Hanno leaned hard on the port rudder while Artemisia shoved against the cave wall with the starboard. They kept the ship racing through the cavern’s middle, splashing and spraying and threatening to obliterate the hull and mast with every rise and turn. Oars snapped against the wall in a sudden lurch, and the rowers withdrew the rest of them, leaving only the rudders to direct their passage.

  Like a leaf through a drain, the trireme flowed through the widening tunnel.

  Turn after turn they spiraled, near capsizing as dark waters cleared the deck of blood.

  Gradually, the current weakened and the tunnel widened. It grew and grew, and finally the waters deposited the trireme into a lake beneath an enormous cavern.

  Smoothed stone formed a domed chamber greater than that of any work of man. It appeared to be the hollowed base of the mountains. Glowing balls of silver rested atop four pillars in the center of the cave, illuminating streams the lake fed.

  Two thin poles of pure gold caught the pillars’ moon-like glow, casting yellow shadows throughout the cavern.

  “Gamo ton dia,” Artemisia swore.

  “Do not say such things in this place,” Aba scolded.

  “Say what you will, we have penetrated the heart of the mountain!” Hanno cheered.

  Liva hugged him, and the rest of the crew echoed their king.

  The Lixitae and the Phoenician paused a moment, Liva resting her hands on Hanno’s embracing arms.

  The cavern reverberated with a sound that shot Liva away before either could wonder how long Hanno’s embrace had lingered. It sounded like the low rumble of distant thunder, a great gust of air that rippled the rising waters.

  “What sort of demon have you sent us to, Hanno?” Artemisia whispered.

  “One that empties lakes and commands wild beasts,” Hanno answered.

  “And you expect him to be friendly?”

  Hanno looked at Liva.

  “There are no tales of such a thing,” she said.

  “There, you see. We row forward, unafraid,” Hanno ordered.

  “That’s not true.”

  “Then cautiously self-aware.”

  “If I was self-aware, I’d probably jump overboard and swim back to the lake.”

  “Do you suggest we turn around?”

  Liva shook her head. “I want to know what that is.”

  “Good. As do I. Take us in, Helmsman.”

  Several streams flowed in an intricate pattern around a stone island at the heart of the four wide pillars. There the waters diverted into a dozen shallower streams that ran through spinning wheels and nets of gold. Artemisia directed the ship into one of these streams, where they passed close enough to the island to witness the pale form resting in its middle.

  It moved.

  The form stretched from one end of the island to the other, resting beneath the center of the dome. It had legs. It had arms, and at the far side, between the two golden posts, lay its head.

  Scraps of hair covered its stone-blue skin. Were it not for the steady rise and fall of its pale chest and the rumble of its breath, it would have appeared a toppled colossus. But the giant lay on its back, with its hands grasped firmly around the narrow, golden posts and its ankles dipped into the lake.

  The streams continued, passing into many more golden devices and tunnels on and beneath the flat stone island. A shallow approach formed a suitable spot for a beaching.

  “Halt there,” Hanno ordered.

  They tossed down anchor ropes and held the ship firm against the shore.

  Bostar and Hanno lit torches and peered around the island. It appeared to be smooth, unbroken rock. Not a creature save the rasping giant shared the cave with the crew.

  “Guard the ship, Helmsman,” Hanno whispered to Artemisia, who looked content to remain at the rudder.

  Hanno stayed quiet, a dark fear suppressing further speech, and gestured for Bostar to follow. He did not protest when Liva and Aba joined them. Barca and another marine followed, while javelins and even the catapult were readied on the deck. The command didn’t need be said that the crew would protect the king, nor did it need be said that he’d be the one to approach the giant.

  The marines held their weapons ready, but Liva gestured for them to stop. She placed her hand on the king’s arm when Hanno reached for his sword, shaking her head.

  “Don’t provoke it,” she whispered.

  Hanno nodded, and made sure Bostar lowered his bow.

  It took some time to walk across the island. Golden pipes lay at their feet, fueled by the streams and flowing under and around the giant.

  When they finally reached the golden posts, the giant’s eyelids cracked open. It turned its head like the slow rolling of a boulder, and focused its ice-white eyes on the intruders.

