Red Athens, A Fantasy Novel, by Jacob Malewitz and Hong Kong 2

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They left. Pericles Knyght became obsessed. Calli talked him out of his words, for the tyger of Red Athens be the king who understood what risks to take. Somehow, the Red Athenian’s tears had no affect. He did as his father ordered. He was much, but all because Pericles Opti had protected the city for so long before. He had to trust in this, go against his instincts, but be damned if he felt the overarching doom coming to the city of Red. 

“Tell me why?” Calli stood in between Verce and Numid.

            “Let the boy ponder,” replied Verce, a pipe in his mouth. Numid merely shook his head, downed the rest of his drink, and walked away. Now, the Free Celt Verce was apt to go against anything Calli said. A rivalry brewed between Sky Rome and the Free Celt empire.

            He did look like the perfect Free Celt. Born of the Gaul gods, he turned into quite the leader, the best of politicians. The blue paint on his face and arms was only a reminder of the chaos he played with. There is an old saying which sums up the Verce’s people: between a pact of wolves and a Celt, always run towards the wolves.

            Calli grunted. “Do you know how to spell your name, son to Chaos?”

            “Let us keep magik out of the conversation,” Knyght said, walking away from the impending verbal argument. He understood that, for some reason, he had an easier time making friends outside of his people than inside. He would be willing to lay his life down for these troubled foreigners. Would he do the same for Red Athens? Could he?

            “The mark of Aries,” he said to Verce.

            “What of it, young Knyght?” This points out that Verce, though he aged well, was turning towards the point of merely being a politician. He couldn’t outrun the young warriors like he once could. But he fought on anyways, not letting the age, the aches, take control—for he controlled.

            “What do your people think of pieces of the gods?”

            Verce smiled. “A mark such as that would make you a king of much. The peoples of Gaul believe in much, the chaos of Thorn, the absolutes of Death, and the truth behind marks given by gods.”

            “But you don’t even  believe in his gods!” Calli pointed out.

            “I believe any signs from the gods should be taken—for there are few today, less tomorrow.”

            A week passed. Some ships came past them. One burned. They stopped the voyage, came close enough to take a small boat there, Knyght leading, Verce and Calli sitting too close for comfort, and Numid sticking on the ship, as Carthraginians were apt to never leave their sea masters.

            The arrows came first, the bows peaking out of the holes in the ship, fire on the tips, one nailing Calli in the arm and when  he screamed, and he did, there rose a bloodlust in Knyght. They had been set up by the Blue Babylonians. Smart trick, he thought to himself. This battle mage put his hand in the sea, a flood of water rose into the air, arrows still flying, now clearly a few swordsmen in blue on the deck. And when the water collided, he felt the pain and glory that was war.

            They had to jump off the small boat as it went to the flames. Within seconds the water had enveloped this second ship. Aboard another, faster ship, they continued toward the  lands of Ionia.

            “I have to be smarter,” the youngest Pericles said.

            “In a sense,” Verce said as they went back on board. “it would appear you feel cursed by your powers.”

            “But I took to the mage schools; I made the choice.”

            “We all make poor choices. I have made an infinite number, like going on this death mission.”

            “Why say that? My father is smart—“

            “But you have no choice, do you? One Red Athens colony falls, the rest will see you weakening, they will ally with the victors, and the war will be over in a matter of time. You face impossible odds, young mage.”

Whilst they continued, ships took them through the wide sea, past the islands, to Ionia, the backdoor to the Red Athens empire. Knyght thought, while on voyage, to the times he could run across the beaches of Ionia without fear. His father would laugh with his mother, and they would hold each other close.

            He had met with his father once before, this scholar will note, and the words exchanged are still a mystery. Some say the son told the father he intended to become a battle mage, and the father, prone to rages, nearly had one. Others say the son simply toyed with the illegal magiks, and this disturbed Pericles Opti.

            Days passed. Knyght drew images, his hobby outside of magik readings. Drew and watched as something on the horizon came to meet the fleet. There was disorder in the land of Red Athens, and being a Pericles he felt it more than anyone else. He sensed something within his father—a lie any tax collector would catch. Did his father truly intend to be a martyr?

            The shores looked quite chaotic: buildings burning, people running and yelling, soldiers with heads off, soldiers cut to pieces.

            Once ashore, the young mage going into a small strong point on the beaches of Ionia.  According to the texts, Numid the Carthage prince and Verce the Celt were already ahead of them, leaving the ship immediately, preparing a battle strategy.

            “What has the world come to,” Knyght said entering the room, “where one, who has to fight off the girls, sees two who must chase them down?”

