Clash of the Titans (2 page)

Acrisius let out an indifferent grunt, glad to be rid of the distasteful business. As he turned to depart, one of his two officers put out a hand to stay him.

"My lord, should we not remain here a moment or two longer?"

"What for, Apulion? I have much work to do. There are tax rolls to inspect and appointments to be kept, and we have a new war to plan."

"I know that, my lord. But would it not be best to remain at least until we can be certain of the harlot's death?"

Acrisius looked back over his shoulder. A gust of wind shoved arrogantly at him, nearly making him lose his footing.

"That is as certain as the anger of the sea, and no death is more certain than that, Apulion." He grinned humorlessly. "If the chest does not sink or smash to bits on the rocks, then it will float out to sea. There, starvation will provide a slower and perhaps more deserved kind of death." He looked back across rocky slopes and distant fields toward cloud-masked Argos.

"I have spent long enough on this. I am only here because the priests suggested it would be a wise thing. Let us be back to the palace."

Apulion shrugged. "As my lord wishes."

Slowly the soldiers began the steady descent. Down slopes strewn with boulders, across cultivated lands, past clusters of farmers' huts and groves of olive trees. Beyond lay Argos the city: magnificent, rich, and decadent as the king who'd heaped wealth upon it through the conquest of others.

Swinging helplessly atop the waves, the chest bobbed and spun with each shift of the current. Lightning illuminated an unseen sky and accompanying thunder set both occupants of the wooden grave to sobbing. There was none to hear them save the single gull that hovered overhead still battling the wind.

It was not unnatural for the gull to follow the path of the chest. Gulls soon learn that much of mankind's detritus holds edibles disdained and discarded by him, but quite suitable for the satisfaction of a gull.

This particular gull, however, was not interested in garbage. It continued to track the path of the chest as it skimmed the surface.

Or was it possibly the other way round?

The chest rode past the last granite tooth protruding through the surf. It slid out into the open sea. on a course that might carry it to Phoenicia or Aegypt or even lands more distant. The chest might survive such a journey. Its prisoners could not.

Soaring higher, the gull rose on unstable winds. Its wingbeats strengthened as it turned toward the islands that dotted the sea to the north.

Soon it had crossed the islands and was winging its way over other land. Northwest of fabled Corinth it flew, then high over Mount Parnassus. Untiringly it sped past Lamia and Dhomokos. It ascended to heights gulls usually avoid, and once it outraced a very astonished hawk.

A fisherman of special sensitivity looked up from his boat on the river Pinios as the gull passed overhead; he muttered a prayer to his favorite god. Shepherds near Elasson reacted not at all. They were familiar with such things because they lived in the very shadow of the mountain which reached from the Earth to the Heavens.

The gull's wings expanded as it charged straight for the center of the rumbling black nimbus which encircled the summit of the mountain. It flew straight on, ignoring the lightning that crackled all around and the thunder which sent tremors through the solid stone of the peak and the hearts of men dwelling far, far below.

Palaces and temples constructed of pure white imagination began to materialize beyond the clouds. "Ghost marble" it was called by those who sometimes rashly tried to ascend the sacred mountain. Soaring structures resting firmly on foundations of deep belief and anchored in the subconscious of all men, these edifices were built partly on Earth, but mostly in the mind, where nothing is what it seems.

Nor was the gull. As it braked toward the most magnificent and sublime of all the palaces, the one which rode the uppermost crag of the mountain, its wings solidified and its body lengthened. When it finally touched down upon the dream marble, it was with feet set in thongs that pulsed a faint blue green.

They were the color of the sea and smelled faintly of its depths. So did their owner. Here above the friendly waves he was uncomfortable. This was not his dominion, but his presence was required.

The stocky, hirsute figure brushed angrily at his faintly glowing robes as the transformation concluded. He strode up familiar steps toward the Chamber of Assembly, frowning as he went. It is never easy to be the bearer of bad news, even if one is a god.

Thunder receded behind him as he entered the spacious room, its boundaries indiscernible. Mist that was composed not of water, but of the fog of eternity, drifted through the chamber. It obscured distance as this very place obscured time.

