Blood Or Flood

A Story From Atlantis

Photo by Florian Wehde on Unsplash

For whom the Lord loveth, he chastiseth; and he scourgeth every son whom he receiveth. (Hebrews 12:6)

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I.

“And so you see,” King Barthemus said, pointing at the map over the center of the table, “As our Navigators continue to return, we have a more complete picture of the wider world.”

A curious noble raised his voice, at the far end of the table: “What benefit is there in exploring the world, my lord? Surely we have all we need on our island?”

“Yes, yes, but you see, the Navigators are reporting the presence of cultures on these continents we are discovering. Atlantis appears to be at the center of a great ocean, we have great land masses to our east and west and north and south. Every one of them is populated—we have found signs of cultures on every shore.”

The Generals and Nobles around the table murmured excitedly and pointed at the map.

“I believe that we can set our people up for dominance over these lands and peoples. Atlantis and her people will rise and all the world will bend the knee. We have awoken to find ourselves poised to be masters of this world.”

The King sat down again, and soaked up the excitement from his dignified guests.

“My Lord?” came an unexpected voice from the door behind him.

The King started at the surprise and knocked over his goblet of wine, spilling the crimson spirit over his prized map. The attendants all rushed in to mop up the spill.

“Yes? What is it.” the King said tersely after taking a breath to regain his composure.

“Please forgive me my Lord,” the messenger said, kneeling. “The Oracle has requested your presence.”

“Arise, my loyal messenger. You cannot be faulted for the spill. Thank you for bringing this message. I will attend the Oracle at once.” He stood, and the guests all rose with him, while the messenger hurried out of the hall.

“Please excuse my absence. Enjoy this banquet, eat your fill, and offer thanks in my absence. When the Oracle calls—of course, I must answer. Good night, my friends.”

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II.

While the King walked through the halls of his Palace to his chamber, he entered the study where his wife, the Queen Mathilde, was in her books.

“Dear Wife,” Barthemus said, “The Oracle has summoned me.”

Her face was immediately filled with concern. “At this hour?”

“When the Oracle calls I must answer. No King has ever refused the call of the Oracle, and for so trivial a matter as this I shall not be the first.”

“So you know the matter about which you are summoned?”

“No. No, I don’t.” He put on a brave smile for his wife, “But I shall know soon, and report back it’s triviality to you. I wanted to tell you so you don’t wait for me before saying your night prayers.”

“Thank you, my Lord Husband,” she smiled, “Barthemus, fourth of your name, the greatest in my eyes if History has yet to see it.” She gave him a kiss. “I will look forward to hearing your report. Don’t keep the Oracle waiting now!”

Barthemus retired from the study and progressed just a little way down to his chamber, where his attendants had already prepared his austere Oracular dress for the pilgrimage, which he must make on foot. He changed quickly, but as soon as the robes were on and he began walking towards the gates, his mind was allowed to wander.

The last time the Oracle summoned a king was before a war, he thought. He made his way to the Cliffside Path, which was the traditional royal road to the Cliffs of Atreus, where the Oracle of Atreus kept his pavilion. The sun had only recently set, so dark oranges faded into deep purples in the sky, and the stars glittered like gemstones scattered around the crown jewel that was the full moon. Will that same jewel see my imperial ambitions fulfilled? Will the world bend the knee to Atlantis?

The pavilion came into view and King Barthemus’ thoughts were tumultuous as he walked. The clear skies, the calming sea: on a normal night he might have walked this path with Mathilde and enjoyed romantic moments, lost in each others eyes. Tonight I am only lost in thought.

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III.

The guards crossed their pikes across the entrance and barred the way for the King—as was customary.

“Who approaches the Oracle?” They asked in unison.

“King Barthemus, Fourth of that name, of the line of Kings of Nauthilion, comes at the request of the Oracle to hear his wisdom.”

“What does King Barthemus Nauthilion offer the Oracle?”

“I bring the customary offering of ten gold sovereigns.” He produced a bag of the special coins.

The guards accepted the bag and counted the coins, before setting it in a window where a servant collected it and departed silently.

“Your offering is accepted. You may approach the Oracle,” the guards said and withdrew their pikes, leaving the way open.

