Well of Sins Book Two:Of Humility & Pride: Book Two:Of Humility & Pride

By Emma Chichester Clark

All civilizations have a story or myth of an Armageddon, a great war where good and evil will clash, fighting for the fate of the Universe. Some say good will triumph, others say not.

In the time of Troy, three god-forged items were crafted. None of the gods who made these artifacts knew of the vital role each will play in that battle until history has molded them to its own needs.

From Troy through Moses and to the Emperors of Rome, these items have been influenced by the sins and virtues of those who held them, and in return they have influenced their holders. From one hand to another they have been passed, through the generations. Only centuries after their making will their final purpose be known.

No one truly knows when Armageddon is supposed to begin, but many believe it is right around the corner. They may very well be right. A time approaches where these artifacts will be sought; whether for good or evil remains to be seen. But to understand what these items are, it must be told how they came to be.

From Troy to Egypt and finally the Promised Land, the Cup of Apollo continues its journey by the hands of a small merchant from Tyre.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469153636

Emma Chichester Clark

Emma Chichester Clark studied art at the Royal College of Art. She has worked as a freelancer for magazines, publishers and advertising agencies as well as teaching art for several years, but now dedicates most of her time to children’s books. She was nominated for the Kurt Maschler Award for Illustration twice and ‘I Love You, Blue Kangaroo!’, was shortlisted for the Kate Greenaway Medal.

Book preview

Prologue

The Archangel Michael looked at his pocket aces and knew he was going to call any bet made.

Yahweh opened with a few stars—main sequence stars at that—without planets. A modest bet, to be sure, but they were just getting warmed up. Michael was hoping to rake in a few nebulas, maybe a quasar or two.

Apollo folded, sitting back and crossing his arms. He seemed content to glare and pout, which was understandable. Troy’s downfall still stung. His half-brother, Dionysus, had been the one to bring him along to the game (as well as the wine). The God of the Vine was sure a little friendly poker would cheer Apollo up, but so far, it wasn’t working. Sighing sadly at his brother’s mood, Dionysus called the bet. He himself had ace-king hole cards.

Samael, the Angel of Death, had two pocket diamonds and so called the bet as well. Odin, the Mad God of the North, folded and it was now Michael’s turn. He nonchalantly called Yahweh’s bet.

At the flop of three cards, Michael nearly fell off his chair. An ace and two kings were lying on the table now, and Michael knew he had an almost unbeatable hand. The odds were definitely on his side.

Yahweh stayed in, tossing a few planets with moons into the pot. Michael tried not to get too excited; if he won, then he could start up his own solar system!

Dionysus scratched at his goatee and tried to look indifferent, but he had tripled his pocket king and matched his ace. He took a sip of wine, glancing sideways at his brother. Though still in a state of utter dejection, Apollo caught the fleeting look and simply rolled his eyes. He was well aware that Dionysus was frighteningly good at whatever card game you put in front of him, so he thought this kind of charade was ridiculous. With a chuckle and shake of his head, Dionysus finally raised the bet. Not too much, though. He didn’t want to scare anyone off just yet. An asteroid here and an asteroid there didn’t amount to much, but it established his legitimacy for a later bet.

Samael threw his cards down in disgust. He had been hoping for a flush but didn’t have a chance now. I fold, he said.

Michael rubbed at his chin. He wanted to raise, but how much? He knew that this hand alone could go a long way toward covering his losses of a few hands before. He hemmed and hawed, hoping his act would fool everyone. Apollo finally sniped, Bet or fold!

Michael glared at the young god and had to wonder at Dionysus’s judgment. Apollo’s sour mood was destined to bring the entire group down. With a huff, he finally decided to call the raise and save the crushing blow for the next card.

An eight on the turn card. Now, Michael thought. I will separate the wheat from the chaff, the chickens from the foxes, the—

Check, Yahweh said.

Dionysus leapt in. His three kings and two aces looked even better now. Charging head-on, he threw in a solar system, complete with planets circled by moons. A veritable fortune. He sat back and smirked. The pot was his for the taking.

Meanwhile, Michael sat forward in his chair. His full house of aces over kings would beat anything showing, but for four kings. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Dionysus. The little snake had bluffed him out of a pot earlier, and he had to wonder if the Wine God was bluffing again.

Just then, Hermes walked into the room. He went to Yahweh’s side, bent down, and began whispering in the other’s ear.

