The Gift From Poseidon: When Gods Walked Among Us (Volume 2) (7 page)

“Few would have the courage to wear Semitius’ war helmet,” Hezekiah told Judiascar warmly.  “And you and your father are the only two who could ever wear it so well.”

“That twenty-eight centuries have passed,” Judiascar returned in his burly bellow, “and that this ancient helmet of bronze and gold still exists is a miracle in itself!  My son – he will wear it just as well!”  Hezekiah tilted his head down and smiled kindly at the snoozing Zacharias.  He then looked up again.

“My heart swells with pride for you, my dear friend.  My dear king.”

*****

Cheers erupted all around for yet another grand display of lava and smoke.  Penelope turned behind her and peeked above the lip of the arena at the active volcanoes.  Using her walking sticks, she then made her way to the top step for a better look: A grand view she had yet to behold from this skyward perch was her reward.  A valley with a southern wall to keep out the sea split the Pillars of Fire into two nearly equal halves of three volcanoes apiece.  It was here, between the two largest volcanoes, where Penelope moved her eyes and gasped in awe.  A colossal dam eight warships wide spanned this major pass and, as if by magic, a spectacular waterfall now flowed in front of the dam.  Always monitored, this steady stream of water could be shut off quickly and redirected whenever needed.

At least, that is what the Centaurs had always claimed.

Built many centuries earlier, brass levers and pumps controlled the water levels behind the dam.  Aside from these, this dearly needed wonder was made entirely of granite blocks.  Just over halfway up, dozens of evenly spaced exits pushed excess water out and through its thick wall.  The brilliant result was this majestic waterfall whose sweeping waves fell into a smaller, much shallower dam below.

The dam was splendid, but four massive monuments that returned Penelope’s awed gaze as if alive were divine.  In pairs, each bookended the dam and were made of just as much marble as granite.

On her left and to the dam’s eastern side rose up two statues: an Arachna Majora and a Centaur.  The Arachna in full battle armor stood as one normally does, but the Centaur did not.  With a bow in one hand and a loaded arrow in the other, it reared back on its hind legs and the hooves of its front ones pointed forward.

At the dam’s western side towered two more monuments: a Mermaid flanked by a Gryphon.  The Mermaid balancing on the bottom third of its tail, its chin was stronger than the stone it was made from, and it clutched a trident in its left hand.  The wings of the Gryphon pulled in, its scowl was fully unfurled.  Same as Judiascar, this one also wore Semitius’ war helmet, but its helmet was made of carved stone, not of bronze and gold.  The Centaur and Mermaid monuments had been built closest to the falls.

Trumpets and cheers from every corner of the arena suddenly rang out.  Penelope swung around.  As if countless bolts of lightning made their way through every beating heart, an energy she found nearly impossible to believe now wrapped itself around the stadium.  Each nation had already led its respective delegation into the arena and the receiving line was nearly finished.

The formality of the morning ready to give way to an afternoon of savagery, the best, most brutal part of the festival – the ancient game of Harpastum – would soon begin.

My quiver loaded, the arrows it carries are tipped with the poison of my sharpened tongue.  As if I am the Minotaur who stalks the Great Gorge, this quiver also knows no bottom.  My arrows, however, are not made to kill as those of the monster are, but to shame.  Without mercy, I will fling my insults at the brashest of Centaurs who deserves them most.  You will plead for me to stop, but I will not.  Harpastum a game to all others; I will use its field to hunt you, the other players to hide me in their shadows, my armor to smash you, my will to break you.  Do not dare doubt it, spoiled dunce – I AM COMING!

– Viracocha, Olmec Centaur

– End of Summer, Year 4,236 KT
[4]

Massive roars erupted from above as the time drew near for the blackened bronze and polished bronze teams to take the field.  Nearly all of Terra Australis had packed themselves into the arena.  As Centaurs, Gryphons, and Arachna played Harpastum for only a handful of weeks every other year, this was most certainly a grand event.  Below the arena’s surface weaved a series of tunnels and rooms for players to prepare and they now did so.