Barthemus walked tentatively into the Pavilion. It was an open rotunda, allowing a panoramic view of the sea and the cliffs going off to the west. At the center of the Pavilion sat, cross-legged, the oracle. He wore dark yellow robes, a blue cylindrical cap that was the same color as the night sky, and seemed to have stars in it as well. His eyes glowed a uniform, pupil-less, bright blue. He seemed to be simultaneously staring directly into the King’s eyes, while also looking down, lost in thought—two shadowy faces emerging from the same person.

In his mind, the Oracle spoke—without moving his lips at all: “What do you ask of the Oracle?”

“I come to answer the Oracle’s call, to hear what wisdom you may offer the King.”

The Oracle slowly stood—rising in place, without seeming to exert any effort, like he was lifted by a string. One face always locked on Barthemus’ eyes, the other face looking solemnly down and away.

Again, the Oracle spoke directly to the King’s mind:

“Great adventures here at last,
a world is yours to finally grasp.
Your people poised to step the world,
The globe as your most precious pearl.

And yet, two paths before you lie,
one to death, one to die
both paths down to darkness lead,
The choice depends on who will bleed.

A force to sweep the world with ease
to kill and maim as King may please.
This path leads to Atlantean Fame
Bloodshed in the King’s own name.

Or—restrained, the power held
A doom befalls the King as well,
A flood rises which none can flee
A people fallen to the sea.

The choice of path is yours to make
There is no path leads to mistake
Choose the path of fame and Blood,
or Choose the path of death and Flood.”

The King reeled from the prophesy. “When must the choice be made?” he asked, desperate to find a way around it’s chilling words.

“No matter what, there comes a Flood.
You may choose the path of Blood.
The one the people here shall fall
The other bleeds the world of all.

Nothing more have I to say.
Heed my warning here today.
Two paths here you may tread,
All shall follow where you’ve lead.”

The Oracle turned his back and descended once more into a cross-legged sitting position. The second shadowy face merged back in with the solemn first, and the Oracle went silent.

“Is there no other choice?” The King shouted, “Is there no other way?!”

He was answered by silence.

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IV.

When the King returned to his chambers, his wife Mathilde was still awake.

“Barthemus, you wear a troubled face. And look, you are cold!” She picked up a candle and grabbed a blanket and carried both over to her husband. “Take this!” She said, giving him the candle, and she wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, an excuse to put her head against his chest in a warm embrace. “Tell me, what happened?”

Barthemus was quiet a long while, and held his wife the Queen.

“Am I a good man?” he asked, quietly.

Mathilde looked up at him, confused: “Of course you are. You brought he Northern tribes into the Kingdom, you’ve built roads and bridges, brought fresh water to every village. You have the love and respect of all your people. You are a great King.”

“But am I a good man,” he asked again, insistent.

“You are a wonderful man. You have a kind heart. You raised three strong sons who each could be King and rule as you do and continue your work. You love the people you rule, and they love you back. You are good to me, my dear, strong, faithful husband.” she squeezed him even tighter. “Why are these thoughts on your mind? Tell me.”

He sat on the bed and sighed heavily.

“This prophecy…is filled with ill portends.” he said.

“Most prophecies are.” the Queen replied.

“My ambitions…if I pursue them they will be successful,” he proceeded slowly, trying to remember exactly the words of the Oracle. “And yet, if I succeed, I fear it will bring out the worst in our people. Rather than being wise and good paragons of civilization; we will be warriors, conquerors, we will bathe the world in blood.”

“I see…”

“And yet—if I do not pursue these ambitions, our people will be destroyed. Virtuous we may remain, but virtuous we shall die. Survival means becoming a shadow of ourselves, and in my name we shall bleed the world.”

It was the Queens turn to take on a concerned, thoughtful silence. The candle flickered as both sat anxiously.

“These are heavy burdens,” she said at length. “No decision needs to be made now. Let us sleep and think more clearly in the morning.”

“Yes, yes…the dawn will find us clearer of mind. The Oracle keeps us up at all hours!”

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V.

His wife, the Queen, had decided a course of action for him. The King smirked as he walked the paths into the city, Atlas, and recalled her sudden waking. Go see your closest advisors. Not your council, but your friends—wise men whom you trust. Ask them their opinion, without sharing the prophecy. Go! Go now! The sooner you resolve this matter the sooner you will be at peace.

Even the King heeds his wife.

