CrazyHorseSouix
Chieftain
- Joined
- Oct 5, 2011
- Messages
- 27
I like the way this is going! 
Thanks for all the work you are putting into this.
Thanks for all the work you are putting into this.
Unbound
- Thread starter the unbound
- Start date
christos200
Never tell me the odds
This is one of the best stories in the forums.
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Part II
Chapter XXIV
Lookouts must have spotted us sailing in. There's a procession on the dock waiting as the calm air languidly carries us to port.
The captain has few words for me as I climb off the bow, but the fellow with the crown of colorful plumage at the head of the procession on dock seems keen to talk to me. He cannot even wait until the girls with svelte waists and broad hips finish bowing and greeting me with leis.
"Welcome back," he says--pratingly, I think. "I am Chancellor Puleleiite. I was elected by the Council as Chief Minister during your absence."
"Nice to meet you," I say, bowing back to the girls and walking past him. He scurries after me.
"If we could talk...there are some matters the council and I would like to confer with you about. We have had a number of developments during your long sojourn at sea," he continues as I tramp down the narrow dock.
"Like what?"
"For one, the Persians have formally protested our colonization of the Tonga district."
"Have they?" I ask blandly.
"Yes."
"What did you tell them?"
"I negotiated a treaty recognizing Tonga's status but forfeiting any and all claims to future districts on the western half of the continent."
I stop. "You did what?"
"There's little land worth taking," he said unapologetically. "Besides, we believe future colonization should focus on the wild lands near Stockholm."
"Stockholm?"
"Yes, another development. We've crossed the channel to the west. There, we've established relations with a city-state known as Stockholm. Reports already indicate there is some rich land along the coasts to the north of their territory that would be ripe for colonization."
"Oh, I see. So what is it you want to discuss with me if you've already made these decisions."
"If I could direct your attention to the smoke there," he said, pointing over the roofs of the city toward a plume of black rising into the slate blue sky.
"What is it?"
"The French."
"Is the city threatened?" I drop my satchel and stiffen.
"No, of course not. But it is harassed. The archers have secured high ground on the mountain ridge. Occasionally a good marksman with a flaming bolt causes some damage like that. The passes to extract them from their positions are blocked by French warriors in the valley. We've managed to keep them to the highlands--even long enough to stabilize the cotton trade."
"Really?"
"Yes," he sighs. "A strategic nightmare keeping them at bay, but it's paid off. The crop is rich." He held up his bright orange sleeve as evidence. "It's really just the usual French nuisance. We will eventually eradicate them, but..."
"But what?" I mumble, fetching my bag off the ground.
"You see, the French have developed a bit of a mythology about their previous invasions. Their leaders may not be intimidated by us or you, but my intelligence indicates that among the people, there is a great deal of trepidation about attacking us. They believe that our war chants are magical spells and they think you in particular have dark and arcane powers."
"And?"
"I think this latest, rather pathetic assault on our territory marks a point of exhaustion for the French national will. Your return might be just the opportunity we need to finally force the French to peace."
"How so?"
"I think we can use our spies to spread news of your return into their ranks, drive up desertions, sap their morale, and then if you lead a peace delegation, their leadership might finally relent."
Finally, I turn and face the man. Not sycophantic. Not supercilious. He has been striving for a tone of patience and reason. He expects me to be difficult. He's heard stories. He's prepared for this interview--not to be lead, but to lead.
"So you want to use me to push them toward peace."
"I wouldn't put it that way--"
"It's fine to put it that way," I tell him. "It's a good plan, Minister. A good plan."
"Thank you," he answers. "I'm glad you approve."
All that night, through banquets and speeches in the council chambers, I feel like a boorish uncle returned home. I sit among them, but I feel like a boob. Out of touch and irrelevant. In the few years I've been at sea, not only have I made no discoveries that will profit the nation (while other explorers apparently have), but I've been superseded by a new generation of bureaucrats. No matter how many of them assure me I met them before departing, they all look like fresh faced babes. Young suitors courting the empire I created.
No matter how much I tell myself I should be glad to be rid of the burden, that I should simply accept their independence as a kind of success, even a tribute to my guidance--no matter what I tell myself, I cannot ignore the itch of jealousy deep in my bones. The pulsing voice in my inner ear, growing so that it drowns out the shouts of the dead: "This is mine...mine...mine."
