Telemon: The Sea of Pylanor

(I)

The Cove

They’ve managed the crossing, Atreus. They’ve succeeded where all others have failed.

Can you read the boy, Persis?

Of course.

And?

Determined – Fearless – Defiant – Reckless.

Ah, yes. Defiance. Thank you Persis. Let us speak again after the summit.

***

‘Father, please. I need a word.’

‘What bothers you, Aglaia? What brings you to me in such despair?’

‘The young immortals, father. Aramus and Procopia. I fear for their safety. They are in such danger at this very moment. They have braved the great sea, and lived through Pylanor’s attempts to devour them within his deep salt waters. His anger is now great at having failed to keep them from the shores of Tanis. Their bravery dispels dispute, but they will be no match for my uncle and the others.’

Almighty Menares looked kindly upon the pretty, young Goddess as he led her to the marble steps of the great atrium. ‘They were counselled, you know, to abandon this adventure by their very mothers. They were offered the opportunity to assume their place – to take their positions here in the palace among us.’

‘I feel from you your reserve, father, but I am overwhelmed with concern. The young Goddess, Procopia, whispers her prayers to me. She holds me above all the others. And Aramus, that brave son of Larissa, who fought so valiantly against Icarion at Cyanea, displays courage few of us still command.’

‘Ah, courage indeed. But my intuition tells me something else.’

The sweet Goddess looked pleadingly into her father’s kind eyes.

‘Dear, father. I know the treaty forbids it, but I entreat you; allow me to venture to Tanis so that I can guide them from the insurmountable dangers that await them. I will travel in impenetrable disguises. I will use all of my powers to avoid Atreus, and all the Gods from whom we fled. Please, father.’

Menares peered out through the columns into the silk- like clouds below. The waters of the southern sea crashed hard upon the islands; the sound rumbling through the many halls and atriums of the heavenly palace. There was much at stake with his daughter’s request. He shuffled to the arched steps; his hands prayer-like beneath his white beard. ‘I perceive young Aramus’ feelings, but have found difficulty with those of the daughter of Despina. Tell me, is she aware of Icarion’s pledge to destroy the rebellious son of Larissa?’

‘Not to my knowledge. Nor were they aware of Pylanor’s attempts to consume them and their white-sail ship. A fine hollow ship, father… crafted by the boy’s own industrious hands.’

Menares moved closer to his passionate daughter. He placed a hand upon her silken cheek.

‘My brother will claim their powers once they touch the sands at Tinadal. He will see this as a breach of our agreement. And if he uncovers your presence, he will claim yours as well.’

Aglaia of the glowing eyes and satiny hair smiled. She kissed her father’s hand. ‘I will be as the wind – merely a faint glimmer of existence. Besides, ruthless Icarion, who was to be nothing more than an emissary here, struck down that agreement with his manipulative lust for power. By claiming control over us, I recognise no value, and no binding in that agreement – nor do many of the others – nor, I believe, do you.’

The masterful God of the cyclones looked warmly upon his passionate daughter. ‘Beyond your beauty and wisdom, my dear, you have also been blessed with the gift of persuasion.’ His kind, round face beamed his fatherly affection. ‘I cannot claim displeasure with your many virtues.’

The young Goddess held his hand to her soft cheek.

‘Be aware, child, with this act we may very well find ourselves confronting an eventuality we avoided many phases ago. When we left the white-marble palace and lush forests of Tanis, we escaped a great battle – a battle we were ill-equipped to fight.’

‘I know of the dangers, father.’

Kind Menares, King of the Gods of Telemon gazed approvingly upon his gifted daughter. ‘Go, my child.’ Aglaia brightened. ‘Your passion is unrivalled in all of Telemon. Do what you can to guide them. Their success in crossing Pylanor’s great basin has granted me…’ The careful God gazed away as if stolen in thought.

‘What? What might you have gained from their voyage?’

The God of the four winds dropped a soft hand to his daughter’s glimmering hair. ‘Go now, Aglaia. Do what you can to assist them. They are within moments of touching the shore at sandy Tinadal, and of this I am certain my brother is already aware.’

‘Thank you, father. I’ll leave at once.’