Figuring it was just some inconsequential report, as it often was, Michael continued with the game. Or at least, he tried. I raise— he started.

What?! Yahweh cried, causing everyone to stop what they were doing and stare. Ten? Are you sure you heard correctly? Hermes nodded mutely. "I said two. Michael, I did say two, right?"

Michael blinked in confusion. "Two what, sir?" he asked.

Plagues, Master Archangel! Plagues! I promised bloodred water and leaping frogs and hopping toads. That should have been more than enough for anybody. Yahweh sighed heavily and shook his head. And I thought he was a closer. Why is he unable to close this deal with what I gave him?

Perhaps he’s just not a good salesman, Dionysus offered. He may talk a good game, but apparently he can’t make the sale.

Hermes coughed lightly behind his hand, drawing everyone’s attention back to himself. Actually, it’s the Pharaoh, sir. He’s being quite stubborn. So far, his own priests have been able to duplicate the water and the frogs. So Moses is asking for a greater show of power.

Michael knew that this was going to become an ordeal, which could last for quite a while. Deciding he wasn’t going to be gypped out of his rightful victory, he said, I raise—

Michael, Yahweh said, oblivious to his head angel’s attempts at continuing the game. We have no time to waste. Put down those cards and let’s put our heads together. We must let this Pharaoh know that we are not Beings to be trifled with.

Michael knew it could be millennia before they sat down to these cards again. And knowing Dionysus, the Wine God would find some way to cheat. But he could not go against Yahweh’s wishes. Yes, sir, Michael replied with an internal groan. Those Egyptians will pay for this, he thought maliciously as he threw his hand down. He was already thinking of hail and fire and boils. Lots of boils.

The others got up and left. Samael had duties to attend to anyway and was happy with the comets he had won earlier. Apollo hadn’t really cared about the game, so he ended up folding early more often than not and thus didn’t win anything. His brother, however, made out quite well with a few neutron stars under his belt. Even Odin had been lucky, returning to Asgard with a herd of winged horses won off Samael (who had won them from Zeus a few poker nights ago).

Michael, who had been this close to having two whole solar systems of his own, had nothing to speak of. Yet.

Hermes remained standing to the side as Michael moved around the table to sit closer to Yahweh. Any ideas, Michael? Yahweh asked.

Plenty, the Archangel replied with venom.

Michael’s tone seemed only to amuse Yahweh. Well, then, let’s hear them.

"Well, you’ve got all those toads. Kill them off. That’ll attract flies, preferably the biting kind. And they should be diseased so they start killing livestock. And then give the Egyptians boils. Maybe some fiery hail. We can do that, right? Oh, and locusts! Millions of locusts! And how about a few days of pitch-black darkness, just for giggles?"

As Yahweh listened, his amusement waned. He was growing worried about Michael’s enthusiasm. And how do you propose I do all this? he asked.

Michael stopped his rant and blinked. He then turned to Hermes and asked, What’s the name of that island we have on hold?

Thera, Hermes answered.

Well, there you go, Michael said. Blow that up and it should at least take care of the fiery hail, and it would probably stir up the locusts and disrupt the weather enough to block out the sun for a while. Everything else should take care of itself. Of course, we’ll need a finale… where’s Samael? Get Samael back here!

Yes, those blasted Egyptians would pay for disrupting their game. Michael would make sure of it.

Not long after their impromptu meeting was adjourned, the volcanic Island of Thera did indeed blow up, spewing ash and fire into the air for miles and miles. The superheated air disturbed weather patterns for weeks afterward. The island itself was reduced to nothing but a slim ring of small islands and reefs.

And so it was that Moses was inadvertently responsible for the legend of Atlantis.

Chapter 1

Carthage was not home to Achaemenides, but it was dry land and the Greek warrior was at last free of the Trojans. It was true that he was grateful to them for rescuing him from that accursed island of one-eyed man-eating giants. That did not mean he wished to become bosom companions with any of them. Besides, the longer he stayed in their company, the more likely it became that they would discover the Cup. The large pouch on his belt was getting harder and harder to explain away. Thus far, the Trojans hadn’t poked and prodded too much since he told them the bag contained what few possessions he had after being stranded, but several were starting to eye it a bit too closely.

If they were anything like Odysseus’s crew, then they were more than likely sniffing for treasure.

It was because of this that he had parted ways with them almost as soon as his sandals met the sandy shore of Carthage. Whether or not they understood his urgency, or whether they returned the feeling, he had no inkling. He really couldn’t bring himself to care. All he wanted to do was lose himself in the bustling crowds of the young city.