The not-fog reminded him pleasantly of favorite places within his own realm, and he relaxed a little as he strode the last few steps to the throne.

Flanking him within the room were figures that seemed motionless. They were not. It was just that they moved through an existence without boundaries or restrictions. As such, they were contemptuous of time.

There was Hera, he noted; always present when her husband sat on his throne. Aphrodite stood close by Athene, whose ever-present owl rode confidently on the goddess of wisdom's shoulder. Poseidon never cared much for owls. They sometimes preyed on the seabirds in his charge.

He shifted his path away from her and toward Thetis. The secondary sea goddess was currently whispering to Hephaestus. Poseidon did not begrudge her the intimacy. The god of fire and forge was the homeliest of all the gods and lame besides, not to mention the hardest working (if it can be said that a god may work hard). Poor Hephaestus was the least blessed of them all, his enormous strength notwithstanding.

Despite that, he always had a good word for everyone, god or mortal, and a better sense of humor than most. It would be wrong to call the lame god of fire human, yet it was true that of all the gods he was the most like the mortals who inhabited the Earth.

The throne was quite near now. Poseidon could see his brother, brooding as usual atop the white dais. One hand tapped an arm of his seat while his chin rested on another hand, the great rippling beard meshing with the folds of his robe.

Zeus was the sea god's brother and though he ruled supreme, Poseidon alone among the assembled immortals did not fear him. Nor did he envy Zeus his responsibilities as ruler of Earth and Sky and ultimate arbiter of the gods' disputes and bickerings. No, Poseidon was quite content to be left alone in his watery kingdom. Excursions such as this one into the upper world made him nervous. The gods often created god-sized problems and troubles, and he preferred to remain amiably divorced from them.

But when Zeus called, even grumbling brothers were compelled to obey. That was part of the bargain they'd struck when under Zeus's leadership they'd overthrown Cronus and the Titans, and that was the agreement Poseidon now hewed to. So he'd gone where bidden, and watched, and returned now to damnably dry Olympus to make his report.

Zeus's stare turned from far horizons down (to his approaching brother. Poseidon was struck by the other's haggard appearance. He did not look any older and could not, being immortal. But he could look tired.

"What news, my brother?"

The sea god executed a respectful half-bow. "It is done. As we feared might happen, King Acrisius of Argos has abandoned his daughter and her child to the sea."

"And what of the people of the city and its priests?" Zeus asked, dangerously soft-spoken.

"They concurred fully in the decision. They would have gleefully stoned Danae to death and the infant with her, if Acrisius had not given them his own brand of justice, to keep blood from his hands and the streets of the city."

Thunder rumbled through the chamber and down the slopes of Olympus, the not-fog twisting uneasily at the violence. "Then he will be punished. All who concurred in this evil must be punished. A cruel and ruthless crime, a blasphemy!"

Tall figures clad in flowing robes and glowing vestments began to stir, turning to face the throne. There was about them all an air of the imperturbable, born from the knowledge that they need fear neither time nor death.

In his initial anger Zeus had half risen from the throne. Now he settled back. There was thunder in his expression as well as in the air.

"And he prays, oh so fervently, does this Acrisius, along with his perverted priests. Prays to
me
to forgive his savage jealousy and cowardly revenge. His incestuous desires thwarted, he would condemn to a lingering death even the daughter who still loves him." The great head shook slowly in anger and disbelief.

"And Argos joins with him in this monstrousness. She has
shamed
their honor." He snorted derisively.

" 'Their honor.' The honor of a city which supports a tyrant like Acrisius. Argos has grown fat and wealthy on the backs of others. Her gold is smelted with tears, her commerce supported by slaves taken in conquest from plundered cities."

Zeus may have been the most imposing figure in the chamber, but the most elegant and confident now crossed to stand calmly before the throne.

"Acrisius has always shown full devotion to the gods of Olympus, my husband." Hera toyed with her necklace, pretending to watch only the sparkle and flash of unearthly jewels in the mist-diffused light.

"Can you condemn a warrior simply for being successful? His people follow him willingly because he leads them to success after success. Those same conquests which have enriched Argos have paid for many a magnificent temple dedicated to you, great Zeus, father and ruler of the gods."

