FALSE GODS

11 Storm in a Goblet

The Apostolis rode the ocean like a gargantuan monster. It sailed twenty thousand stadia away from the Gulf of Stratos, a perilous stretch into the infinite. No other ship in Kinheim could boast of such a feat.

The waves rose precipitously, aiming to touch the sky, but the vessel plied over them with arrogance. It was a ship of stunning proportions- a length of one hundred ninety feet and a cargo room of over two thousand tons.

The vessel could house nine hundred passengers. It had assembly and dining halls below deck. There were twenty separate stalls for pegasi. It was a work of art, with statues, sculptures, a temple of Aion, along with a gymnasium to practice pankration. The granary had stocks for a year-worth of food, drink, and other rations. There were luxurious rooms with the best linen and leather that gold could afford.

Envisioned and built by Myron, the divine architect, the vessel was made of the finest metals, exotic woods, and marble. The frame of the ship was adamantine. Most significantly, it was imbued with divine protection from Myron, the demoted titan. The structure had weathered through thunderstorms, hurricanes, and tornadoes. It had been fashioned to withstand attacks from sea behemoths.

The Apostolis had set out on its forty-first voyage with two hundred passengers, fifteen from the citadel and one eighty-five from the patrician city, Modo. Wealthy patricians and the mildly divine were allowed to mingle with the gods in exchange for tributes. The Modo community had contributed ten thousand gold, and several times the amount in kind, to be granted boarding and lodging on the ship.

God-Prime Nerva stood on the forecastle deck with her hand on the ship’s Ascendancy figurehead. The carving was a four-finger fist plated with gold. The goddess was six feet tall and was clothed in woolen sailor clothes.

A storm was brewing in the north. Dark and threatening clouds were headed in their direction like a Kraken in the sky. The waves were gradually gaining turbulence. A perfect storm was in the making. A group of priors, princeps, and a party of Modo representatives stood behind Nerva, in awe of the incoming natural hazard.

The gods were dressed in the Petromax gold and white, whereas the patricians donned Prussian blue.

“Is His Providence coming back soon?” God-Prior Dru asked. The princeps and Modo citizens had the same question in their minds but did not have the gall to pose it to Nerva.

She was known for her being ruthless and quick-tempered. Once, she had pummeled a princep close to death for touching the throne of Petromax in the citadel when no one was around. Nerva was a goddess who demanded unfaltering discipline. She was as unforgiving to herself as she was to her subordinates. The priors and princeps of House Petromax were thus known for being scrupulous and efficient.

“I am incapable of seeking out his presence with the flux of the storm interfering with my senses,” she responded heedlessly. The primes were the closest to the titans, having been the first to be granted divinity. The connections with their masters were so strong that they could feel the titan’s presence from a distance and gauge their moods.

Petromax had begun the voyage to seek out a legendary sea monster. After six days of venturing into the boundless water, he had abruptly forsaken the ship, flying off towards the north. It had been almost a day since he left, and the Modo folks had begun to worry. The ominous signs of a fierce storm had not helped with their anxiety.

“This has the makings of a dreadful storm,” Bacillus, a Modo citizen, needled, “Will the Apostolis be able to live through it?”

Nerva did not dignify the question with a response. If only Petromax had not forbidden it, she would have crushed the head of the patrician for the transgression. It was embarrassing enough to be forced to mingle with mortals. One of the god-priors, Calix, jerked his head back in anger, and a sharp draft of wind hit the Modo citizen like a slap in the face. “You dare question the power of titans?”

Bacillus covered his smarting face and bowed low in deference.

“The Apostolis is under the protection of our God-King Marcus Petromax and imbued with the divinity of Myron.” Calix declared.

“Apologies, your priorship,” Bacillus groaned. “The fierceness of the storm moved me, and being a mere mortal, I forgot myself for a moment.”

Calix nodded, accepting the apology.

