Red Athens, A New Working Novel

Ch.1 Red Athens

by Jacob Malewitz

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Novel Champions, 1st novel

Novel Red Athens, 2nd novel

 

Change is the absolute, for things change often, and do you see them changing, the emprires falling and the warriors standing off? Heroes do what we cannot, one standing against many.

The hero of Red Athens breaths in a land set by four empires. Blue Babylon: over the seas a landed people of remarkable intellect, built in a city built over a hell opened by one mage. Green Sparta: a warlike city bent on turning the world with magiks; Spartans walk on water if King Leonidas demands it. Red Athens: a light in the harrowed and known lands of the world, where philosophy rules, but a blade is always kept to each free citizen’s arm, lest a Spartan sneak up.  And Sky Rome: a bloody place not long ago, a people who see themselves to be just as civilized as the Red Athenians.

A scroll from a secretive poet is built from the documents of wordsmiths, tells of the travels of a young Pericles Knyght, a battle mage of Red Athens, who championed much, talked much—that was until he became the last chance of an empire on the brink. Documents are strong things to most men with a touch of language. I became a watcher. Pericles Knyght be a true warrior—a murderer too. His curious tale begins not in bloodshed, where life is destroyed, but in poetic madness, where hope begins, where truth is life. Pericles Knyght—this be his story, told throughout the ages before the time of darkness came upon us all.

“I don’t want to go, father.” The father, this poet learned, was of course the great Pericles Opti, a son to a great king Pericles the First whom was lost to disease, forcing Opti to take the throne at a young age. Now, he looked like a bitter old man—but watch, young scholar, for here there is life.

“We all want something. You have no girls to keep you occupied, hate learning of the poets, and practice war all day. There is no reason not to go.”

Pericles Knyght, a boy to this old hoplite, looked disturbed as drama and pain hit his eyes, as he tensed up for an argument with father … yet saw a vein of hope. “You would make me kill?”

“I would make you live.” He moved his hand to the blade, raised it to Knyght’s neck, smiled as it crossed the adams apple, and pushed it back.  “Justice, in this world, can be found in the cold iron of the blade. When Dorians first settled here, they did more for these lands by making war than writing laws. And I know of your escapades to the Battle Mage tournaments, so don’t pretend killing is foreign to you, son.”

            Pericles Knyght stepped forward. The mark on his arm, the demonic cross of Aries, made him sure of his destiny (a story, you will hear of, scholar). But the last thing he wanted was to leave the great city to conquer more lands, and gain more gold, but leave the backdoor open to Green Sparta. Red Athens demanded he stay, take the seat next to his king.

“I feel an error in the strategy—if you mean me to go.”

“What be it.”

            Knyght was playing his father, as politicians were so apt to do. But this wasn’t the senate of Sky Rome, where plebiscite and proletariat battled over legions. Two men stood for Red Athens … it was so different not long ago. While votes were made, this was a different form of democracy—where kings still had the power to make war.

“Ionia has always hated the Followers of Hammurabi. Our goal should be there; a subjugated people—“

“Are always willing to change sides. Good, my son.” And so it went. For Pericles Knyght had hope in the mission. Who he be? More, who are they all?

Pericles Knyght was a lonely prince who sought justice in the world. He had never lay with a woman, never put a coin in his pocket, and, as this text will make plain, never ran from a battle. But sometimes the cross of Aries hurt him; it was became as hot as blue fire, deep, strong, calling him to battle. He knew of no murderers in Red Athens. In each of the other empires, murders for coin were common. This city, built on a magik lost to the end of the Dorian Greeks, was a minor heaven for those who lived there. Some called it Eden, like the lost Hebrews would call their true paradise.

                                                            2

“Who will go?”

“Calli, the Roman envoy, Numid, the Carthage prince, and Verce, the Free Celt, will be part of your guard. We will spare several hundred blades under your command, along with 100 triremes to make the voyage.”

“And why not another son? I be the youngest of the Pericles sons.”

“How many drunks have you killed in the streets?  A thief takes a small dagger, and you kill him with it. You are already—“

“A murderer?”

“It be your curse son, the curse of Aries. This be destiny.” King Pericles Opti left the room with an odd walk he practiced at social gatherings, the sound of his heavy breathing another reminder to Knyght of what it took to be King, anywhere.

