The Gift From Poseidon: When Gods Walked Among Us (Volume 2) (15 page)

Carolinica looked at Zarathustra as if this was the dumbest question he could possibly ask her.  “Because Adamarcus remembers
everything
.  Ask him what the weather was during his fourth birthday and he can tell you.  Who attended, food and drinks served, what gifts were given and by whom – pretty much near anything.  As if any day was yesterday, he can somehow relive it.”  Carolinica leaned toward Zarathustra and lowered her voice.  “Alexander says a lot of it is just luck, but
we
both know it is a rare gift.  My husband does not tell others because he wants Adamarcus to live as normal a life as possible.”

“I think the correct word is ‘unique’.  I know of no others who can do such a thing.  Nor have I heard or read of anyone
ever
owning such a gift.  Your son intrigues me, Priestess.  Do you mind if I take him to another part of the repository to spend some time with him?”

“Not at all, Good Historian, not at all.  I think he could use a break from his sister anyway.”  They stepped toward the younglings.  “Adamarcus?” Carolinica called.  He looked up.  “Zarathustra would like to learn a bit more about you.  Please go with him.  When you are finished, I will still be here with Ixchelene and hopefully your father will be done by then too.”

Adamarcus stood and smiled at Zarathustra.  “Yes, Mother.”  He had met the young Centaur a few times before, but only briefly.

“HURRAY!” the little one shouted.  “Mother will play with me now!  Sit next to me, sit next to me!”  Carolinica chuckled and did as asked.

Zarathustra led Adamarcus to the third level of the repository.  Empty of beings and filled with many cozy spaces to spread out made this third of four floors the perfect setting.

“So, Adamarcus, what can you tell me about your fourth birthday?”  For what seemed like forever, the gifted Centaur went through many moments of that day in a shocking amount of detail.  Fine, fine, so he remembered everything he saw.

But could he remember everything another taught him?  And if so, could he learn to think in such a way as to teach himself ways and wonders of the world no one yet knew of?

*****

Three full turns of the clepsydra later, Zarathustra and Adamarcus – carrying a number of bound bamboo strips with a generous amount of writing on them – returned to the first floor.  Just as Carolinica had predicted, Alexander had finished his duties and now rested on the blanket with his wife and daughter.  Once he saw Zarathustra and his son approach, Alexander stood up.  His mouth open and ready to deliver welcoming words, Zarathustra did not give him the chance.

“You and me – we need to talk.”  As the Chiron cocked his head at this, Zarathustra took the bound bamboo strips from Adamarcus with the hooks at the end of a front limb.

“
Now?
” Alexander asked.

This question needing no response, Zarathustra simply stared at Alexander.  There were very few reasons a creature his age waited for anything.  And those of his age
and
station waited for nothing.  The Chiron appeared to realize this and followed Zarathustra away from the others.

“Why have you never told me about your son?”

“Told you what?”  Alexander drawled as he looked back at the others.  “Oh, that memory stuff?  It is just a trick he does.”

He turned back just in time for a soft smack with the bamboo strips atop his head.  Zarathustra then thrust them into his gut.  Perhaps the smack atop her husband’s head what led her to do so, Carolinica joined them.

“While you met with the other regents, I spent some time teaching Adamarcus.  Read.”  Alexander did as told.

“Well, Zarathustra, it certainly does look like he took a good deal of notes ––”

“Those are
not
notes!  For his first lesson, I chose the names and placements of the 127 stars now visible in the eastern horizon.  Afterward, I asked him to write what he had learned.  He wrote down not just every star correctly, but
every
word I said.  Every single one, Chiron!  I would be willing to bet that he now knows the night sky better than most Olmec stargazers do.  Well, the eastern half at least.”

Alexander’s face hardened and his eyes turned thoughtful as if replaying the conversation to this point.  “What do you mean
first
lesson
?”

“He is too young to attend Sapien studies, but your son will be taught nevertheless.  By me.”