Chapter XXIV
Lookouts must have spotted us sailing in. There's a procession on the dock waiting as the calm air languidly carries us to port.
The captain has few words for me as I climb off the bow, but the fellow with the crown of colorful plumage at the head of the procession on dock seems keen to talk to me. He cannot even wait until the girls with svelte waists and broad hips finish bowing and greeting me with leis.
"Welcome back," he says--pratingly, I think. "I am Chancellor Puleleiite. I was elected by the Council as Chief Minister during your absence."
"Nice to meet you," I say, bowing back to the girls and walking past him. He scurries after me.
"If we could talk...there are some matters the council and I would like to confer with you about. We have had a number of developments during your long sojourn at sea," he continues as I tramp down the narrow dock.
"Like what?"
"For one, the Persians have formally protested our colonization of the Tonga district."
"Have they?" I ask blandly.
"Yes."
"What did you tell them?"
"I negotiated a treaty recognizing Tonga's status but forfeiting any and all claims to future districts on the western half of the continent."
I stop. "You did what?"
"There's little land worth taking," he said unapologetically. "Besides, we believe future colonization should focus on the wild lands near Stockholm."
"Stockholm?"
"Yes, another development. We've crossed the channel to the west. There, we've established relations with a city-state known as Stockholm. Reports already indicate there is some rich land along the coasts to the north of their territory that would be ripe for colonization."
"Oh, I see. So what is it you want to discuss with me if you've already made these decisions."
"If I could direct your attention to the smoke there," he said, pointing over the roofs of the city toward a plume of black rising into the slate blue sky.
"What is it?"
"The French."
"Is the city threatened?" I drop my satchel and stiffen.
"No, of course not. But it is harassed. The archers have secured high ground on the mountain ridge. Occasionally a good marksman with a flaming bolt causes some damage like that. The passes to extract them from their positions are blocked by French warriors in the valley. We've managed to keep them to the highlands--even long enough to stabilize the cotton trade."
"Really?"
"Yes," he sighs. "A strategic nightmare keeping them at bay, but it's paid off. The crop is rich." He held up his bright orange sleeve as evidence. "It's really just the usual French nuisance. We will eventually eradicate them, but..."
"But what?" I mumble, fetching my bag off the ground.
"You see, the French have developed a bit of a mythology about their previous invasions. Their leaders may not be intimidated by us or you, but my intelligence indicates that among the people, there is a great deal of trepidation about attacking us. They believe that our war chants are magical spells and they think you in particular have dark and arcane powers."
"And?"
"I think this latest, rather pathetic assault on our territory marks a point of exhaustion for the French national will. Your return might be just the opportunity we need to finally force the French to peace."
"How so?"
"I think we can use our spies to spread news of your return into their ranks, drive up desertions, sap their morale, and then if you lead a peace delegation, their leadership might finally relent."
Finally, I turn and face the man. Not sycophantic. Not supercilious. He has been striving for a tone of patience and reason. He expects me to be difficult. He's heard stories. He's prepared for this interview--not to be lead, but to lead.
"So you want to use me to push them toward peace."
"I wouldn't put it that way--"
"It's fine to put it that way," I tell him. "It's a good plan, Minister. A good plan."
"Thank you," he answers. "I'm glad you approve."
All that night, through banquets and speeches in the council chambers, I feel like a boorish uncle returned home. I sit among them, but I feel like a boob. Out of touch and irrelevant. In the few years I've been at sea, not only have I made no discoveries that will profit the nation (while other explorers apparently have), but I've been superseded by a new generation of bureaucrats. No matter how many of them assure me I met them before departing, they all look like fresh faced babes. Young suitors courting the empire I created.
No matter how much I tell myself I should be glad to be rid of the burden, that I should simply accept their independence as a kind of success, even a tribute to my guidance--no matter what I tell myself, I cannot ignore the itch of jealousy deep in my bones. The pulsing voice in my inner ear, growing so that it drowns out the shouts of the dead: "This is mine...mine...mine."
christos200
Never tell me the odds
Great update.
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Part II
Chapter XXV
I suffer through the Age of Puleleiite.
I exist in the shadows of their lives. A living statue. A relic. A nostalgia piece at best.
Its well enough, though. I have experience and patience enough to endure one little mans tenure in office.
While he preens and poses, I move to restore my influence.
