothmos echoed in the winds. With fury he hacked at the arm, but to
no avail.
“Give it up, mortal. You can not stop your end.” With this, the
body of Pothmos turned and began to walk away. Postius could do
nothing to stop it. He stared watching as the figure moved toward the
Orb and the stairway behind it. His rage exploded.
“Stop!” he screamed, his veins throbbing with heat. The force of
his words made the body stop.
“I am Postius Malantis!” The words bellowed across the granite
of the lost city. “Poseidon! I am ready! I am Postius Malantis, equal
among all gods and mortals. Give me the power I was meant to have!”
The body of Pothmos turned and stared at Postius as he fumed.
Postius could see the heat coming off of his own arms, warping the air
around him. He looked into the eyes of his old friend; it was there that
he saw it.
Clouds billowed and lightning flickered in the pupils before him,
reflections of the divine storm closing in on the lost city from behind
him. He saw through Pothmos’ eyes, lightning greater than any the
world had ever seen. Giant bolts slashed down, connecting with the
towers of Atlantis. Docked ships, exploded into fiery cataclysms. And
then he felt it, the tingling. His hairs began to rise around his entire
body, until they stood straight. The muscles in his body, tightened by the
angry heat, loosened. For one moment, his mind and body were at ease.
And then it struck.
104 Of Gods and Men
The bolt blasted thought his shoulders, energy fell for miles,
cascading into a momentous blow upon his soul. The hard, blue granite
of Atlantis cracked beneath him. And then it was over.
For a moment, he staggered as the glow of the heavens emanated
from his arms. Understanding; now burned throughout his body, mixing
with the anger until there was nothing but confused power. He raised his
head from his chest and opened his eyes. The world glowed in a light he
had never seen before. It was warped, as if inverted. The blue, black,
and white of Poseidon’s world bored into his conscience. And yellow.
Yellow exploded everywhere from the deep chasm of power that was the
Orb through the eyes of the Gods. Its presence dominated everything.
He turned and stared powerfully at the beast. He could see it for what it
was now. Its birdlike eyes stared back at him. It was afraid. Postius
raised his arms as the birdman backed slowly toward the Orb. He said
one word and then it was over.
“Die”
He thought it and it happened.
Blue flame poured out of his hands, streaking across the distance
between him and the beast. It’s power electrified his body as it covered
the distance. He saw the beast raise its arms to stop it, but the blast
rocketed through its body. Postius watched it become one with the blue
light, knocking the beast into the golden light of the Orb. The light took
it and it was gone. The flame of energy pushed on, unhindered by the
body it had destroyed, and then it bounced. The ricocheting energy
sprung from the Orb, bringing yellow energy with it; the spiraled blue
and yellow beam scorched the existence between him and the divine
object. It hit him hard and fast, the blue energy of the spiral was
absorbed by his new power, while the yellow energy ripped through his
side, burning away the life within him. There he lay, the power of
Poseidon fading from his limbs. He stared up into the storm and began
to remember. The anger was gone, replaced by the cold dark of death.
The understanding remained, to show him his life and what he had done.
He thought of Tara and the love they had shared for such a short time.
He remembered his father and the things he had learned from him.
Responsibility. His life had echoed with it. Tritian’s teachings had
reiterated his father’s statements and even then his inexperience had left
him blind to truth. Now he sat, learned. Taught. Responsible. His
power was more than any man before him had ever attained. And yet,
here he lay, his life flowing from the wound in his side. Lastly, he
remembered Pothmos, his friend who had wanted so much for them. His
friend who had been lost to the evil brought on by his own prophecy.
The Duology of Postius Malantis 105
The cool wind of Atlantis blew across his face for the last time.
He whispered to it.
“I am Postius Malantis,” he said, “And I am no one.”
With the little life left within him, he began to crawl. Inch by
grueling inch, he made his way toward the Orb. He stared into it. It’s
golden presence. Divine. Evil. Good. It was everything and nothing to
everyone and no one at the same time. He gathered his strength and
pushed himself to his knees. The agony of pain washed down his side,
reminder of his returned mortality. It was nothing compared to the losses
he had felt in his last days. His face stood inches from the Orb; its light
glowing across his features.
“None should have such power,” he whispered.
His palms and fingers stretched out into the Orb.
The winds of the ocean blew across the lost city for the last time.
106 Of Gods and Men
The Duology of Postius Malantis 107
13
Redemption