Alexander looked at Carolinica and then back to Zarathustra.  “Now really, we appreciate such an offer, but you don’t have to ––”

“I highly suggest,” Zarathustra interrupted, “that you think long and hard before dismissing an offer never extended to another.  And that would include my king’s own son.”

“But he’s still so young, Zarathustra.  I want Adamarcus to enjoy his years as a youngling, for others to see him as normal for as long as possible.”

Many suggested there were two reasons why the Centaurs elected Alexander as their Chiron: The family he was born into and his unique relationship with Diedrika.  But Zarathustra believed that the
real
reason they did so now stood next to him.

“And just which one of
us
is normal?” Carolinica demanded of her husband.  “I did not marry
you
because you are normal and neither did you marry me because I am!  Adamarcus has a special gift and it is not our place to temper his abilities.  Not even as his mother.  Not even as his Chiron.”

Alexander let out a deep sigh.  He might have ruled Lacanesia, but it was obvious to Zarathustra that Carolinica ruled their home and ALL who lived under its roof.

“You win, my friend.”  Carolinica wrapped both arms in Alexander’s left one to blunt the sting.  “Just let me know when and where and he will be ––”

“I will be in Lacanesia in three weeks and his teachings begin then.  Goodbye, Chiron.  Goodbye, Priestess.”  Zarathustra bid farewell to the younglings as well and then bounded off.

*****

Zarathustra made his way out to the palace gardens.  The glowing sunset, a crisp breeze, and the thought of molding Adamarcus’ talented skull full of spongy mush put an extra spring in his steps.  Standing together in these gardens, he saw not only Persepolis, but his king as well.  Their backs to him, he strolled toward Achaemenes and his son.

“I don’t really know what to say about the Mermaid queen, Father,” Zarathustra overheard Persepolis say.  He turned his black and gold body to one side and then another to ensure no one else heard him.  “Maybe one of us could just eat her or something.”

Countless thousands of spiderlings Achaemenes’ brides had spawned over the years; this one, Persepolis, finally ‘turned’ in late summer of year 4,237.  Two sisters would come later.

“And you would taste nothing but bronze!” Zarathustra bellowed.  Persepolis had failed to look directly behind him.  “Do not forget, young prince, Queen Diedrika can bronze-make weapons few have the skill to and does so in a way no other Mermaid can.  And even
if
you somehow managed to kill her, Judiascar would tear you to pieces anyway.  No shields, pikes, or axes would stop him.”  He then turned to Achaemenes.  “Just what has Diedrika done now that has you so bothered, my king?”

“Oh, Zarathustra, you know her.  Always threatening this and wanting to dominate that.”  Achaemenes took in a deep breath and sighed.  “In our meeting, she made clear her wish to banish our medics from Atagartis and Hakleddamm.  Can you believe it?  Not now or anytime soon, of course, but someday.  She said that those Mermaids who showed the will to learn the healing ways could apprentice under medics who now worked inside the two cities.  In due time, Diedrika believes they will become skilled enough to wear the same crimson red garments and take care of their own.”

“We promised long ago to never withdraw our medics no matter what!”  This crazy idea confused Zarathustra.  “Total peace or total war, they would serve as they always have.  To know how to heal is one thing.  To have freshly spun silk and actually do so is quite another.”

“I said the same thing,” Achaemenes said after more sighs, “but my words did nothing to sooth her ambitious nerves.  As for fresh silk, I don’t know how Mermaid medics would heal without it.”

“HA!” Persepolis laughed.  “Maybe she will kidnap a bunch of us and make us silk spinning slaves!”  The king and historian laughed uneasily.

“I most certainly would not put it past her,” Zarathustra drawled.  “But you resisted such an idea, yes?”

“Well, I was about to, but it soon became clear she had thought long and hard about this.  ‘And in return for teaching us the art of healing,’ Diedrika said much too sweetly as she gazed at Alexander, ‘I am willing to pay a great price.  If you do as I ask, Centaurs will owe nothing for last year’s harvest never paid for
and
this year’s as well.’  Alexander’s mouth just dropped and she finally looked at me.  As if he were already starving, he did as well.  ‘So,’ Diedrika asked, ‘do we have a deal?’”