He calls for a grand fleet to extend our influence, but it is me who leans over workbenches and papyrus diagrams to inspire a hybrid between Polynesian nautical know-how and sturdy, trireme-like hulls.
He picks back up my mantra of trade, trade, trade. It is me, though, who goes to Tonga and Somoa to plan out quarries and select seed stock of sage and cedar for our incense trade.
Patience.
In a blink, he is the living statue. The withered, but respected statesman prattling on. Another breath and he is dust--a revered tomb, a memory. Now it is again me they turn to, me who steers the ship, me who embraces the world with our ring of colonies and forge a peace based on the ties of commerce and exchange.
And my will shall be done.
Chapter XXV
I suffer through the Age of Puleleiite.
I exist in the shadows of their lives. A living statue. A relic. A nostalgia piece at best.
Its well enough, though. I have experience and patience enough to endure one little mans tenure in office.
While he preens and poses, I move to restore my influence.
He calls for a grand fleet to extend our influence, but it is me who leans over workbenches and papyrus diagrams to inspire a hybrid between Polynesian nautical know-how and sturdy, trireme-like hulls.
He picks back up my mantra of trade, trade, trade. It is me, though, who goes to Tonga and Somoa to plan out quarries and select seed stock of sage and cedar for our incense trade.
Patience.
In a blink, he is the living statue. The withered, but respected statesman prattling on. Another breath and he is dust--a revered tomb, a memory. Now it is again me they turn to, me who steers the ship, me who embraces the world with our ring of colonies and forge a peace based on the ties of commerce and exchange.
And my will shall be done.
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Okay, that post's a little shorter than originally planned. I had written up the whole thing, but then the server gave me a busy signal and I lost the post. From now on, I should copy everything to the clipboard just before hitting "submit," to be safe.
Sparthage
Fighting Tyranny
lurker's comment: If you have MS Word or another processor, you could use that. It's what I use when writing mine.
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
I know I should, but I guess I was being lazy.
Anyway, I don't think there's any great loss. I must've just worded things a little more succinctly the second time. Of course, now that I think about it, I should've put something in about the Easter Island heads. I guess that'll have to wait until next chapter.
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Part II
Chapter XXVI
I hold up the pearl between my forefingers, letting it glisten in the firelight.
"That is why you crossed the ocean?" Kuwaklit, the leader of the Oneida scouts we have camped with, asks as he his head side to side to examine it.
"No," I say. "But they interest us. We would like to harvest more and trade them with peoples across the sea. If you claim this land, though, we would not want to offend your people by--"
"No, we come from far to the south," he tells me.
"Are there other tribes who might take offense if we established a settlement here?"
He turns and talks with his fellows and then turns back to us, "Only the Bar-bar, but they take offense at all things. There is no dealing with them. They are savages."
"Did you just call them Bar-bars?" I ask.
"Yes," he answers, turning up his nose. "Their language is nothing but 'bar-bar' and they smell foully."
His men laugh and pick more meat from the turning spit over the fire.
My lieutenant leans in and asks for a translation. After I oblige, he asks me, "You know of these Bar-bars as well? Like you knew the language of these people?"
"No," I answer. "I have no idea what tribe he's talking about."
"You acted as though there was something familiar, though."
"Yes," I say, shaking my head. "There is. Something about the way he talked about this other tribe. I can't put my finger on it, though."
"What is it like," Kuwaklit asks, drawing my attention back. "This place you come from?"
I ask my men what I should say. They grin and chatter amongst themselves.
"A beautiful place," my lieutenant says. "We make a paradise everywhere we go."
When I translate this, the Oneida scouts exchange dubious glances with one another.
"How?" Kuwaklit asks. "How do you do this?"
"Like this," I tell him, flashing the pearl again and passing it to him. "By spreading the wealth of the world through trade."
He looks at it doubtfully. "Perhaps we do not understand each other as well as we thought," he suggests.
"What do you mean?"
"The word you use, yuto-iyo-kwa," he says carefully.
"Paradise?"
"For me, it means more than just things," he waves the pearl before me. He puts it back in my hand and places his palm against the flat of his chest. "There must be more, here. Even Bar-bar have things. The difference is inside them."
He takes a shank of meat and chews through it, adding, "There must be more for paradise."
Chapter XXVI
I hold up the pearl between my forefingers, letting it glisten in the firelight.
"That is why you crossed the ocean?" Kuwaklit, the leader of the Oneida scouts we have camped with, asks as he his head side to side to examine it.