As he meandered about, taking in the sights, he began thinking he could make a home for himself here. Even if the Trojans stayed, he could sell the Cup and get it off his hands; they would never have to know. He could then use the profit to settle down. Though none of the women of Carthage could match the Spartan Queen he had wasted a good eighteen years of his life fighting for, they were quite pleasant to look upon.

Then again, just about anyone would look more appealing than Flossie.

Suppressing a shudder, Achaemenides continued on, winding his way into the market. The main square was packed with people inspecting items laid out on blankets and rickety tables. There seemed to be only a few permanent stalls, most of which served food.

His stomach growled at the thought; the Trojans had been much stingier with their meals than Odysseus had been. Of course, that could explain why Odysseus had to stop for supplies so often. While he did have a few coins on him, he was unsure if it would be enough. It was time to sell the Cup.

He was a bit apprehensive about the prospect, as he wanted to avoid being swindled. His own uncle had been a used-horse dealer back in Ithaca, and the man was not known for his honesty. As he looked about, he couldn’t help but see his Uncle Vinnius everywhere. Perhaps if he asked around, then he could get some advice.

After a bit of searching, he found a nice little tavern. Swaggering in as importantly as he could, he stepped up to the serving counter. The man behind the counter noticed him immediately and made to serve him.

I don’t need anything but information, Achaemenides said when asked what he’d like to drink. He tried to seem suave and discreet, keeping his voice low and darting his eyes about. When he was younger, he would often accompany his Uncle Vinnius on buying trips and would see him do this exact thing.

The barkeep, however, was not impressed. Quirking a brow and heaving a sigh, he asked, "What kind of information?"

You see, I’m looking to sell something very valuable, and I want to make sure I am paid what it’s worth.

Slave? the barkeep asked.

No.

Horse?

No.

Camel?

What’s a camel?

Then no. Sheep?

Gods, no!

Then what?

Why must you know? Achaemenides asked suspiciously. With the way the Trojans had been gazing at his pouch, he had become a bit paranoid.

If you wish me to direct you to an appropriate buyer, it would help to know what you’re offering.

Oh. It seemed reasonable, even logical. However, he was still reluctant to give up all the details. It’s a cup, forged from gold with a few gems.

Stolen?

W-what? Achaemenides stuttered in panic.

Did you steal it? the barkeep asked slowly, apparently having decided Achaemenides was a bit dim-witted. Because if you took it, someone here would most likely recognize it and you’d land in a heap of trouble.

Thinking quickly, he said, No, it’s from Troy. He then had to resist the urge to slap himself. What if the Trojans came to this tavern? What if they were already there? He spun around to cast hasty glances at the other patrons, but none looked familiar. He turned back to the barkeep, who was regarding him with a confused expression.

All right, the barkeep said uncertainly. Well, if it’s as valuable as you imply, you don’t want to waste your time on the vendors outside. You’ll be lucky if you get enough for a night’s lodging at the inn.

I was afraid of that, Achaemenides said with a defeated sigh.

No, you want to talk to Ibn Marshell, though he’s better known as the Camel Chaser. He’s right over there, in that conveniently shadowy corner.

Achaemenides looked in the direction the barkeep was pointing, and lo and behold, there was a man sitting in the corner. And yes, it was conveniently shadowy. Just like the corners Uncle Vinnius did business in. How nice.

Achaemenides hesitantly made his way over to said man, unsure if this was a wise choice. He had no reason to believe that the barkeep would lie to him… unless he and this Whatever Chasing character were partners in some sort of scheme to cheat poor ex-soldiers of Ithaca out of the only thing they had left to them—besides the cruel memories, of course.

He slowly sat down across the man and waited. Though somewhat small and scrawny, Ibn Marshell looked intelligent and wise, so Achaemenides was fairly sure Ibn would know what was going on. His neatly-trimmed moustache and goatee made him look refined, despite the simple blue robe he wore, gathered by a red sash around his waist. Achaemenides was curious, however, about how severe the wound on his head had to be to warrant such excessive bandaging.

"May I help you?" Ibn asked somewhat impatiently, his voice dripping with a strange accent.

I was told I could sell you something? Achaemenides asked rather than stated. He really was unsure about this whole situation.