The demure Goddess smiled, hugged her father and left for Tanis with great urgency.

Menares sauntered to the bright-marbled steps and sat. He peered up to the great speckled vault. ‘If there was only another way to be certain.’ The gentle old soul sighed. ‘I wonder.’

The resigned, thoughtful God sat.

‘Perhaps our mother was right all along.’

First-light was cherry-red, and fragrant-cool as the sea- weary Elissa, the noble craft of the determined immortals of Telemon drifted lazily into a bright-blossomed cove. The placid pool reflected up the freshness of the trees, with their boughs laid low with lush flora and succulent fruits.

The surroundings were idyllic and serene, and the apprehensive young couple breathed in the sumptuous vista, relishing the inviting paradise.

Bright eyed Procopia, clever and virtuous, still carried her many dreams of Tanis. But as she peered into the blossoms of pink and white and violet and crimson, she held her breath, wondering if this was yet another venture into the world beyond the gates of her dreams.

Clever Aramus, reeling in the ragged sail that held the winds, and carried their craft so diligently during the voyage, eyed the deeply sensitive girl. This was the voyage of her dreams. He could see in her wide eyes, those beaming-bright eyes of luxurious lavender, the joyous fulfilment of a life-long desire. She was soon to set foot on the fabled shores of Tanis; the home of the immortal Gods.

After tying off the sail, the eager boy sat with his spellbound companion, sharing, through her eyes, the delight of the unworldly cove.

They had travelled far, over an often ill-tempered sea, and survived many storms and periods of despondent winds. But never, during their two-week voyage, had either of the young eternals lost their resolve. And now, carried on the surge of a final wave, the worthy Elissa kissed the sea-lapped shore of sandy Tinadal. A pristine beach in southern Tanis.

‘You’re crying.’

The studied maid continued gazing as if in a frozen trance. ‘Not even in my most vivid dreams have I pictured it like this.’

Aramus, clever and industrious, but also tender and mindful, placed a loving arm around his future bride and pulled her close. Her chestnut hair glistened, and her eyes continued to pour light through her shimmering tears. He gazed up into the majestic paradise, for he too found the scene hypnotic.

‘It’s truly beautiful.’ He made to leave the craft, but had his departure stayed by the sweet hand of the passionate girl.

‘Don’t. Please…. Not yet.’

He needed, nor wanted, an additional testimony. They sat together, holding hands, gazing into the idyllic cove.

‘Ooh, look!’

A pure white dove alighted from a tree. It hovered above them.

Procopia grasped at her charms. ‘Another omen?’

She remembered her mother’s words as they left Telemon. They echoed in her head as if she was standing at her side. You’ll see many omens – many signs on this voyage.

Something caught her eye. She turned and pointed. ‘See that tree? The fractured one?’

He followed her slender fingers.

‘It probably split during that last storm.’

‘I know, but…’ She was holding her charmed necklaces. ‘Can you see the veins running through it?’ She turned her bright eyes to his. She held aloft one of the many delicate crafted necklaces. She stole another glance at the tree.

The resourceful boy searched the charms more closely. ‘They’re the same.’

‘I know. My mother must have carved them here.’ She appeared intrigued. ‘Can we take a closer look?’

‘Of course we can.’ He brushed his hand through her hair, held her and kissed her forehead.

‘We made it, Aramus!’

He held her face and grinned. ‘Come. I’ve always wanted to set foot on a fable.’

They laughed as they stepped from the boat.

The sand was moist beneath them as they made their way from the Elissa to the fractured tree. Procopia held her nine crafted necklaces away from her breast.

‘Wait!’ The courageous boy looked startled as Procopia fell to her knees.

‘What is it?’ He also landed a knee.

The shining girl peered brightly into his curious eyes.

‘Why… they’re eggs!’

In a small pit, nestled within a grassy mound, were four sand coloured eggs; each the size of a leather wine flask. Aramus studied them while Procopia plucked one from the nest. She held it to her ear. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled. Not a lot. Just enough to show her enthusiasm.

‘I believe it’s about to…’

Without really knowing why, it was just one of those strange feelings you get, Aramus felt suspicious and stood. He reflexively scanned the skies. The dove still hovered above them casting winged shadows. He looked out towards the sea. A groundless, plaguing fear grasped at him.