"No," I say. "But they interest us. We would like to harvest more and trade them with peoples across the sea. If you claim this land, though, we would not want to offend your people by--"
"No, we come from far to the south," he tells me.
"Are there other tribes who might take offense if we established a settlement here?"
He turns and talks with his fellows and then turns back to us, "Only the Bar-bar, but they take offense at all things. There is no dealing with them. They are savages."
"Did you just call them Bar-bars?" I ask.
"Yes," he answers, turning up his nose. "Their language is nothing but 'bar-bar' and they smell foully."
His men laugh and pick more meat from the turning spit over the fire.
My lieutenant leans in and asks for a translation. After I oblige, he asks me, "You know of these Bar-bars as well? Like you knew the language of these people?"
"No," I answer. "I have no idea what tribe he's talking about."
"You acted as though there was something familiar, though."
"Yes," I say, shaking my head. "There is. Something about the way he talked about this other tribe. I can't put my finger on it, though."
"What is it like," Kuwaklit asks, drawing my attention back. "This place you come from?"
I ask my men what I should say. They grin and chatter amongst themselves.
"A beautiful place," my lieutenant says. "We make a paradise everywhere we go."
When I translate this, the Oneida scouts exchange dubious glances with one another.
"How?" Kuwaklit asks. "How do you do this?"
"Like this," I tell him, flashing the pearl again and passing it to him. "By spreading the wealth of the world through trade."
He looks at it doubtfully. "Perhaps we do not understand each other as well as we thought," he suggests.
"What do you mean?"
"The word you use, yuto-iyo-kwa," he says carefully.
"Paradise?"
"For me, it means more than just things," he waves the pearl before me. He puts it back in my hand and places his palm against the flat of his chest. "There must be more, here. Even Bar-bar have things. The difference is inside them."
He takes a shank of meat and chews through it, adding, "There must be more for paradise."
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Part II
Chapter XXVII
My god, why must you people always jump out at me as soon as I've docked. I'm exhausted, you know. For some reason we were attacked outside of Persian territory and we haven't been able to make port for weeks.
Stop. Stop it. Make sense.
What do you mean, both of them?
"What do we do?"
The light is low in the council chamber. Some of the ministers, the trusted representatives of the people, have fled by ship to the colonies, to the remote territories beyond the reach of our new enemies.
Only a few have remained behind to face the storm. I think of how in another life, I could have sent runners after the faithless cowards and brought their heads back on pikes.
Too late for any of that. Let them run.
"Please," the senior-most of the remaining officials says again, spindly and fidgety, "What should we do?"
"The ships that bore the messages from Tonga, send them back to sea at first light. They must spread the warning to any ship they meet, especially any settlers sailing for the the new colonies across the channel. Then they must make all haste back to Tonga itself."
"Why?"
"Send gold with them," I add. "We must use it to arm and train more warriors."
"The Persian armies are feared," another of the ministers whimpers. "And there are so many Vikings outside the capital."
"We've defended the capital before," I remind him. "We have the advantage here. Our people are inspired by the Moai; we know the valley well; and the enemy doesn't. The river crossings will slow them and their supply lines. We can fend them off here."
"But Tonga?"
"Train as many warriors as we can afford. I'll take the fleet to reenforce them."
"But," one of them says and then pauses. "What if we can't protect Tonga in time? What if the Vikings are too many here?"
This is what I've built, a nation of colonies. Remote, isolated. Spread to every corner of the sea. Alone.
And the people. What have I instilled in their hearts? No sense of anything but their own freedom. No larger duty. If one city falls, what will the others do? Nestle closer in their beds and say, "Thank goodness, we were not there."
If one falls, then we lose.
"That won't happen," I promise and the lie hangs sticky and sour in the air around us.
Chapter XXVII
My god, why must you people always jump out at me as soon as I've docked. I'm exhausted, you know. For some reason we were attacked outside of Persian territory and we haven't been able to make port for weeks.
Stop. Stop it. Make sense.
What do you mean, both of them?
"What do we do?"
The light is low in the council chamber. Some of the ministers, the trusted representatives of the people, have fled by ship to the colonies, to the remote territories beyond the reach of our new enemies.
Only a few have remained behind to face the storm. I think of how in another life, I could have sent runners after the faithless cowards and brought their heads back on pikes.
Too late for any of that. Let them run.