His brain-trust were three: Benethmond, the Judge; Roachiim the General; and Segaar, the Merchant. They have been his friends since he was a young man and his own father had sent him to learn from wise men on some troubling issue. The situation remains much the same.

The King knocked humbly on the door of Benethmond first.

“Who knocks?” asked the muffled voice of a servant from behind the door.

“King Barthemus comes to visit an old friend and ally, Benethmond!” he declared.

The door opened before he had finished speaking, and the servant bowed low. “My Lord! You grace our house with your presence, forgive me! I will summon Justice Benethmond at once!”

“Very well. Thank you, good man. I will await him here!”

The servant hurried off to Benethmond’s study, where a yelp was emitted and Benethmond came shuffling out.

“My Lord the King! Forgive the poor status of my accommodation, unaccustomed as we are to our King attending me and not the other way around. My house and myself are, of course, ever at your service. How may I serve you?”

“Please, no ceremony, old friend. Be seated! I have an important matter to discuss.”

“Yes, yes indeed!” Benethmond took his seat, “What matter is this, dear Barthemus?”

Barthemus took his own seat and reclined in thought. “Imagine, if you will, a man has been brought before you in the court of justice. A good man by all accounts—no prior entanglements with the law, a good worker, a good neighbor to his friends. Yet all at once, his family was struck by hardship. Debts go unpaid, food becomes scarce. At the end of need, the man deigns to steal food from the markets to feed his family. It is this crime for which he has been brought before you. How do you judge him?”

“I see the problem.” Says the Judge. “My heart is filled with compassion for the man, he seeks only to feed his family. I can’t say I would behave any differently in similar hardships! His act was surely noble!”

“But what if another man comes before you—a foul man by all accounts, many prior entanglements with the law. He doesn’t work, he has no friends. In his hardship, he steals food from the markets to feed his family. It is this crime for which he has been brought before you. How do you judge this second man?”

“Ahh, this man is a thief. He is a menace, a drain on society. I have no compassion for this man.”

“Yet the substance of the act is the same—both men stole food to feed their families. By the law, are not both men guilty of the same crime?”

“Ahhh…” The judge was silent. “I see your point. And yet, in the first case the circumstances are unavoidable, in the second the circumstances surely are not?”

“I never elaborated on the circumstances of the second man—perhaps if I were to, we might find him as much deserving of compassion as the first. Both men deigned to steal, only one man behaved opposite to his character, while the other behaved in accordance with his character.”

“In the courts we are to judge by the act and not by the virtue of the men—no man can see into the soul of another.”

“Suppose then there is a third man, whose circumstances are identical to the first. Yet he refuses to dishonor himself by stealing. He and his family go hungry and starve to death, and die in the streets. Was this man virtuous to die and refuse to steal?”

“Surely there are other ways he could have found to provide for his family than stealing! The choice you are putting to me is to choose between stealing or death! By all means—steal! Face justice for stealing, but death feels like a grievous act of neglect.”

“Well said, Benethmond. The key, I gather from what you’ve said, is to ‘face justice for stealing’. What is the penalty for theft, good Judge?”

“It depends of course on the value stolen and other circumstances, but it would be a fine of restitution, or jail time. He would be separated from his family for a time, but they would be alive.”

“I see. And if the value of the stolen good were infinite?”

“There is no such infinite good that can be stolen!”

“Humor me, good judge!”

“Well…I daresay, an infinite crime would need an infinite punishment. He would be sentenced to jail for eternity!”

“Is that not a kind of death?”

“Perhaps, yet—for a living family?”

“A finite good?”

“It seems a poor trade, I agree.”

“Very poor indeed,” said the King.

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VI.

King Barthemus next sought out the General Roachiim. The General was at his banquet yesterday, which was interrupted by the Oracle. There would be no hiding that the Oracle’s prophesy was on his mind.

He found the General at Military Academy, where he was reviewing dispatches from his lieutenants. When he entered the room, the General shot to his feet and saluted. “My Lord!” he said, standing at attention.

“General Roachiim, at ease, my friend. I come for your wisdom and friendship. No ceremony, please.”

The general relaxed, but remained standing. “You do me a great honor my Lord. Please, come, sit, as ever I am wholly at your service, my mind, body, and spirit. Discharge your mind and I will offer such wisdom as I can muster!”