‘Put it back, Procopia.’

‘But, Aramus… look.’ She continued holding the egg as a small opening appeared. A leg with three sharp talons pushed through the opening.

The sweet girl ran her hands along the shell as if it was a fine quilt, or perhaps a piece of soft felt.

The dove continued soaring high above. The sun was hot in a cloudless sky, and the wilful boy felt the suddenness of alarm.

Abandon the nest. Resounded in his mind. The egg is of an unworldly design.

His concern grew like a great ache in his stomach. ‘Put it down, Procopia.’ He grasped her shoulder.

She could see the strangeness in his eyes, and did as he asked. They stood together in the hot sand, but continued to watch.

The creature continued slicing its way from its sand- glossed shell. Small fragments fell away until the new- born, frail beast said its first hello to the world.

The sparkly-eyed girl smiled. ‘Look. It can barely hold itself upright. There’s nothing to fear.’

She again moved to kneel alongside the nest. Cracks were appearing in the other eggs. The young Goddess looked gleeful. Aramus felt nagged with apprehension.

‘No, Procopia. Don’t – leave it.’

As she was about to deliver her protest, the hatched creature, fitted with jagged wings, razor-sharp talons, and a hawk’s beak began growing.

He took hold of her shoulders and pulled her back.

In mere moments, the fragile creature doubled in size. Aramus had his strong hands on the Procopia’s soft arms.

The winged creature again doubled in size. Its head bobbed. Its eyes, menacing black, reflected the majestic cove around them.

Take the maid and run, Aramus. The commanding words again echoed within his head.

They backed away and continued watching as the beast, dripping with slurry liquid, began stretching its taloned wings. It grew more. Soon it was a monster the height and breadth of the trees. When it opened its mouth to release its virgin screech, the sound was ear-splitting and hideous. It shrieked with a savage roar that resounded throughout the cove and nearby canyons.

Ready Aramus took hold of the frightened girl’s hand. She peered desperately into his eyes.

‘Not that I’m a huge fan of caves, but right now might be a good time to find one.’ He scanned the cove. ‘I haven’t a clue what that thing is, but… I’ll lose no sleep over leaving before I find out.’

The wood, Aramus. Follow the rock-shelf stream into the wood.

Ah! Words in my head again. Great!

Boy, I sure hope you’re on our side.

The clever boy looked around for the source of this impassioned guidance. The puzzle over which God or Goddess was with them, in Tanis, was something he’d have to consider at a more convenient time. He returned his gaze to Procopia.

‘On second thought, let’s head into the wood. There’s a stream over there. We’ll find cover along the brook.’

‘But, Aramus!’

The creature, flapping its glistening, coal-black wings, scoured them ravenously through those savage beetle-black eyes.

RUN ARAMUS!

‘No time to explain! C’mon!’

They were running along the soft-sand beach. The screeching, tree-height, infant monster was flapping its hideous wings in the distance. Its tail – spiked – as jagged as its wings, thumped the ground. Everything shook as if great quakes were pummelling the cove. Procopia stumbled.

‘Are you okay?’ He plucked her from the sand.

She nodded and grasped his arms.

It was then the delicate girl of soft beauty caught sight of the creature and screamed.

The menacing being was aloft; flying in great circles. The flapping sound of its moistened wings was repellent. They continued running.

The creature caught sight of them and dove. They were moments from its clutches – its three taloned feet stretched out as it closed in.

YOUR SWORD, ARAMUS!

The creature lunged. Wilful Aramus hit the soft-sand pulling Procopia with him; just avoiding the claws of the winged monster.

They were at the base of the shelf-like brook.

He got up as the creature circled, readying for another attack. He closed his eyes, outstretched his sturdy hand and willed a strong wind – something that might drive off the attacking beast. His eyes opened to a damning acceptance. One he’d somehow expected. They were powerless. Whichever evil God had set this demonic creature upon them, had also claimed their powers.

‘I kind of expected that.’

‘What?’ Procopia was paralysed with fear.

‘If there’s a later in our future…’ he breathed heavily while trying to portray confidence. ‘…I’ll tell you then.’