"Please," the senior-most of the remaining officials says again, spindly and fidgety, "What should we do?"
"The ships that bore the messages from Tonga, send them back to sea at first light. They must spread the warning to any ship they meet, especially any settlers sailing for the the new colonies across the channel. Then they must make all haste back to Tonga itself."
"Why?"
"Send gold with them," I add. "We must use it to arm and train more warriors."
"The Persian armies are feared," another of the ministers whimpers. "And there are so many Vikings outside the capital."
"We've defended the capital before," I remind him. "We have the advantage here. Our people are inspired by the Moai; we know the valley well; and the enemy doesn't. The river crossings will slow them and their supply lines. We can fend them off here."
"But Tonga?"
"Train as many warriors as we can afford. I'll take the fleet to reenforce them."
"But," one of them says and then pauses. "What if we can't protect Tonga in time? What if the Vikings are too many here?"
This is what I've built, a nation of colonies. Remote, isolated. Spread to every corner of the sea. Alone.
And the people. What have I instilled in their hearts? No sense of anything but their own freedom. No larger duty. If one city falls, what will the others do? Nestle closer in their beds and say, "Thank goodness, we were not there."
If one falls, then we lose.
"That won't happen," I promise and the lie hangs sticky and sour in the air around us.
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Part II
Chapter XXVIII
We pull the man onboard.
It's as we feared. He is one of ours.
There's not enough wreckage in the water to know what ship it was that was lost, but after hours of combing the waters, we are sure he is the only survivor.
At dusk, he wakes with a start. We sooth his panic. Assure him he is safe and among friends.
We urge him--carefully at first, but without relenting--to tell his story.
"My brother and I, we decided to flee. Our cousin is in the army. We went to him, to find out what the best way out of the city was. He was angry with us. He cursed us, called us cowards. He told us how just that morning he'd seen men our age fighting to save Tonga in the field. He wanted us to join up, but he kept describing the battle. He told about how few men were left at the front lines outside the city, and about how the Persians were charging past them to attack the southwest flank, practically laughing at the unfinished Moai. He told us all that to try to get us to fight, but it only made us want to leave. We took the family fishing boat and struck out on the ocean. Both of us and our wives, his two children. We caught a bad wind, it just trapped us in the northern cove. Some Persian chariots were on the flats and they took aim at us for sport. My wife was hit right away. Right away. Their arrows damaged the sail. Once we finally had enough wind to try to flee west, the sail started tearing to shreds. Last night, a gusting storm caught us. It tore the mast apart and ripped the two pontoons away from each other. My brother and I were caught on one, but he jumped into the water to swim after his family. I just hung on. I never saw them again."
The city, we ask. Tell us more about the city.
"The city? It's lost. It's over. Nothing can save it now. There are just too many."
By the time we marshall the fleet and bring our warships within range of the city, we see the fires burning in the east and wonder if he is right.
By dawn, we see the harbor and our banners are gone. Ships are overturned. Finally, we spot a cadre of soldiers. They're not ours.
"Fire!"
Our bolts fly at the enemy positions around what was once our city. It's a futile, almost spiteful gesture.
They return fire. Their archers move quickly by chariot to stations around the harbor.
We see another line of archers on the rooftops. No Persian uniforms. Their aim is poor, their range limited, but a few of their arrows join in the enemy's barrage and drive shafts into the hull.
"Those are our people," the crew gasp, shaking their heads.
"The Persians forced them," one suggests.
"Or bribed them," another says.
"They probably had no choice," someone says.
"They could have chosen death," I tell them. "Keep firing!"
A volley comes in, striking the deck and mast. "Why?" one of them asks. "There's no point anymore. The city is lost."
I turn. They look at me. Statues of doubt and fear. There's nothing here for them.
And maybe nothing here for me.
"Fine," I say, marching back to the tiller. "Get off. Swim to the other ships. I'm taking this one in closer."
"Closer? Are you insane?"
"What do you care? Just tell the others that I wouldn't leave when there was fighting to be done. Maybe they can learn something from your cowardice."
"We won't let you take--"
"Damn you," I bark. "I'm taking this ship. If all you care about is saving yourselves then swim to another boat. This one is mine. I'm taking it in."
They exchange anxious glances. None moves on my ground as I untie the line to the mast and adjust the sail.
Finally, one of them curses under his breath and dives into the water, stroking madly for the nearest ship.