“Your primeship, if I may,” God-prior Iris posed to Nerva. “What was the principal cause of Myron being demoted from the rank of a titan?” Iris was one of the curious priors who spent her time in the citadel library reading about history and craft.

Nerva let out a sigh. The topic was indeed sensitive. But a century had passed since the unfortunate events came to be. A thousand rumors surrounded Myron and his fall from grace. The goddess reckoned it would cause no harm to let the truth out in the presence of the other gods and Modo citizens. Moreover, the approaching storm and the raging billows had softened her to some extent.

“In the beginning, there were six titans,” Nerva began the chronicle, “Petromax, Myron, Elektra, Anaximander, Beowulf, and Morpheus. Petromax, Elektra, and Anaximander being from the line of the seraphim Titus Lucifer. Myron, Beowulf, and Morpheus descending from the seraphim Vector Caan.”

“His Providence, Marcus Petromax, and the titan Amadeus Morpheus were the closest comrades, leading battles and expeditions together. They were the dyad that strengthened the Ascendancy during the worst times.”

“Around a century ago, a curse cropped up on the lands of Kinheim from the underworld. Horkus, the god of broken promises, set foot into our realm. He brought with him corruption that could kill gods created by the progeny of Lucifer and Caan. He slaughtered hundreds of gods in cold blood.”

“The villain was fulfilling the dark bidding of the Mistress of the Underworld, whose name we still fear speaking aloud. Under the leadership of Petromax and Morpheus, the Ascendancy commenced an attack on Horkus’ dark army.”

“We were on the verge of triumph when the Colossi, metal giants created by Myron, were infected by Horkus’ corruption and turned on the gods. Our armies suffered heavy losses. Morpheus lost his life to protect the other titans.”

“With great effort, the Ascendancy won the war, and Horkus was defeated. But, the cost was too high. The gods were deeply affected by Morpheus’ sacrifice and blamed Myron for the casualties. As a punishment for his failure, the other four titans used their combined powers to strip Myron of his titan essence and hid it in obscurity.”

“Since then, he has been working in the citadel as an architect with his remnant divinity. But he continues to be a divine genius through his creations. And the mighty vessel, Apostolis, is a reminder of this.”

As Nerva concluded the story and turned to face her audience, she saw that the other gods looked galvanized. At the same time, the Modo folks were frozen in fascination. They had heard vague outlines through hearsay, but this was a first-hand recount of how the events ran their course from a God-prime who had witnessed them.

The wind had picked up to a gust, and the sails beat a rude staccato. Waves pounded against the ship with a vengeance. The Apostolis groaned and creaked in response, sending shivers up the spines of the mortals. A drizzle hit the sails and the deck.

Suddenly, Nerva turned to the northwest on the forecastle deck. She had perceived something in the distance. The familiar tempestuous essence of a mighty god.

“He’s back.”

They could see a speck rushing towards the ship. It grew larger and turned into a massive boulder. The mortal crowd started muttering cheerfully. A sound pierced through the wind and brine. Peals of resounding laughter. Its amplitude rose as the boulder drifted closer.

A figure stood on the flying rubble, roaring blessedly. The boulder reached the vessel and hovered over it. Then it descended to the waist deck and perched with a loud thud.

The gods and mortals, led by Nerva, rushed to its place of landing.

The male figure standing on the boulder disembarked. He was massively built- over seven and a half feet tall. With musculature that made the enormous boulder look petite, Marcus Petromax was a monument to behold. He had a long, flowing beard and large brown eyes under bushy eyebrows.

He was four hundred and forty-eight years old, the eldest of all the gods, but had the visage of a forty-year-old man in his prime. His laughter reverberated throughout the ship’s halls. The apprehension of the incoming storm haunting the other gods and mortal guests disappeared like it never existed. They were in the presence of the most powerful entity of the living world, the God-King, Marcus Petromax.”

“We found it, Nerva,” he boomed at his prime, “We found Charybdis.”