            Numid smiled, as did Verce.  Numid is an interesting character unto himself. Most people, when thinking of Carthage, will note how they threw babies into the fires for sacrifice; this also happened on a daily basis in Green Sparta. But Numid was a different kind of prince; some said he came directly from a line of Nubian pharaohs.

            Verce put a blade to Knyght’s chest.  “I see only two reasons to keep you alive: you are pretty, and so is your mother.”

            Calli grasped Knyght, and,  pretending to laugh, had inched forward into the blade almost drawing blood. “Let us not rush,” Verce said, “into a battle before we don’t know who we face.”

            “Blue Babylonians. Hammurabi bow. Legions of warriors,” said Calli, “it has all been seen before. They lack the fighting spirit free men have.”

            The Blue Babylonians were led by a series of warriors said to be the sons of Hammurabi—they be the Hammurabi Bow. There is also the story of the second city of Blue Babylon being built over a piece of hell. The mages there said it would enhance them. Some said the entire belief system of this epic race changed: they began to kill even there own, a power hungry emperor stopped the freedoms of the citizens, and mad demons flew over the city.

            The battles came to the colony of Ionia.

The small band went and took command of the walks along the city. Blue Babylonian soldiers put the small Greek city on siege. Massive catapults were brought up. The screaming of the soldiers on each side made Knyght frown. He had yet to see such a hate between two peoples. Even Green Spartans were said to fight with honor, to the last man or not, they wouldn’t murder prisoners, but would make them slaves.

            The group stood on the edge of the farthest wall. “Why, again, are we standing so close to the walls … to death?”

            “A man who lives once has no advantage, where a man who dies—“

            “Without the jokes.”

            “I seek to see what makes them. If we are to beat them, we first must understand them.” Knyght pulled out a small “square scope” as it was called. He looked deep within the Blue Babylon lines, but couldn’t take his eye off of the Carthage diplomat. He admired the power of the people, even if they were rivals in Sicily. He knew if Blue Babylon allied with Green Sparta the fate of the world would be balanced.

            Deep within the lines, past the catapults and the archers in blue, was Hammurabi. They said the Hammurabi line had fallen to evil and power. It was also said the first laws of chaos were formed in Blue Babylon. A battle mage was curious.

            An arrow killed a soldier standing on the wall, entering into his eye; her cried out for a second. And the battle began. Numid threw Knyght to the ground, ducked himself, and began cursing in Pheonican language. “Let it be another day, boy.” The diplomat stood, took a bow from the dead soldier, and began firing. The story goes, he died firing arrows protecting a people he barely knew. Even Calli respected this death, for a Sky Roman understood the honor of the warriors from North Afrikana.

The scholars are differing on what happened next. Some said Ionia fell, and the  heroes failed, because they refused to strike back with magiks. Now, Blue Babylon used the magiks of hell. Some said that, in the face of the catapult shots and fireballs, Knyght stood holding the line against the empire. His small band stood strong against the onslaught, only to see the white flag go up. They, being adventurers, took a small band of elite soldiers to the ship, went around the canal, and entered in behind the massive lines of Hammurabi. They found a hill, and for a moment, the mark of Aries warned Knyght of someone with them, of a gate opening close; or maybe it was his magik; maybe …

            “Where does justice begin and peace end?” Janus stood on a hill. It is said Pericles Knyght got a closer look to the Sky Roman god, the keeper of the gates of time, the two faces god who could save you, then torture and kill you, as that is what the real gods did—played like boys in their toy houses.

            “We failed. Our presence did nothing.”

            “All people fail in life, someway or another, they grow up in blood.”

            Again, Knyght pulled out  his scope. This was a deep disrespect to the god, as he seemed to be ignoring the deity. The city of Ionia began to burn. The  last hold of the Red Athen’s empire to the east was gone. Green Sparta had an army willing to batter down the rest.

            “I have to do something!” He threw the scope down. “I am a Pericles!  I do not fail.”

“There are infinite options for infinite failures.” Janus said. “You are at the beginning, where you have too many choices. The one wall you fear you can’t escape is the one you must find.” The god moved his finger forming a square of light and then doorway—he disappeared.

            Knyght looked over to Calli. Verce was behind them, eyeing for advance scouts of the enemy.  

            “I have an idea,” Knyght said. He smiled. “Perhaps I will look better in Babylonian Blue.”

                                                            3

Young scholar, Calli may have been smart, Numid and Verce talented, but this hero did many stupid things. The documentation is there, the facts tell the same story. The Pericles line, some said, allowed for failure at the greatest levels. But why would one tell a story without a succeeding hero?