‘You’re scaring me.’

He pointed to the savage, circling creature. ‘I’m scaring you?’

‘Stop it! You know what I mean.’

He smiled, then stared into her frightened eyes.

‘Listen to me.’ The beast let out another screech that seemed to split open the sky. ‘There’s something I need from the boat – something important.’

The insatiable beast was diving at them again.

Procopia eyed the hateful being. ‘You’ll be killed.’

The beast plunged again. With this attempt, though they had ducked back to the sun-scorched sand, one of the creature’s crow-like talons caught the industrious boy on the shoulder, tearing through his billowing-sleeved shirt. Crimson-red blood sprung like water from a pierced jug. Aramus cringed in pain. The bright eyed girl was stricken with fear; her face mournful for the bleeding boy.

She was about to speak.

‘No! Don’t! Listen to me.’ He winced as he turned his eyes to glimpse the circling monster – its wings even larger than before – its jagged tail swinging wildly behind it. ‘Climb these rocks. Follow the brook until you’re in the densest part of wood. That thing can’t follow you in there.’

‘What about you? Can’t we use our powers to…?’

‘…already tried that.’

‘And?’

With sweat pouring from his brow and blood from his arm, he shook his head. She caressed his moist face, fully aware of what he was trying desperately not to tell her. She kissed him sweetly. ‘Be safe, my love.’

‘Trust me.’ He chuckled. ‘I’m growing less fond of this lifestyle every day.’

He turned again to the sky which was more dark-winged beast than luscious violet. Again he turned to the orchid skinned girl. Blood poured from his shoulder but his face showed no pain. ‘Who’s that Goddess you pray to?’

She eyed him cleverly, and nodded.

‘See if you can squeeze one in for me.’ He kissed her cheek, turned, and ran.

Procopia climbed the brook slipping on the mossy stones. Aramus ran the scorching-hot beach with the monster scouring him with venomous eyes while circling the sky above in wide arcs.

Half-way to the boat the creature dove.

With its shadow growing large around him, and hearing its shriek grow louder, he anticipated the attack and dove to the sand. He rolled over. The beast swept back into the sky and was again circling – readying for yet another downward plunge.

He glanced at the brook to see a faint glimmer of Procopia’s emerald-green robes diffusing into the wood. She’s safe. She got away. He chuckled ‘Saving girls seems never-ending. I guess one needs a calling in life.’

He watched in cold indecision at the winged monster sailing above him.

‘You’re coming again, aren’t you? And I’ll bet you won’t be fooled this time either.’

His mind was on fire. ‘I need to…’ He searched the cove. ‘I need…’ He glimpsed the boat. ‘I… I need to get up!’

The beast was again on approach when he managed to pull himself from the sea-lapped beach.

He reached the hollow boat just as the flying menace was readying another assault.

On his knees, with the venomous being salivating over him, he reached in and found the sword of Achilles, turned, and still kneeling, began swinging.

For a long while the creature hovered just off the masthead, its wings flapping, its talons reaching, its hawk-beak biting, trying to gain its quarry. But Aramus swung and fought and cursed and continued swinging.

‘I know it’s your first day, and all…’ He took deep slash to his forearm, but kept swinging. ‘…but it sure as hell isn’t going to be my last!’

The monster, with another great swipe of its three- taloned foot, caught the brave immortal on the neck, opening a deep wound. The determined boy returned with a vicious, ripping blow to the creature’s wing – nearly severing it from the beast’s body. The Myrmidon screeched a sickening, agonising screech, then fell to the sun-baked beach with its blood staining the unblemished sands.

Its coal-black wings flailed and flapped as it tried to find its way back to the skies, but Aramus was up.

‘Not a chance,’ he said as he dragged his wearied frame to the creature, looking stoically into its cold, lifeless eyes.

‘Not that I was expecting a party in our honour, but…’ He raised the sword. ‘…I am so done with this welcome,’ then plunged it deep within the breast of the savage Myrmidon.

The winged animal made a desperate gasp for air and attempted one final screech. But there would come no screech, and the gasp for air was its last. The immoral being, savage and voracious; savouring and loathsome lie still on the broad-sand beach of that idyllic cove, of fabled Tanis.

