Red Athens, Red Lancer Empire of Athens, Two Blakes and Two Ships, by JFM, 2 trill green shirt

Red Athens, by Jacob Malewitz, A Fantasy Novel

100 White Shirt

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. 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.”