Caparisons too bulky, Centaurs wore a tunic and tight wrap around their back end.  Cloaks and backend wraps worn as well when in public, Gryphons wore neither when playing Harpastum.  Arachna, of course, did not wear clothes as their hairy bodies covered them properly enough.  Deep in thought, every player put on full armor over whatever he dressed into or was born in.

Finished, Mermaid guides atop Gryphons led each team through a long, twisting tunnel; this corridor ramped up toward the playing surface of the arena.  During this walk into gamely battle, the two teams could see and speak to each other through a separating wall made out of rickety wooden slats.

“Come on, Alexander, don’t be shy!  Do tell us what it’s like to wake up each morning to a face uglier than a Yeturi’s soiled backside!”

Cheers rang out all around Viracocha.  Other friendly Centaurs, interested Gryphons, and curious Arachna followed and cheered him on.  Alexander just shook his head, stared straightforward, and continued to march toward the doors.  Not the reaction he sought, Viracocha fired again:

“I slipped the Mermaids a couple of extra gold pieces to ensure I was on the opposite side of your stench-ridden filth.  By the time this game is over, I will have knocked out so many of your teeth, the only thing you’ll be able to mouth will be a salt lick block!”  Another round of rowdy laughter filled the tunnel.

“Why, Viracocha?” Alexander pleaded.  “Why do you stalk me as if I am some violent thief or murderer or ––”

“How
dare
you hold yourself in such esteem, you talking mule?  We both know you are a lesser Centaur than the most ruthless criminal could possibly be.”  Viracocha’s words as if the sharpest of blades cutting through tender meat, his mocking tone morphed into one of pure fury.  “In the shameless pursuit of my sister, you pretend as if her brotherly caretaker is some invalid, as if I am powerless to identify your intent!  WHO ARE YOU TO BE SO BOLD?”

As Viracocha screamed these last words, he slammed his blackened shield up against the separating wall.  Inside a gleaming helmet his mother most likely polished for him, Alexander’s pasty white face turned smug.

“
Finally
… FINALLY!” Xavier howled.  “Now we know why you two Centauresses have been bickering like old hags!”  As if he stalked prey in league with Viracocha, the crude Gryphon flashed a near demonic grin.  “A brother valiantly defending his sister’s honor – yet she seeks to just give it away.  HA!  Now we’re talkin’!”

This nasty insult received but a nasty glare back in protest.  Viracocha was a mad, furious Centaur, not a mad, insane one.  Especially in such an enclosed space, an adult Centaur had little chance of handling even the weakest full-grown Gryphon.  Xavier was barely two-thirds the girth of his oversized new king, but that mattered little.  He made up for this by way of a sinewy savageness few dared match.  Well known by near all as a playboy with the boorish mind of the infamous Kassandros, he used females for his own gain and dismissed them just as quickly.

“You skewer the lad with vile words as if he were a freshly killed boar!” a massive Nubian from behind Alexander bellowed.  “A great celebration upon us – embrace the mood.  Enough already, my noble Olmec!”

Although eager to spar with any creature that defended Alexander, Viracocha wisely acted as if deaf to Seneferre’s words and continued to glare at his quarry.  Achaemenes, a bright red Arachna and somewhat new king himself, shadowed the hunter.  Across from him on the other side, Artafarnah, a cobalt blue Arachna and his kind’s lead general did the same to the hunted.  Both wisely kept silent.

“No, no,
no
!  Let the squabbling continue!” Xavier demanded with a bloodthirsty growl.  “Let none of us stop you, Centaur, from swinging your taunts at his youthful throat – I say grind that ax!  It has been far too long since Harpastum killed a player.  Perhaps today we get lucky!”

“Careful what you wish for, Xavier!” Simonacles shouted with a wide grin.  “That dead player might be
you
!”  Laughs erupted all around the outgoing Gryphon king.  Laid-back and cheerful outside the Harpastum pitch, Viracocha had heard many tales of how Simonacles was just the opposite once inside it.

