Stella Gemmell - Fall of Kings

“My king!” With his sword the Follower indicated a gloomy corner where a dark-haired young woman lay on a pallet bed. She was singing quietly to herself, her eyes closed.

Without opening them, she cried, “Fire in the sky and a mountain of water touching the clouds! Beware the Great Horse, Agamemnon King!” The words nudged the elusive memory in Agamemnon’s mind.

Then the girl sat up and turned to look at them, sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs like a child. She was an ugly creature, he thought, dirty and thin as a blade.

“Words of prophecy, King!” she told him. “Words of power! But you did not listen then, and you will not hear me now.” Agamemnon realized that the mad girl had been quoting the words of the priest of the Cave of Wings long ago. How could she know? He was the only one still alive who’d heard the prophecy.

The girl cocked her head and frowned. “You killed Iphigenia,” she said sadly. “I did not foresee that. Poor Iphigenia.”

Agamemnon heard a gasp and turned to see Menelaus hurrying from the temple. So that old crone was our sister, he thought. I never could abide her.

“You have defiled the temple with your bright armor and sharp swords,” Kassandra told him. “You have killed a virgin of the temple.”

Agamemnon snorted. “Will the demigod eat me up?” he asked scornfully.

She looked up at him and locked her eyes with his. “Yes,” she told him simply. “Something is rising.”

He felt a cold trickle down his spine and realized the ground was trembling continuously now, making an infinitely deep note that set his teeth on edge. A headache formed screaming behind his eyes.

“Stand her up!” he ordered, unsheathing his sword again.

Two soldiers grabbed an arm each and lifted Kassandra. She hung like a doll between them, her toes barely touching the ground. The Mykene king placed the tip of his sword against her belly, but the blade seemed to shimmer and buckle in front of his eyes, as if it had been placed in a furnace. He blinked, and it was whole again. He rubbed at the ash and grit in his eyes.

“Where is Helikaon?” he demanded, and was relieved to hear that his voice was firm.

“I would have offered you a forest of truth, but you wish to speak of a single leaf,” she quoted. “Helikaon is far away.”

Her gaze went inward. She frowned. “Hurry, Helikaon. You must hurry!”

“Is he going to Ithaka?”

She shook her head. “Helikaon will never see Ithaka again.”

“And Priam’s treasure, girl? Does he have the treasure?”

“There is no treasure, King. It was all spent long ago. On sharp swords and shiny breastplates. Polites told me. I have seen him with his wife. They are very happy. Just three copper rings left,” she told him. “The price of a whore.”

In frustration Agamemnon made to strike her, but another fierce quake made them all stumble. Kassandra fell from the soldiers’ grip and slipped past the armored men and out of the temple. Agamemnon followed her, cursing.

She had not gone far. She was standing outside, staring at the Burned Isle, where dense black smoke was boiling from the summit. A thick layer of ash lay on the ground. Nearby Menelaus sat weeping beside the body of his sister. Both were covered in ash and looked like stone statues.

Kassandra glanced at Agamemnon. “You see, there is a great chamber under Thera, full of fire and burning rock. Perhaps it is where the god lives—I don’t know. But it has been growing for generations, and now it is about to burst from its restraints. Hot air and dust and rocks will come spewing out. Then, as the fire chamber empties, its roof will collapse and the sea will pour in. Seawater and fire are enemies, you see. They will battle to get away from each other; then the island will soar into the sky like a pebble thrown by a child. We will ride with it. It will be glorious!” She turned toward him with a brilliant smile, inviting him to join her rejoicing.

“The girl is demented,” Idomeneos cried, but his voice sounded thin and frightened.

The sky darkened, and Agamemnon looked up to see a huge flock of birds fly overhead toward the west, thousands of them blocking out the gray hazy light, their screaming voices like those of Harpies.

Kassandra waved at them, a childish gesture, her hand moving up and down. “Bye bye, birds,” she said. “Bye bye.” The Mykene king shuddered and felt panic tightening his chest.

“Everyone is waiting for me,” Kassandra told the kings happily as the ground shook violently again. “Mother is waiting for me. And Hektor and Laodike. They are just beyond.”

Suddenly she stood on her tiptoes and pointed to the Burned Isle. There was a noise like a thousand thunders, and a hot black pillar erupted from the top of the volcano and soared into the sky. The monstrous sound it made broke something in his ears, and Agamemnon screamed and fell to the ground as blood poured out of them. Hands to his head, he looked up to see the tower of black fire roaring higher and higher. The sound was intolerable, and the blast of heat from it scorched the skin of his face. Great boulders were flung from the volcano, soaring like pebbles through the sky to crash into the sea and onto the isle near them, destroying buildings and narrowly missing the temple. The sound was appalling, and Agamemnon thought he would go mad from the power of it.

Kassandra was the only one still standing, without fear as she gazed at the tower of fire rising. It seemed to go up forever. Then it slowed, and the top of it started flowing outward, spreading its canopy of smoke and ash wider and wider, darkening the earth and blotting out the sun.

Kassandra looked down at Agamemnon compassionately. She seemed to have grown taller and stronger, and he wondered why he had thought her ugly. Her face was radiant, and she blazed with beauty like a sword in a flame.

Then she pointed again, and from the top of the volcano a red-brown flow like a glowing avalanche started to belch out and move down the slopes. It slithered swiftly over the black rocks of the Burned Isle and soon reached the sea. Agamemnon got to his feet with difficulty, for they were all knee-deep in warm ash. He saw that his ships were under oars, beating their way as fast as they could row toward the harbor entrance. The cowards are leaving me, he screamed inside his head. He saw Idomeneos shouting but could not hear what he said.

Agamemnon thought the red-hot avalanche would stop when it reached the sea, but instead it carried straight on, rolling across the surface toward the fleet. Long before it reached the first ship, the vessel burst into flames, burning hotly before it was engulfed in the hideous flow. One by one the galleys were overtaken and destroyed, their crews blackened and charred in an instant. When it reached the base of the cliffs on which they stood, the rolling avalanche of fire started to crawl up toward them, but then it slowed to a halt. Agamemnon breathed out shakily.

His relief lasted only for a few heartbeats. There was another terrifying sound from deep in the earth beneath them. As he watched, he saw the sea in the harbor dent in the middle, and an enormous whirlpool started to form, sluggishly at first and then with greater speed. There was another great noise, an army of thunders, and the sea suddenly fell away from them, swallowed instantly into the earth. The entire fleet of charred ships disappeared in moments as sea rushed into the harbor to pour into the hole in the world.

There was a building roar, and the ground started to shake wildly.

Agamemnon’s last sight was of Kassandra, a joyous smile on her face, as she waved goodbye.

He closed his eyes.

Then the island rose up under them and flung the kings screaming into the sky.