"A hundred such deeds cannot atone for one such callous murder. A thousand temples or sanctuaries", whether dedicated to me, or to you, Hera my wife, or to any of us,"—he made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the other immortals nearby—"cannot wipe out or forgive this one, contemptible act of blood."

Hera shrugged. "Is Acrisius then so much worse than many another worshiper, the actions of Argos any more vile than that of a dozen other warrior cities? Besides, what can it matter, the death of one girl and her child?"

"One girl . . . Danae was his own
daughter!
You know my feelings when the sanctity of the family is violated."

"Indeed I do," Hera murmured. Zeus eyed her uncertainly for a moment before his anger again overwhelmed all other thoughts.

"And this abomination was condoned—nay, approved—by the priests and the populace of Argos. They have lost all respect for themselves, and for the teachings of the gods, if they can allow such vileness."

"I cannot deny that many seemed pleased by the decision, brother," put in Poseidon.

"After a lifetime's respect and devotion," Hera murmured, "you would cast down a devoted worshiper?"

"Enough! I love you, Hera, but you twist words the way my brother Hades twists souls." He rose. "I have decided. Acrisius must be punished, and his heartless people along with him." He looked down at his impatient brother.

"Poseidon, I command you to return to your element. I command you to raise the wind and the sea. Destroy Argos! It shall be a lesson to those who would think of flaunting injustice and evil, in the name of serving the gods. I will not allow my laws to be used to justify such murderous acts.

"To make certain that not one stone of the city remains standing, not one creature crawls free to mock my justice, I command you to let loose the last of the Titans. Let free the Kraken."

It takes much to upset a god, but the mention of that last survivor of the great war of an eternity ago sent a shudder through the room. Of all the gods, only Zeus and Poseidon had the will and strength to control one of the Titans.

Now only one of those titanic beings remained, safely caged and chained away to remind the gods of Zeus's ancient triumph. No greater punishment could be wreaked on man or god than to expose him to the wrath of that monster, who rested and waited for the rare occasion on which he might be allowed to vent a thousand years of frustrated fury.

"The kingdom of Acrisius must be destroyed."

"As you command." Poseidon bowed again, sorry for the work he now had to perform. Yet he could not go against his brother's decision. That was the Law.

"Stay a moment, Brother."

Poseidon paused, glanced back toward the throne. Already the anger was fading from Zeus's face, replaced now by an expression of concern as deeply felt as his often capricious fury. The sea god waited patiently. He knew his brother well enough to guess what was coming.

"Danae and her son have been cast by Acrisius into the care of the sea. Into your care," Zeus said softly.

"Make certain no harm befalls them. Speak to the waves and to all who dwell beneath. Make certain they convey mother and child safe to some remote and peaceful shore. Go now, and swiftly be about this business."

"By your command." Once more the sea god turned away. He strode out of the chamber, to be swallowed by the mists.

Zeus slowly descended from the throne. Hands clasped behind his back, he walked toward a distant, curving shape. Hera moved to stand close by Aphrodite and Thetis. The mist swirled tightly about them, trying to overhear their whispers.

"No pity. No mercy. I have seen him upset over such mortal triflings before, but never like this." Hera sounded concerned. "Why should this instance rouse him to such fury? There are more corrupt cities than Argos and worse tyrants than the dutiful Acrisius."

Thetis and Aphrodite exchanged a glance. Hera was usually understanding, but it was difficult to be sure.

It was the sea goddess who finally spoke. "His reasons are not entirely impartial. His involvement is personal, Hera. We had hoped to spare you such information."

Hera's gaze rose toward a higher heaven. She sighed, said nothing, and waited expectantly. This was a revelation she had experienced all too many times before.

"Zeus loved the girl," said Aphrodite.

"This Danae?"

Thetis nodded. "She is rumored to be very beautiful. So beautiful that her father Acrisius grew jealous and kept her guarded from the eyes of men, locked behind iron doors. His own passions for her he refused to acknowledge, but he would let no other have her. She could not understand. Their frustration fed off each other's."