Then another. And another. One by one, the ship empties.
One man stands meekly before me as I take the tiller in hand and turn toward the city.
"Oh dammit, just go!"
He obeys and I am alone.
I never look over my shoulder to see the rest of the fleet break formation and flee.
The volleys falling against the ship intensify. The enemy has only one target now. The rest of the ships are out of Persian range--and I have become so much larger in their sight.
The sail is tatters. The mast is riddled with the spines of arrows.
Finally, after waiting through wave after wave, I see one bearing down on me. Its point like a blade falling out of the sky. I see right away it has enough power behind its flawless parabola.
This will be different. I don't think I've ever died this way before.
Its coming for me. Millisecond by millisecond.
Right at me.
Then I'm gone.
End of Part II
Chapter XXVIII
We pull the man onboard.
It's as we feared. He is one of ours.
There's not enough wreckage in the water to know what ship it was that was lost, but after hours of combing the waters, we are sure he is the only survivor.
At dusk, he wakes with a start. We sooth his panic. Assure him he is safe and among friends.
We urge him--carefully at first, but without relenting--to tell his story.
"My brother and I, we decided to flee. Our cousin is in the army. We went to him, to find out what the best way out of the city was. He was angry with us. He cursed us, called us cowards. He told us how just that morning he'd seen men our age fighting to save Tonga in the field. He wanted us to join up, but he kept describing the battle. He told about how few men were left at the front lines outside the city, and about how the Persians were charging past them to attack the southwest flank, practically laughing at the unfinished Moai. He told us all that to try to get us to fight, but it only made us want to leave. We took the family fishing boat and struck out on the ocean. Both of us and our wives, his two children. We caught a bad wind, it just trapped us in the northern cove. Some Persian chariots were on the flats and they took aim at us for sport. My wife was hit right away. Right away. Their arrows damaged the sail. Once we finally had enough wind to try to flee west, the sail started tearing to shreds. Last night, a gusting storm caught us. It tore the mast apart and ripped the two pontoons away from each other. My brother and I were caught on one, but he jumped into the water to swim after his family. I just hung on. I never saw them again."
The city, we ask. Tell us more about the city.
"The city? It's lost. It's over. Nothing can save it now. There are just too many."
By the time we marshall the fleet and bring our warships within range of the city, we see the fires burning in the east and wonder if he is right.
By dawn, we see the harbor and our banners are gone. Ships are overturned. Finally, we spot a cadre of soldiers. They're not ours.
"Fire!"
Our bolts fly at the enemy positions around what was once our city. It's a futile, almost spiteful gesture.
They return fire. Their archers move quickly by chariot to stations around the harbor.
We see another line of archers on the rooftops. No Persian uniforms. Their aim is poor, their range limited, but a few of their arrows join in the enemy's barrage and drive shafts into the hull.
"Those are our people," the crew gasp, shaking their heads.
"The Persians forced them," one suggests.
"Or bribed them," another says.
"They probably had no choice," someone says.
"They could have chosen death," I tell them. "Keep firing!"
A volley comes in, striking the deck and mast. "Why?" one of them asks. "There's no point anymore. The city is lost."
I turn. They look at me. Statues of doubt and fear. There's nothing here for them.
And maybe nothing here for me.
"Fine," I say, marching back to the tiller. "Get off. Swim to the other ships. I'm taking this one in closer."
"Closer? Are you insane?"
"What do you care? Just tell the others that I wouldn't leave when there was fighting to be done. Maybe they can learn something from your cowardice."
"We won't let you take--"
"Damn you," I bark. "I'm taking this ship. If all you care about is saving yourselves then swim to another boat. This one is mine. I'm taking it in."
They exchange anxious glances. None moves on my ground as I untie the line to the mast and adjust the sail.
Finally, one of them curses under his breath and dives into the water, stroking madly for the nearest ship.
Then another. And another. One by one, the ship empties.
One man stands meekly before me as I take the tiller in hand and turn toward the city.
"Oh dammit, just go!"
He obeys and I am alone.
I never look over my shoulder to see the rest of the fleet break formation and flee.
The volleys falling against the ship intensify. The enemy has only one target now. The rest of the ships are out of Persian range--and I have become so much larger in their sight.
The sail is tatters. The mast is riddled with the spines of arrows.
Finally, after waiting through wave after wave, I see one bearing down on me. Its point like a blade falling out of the sky. I see right away it has enough power behind its flawless parabola.