Knyght looked around, to the images of the great kings of Red Athens. A magik city once, he saw no hope in staying here. It made him all the worse when the line was threatened by kings and emperors from many different lands. Like the rain, he had no control over his bloodlust curse. One picture caught his eye, a demon standing behind one of the Pericles line. He pointed. “Who is—“

            He was alone. He walked back out to the city. It, full of towers as it was, always put a glimmer of light in his heart. The city stood against the water upon where so much of its power showed. Pericles Knyght had a hatred of the fleet, a hatred of war, but deep within a sense of power often overtook him. Of course, his brothers were far away, and the mission his. Maximus was in Sky Rome, Deretes was in Carthage, and Galesia was in the Celtic empire. His father had spread them out? This scholar has a theory, but let the story light the way.

            He walked to the end of the city. Now, the city was built to reach the sky. It had been said, ages ago, a city named Athens had stood here, a small village with a strong people. Something happened. As Knyght passed pople on the streets, some with fear in their eyes, he saw a vision of something above them. There he was, a blade in hand, the magik fire had practiced for so long reaching fruition, becoming a force, and a the long lost shield of Aries, from when the Dorians first stood with the gods. Yes, the blade, fire, and shield, all one needed to kill. Killing meant power, and if one didn’t someone else would—such was it in this era.

Why, Knyght asked, could he have not been poor, a pauper thief, devoid of riches? The city stood as a beacon against who he was, because Red Athens was a tiny piece of justice in the world. There were courts—even where kings could be implicated—and laws and freedom, the freedom to make art and make war, the laws saying rules still had to be followed.

He went to an old teller laying on the ground close to naked. He reached into his pocket, only to remember he never carried coin. She made eye contact. He tried to smile, only to see that she closed her eyes again before he could speak. “Tell me my destiny.”

“It ends.”

He shook his head. One thing he did fear, but didn’t like to say, was death. Not the end of everything, but the demon he saw when he practiced magik. The old teller had brought the fear back out with a few words.

He continued walking through Red Athens.

            “Funny how kings and queens have all the honor guard, but young, stupid, naïve boys think themselves invincible.” Knyght turned. He was attacked. Before he could see the blade, a wound opened up in his chest, a black dust filling it, and he blacked out. He felt himself being carried. It smelled rancid, the touch of a man who refused to wash himself.

This young poet tried to get an image of who it was, read through many a book, but few people on the street seemed to care for this son of the king. One, a young boy, said it was all smoke in the street for several minutes. “Damon saw him,” the boy said in the third person, “Damon saw the smoke and the smoke people take him away. Probably forgot.” The mysterious last line makes no sense to this poet.

            Now, these smoke people had been seen before in recorded history. Some scripture spoke of a land called Eden. A fabrication likely, but little has been documented as much by any people. When the Hebrew Yahweh called upon a man named Adam and a woman named Eve to leave paradise, they wouldn’t. Yahweh, spare of powers because of the simple process of making the universe, called upon something called Smoke Seres to remove all of humanity from Eden. But, that may be another story.

            The problem for the storyteller now is, Pericles Knyght disappeared for two full weeks. His father called upon every soldier in his command to search the world for him. We take you to a piece of paradise north of Red Athens, where a young Roman named

Calli, one of Knyght’s only friends, came across an odd young man bent on killing him. Calli walked to a beat, spoke with a cadence, looked like a Spartan, fought like a lion, and demanded something for whatever he did. Some called him the perfect Sky Roman. He was handsome too, as he attracted all the girls away from the Red Athens princes. But he was different than Knyght: he wanted power as any Sky Roman would, knew little of chaos magik, and had only read of battle mages.

            He had walked into the temple, that day, because he was bereft of water. Calli called for someone—anyone.

            A mage approached. Now, in the land of Red Athens, magik was illegal, punishable by death, unless in a temple. The mage smiled. He sensed something within this Sky Roman. The mage, who looked Nubian, looked over every feature, every bump, on this man from Sky. “Janus walk with you.” Water came out from the stone foundations. Calli, knowing he had to pay respect to the source, kneeled, and before he could step forward, the mage was gone. He nodded.  Mages were the oddest people outside of the Free Celts. Smiling, he took to quenching his thirst. Rains had become infrequent. Many said that an empire—likely Green Sparta—would choose to attack the army at any moment. Here, a king was willing to send his son to another land, only to find the backdoor to his empire fell open to anyone.  Calli was a friend of the Pericles line. He intended to protect his friends.

            He stepped out of the temple a few moments later. Something had changed. He sensed a presence, deep within, that of a god taking to the ground.  It wasn’t a god. He saw the blade enter his chest, an array of lights, and, I am sorry to say to you scholar, he too disappeared.