(II)

The Gods of Tanis

‘Tell it to me again, Persis.’

Masterful Atreus, the Lord of the Gods of Tanis sat attentively upon the white-marbled steps, ringed in majestic Corinthian columns, gazing at Persis, his messenger and most trusted counsellor. He had a distant gaze as if hiding some deep concern. His age-lined face rested upon his interwoven fingers; his elbows upon his knees.

The floor was of the greenest marble; veined in glimmering gold and silvery-white, and polished to a reflective shimmer. The air itself seemed to glisten as it swirled in that majestic palace above the mountains of Paleamon, in Tanis.

‘I swear, Atreus, the account is accurate. The young immortal defeated the Myrmidon on the hot-sands of Tinadal shortly after their arrival.’

‘And you feel certain no immortal God from Telemon assisted him?’ His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

‘I neither saw, nor sensed, divinity… from either side of the great sea. The boy, even without his immortal powers, which you stripped away as he and the young Goddess landed, displays an almost unrivalled resourcefulness. He sliced the Myrmidon from the very sky with nothing but a bronze-hilt sword.’

‘Hmm…’ Atreus stood appearing thoughtful. ‘I believe, more earnestly, Persis, that our earlier assessment of this boy may have been correct. Not only was he able to defy mighty Pylanor, and beat my son Icarion at Cyanea, but he now defeats a daughter of Myrmia without immortal powers.’

The mighty God’s look showed concern, but also something else. Absorbing curiosity.

‘He bears no likeness to any I’ve seen, Atreus. He faces peril with enthusiasm. He seems to own the wisdom of his mother, Larissa, that Immortal Goddess of Telemon, and the defiance of Cyrus, his mortal father. But…’

Atreus appeared intrigued by his fellow immortal’s hesitation. ‘If I’m correct, Persis, you hold a special admiration, and….’ He paused; clenching his chin. ‘…Perhaps even affection for this boy.’

Persis peered deftly at the crafty old God.

‘I watched him stare up into Icarion’s face through defiant eyes; certain his own death was but moments away. I watched him scoff Pylanor’s tempests, monstrous waves, and windless days. And today I watched him take down the Myrmidon with a bronze-hilt sword, cursing that winged demon-daughter of Myrmia while blood poured from his open wounds.’ Persis, the sandy-haired God of the braided beard grumbled as he sat at the base of the white-marble steps. He shook his head. ‘He’s different, Atreus.’ He looked up squinting his reservation. ‘He’s in possession of something I’ve never seen.’

There was a tenuous silence as a swift breeze swept through the austere atrium. Cream-white doves sailed on the breeze through the opened ceiling briefly seizing their attention. Wisps of soft clouds drifted above the green- marbled floors, adding a surreal glimmer to the heavenly palace.

‘Fascinating,’ said the white-haired God after a moment of solitary thought.

His astute counsellor saw something in the lord God’s face. He decided it time to question him.

‘If I’m right, Atreus, you expected this. You didn’t send the Myrmidon to kill the boy, but…’ The bearded messenger squinted, displaying his suspicious nature. ‘Why then? Why toy with the young immortal who shamed your son, thwarted your plans for Telemon, and now defies the treaty?’ He stroked his braided beard. His eyes became lavender beads. ‘You have other interests in this boy, don’t you.’

The God of the rolling thunder smiled coyly, in the way a true schemer does when his plan has become somewhat transparent. He considered his counsellor, and swept a calm hand through his silver-white beard.

‘First, Persis, let’s be clear. My plan for Telemon has by no means been thwarted. The schedule has required revision, but… I’ve chosen to view this as no more than a set-back.’

The immortal messenger looked pointedly at the King. ‘Then what is your fascination with the boy?’

The lord of the thunder clap grinned. ‘Curiosity, perhaps.’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps something more.’ He fell quiet, but his eyes sparkled in a strange way.

Persis continued gazing, sceptically at the King of the Gods. He always knew when Atreus was keeping something from him.

‘I’d like them to find their way west.’ The cunning old God held his hands, prayer-like beneath his bearded chin.