  “Canaanites,” it thundered.

  Hanno looked at the others.

  “Greetings, giant,” Hanno said.

  “No. Mixed with those of Africa. And another of full Africa,” the giant said. It sniffed, its breath disturbing Hanno’s hair. “I smell many lands upon your blood.”

  Hanno swallowed at the mention of his blood. “You speak our language,” he said. “You know us.”

  “I craft things, all things. All things I see. Language is a craft, so this I know.”

  “And do you know me?”

  “Canaanite, it would appear.”

  Hanno shook his head. “I am Hanno, King of Carthage.”

  “Whether the city is new or old, it is doomed.”

  “Carthage is not doomed.”

  A great tremble came from the giant’s chest. It shook, and the sound reverberated from one end of the cave to the next. The giant was laughing.

  “All works of man are doomed. All things they build temporary. All things made, bound to return to dust, as they are dust themselves,” he said.

  “Carthage has high walls and a great people to man them,” Hanno protested.

  “And the strength of Melqart,” Aba added.

  “Melqart?” the giant said. He lifted his head a moment, but, as if the movement weakened him, lay back down. “I know of Melqart. I taught him how to build his pillars.” The giant blinked a slow blink. “I am Chretes, Titan of Creation. I built this cavern. I built this mountain. I helped build this world. These are not temporary things like your new or old city, your ship, or even the statue of Gibraltar. Stone. Words. These I craft.”

  The giant returned his gaze to the ceiling.

  “Did you craft the rise and fall of the waters?” Hanno asked.

  “I craft all things. We crafted all things,” said Chretes.

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  “We?” Aba inquired.

  “We titans. We walked upon the nothing that existed in this vacuum of dark, and shaped the ground on which you stand.”

  Aba fell to her knees. “A servant of Baal Hammon!” she declared. “How great are his works and his servants!”

  She lifted her hands to the air, but lost her balance amidst the titan’s earth-shaking chuckle.

  “So many names you have. So many words,” mocked Chretes. “Even the words do not hold firm. They spread on the wind like the whispers of insects, chirp then buzz and meaningless click.”

  “Are you not a servant of Baal Hammon? A messenger of Tanit?” Aba asked.

  “I am Chretes,” he said.

  “But you are a servant of the gods.”

  “Ijehova, dios, allah. Creator, baal, sirah,” the titan sang.

  “You cannot mock the gods.”

  Chretes lifted his head and glared at the woman like the turning of the moon’s darkened eye. “I am Chretes! Do you not see me?” he roared, and the whole mountain trembled.

  When the ground stilled, Chretes softened his expression, and added, “I serve, yes. But do not name God. Even that word is too great for human care.”

  Chretes shook his head, and returned it to the ground.

  Aba fell on her face, weeping before the titan. “Forgive me, great Chretes,” she said.

  The titan scoffed.

  “Why do you raise and lower the waters, Chretes, Servant of God?” Hanno asked.

  “To power myself,” the titan explained.

  He gripped the golden posts, and closed his eyes while the water raced through the pipes beneath him.

  “Chretes, how many Titans of Creation remain on the Earth?” Liva asked.

  “Earth. Do you know what we called it when it was made?” Chretes asked.

  “We call it Earth. Is it not suitable?” Hanno asked.

  “Suitable it may be. But we named it different. Nothing. That is what we called it. Nothing. Empty. Waiting. A place to be named by those who would inhabit it. And yet a thousand names came flying through the ether. Gaya, Mother, Land, Terra, Aaarde.”

  “These are simply different words for Earth,” Liva corrected. “The Greeks say—”

  “I know what the Greeks say — I shaped the words they speak. The words change with every speaking, chaos where we were made to bring order, confusion where we crafted consistency.”

  The titan squeezed his eyes shut. He thumped his fist against the ground in frustration, and knocked the intruders to their knees.

  “How can humans be trusted with creation if they cannot choose a singular way to name it?” he grumbled.

  “There’s only you, isn’t there?” Liva prompted as she stood. “There is only one remaining Titan of Creation, and it is Chretes.”

  Chretes nodded.

  “And these posts…” Liva said, and stepped toward them.