“Carolinica is almost seventeen and practically a grown Centauress!” Alexander declared – he was a few months past eighteen.  “And just so you know, she shares my affections with an equal vigor.”  He leaned close to the wall between them and shot Viracocha a smirk.  “
If not greater!
”

Viracocha snarled and whacked his shield against the separating wall once more.  As much as he hated Alexander for his relationship with his sister, he despised his wealth even more.  More to the point, how this strait-laced sissy never flaunted it.  On the day his grandfather became the Centaur historian, Viracocha’s family at last joined the nobility.  Alexander’s family had never known anything but.  Owners of a sprawling home atop the choicest point in the heart of Lacanesia, the masses had no clue as to their exact amount of riches.  Some believed they were barely the wealthiest family, others swore they owned many times more than the next richest.  So many in awe of such wealth, Alexander acted as if he could not care less.

And just what gave this delinquent the right to do so?

The teams now stood at massive doors that would soon open to announce their entry into the arena.  This opening to the playing pitch was at the stadium’s northeast corner.  The verbally sparring Centaurs made their way close to the front of their respective teams and the players now waited for the doors to open.

“Once out there,” Viracocha growled, “I’m going to hit you with such fury, I’m going to knock so much manhood out of you, that forever after you will swear to the world your name is Alexan –
dra
!”

Above them, the electrifying anticipation of the season’s first Harpastum game rocked the stadium.  Despite such loud cheers on the other side of the doors that led to the playing field, Viracocha could hear those charged with opening these doors fumble noisily with the clanking locks.

“This is your last chance,” Xavier barked, “you better walk on home, little colt!”

Eyes that danced with bloodlust peered at Alexander and the crazed Gryphon’s mouth foamed as if expecting the warm, uncooked flesh Sapiens had forever denied his kind to partake.  As Viracocha flashed a wide grin at this, Xavier pressed his massive head up against the wooden slits that divided the teams.

“Oh, no, he won’t be walking home – not a chance!” Viracocha sneered.  “
This
colt is going to exit the arena as a gelding stuffed inside a funerary wrapping!”  He stared down Alexander with the wicked glare of an enraged bull ready to charge.

Every creature within earshot cheered Viracocha on and howled in laughter one final time.  The doors suddenly open, each team streamed through them.  Once past the entryway, Viracocha scooped up a lump of hardened dirt from the playing surface and flung it at Alexander; to his shock, Alexander caught it in midair and shot a spiteful look back.  He then wagged an outstretched finger from side to side with his free hand as he dropped the crushed dirt clump.  Viracocha spat at the ground.  Messages sent, Alexander joined his polished bronze teammates at the western end of the playing field.  Viracocha and the blackened bronze team already close to it, they made their way to the field’s eastern end.

*****

As the respective teams stretched, chanted, and did whatever else necessary to prepare, others continued to entertain the rowdy crowd.  Skilled jugglers, clueless clowns, axe throwing and archery contests, giant panda tricks, playful mayhem; all drew both cheers and jeers.

Viracocha pulled himself away from his teammates and watched as Xavier inspected the goal box.  No Gryphon player on either team could fly apart from one – the protector.  Xavier’s duty would be to guard the five diamond-shaped goals raised at least three pike lengths above the playing surface.  The other five Gryphons from each team had their wings strapped down with wing harnesses.  Any player could go anywhere on the field except for the flying Gryphon – confined to his designated goal box of dirt covered with crushed stone – and a single Centaur restriction: No Centaur could enter inside his own side’s defensive zone.  This zone was a wide patch of reddish-brown clay just after the designated goal box if moving inward to the center of the pitch.