Ah, I see! Ibn said, his mood brightening instantly. I am more than willing to do business with anyone willing to do business with me. But not here, he said, his voice becoming somewhat stern. Come, I rent a small house on the outskirts for when I visit this lovely… city. It seemed as if he had to force himself to compliment Carthage, which was odd. It seemed like a nice place to Achaemenides.

Achaemenides followed Ibn out of the tavern and trailed after him like a puppy. He was lost within seconds, and he had to struggle to keep Ibn’s bobbing head bandages in sight through the throngs of people. Finally the crowds thinned and Achaemenides could walk beside Ibn, though he found himself having to shorten his stride greatly to keep from outpacing the smaller man. Ibn didn’t seem to mind as he strolled leisurely along, as if he had nowhere important to go.

Meanwhile, Achaemenides found himself offering a nervous smile and small wave to a group of Aeneas’s men who were also out and about. They gave Achaemenides and Ibn a strange look. It was as if they seemed suspicious of something. It was at that point Achaemenides began weighing the merits of picking the odd little man up, throwing him over his shoulder, and tearing through town.

The crowd thinned out even more, and the homes were more spread out as they finally reached the outskirts. Outside one of the houses was tethered the largest, most grotesque-looking creature Achaemenides had ever seen, and he had spent a good year surrounded by one-eyed man-eating giants and their enormous sheep. It was the color of sand with giant bulging eyes and a misshapen back. And its face, oh it was hideous!

He urgently poked Ibn in the shoulder to get his attention.

What? Ibn asked, his impatience having returned.

What… what is that thing?! Achaemenides cried, pointing at the offending creature.

Ibn looked at it, then back at Achaemenides. It’s a camel, he said, as if he were speaking to a small child.

"That’s a camel?!"

Yes.

"And you chase those things?! Why?!"

I don’t actually… oh for… just come on! Ibn grabbed Achaemenides’s hand and dragged him to a fairly large house a bit farther down the road. He opened the door and nearly threw Achaemenides in.

Was it something I said? Achaemenides wondered.

So, Ibn said, what would you like? He spread out his arms and turned in a circle. The walls of the front room were lined with crude shelves packed full of things. Loaded tables filled almost every other empty space, leaving only a path down the center to the doorway on the other side of the room.

Achaemenides was in awe of it all, and as he scanned the room, he saw several things he might need, a few he might want, and a bunch he was just curious about. It was a bit overwhelming since everything seemed so… shiny.

Ibn snatched up a matching pair of bronze candlesticks. They were intricately designed and gleamed in the light streaming in through the window. Now, these beautiful pieces come from one of the Pharaoh’s temples in Egypt. They would look exquisite on your table…

I don’t have a table, Achaemenides interrupted.

Ibn’s face drooped a bit, but he recovered quickly. Then upon a mantle—

Don’t have one of those, either.

Ibn seemed at a loss. Your floor?!

"I don’t have a house," Achaemenides clarified.

Ibn let out a huff as he hunched over. Placing the candlesticks back, he quickly cast about for something else.

Oh! How about this lovely necklace? Ibn held up a stunning chain with a large lapis lazuli stone dangling from its center. It would make the perfect gift for your beloved—

"Don’t have one of those either," Achaemenides said.

Ibn’s expression turned sour as he carelessly tossed the necklace over his shoulder. Again looking around, he spied something that cheered him up immediately. Rushing across the room, he grabbed his targeted item and held it up proudly.

"Now here is something everyone needs! An oil lamp to chase away the cold, cold darkness, Ibn offered, sounding mysterious. Yes, it’s a bit worn, but all it needs is a good polishing." He made to rub it with his sleeve, but Achaemenides stopped him by waving his hands.

"No, no, no. I have something I want to sell."

Ibn froze for a second, yet another disgruntled look upon his face. "Of course you do," he nearly growled. With a deep breath, he schooled his features, donning a pleasant, if empty, smile. He mechanically placed the lamp (which in all honesty looked as if it had been trampled on by a herd of those camel things) on the nearest table and waited with what passed as patience for him.

Realizing it was his turn to show and tell, Achaemenides struggled to open the pouch on his belt, finally freeing the Cup. When he looked back to Ibn, he saw that the little man’s eyes had nearly popped out of his skull as he stood there slack-jawed.

It’s from Troy, Achaemenides offered. It was won by my king, Odysseus of Ithaca, but he lost it on an island overrun by man-eating monsters.

Ibn finally blinked as he took an unsteady step toward the Cup. It was almost as