  “Do not touch them,” Chretes warned.

  “Why?”

  “I crafted this mountain. I shaped this hollow once my work was called done. The ebb and flow of the water through this island prolongs my life.”

  “Are titans not immortal, Great Chretes?” Aba asked.

  “My soul may be, but my body on… Earth, is not,” Chretes shared.

  “You were supposed to die,” Liva realized.

  A tear slid down the titan’s ancient face, the silver glow reflected along its glistening trail.

  “And leave what we made to those who build homes that fall to the wind? Who construct cities destroyed in floods? Whose empires burn and all they create left to the dust, always the dust, dust, dust,” Chretes wept.

  He stared at the intruders.

  “You cannot be trusted with my creation,” he declared.

  “What we build will last,” Hanno insisted.

  “And Hanno, King of Carthage, is the one to do this?”

  “Maybe. We have temples and high walls in Carthage.”

  “What of the temples of Egypt? What of the walls of Nineveh? What of the might of Zhou or Kush?”

  The titan shook his head.

  “All to dust. Built upon the dust, then to dust again,” he said. “I must remain.”

  “Trapped in here? Do you ever leave?” Liva asked.

  “The construct keeps my body sound,” Chretes said. He struggled to sit up, but couldn’t lift his feet out of the water. “But I must be rejuvenated.”

  “How can you keep things from being destroyed if you have to stay down here?”

  “I am not preserving my body so that I can keep your empires from falling. I am here because mankind cannot be trusted with the world.”

  “Why is that?” Hanno asked.

  “You do not make anything of permanence.” The titan reached his hand into the water and retrieved a stone. “One day you will look upon this world, and with your impermanence, seek to annihilate the very ground you walk upon.” He squeezed the rock so hard it crumbled in his fist. “You will possess the power to shape the world, but not the will to wield it. For what have you made that becomes anything but dust?”

  Chretes overturned his hand and deposited the dust he’d made at Hanno’s feet. He looked away from the intruders and closed his eyes.

  “On that day, I must be at hand to save my creation, even if I must do it alone. Pray thanks, then, for my defiance,” said the titan.

  Liva looked at Hanno and Bostar while the priestess murmured the requested thanksgivings. She mouthed the words What do we do? so the titan wouldn’t hear.

  Hanno tapped his sword, surveyed the size of the creature before him, and kept it sheathed.

  “You need these waters to survive, but they threaten my people with their rise and fall,” Hanno told Chretes.

  “In three hundred years your people will be gone, and no one will speak their name again. So why worry?” Chretes asked.

  “We should go,” Liva suggested.

  “I’m not leaving,” Hanno said.

  “I doubt Chretes is going to let us demolish the thing keeping him alive.”

  “We cannot allow a servant of the gods to perish,” Aba added.

  “Plenty of them die every day,” Bostar muttered.

  “That’s different. This is a titan.”

  “A titan who is wrecking the world around him,” Hanno said.

  The others gasped at the insult, but Chretes remained still.

  “He cares too much about us. He won’t leave because he’s worried about our survival,” Liva said.

  “You think him noble?” Hanno asked.

  “I think he cares.”

  “Despite the danger he poses. No doubt the wild men outside serve him.”

  “An unfortunate side effect. Creation seems to spawn further creation. And men have siphoned some of what I make,” Chretes interjected. “Perhaps they rode my chariot that was meant to return my soul to God, and turned its power to darkness. I care not, for I serve a greater purpose.”

  “Is that what your golden net was for then?” Hanno asked.

  “That was to protect my mountain, yes. But not to keep others from absorbing it, to keep myself hidden from my brethren.”

  “You hide from the gods?” Liva asked.

  “You must leave, Chretes,” Hanno said. “You must leave and obey the will of the gods and join them in their eternal home.”

  “Speak one word of eternity, then. Show me a work of permanence crafted by man and I shall leave man behind,” Chretes said. He slammed his fist so hard the intruders fell to the ground.

  When he returned to his feet, Hanno spotted the disturbed dust.

  “You want eternity?” Hanno asked.

  He drew his sword.

  “Hanno, no,” Liva warned.

  Bostar put his hand on the king’s arm to restrain him.