Xavier lifted off the ground, flew about the five goals, and touched the four lowest of them.  Lastly, he banged his xistera
[5]
against the 150-point goal.  Made of molded brass circular rods, a base for each rose from the ground for support.  Each goal was a different size, a different height, and counted for different scoring values.  The 20-point goal was the lowest to the ground and largest of any goal while the 150-point goal was the tallest and smallest.  Arachna web netting lined each of the five goals so there was never a mistake as to which received the ball.  Although a bit hard to see as he was so far away, Viracocha made out Simonacles doing the same as Xavier at the western end.

A Mermaid umpire now soaring about the stadium atop his Gryphon blew into his horn – the time to start had come.  As was tradition, the seven Centaurs, six Arachna Majora, and five Gryphons of the polished bronze team galloped to the center of the pitch first.  Simonacles, the sixth Gryphon, paced in the goal box.  Huge cheers rang out for them.  No matter who played on which randomly drawn team, the crowd always cheered most for this one.  At least at first.  It was certainly possible – and had often happened in past games – that the blackened bronze team would play well enough to bring the crowd to their side.  The six Arachna gathered just on their side of the centerline in the middle of the field.  Behind them the Centaurs and Gryphons fanned out.

Next, Viracocha’s team slowly marched from their end to meet the others.  In no hurry and playing to the crowd, they gamely embraced the role of the villain.  Viracocha lined up to the northernmost side – straight across from Alexander – and smiled wickedly.  With a snicker, he pointed to the five oversized flags that let players know what period they were currently in.

“One of those flags looks about the right size to bury you in!” Viracocha growled as he stared Alexander down.

The first yellow, the other four flags were red.  On the north side of the stadium above that side’s seating areas were stationed these flags and Mermaid timekeepers.  Each period ran a mid-turn of the clepsydra.  When time was close to running out, one of these timekeepers would replace the yellow flag with a black one.

“Your words are as if a salted waterfall, Olmec,” Alexander shot back as he met Viracocha’s glare.  “Always flowing, always bitter,
always
worthless – in short, just as pathetic as you are.”

Each period started the same way.  With a sharp blast from both a horn and the crowd, a Mermaid from the southern stands catapulted the ball into the middle of the field.  Always precise, this shot landed in the same spot each time – right at the center.  With grunts, clashes, and roars, twelve Arachna fought for the airborne ball as the other players watched.

Achaemenes scooped up the ball with his xistera, but he was still on his side of the pitch.  Only once he crossed onto the other team’s side with the ball was possession won.  As he ran laterally, an opposing Arachna smashed into him.  The ball loose, an Arachna on Viracocha and Achaemenes’ team scooped it up.  Seeing an open teammate, he hurled it – right into the xistera of Artafarnah.  Alexander’s team had won possession.  A Mermaid atop a Gryphon landed at the center of the pitch.  He then beckoned Artafarnah – still holding the ball – into the center as well. Next, the Mermaid floated about five pike lengths above the field.  With the simultaneous blast of two dozen horns from the arena’s northern side, the game was on.

As Alexander rushed for the ball, Viracocha rushed for him.  With a bone crunching smash, both Centaurs crumpled to the ground.  Viracocha stumbled back up and again spat at the ground.  Alexander struggled just to get to his knees.  Once he did so, he peeked up.

“How you like my waterfall now?”  With a chortle and clouds of dust kicked into Alexander’s face, “Tell me how my hooves taste, fool,” Viracocha joined the fray.  He did not know exactly when Alexander rejoined the game, but a good portion of the period passed before he saw the most pathetic of all Centaurs upright again.

The two teams marched up and down the field on one another and scored almost at will.  A 40-point goal by Achaemenes came soon after a likewise 40-point goal by Seneferre.  An Arachna scrum after both goals, the third time around, Alexander finally learned to duck out of Viracocha’s way.  Two 20-point goals by Gryphons on the polished bronze team soon followed.

True to his word, Viracocha leveled Alexander almost every time the ball came anywhere near him.  Rules that were for the most part nonexistent allowed this.  Seneferre getting a couple of shots at Viracocha, other players took advantage as well.  Soon, unnecessary roughness became almost as important as goals.