                                                                        3

            The story picked up at the Delphi, where the  gods communicated with man.  Knyght’s brother Maximus used to say the Delphi mages called the birth of the boy with the Mark of Aries on the 10^th month of the year. The mystery wasn’t who it would be—the mages said it would be a Pericles son—but whether he would be good or evil. Not even the mages knew which path he would take. Most people take the road in between, but that be another story.

            “We live! Damn you Corinthians.”

            “There not Corinthians, Knyght.” Calli prodded at the wound on his chest. It had healed in hours.  A dull smoke powder entered and left it. How?

            “Anything goes wrong, you will learn Sky Roman, you blame it on Corinth. Never on Delphi. It is not a good omen to disrespect the speakers for the gods.”

            One does not know freedom, it is said, until it vanishes. Pericles Knyght continued to pound on the gate, cursing Corinth and every woman who ever set foot there, only to see a massive guard come up.

            “I was just making sure the locks weren’t to tricky … because, when I break out I call you number one, you dirty Corinthian.”

            The guard laughed. Calli had noticed before the desire within Knyght to murder a man. No normal look: it reminded him of a painting of Romulus next to the roman wolf. Calli understood little of this Pericles, accept that he cared little for power, only in the battles between good and evil. This prince saw his life as a reason to end others. Calli hoped he would grow out of it, lest he take war to the heavens and back.

            “You are being held,” said the guard, “merely as a show that your father’s power in Greece is weakening.”

            It was Knyght’s time to laugh. “But you know who I am. I kill people. I am the mad son. When I escape, and I will, it will be only to end you and your master’s life. All things end, I have learned, not when you close your eyes, but when you lose them.”

            “You are arrogant.” Calli heard the guard mumble something that sounded much like a spell.

            Hours passed. The guard would walk up and down the gate, looking for something, and when this young poet came upon the records of their escape, and of course they did, it appeared that some powerful force had been brought to bear. In truth, there were two.

            “Leonidas did this.”

            “Why him?”

            “That Green Spartan hates all of Red Athens. He let the mages into his temples, and it is said, even slept with one of the woman. The jews call the child the anti-christ.”

            The gate opened. A god stood there. One can tell a god has taken control of the scene when an impossible situation turns into a promising one. What matters here is, the god, small as he was, be Janus.

            “Red Athens must survive the end,” the small man said. “But there is a war in the heavens brewing. You mustn’t leave your father’s side. The mages,” he leaned in, “do not believe.”

            The documents point to Knyght looking with awe at the god. Yes, many believed in gods, the descendants of the Dorians had many. But a Sky Roman god showing himself?

            “I believe you know of my destiny,” a shaken Pericles Knyght said to the god.

            “Yes, we all do. It ends.”

            “That must be the quote of the day.”

                                                           

4

And so they escaped. They marched unabated through gate after gate, Janus the keeper of the gates seemingly having a key for each lock. Knyght wondered about the gods on many a day. His father, once, said he had spoken to Athena.

            “So I mustn’t leave the city?” He asked Calli.

            “I would say this to you: the line of Pericles must survive in the face of Green Sparta,” Calli responded. “They take you, Sky Rome falls”

            “But Blue Babylon and Hammurabi—“

            “Are setting you up? Sky Rome once lost an entire army to Gaul bandits after such a call was made. An entire line of Romulus descendants died in battle. The city had to scrape every ounce of gold from their homes else the city be burned by the barbarians. Bad things happen to princes who think too much.”

            Once out, Janus drew a spell which opened a golden doorway. “Cities will burn, but you have the mark of Aries, and that says much.” He left.

The march back to Red Athens was not without trials. Once, while crossing a stream, a massive beast came from it, screaming a hoarse language that was just as terrifying as that of hell. Now, Knyght wanted to run, as many of us do, but this beast came at him too quickly not to face. He stood his ground, feeling the rush, going for his blade, only to see the smile of Calli—they were both unarmed. The beast continued to scream, but did not attack. Finally, it grumbled and ran off, only to be chased. Knyght never liked a coward. Finally, when Calli was out of sight, he called upon the woods to become alive. A fire emminated from his palms; he sent it towards the beast. It was said by many wordsmiths, this flame was as rich as those from deep within the earth. The water beast had no chance.

            A few minutes later, back at the stream, Knyght put his arm around Calli. They continued there march, Calli laughing the whole way. “You chased off a water demon. You were going to kill it.”