“You didn’t,” Zarathustra groaned.

“You guessed it – I did,” Achaemenes groaned back.  “And from then on, my friend, it only got worse.  Trying to sweeten the deal, Alexander again brought up last week’s war games at Lapith Fields.  As if these thousands of warriors were just there to pick daisies, Diedrika pleaded ignorance like she always does.  So I suggested that if Mermaids and Gryphons were going to continue to carry out their military exercises so close to Lacanesia, then maybe we would withhold silk and Kauri wood from them until they stopped.”  Achaemenes sighed yet again and looked down.  “She
did
not
like that.”

Zarathustra dearly wished he had been there to hear all this and whatever came next.  A historian for the most part always shadowed his or her regent, but a meeting of the five rulers did not need five historians to get in the way.  As the eldest historian, Komnena scribed the happenings of these meetings.  As always, she would later share her writings with the other four.

“So,” Achaemenes went on, “Diedrika did her pout and that thing with the one raised eyebrow she does when mad.  She then turned to Alexander and said this: ‘Fair enough.  Forget the deal with the Arachna medics then!  Instead, perhaps your allies will be so kind as to feed this surplus silk and wood to your starving selves during the winter.  The fall seafood harvests will be for those of the West, Sapiens, and no others.  As Centaurs who are little more than skeletons make for poor farmers; spring now underway, best hurry and plant your crops, Chiron!’  She then rose as if to leave.”

Zarathustra and Persepolis leaned in as if awaiting the climax to a thrilling story, but their king did not seem so keen to deliver it.

“
And
…” Zarathustra said to push Achaemenes to do so.

“Well, what choice did I have?”  He threw up his pedipalps.  “Some Centaurs
will
starve without the fall harvest Mermaids give them each year, so I did what I had to.  I rose myself and said, ‘My deepest apologies, Queen Diedrika.  I should not have said that.’”

Zarathustra winced as if a wasp Persepolis owned the same colors of had just jammed its stinger into one of his eight eyes.  He had a good idea what Queen Diedrika’s intentions were, but dared not say so.  At least not yet.  For now, he would just keep quiet.

“The grin that came across that smug face,” Achaemenes continued, “was positively wicked, Zarathustra!  She then sat back down – as slowly as possible, of course – and that was that.”

A long silence came and went.

“I don’t know, Father,” the brash son said quietly, “I think I would have tried to eat her before I did that.”

*****

The Knowing Time still but a youngling, a team of woodcutters sent by Queen Cynisca found them first.  Sent to the Agathis Australis to cut Kauri wood, a task to gather something old turned into the shocking discovery of something new.  And deadly.  At the western border of the Agathis, these trespassers stumbled upon and fought with never before seen creatures: Arachna Majora.

Caretakers of these wooded lands, Arachna would not allow Sapiens to harvest their treasured Kauri wood without restraint.  Agreements on some cutting reached, curious patience took the place of the rushed thrust of a spear.  And once it did so, Sapiens learned of a material much more valuable than wood: silk.  Light as a blade of grass, strong as a broadsword; in return for endless mounds of it, Sapien coppersmiths taught Arachna the might of forged copper.

And that, luckily for the Arachna, was their first mistake
.…

Twice within the past three millennia, Arachna fought as part of a larger force that smashed unbridled Sapien aggression.  And rightfully so.  The first war built the path of self-inflicted demise.  The second war hurtled the mystics upon and tumbling down it.

Joining forces with the Gryphons 2,800 years ago, the stolen secret of bronze working served as down payment for that pairing.  A great victory won, the cowardice of a few when they could least afford it triggered its fall.  As a result, a pact that should have spanned centuries lasted barely a month.  And ever since, year after year, each side inflicted a dreadful debt of hatred onto the other.  As the centuries unfolded, the hate spat at Semitius’ brothers by King Nowzar and those to come after became less vile, but in regards to Gryphons, their hate toward Arachna only grew stronger.  Just as Isahjoh, the first Gryphon king, had promised.