Jeremy Robinson, Sean Ellis
Helios
Sean and Jeremy dedicate Helios to all the readers…
Thanks for taking the journey with us!
ODYSSEY
PROLOGUE
“First the Sea God curses us. Now the Sun God laughs at our misfortune.”
“Gods,” the king said and spat on the sand. “I have had my fill of the gods and their cruel jokes.”
The mariner raised his fearful eyes. “Your blasphemies are what have brought us to this place. You mock the gods at our peril.”
The man’s insolence was yet another reminder of the king’s abasement. How long had it been since he had seen the fields of his kingdom? How long since he had felt his wife’s embrace? Would he ever find his way home? And if he did, would he find anything left of his former life? These men were all that remained of the fleet he had set out with, so many years ago. Somewhere along the way, he had ceased to be their king, commanding their respect and obedience. Now, without even a ship to call his own, he was nothing to them.
He touched a finger to the pouch that hung around his neck, feeling the outline of the object concealed within, the orb in which the blind seer had shown him his future.
Another joke from the gods.
“Enough about the gods. We are men. We live or die by our own choices.” He turned away, contemplating those choices.
Gods or not, his shipmate was not wrong.
The sea was calm now, after the upheaval that had wrecked their ship — the last of his original fleet. The storm had killed more than half the crew, casting the survivors upon this unfamiliar shore. Even if he could compel the sailors to dare the Sea God’s wrath once more, they had no ship. There were not even enough timbers remaining from their vessel to build a raft, much less a vessel large enough to carry them home.
And if we had a ship, would we be able to find our way?
The Sea God had cursed them, sending a storm to blow their ship to the far edge of the world. It had taken them years just to find familiar waters, and then, with their destination so close….this.
A sea of a different kind began at the water’s edge. Sand stretched out to the east as far as his eyes could see. It baked under the scorching gaze of the Sun God, vanishing into a silvery mirage that looked like water, but was only pure heat. There were no trees to hew for timbers. No plants to provide food or shade. No fresh water to drink.
If they remained here, they would perish.
Is it my fault? Did my hubris bring this curse upon us? He shook his head. Gods and curses. Empty superstitions.
“We will move inland,” he said. “This desert cannot go on forever. We will find water and food. We will survive — not by the whim of the gods but by our own wits.”
The sailors looked at one another, refusing to meet his gaze.
He uttered a short, harsh laugh. “Very well. I will go inland. And I will survive by my wits. Join me and live, or trust the gods. I care not.”
Without waiting to see who among them, if any, would choose to follow, he turned his back to the sea and began walking. He could not fault them for their slavish devotion to superstitious beliefs. They were simple men. Uneducated and fooled by the trickery of the priests, misled into believing that natural forces were manifestations of divine power. He found it strange that they were comforted by the idea that the pain and suffering was all part of some mad game played by the gods. Belief meant their lives, as short and miserable as they were, had some greater purpose.
It was a seductive notion, to which even he was not immune.
The catastrophe that had brought them here was almost enough to make a believer of him. The sailors had imagined themselves caught between two terrible monsters: a gyre, like a serpent with teeth the size of mountains, and a whirlpool that swallowed ships whole. Monsters or no, it had been an event unlike anything he had ever witnessed.
The attack had come without warning, in the middle of the night. There had been a sound, louder than any thunderclap, and then the sea had vanished beneath them so abruptly that, for a few seconds, they had all floated in the air like birds. Then the first monster took the ship in its jaws, breaking the vessel in two, flinging men overboard and dashing them upon rocks that had never before seen the sun’s light. Even as the survivors clung to what remained of the ship, the sea returned to devour them. How long they churned in the vortex, he could not say, but at last they were vomited onto this strange shore.
It was almost enough to make him believe in the gods again, as was the fact that any of them had come through it alive. Whether the gods existed or not, he would never again beg them for favor or mercy.
The shimmering mirage retreated, always just out of reach, but in time, he glimpsed mountains rising up like islands. They seemed real enough, but one of the peaks was hidden behind a dense black cloud.
An omen? His men would surely think so, but all of them had chosen to remain behind.
As the mountains drew closer, the receding mirage revealed other signs. Columns of white smoke rising up from the desert floor — not manifestations of divine power, but simple cook fires.
Fires meant people, perhaps a settlement, as well as food and water, but he was immediately on guard. Strangers could be even more fickle than the gods, especially in these unknown lands. Would they meet him with hospitality or violence? The possibility of the latter was not enough to convince him to turn aside, but he stayed wary as he closed the distance.
He could soon discern tents, stretching in either direction as far as he could see, and closer still, the people themselves, tending small flocks and herds.
Nomads.
He had an instinctive dislike for those who chose such a life, calling no land their own, taking what they pleased from the earth and then moving on when there was nothing left, but he knew from experience that exile was not always a willing choice.
His approach did not go unnoticed. The shepherds and drovers scurried away, and other men — harder-looking men — came out to meet him.
They were a ragged lot, dark and sinewy from years of toil under the harsh sun. He supposed he appeared much the same way to them. Unlike him, they were armed with bronze swords.
He raised his hands to show that he posed no threat. One of the men strode forward and barked out a command, or perhaps it was a question, in a language he did not recognize.
“My ship was wrecked,” he said, waving his hands up and down in an attempt to pantomime what he was saying. He finished by crashing one fist into the other in hopes of simulating the wreck.
The men shared a look and a few incomprehensible words, then their apparent leader motioned for him to join them. He followed without hesitation. That they had not shown any aggression thus far was a positive sign, and he had no intention of insulting them with undue caution. If it was their intent to harm him, he was already as good as dead.
They led him into their strangely deserted camp. The faces of women and children stared out from tents, watching him. Did they know where he was being taken, and what fate awaited him there?
He thought that they would take him into one of the tents, but they passed through the camp without slowing, and kept going, toward the smoking mountain.
Beyond the far edge of the camp, the terrain began to rise, sloping all the way to the foot of the mountain. Large creatures moved about on the slopes — too large to be sheep or goats… Cattle perhaps? But there appeared to be no plants upon which to graze. The man leading the group followed a route that kept the creatures at a healthy distance.