The King sat behind the Generals desk and the General followed. “Thank you, friend. I can always rely on you for unvarnished truths. I cannot deceive you—the Oracle’s offering weighs on my mind.”

“That so? Out with it, my Lord, what has that madman burdened you with?”

“Hardly a mad man, Roachiim. The Oracles have always served our people.”

“Served to confuse them, if you’ll pardon my saying so! What was it this time?”

“Let me put it to you obliquely.”

“I expect nothing less,” Roachiim quipped.

“You are a general, you understand having souls under your care. The choice is between fighting the wrong way and winning, or fighting the right way and being utterly defeated.”

“Well let me stop you there, My Lord, begging your pardon. There’s no wrong way to fight a war! Kill the bastards and you win!”

“If you burn down a city, for example, you’re no better than rioters. We hold ourselves to a higher standard, do we not? I remember those Northern tribes would disguise themselves as civilians and then ambush our soldiers while they were on leave. They really confounded our strategists for a while.”

“I am quite embarrassed to recall, my Lord.”

“So imagine if I authorized you to kill civilians of the Northern tribes. We would have won quickly, but at what cost? They would never have agreed to submit to my rule, if any of them remained alive at all. Yet if we continued fighting with our normal doctrine, they would have utterly destroyed us.”

“But you see this is a false choice, because we adapted our doctrine and then they sued for peace.”

“We don’t always have the choice to adapt, you know well.”

“Well what are the circumstances! Let’s see.”

“I couldn’t share—but in short it’s the choice between our values as Atlantis, or untold destruction.”

“Permission to speak freely, my Lord?”

“I’ve already given you permission, Roachiim. I need your unvarnished thoughts.”

“You’re our King, Lord. You’re charged with our care. Untold destruction doesn’t sound like a good way to care for us.”

“I’m also charged with caring for our souls, as well as our material needs.”

“What good is virtue if we are dead? Away with all that. I never bought into the superstitions of the Oracle. Away with all that. Better to be alive and vicious, than dead and virtuous.”

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VII.

The King finally looked for Segaar, the Merchant. He has a shop by the fishport where he trades wares from seafarers and supplies for fishermen. Segaar and King Barthemus played together as children, before their lives took them on different paths. Yet they always remained friends, and often sought each others company and wisdom.

The King entered Segaar’s shop and he was busy working amid some shelves. “Welcome to my Shop! Just a moment!”

“You would make the King wait on you?” Barthemus quipped.

Segaar turned around, shocked. “My Lord! What an honor! Come in, come in, surely you are not here to shop? Shall we retire?”

“Let’s do, friend. I have a grave matter on my mind and I would like to get your wisdom.”

“Yes, of course. Meecher! Mind the shop, please!” Segaar shouted, while leading the King to an office in the back, with a table where they could speak.

“So, my Lord, there’s rumors you’ve been called to see the Oracle? Is it true?”

“Word travels fast!”

“People talk too much, Lord, you know this.”

“Yes, yes. The rumors are true, nevertheless. I have been to see the Oracle. I cannot say more. I have this matter I would like to discuss with you.”

“Begging your pardon, Lord. What matter weighs your royal shoulders?”

“Allow me to put it to you this way. You find on a faraway island there are rare resources which can be found. In order to get these resources, you must do grossly immoral acts. You know there is money to be made, and it could mean your shop can prosper and continue. If you keep your virtue and refuse to exploit these resources, you may not be able to continue—but your conscience is clear. What do you do?”

Segaar didn’t hesitate. “I get the mysterious resource. Do you think I have achieved the success that I have by maintaining rigid virtue? Business is business—and whatever the immorality is, the profit benefits me and on the whole it benefits our people. I can do more for Atlantis with more profit and more resources. There’s no doubt in my mind about which course of action to take. What was the challenge? Why was this weighing on you?”

“Virtue, Segaar! Our virtue as people, collectively and individually. Atlantis is the paragon of civilization. At the heart of our success is our values as much as our material prosperity. My job as King is to ensure we attain prosperity in accordance with our values. Is it worth it to have one without the other?”

“Let me put a counterpoint to you, Lord King. Is it better to have prosperity without values, or values without prosperity? Would you allow Atlantis to be universally poor and hungry, but virtuous; or would you prefer Atlantis to be prosperous yet have to deal with a rise in vice?”