            “Nature has more demons than Hades. Sometimes, Hades fills with so many, they burst out into the world. A simple magik trick to harness them. Someone followed us. Someone thinks me weak.”

                                                            5

Opti had no sense of surprise when he saw his son enter the throne room. Disappearing princess wounded by assassins, a mark on Calli’s, and not even a flinch from the father. He walked to them, held his son close merely to see into his eyes, and began laughing.

            They all took to the strong drink that night. Calli, being Sky Roman, took to it more than the others. His yellow armor became stained whenever he tried to juggle his drinks by hand.

            “Delphi,” Knyght whispered, “Why?”

            Opti looked to him. “Perhaps because you play with things meant for the gods.”

            “You don’t like my choice of career?”

            Opti turned his back to his son. “I like little that you do. The same with my father. He never understood my machinations for politics. I am confused by magik.  I see men going mad with it. That is all I fear, Pericles.”

            Knyght stood. “What If I no longer wanted to be a Pericles.”         

            “You cannot forget your family.”

            “But I must. The world changes. These things are all falling into place. Something tells me a monster is at our gate waiting to unleash Hades.” He walked around in a circle. “I see things, sometimes, at night. And it be not my madness—that madness you try to hide—but a people’s desire for blood. I dream, dream of a cities burning. What can one man do?”

            “A democracy we be, my son. I can tell you one thing: Red Athens may fall, but, like Atlantis, will never be forgotten.”

Ch 2.

A scholar told me of the next events. All one need to know be this: a call to arms was  made, an invasion of the east was planned, and the cross on Knyght’s shoulder screamed of impending disaster.

“We should not leave our people to die.”

“We shouldn’t; Ionia holds Red Athens citizens.”

“It would be a fallacy, father. Green Sparta needs only a second’s edge to take the walls of the city.”

“My son, you are smart, but beyond understanding of the big picture. They kill me, I will be hailed as a martyr, the other  isles will gather, the fleet will assemble, and Red Athens is victorious.”

“I don’t see it happening like that. One thing all democracies fear is evil.”

The father to son chat began much like this. Pericles Opti, a man of indomitable strength, usually agreed with the youngest of his sons. For some reason, the boy had a call to power, but his leadership, the king thought, was as weak as his understanding of math.

Tears took to Pericles Knyght’s eyes. The unfeeling prince showed emotion. He slammed a fist on the wooden table.

“Be damned with martyrs.  Is it all of our destinies to die these damned tragic deaths! I intend to be a beginning, not an ending.”

            A true breed of warrior, Pericles all be, and like a tide taking to the sea, one cannot hope to understand the plight of Red Athens without understanding the darkness descending.  This writer sees something big happening—and only one of the Pericles line understands it. The works of Jude say Pericles Opti smiled to his son’s emotions. He took to the pounding of his son’s fist with joy; the boy grew before his eyes; but the kings resolve didn’t lessen … a tyger was he.

            Pericles Knyght left the room, tears coming down, ashamed and afraid, doubtful and distraught, he decided that he would stop the mission on his own. He loved the city too much, his father too, and wouldn’t leave it unguarded.

            He went to the sole man he could trust. For some reason, much of what you here in the pages of books about Sky Rome is the wolf skins and the many gods, based on Greeks as they were. Calli, I believe, sensed something different, something Sky Roman, in the young warrior.  Born to the belief of his call, Calli had decided long ago to meet his end protecting the next king of Red Athens.

            “Janus,” Knyght said hours after the party, to the warrior of Sky Rome. “I read he is the god of gateways.”

            “The gateways to all things: hell, paradise, and the line between.”

            “I would like to know his power, be an ally.”

            Calli laughed. “Is Athena not enough for you Red Athenians? Does Aries touch not sit well with you?”

            Knyght smiled. He walked out. The room they were in, called Ogadi, was based upon the travels of one Red Athens greatest warriors to a place called Afrikana. It told an epic story, where one man, blade pictured in hand, would face off against much when the evils of the lands opened up. The picture of the final scene drew Knyght to it: the blade, it seemed to go through both the hero and the villain. But he wasn’t sure what it meant. He was a battle mage, not a blade master. Destiny sitting on his shoulders, he thought back to the times when one could go to Delphi and  hear no surprises.  Now, in the Ogadi room, he questioned if it was in him to do it, to end the war with a thrust, only to lose a life.

            “You stare much.”

            “Yes,” Knyght replied to Calli.

            “Because you see your destiny in a portrait?”

            “I see it everywhere.”

                                                                        2

They left. Pericles Knyght became obsessed.