This will be different. I don't think I've ever died this way before.
Its coming for me. Millisecond by millisecond.
Right at me.
Then I'm gone.
End of Part II
Sparthage
Fighting Tyranny
lurker's comment: Excellent finish to Part 2! 
So out of curiosity: How many parts can we expect?
So out of curiosity: How many parts can we expect?
Optical
The Fall of the Eleventh
Awesome! Love the way this is going
clearmurky
Emperor
Go for 100 parts! Haha, that would be interesting.
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Thanks, all.
As to how many parts are left, I guess I should admit that the end is near.
As to how many parts are left, I guess I should admit that the end is near.
Verarde
Pondering Wearing A Hat
Wow! Already? Sorry to hear that, mate. Any specific reason? Do you have plans for anything else?
clearmurky
Emperor
Noooooo!!!! Make more!
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
I guess he is going for the harmonious balance between freedom and honor.
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Part III
Chapter XXIX
The space between universes is outside of time, so when I’m hurled back in, there’s no memory of what it was, or what I was, there in that interstitial. Memory is just recorded time, so I can never know what’s inside those tightly knotted dimensions.
All I can know is that, somehow, I choose where I emerge.
How else could it be that when I wake on the rocky face of a mountain and look across to the horizon, I know where I will find them?
I know I’ve never stood on this rocky outcropping before, never looked over the expanse of this valley. Yet it’s the same stone. The same water flowing through the river. I’m witnessing another permutation of the same bundle of quarks and leptons, protons and neutrons. The same electron/photon buzz lights the air and landscape.
The same matter--completely different--separated by spaces that aren’t spaces.
Down the slope, across the grassy plain dotted with limestone ravines, over hills thick with corundum, across the fingertips of the river delta lightening the sea with their touch, they are waiting for me.
They don’t know it yet, but they are waiting for me.
Their new Alexander. Their destiny.
And mine.
There, among them, I will taste victory, familiar and resplendent. I can forget the mistakes and failures of the past that hasn’t happened yet and never will happen here, just as these blank souls have forgotten the whole troubled drama of what it is to be human, what it is to build up edifices and institutions and watch them tumble down into embers.
I will go among you, and I will cultivate your best natures. I will cast you into molds. New Pericles. New Alexanders. New Socrateses. New Platos. You will deem mean and worthless the trappings of pleasure and material honors. You will esteem above all else that which is right and honorable.
And you will know which is which because I will tell you.
My voice will be your conscience. It will live in your hearts, generation after generation, until the whole of this world is subdued.
Until all of the remaining cultures of man look upward and gaze with wonder at what I have made of you.
Chapter XXIX
The space between universes is outside of time, so when I’m hurled back in, there’s no memory of what it was, or what I was, there in that interstitial. Memory is just recorded time, so I can never know what’s inside those tightly knotted dimensions.
All I can know is that, somehow, I choose where I emerge.
How else could it be that when I wake on the rocky face of a mountain and look across to the horizon, I know where I will find them?
I know I’ve never stood on this rocky outcropping before, never looked over the expanse of this valley. Yet it’s the same stone. The same water flowing through the river. I’m witnessing another permutation of the same bundle of quarks and leptons, protons and neutrons. The same electron/photon buzz lights the air and landscape.
The same matter--completely different--separated by spaces that aren’t spaces.
Down the slope, across the grassy plain dotted with limestone ravines, over hills thick with corundum, across the fingertips of the river delta lightening the sea with their touch, they are waiting for me.
They don’t know it yet, but they are waiting for me.
Their new Alexander. Their destiny.
And mine.
There, among them, I will taste victory, familiar and resplendent. I can forget the mistakes and failures of the past that hasn’t happened yet and never will happen here, just as these blank souls have forgotten the whole troubled drama of what it is to be human, what it is to build up edifices and institutions and watch them tumble down into embers.
I will go among you, and I will cultivate your best natures. I will cast you into molds. New Pericles. New Alexanders. New Socrateses. New Platos. You will deem mean and worthless the trappings of pleasure and material honors. You will esteem above all else that which is right and honorable.
And you will know which is which because I will tell you.
My voice will be your conscience. It will live in your hearts, generation after generation, until the whole of this world is subdued.
Until all of the remaining cultures of man look upward and gaze with wonder at what I have made of you.