“It’s a question of our soul as a people, and as individuals. And our soul is our most precious gift. What good is it to fill our temples with gold if we all go to hell? How much better for us to go to heaven, despite our suffering here on earth?”

“Well I don’t know what to say, my Lord, I don’t know what quandary is on your mind but it sounds like you know what you want.”

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VIII.

It had been a long day, and King Barthemus had traveled around the city seeking answers to these questions which darkened his mind.

He found his wife, the Queen Mathilde, in her books again—her favorite hideout. She looked up with a start when he pushed open the door. “Lord Husband! You’re back! You look tired.”

“I feel as if I have walked all over creation. It is good to get out and among the people, though. I do love them. And I love my friends—it is good to hear their points of view.”

“Do you feel relief?”

He gave his wife a look that told her more than he could say. “No relief, but perhaps resolve.”

“That is good too. So you’ve come to a decision?”

“Yes. It will not make me popular but I do believe it is the right decision.”

“I know it is.”

“I haven’t told you my decision! How could you know?”

She went over to her husband and wrapped him once again in her arms. “I know you. I knew the decision you would make this morning. I also know you need to talk to your advisors to help give you that resolve.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.” he said with a sigh, and he kissed the Queen on her forehead.

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IX.

“And so you see,” King Barthemus said, pointing at the map over the center of the table, “When the last Navigators return we will announce a feast of Thanksgiving, five days of penance followed by ten days of thanks.”

An angry noble raised his voice, at the far end of the table. “You would recall our navigators? What about the conquest of the world, which we discussed when we last met?”

“I have decided not to pursue it.” Barthemus replied. “We will leave the outside world alone, so as to avoid the temptation. We will redouble our effort on the things that make our people good and great. This feast of thanksgiving, we will give thanks to God for all that He has given us and the richness and prosperity of this island of ours.”

The nobles were outraged. Some shouted, some stood, all pointed at the map, some bolder ones pointed at the King.

The King calmly remained standing, with a serene countenance, and extended his hands palm down as if to tell his council to calm down.

“This decision is made and it is final. It is not open to discussion. I value your opinions and you are welcome to express yourselves—I want to hear all that you have to say. But I will not be moved.” The King sat calmly. “Who would like to speak first?"

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X.

King Barthemus IV recalled the decision, all those years ago, and how his wife had helped him make it. Now, he sat in the grass, next to her memorial. It has been some years since she died peacefully—though the sting of her passing is not eased by time.

The prophecy of the Oracle came unbidden to mind. The path the King led his people on was a difficult choice of self restraint, but his wife embraced it. Her passing meant that she would be spared suffering the fate of the people—a small mercy, Thanks be to God, the King thought.

The memorial overlooked the sea, and the cliffs of Atreus stretched out to the south and west. The Oracle’s pavilion was silhouetted against the blue sky. Just then, the earth began to shake—small rumblings at first, then violently, and knocked the old King Barthemus to the ground. He watched rocks tumble off the cliffs, and held on to clumps of grass as if the shaking earth was going to fling him into the sky. He heard sounds of chaos from the city in the distance, behind him. The earth shook for what felt like half an hour.

When the shaking finally stopped, the King peered out to the sea, and saw massive waves rushing towards the island.

The cliffs started to crumble, and the King saw the Oracle’s pavilion crumble off the edge and fall into the sea. A pervasive rumbling, began emerging from the ground and made the King feel the ground was unstable.

The King sat on the ground next to his wife, and held on to a clump of grass. “I’ll see you soon, my Mathilde.” he said. He watched as the waves approached, grew, and seemed to swallow up the whole horizon.

“And now, the Flood.”

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Thank you for reading Blood Or Flood, my first foray into the world of longer, self contained fiction. This is a longer piece, so it means a lot that you have read it to the end.

I am not well versed in technical editing. I have a good sense of how the story should go, but the technical editing is not my strong-suit. I love using commas, for example, and occasionally use apostrophe’s where none are warranted. Please, if you read this a second time, keep an eye out for any editing remarks. They help me tremendously to improve my craft.

If not editing comments, I would love to hear your overall impressions! How did you enjoy reading a longer work? What did you think of the story itself?

Thank you so much for reading!

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AJPM