  The titan raised a horse-thick eyebrow.

  Hanno shook free of Bostar and gestured for the bowman to calm.

  He flattened the dust the giant had laid before him, and in the thick gravel he traced the word Cerne with the tip of his sword.

  Hanno laughed.

  “You humor yourself?” Chretes asked.

  “Here is your eternity,” Hanno said.

  The titan examined the letters in the dust.

  “Do you know how I’ve learned of the empires of which you spoke?” Hanno asked. “They were not new words to me. Their names were written. Their walls and temples were recorded in books and stelae. Their words were shared across a thousand tongues in a thousand lands. This is their permanence.”

  Hanno placed his hand over the gravel.

  “When even the earth is gone, the written word will remain,” Hanno declared.

  The titan rose. He sat up so he could lean over the letters Hanno had traced into the dust.

  Chretes stared wide-eyed at the word, at Hanno.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “It is the name of the city your rising waters threaten,” Hanno shared.

  The titan hovered his colossal hand over the word like he might destroy it if he drew any closer.

  “And it is known? It is something mankind can use?” Chretes asked.

  “Not only is it known,” Hanno said, and kicked the dust.

  Chretes gasped as the word disappeared.

  “It remains even if destroyed,” the king explained. He retraced the word Cerne into the ground. Then he added, beneath it, Chretes. “The written word, titan. Once learned, it can never be destroyed. Here is your eternity.”

  The titan gaped, then slammed his hand against the dust. He flattened it smooth, then traced the same word Hanno had written with the edge of his weathered fingernail.

  Cerne, Chretes.

  “More,” the titan said. “There is more?”

  “Every word you speak. Every story and tower and temple. They may return to dust, but all words survive so long as there are men and women left to write them,” Hanno said.

  The titan stood. He reached his feet like the rising of a mountain, and raised his fists against the ceiling in a triumphal shout.

  “It is made!” Chretes roared, his voice thundering against the dome.

  Great tears rained down upon the island, and the intruders had to dodge their splashing.

  Utterly drained, the titan wilted, and sat cross-legged before the king, clutching one of the golden rods like an old man with a cane.

  “Something unbreakable,” Chretes said.

  “So you will ease the waters around Cerne?” Hanno asked.

  “Cerne is doomed like Carthage and Hanno. But this…” Chretes pressed his hand against the word in the dust. “I thought everything humans made was doomed, but now you’ve allowed everything to be eternal.”

  “It is an invention of my ancestors. Letters representing sounds, so that no matter what language is spoken it can be read the same.”

  “This is not a new creation?”

  “I could claim to have invented it, Titan, but I am not that bold.”

  Hanno smiled at Liva, who grinned.

  “Then my presence is no longer needed,” Chretes said. “Your world may burn to nothing, but this will survive even your own destruction. Such a powerful thing.”

  “You claim to have created the world, Chretes,” Liva offered.

  “But I know nothing of this sort of creation. Perhaps this is why we were not meant to linger upon the Earth.”

  Chretes squeezed his eyes shut and wiped them dry.

  “I have lived far too long,” he concluded.

  The titan tore free one of the golden pillars and hurled it into the lake.

  A cry sounded from the far side of the rippling shore. The distant shout echoed through the domed cavern, carrying the mournful cries all the way to the intruders’ ears.

  “There are men on those rocks!” Liva realized.

  Bostar readied his bow when he spotted a crocodile rise on its legs to become a man. He and several others jumped up and down, furiously waving to catch the titan’s attention. They stood upon stacked rocks beside a trickling stream.

  “There must be an opening over there. The other side of the river must feed into this lake,” Liva concluded.

  “They are of no concern,” Chretes said, and took hold of the second golden post.

  “Great titan!” Hanno called out. “These men have siphoned your power. Before you destroy it, might you share this with someone worthy?”

  Hanno spread his arms and offered a slight bow.

  Chretes glared down at the king and said, “No.”

  He ripped the post free of its binds, bent it over his leg, and tossed it into the waters.

  “You have a power beyond even the Titans of Creation. Use it well, for my powers have ended,” Chretes said.

  The water rose at Hanno’s feet.

  A great rumble shook the ground.