by Gene Stiles
“Be gladdened you still have me,” Captain Lianas grinned, slapping Neilos on his rock-hard shoulder.
The Captain’s ebony skin glistened in the heat of the day, his wide nostrils flaring as he drew in the cool breeze. His long tresses of twisted, tightly curled black hair hung loosely around his massive, block-like head and down bulky, sinewy chest to his almost non-existent waist.
“Oh, to be sure,” Neilos responded sarcastically, brushing his shoulder as if cleaning off grime. “My life would be meaningless without your ugliness to counterpoint my natural good looks, wit and intelligence.”
“Oh, ho!” Lianas roared merrily. “I am so crushed!”
“Home has changed so much in these last years,” Morpheus agreed. “We grew to a few thousand people so, with only a couple of hundred left, the streets seem empty and quiet.” He curled his muscular, bare arm around Haleah’s soft shoulder, drawing her to him. “Still, we remain at peace and happy. There is much to be said for that.”
“True, my love,” Haleah nodded, nuzzling into the crook of his strong arm. “We are surrounded by family and friends and have all that we need. We have nothing to fear.”
“That may not hold true for much longer,” a deep baritone voice rumbled from the growing darkness, turning every head as the gargantuan form of Loki stepped into the firelight. Dressed in the black garb and robe of the Aam, he was accompanied by the Lady Rhea and Haleah’s eldest daughter, Ida, both dressed in gray travel cloaks over tan leathers.
“What is wrong?” Morpheus asked tersely as he nearly jumped to his feet, sensing the tension emanating from the travelers.
“I fear I have brought hell down upon you,” Rhea said, hatred and anger thick in her voice. “Where is Zeus? Cronus is after him and it is my fault.”
“In my fury over Pettit,” Rhea told the people of Home gathered around her in the Main House, tears of shame lining her reddened cheeks, “I told Cronus he had an unknown son – the one who would destroy him. I was horrified at my words and fled the city at once. Please forgive me.”
“No forgiveness is needed,” Haleah replied gently, placing a soft hand upon the woman’s forearm. She had changed her clothing and now wore the black leathers of the warrior Aam, her long golden-blond hair, banded by a tooled headband and away from her darkened mien. “I would have done the same, if not killed him outright.”
“I hear your distress,” Morpheus said, raising his hand to quiet the grumbled babble filling the room. “Let us hear more before we decide on blame or action.” His strong, confident tone brought the noise down to a low murmur.
“Cronus sent a squad of Aam after us,” the gigantic Loki continued, giving the Lady Rhea a chance to compose herself. “I did not realize it until we were within ten leagues of Home. Ida and I backtracked and ambushed them. None lived, but their sleds had tracers on them. We disabled them, but we have no way of knowing if they sent out a last location.”
“Our invisibility generators camouflage us from electronic detection,” Lelantos interjected grimly, “but not from the line of sight. If their beacon was heard, Atlantis could be on us in a day.”
“Then let us use that day well,” Morpheus commented, calming the masses with a gesture. “We all knew this day might come and we are prepared. Sadly, it means we must leave our beloved city.”
Morpheus rose from his chair, standing in the middle of the room, his bulging arms outstretched and his night-black eyes blazing. This was not the gentle father and grandfather of so many. This was not the hunter/farmer who was a kind neighbor to all. Here was the mighty Morpheus, the dark warrior that defied Atlantis and saved the Izon and multitudes of the People. The unnamed king who would not accept that leadership, but whose wise council kept them safe and at peace for all these many decades.
“Go to your homes and gather your belongings,” he commanded, his rich baritone voice rippling through the crowd like soothing waves. “Captain Kaikinos, please bring the skyships to the central square and ready them for immediate departure. Captain Simoeis, please ask your men to go house to house, help where they can and ensure everyone meets us within two hours in the square. No one is to be left behind. We leave for the Retreat.”
“At your command once again,” Captain Simoeis grinned through his thick, black beard, his eyes alight with excitement. Ignoring the seriousness of their situation, he balled his burly fists. “I have become too fat and lazy sitting in my easy chair.” He called to Neilos and his crew and bolted for the chamber doors.
“Lady Rhea, please help me with the girls,” Haleah said, taking her still trembling friend by the arm. “We need to gather the children and get them onboard the transport ship.”
“Afterward, Mother,” Ida added, “My sisters and I will lag behind to act as rear guard.”
“No,” Haleah replied, shaking her head firmly as they hurried to the sleds. “Your father will handle that.”
“But, Mother…”
Haleah reached out and gently brushed the strawberry-blond locks from her daughter’s forehead. She saw the fierceness in the lines of Ida’s furrowed brow, the flames in her green-flecked, sky-blue eyes. Haleah was proud of her daughter, the strength of body, mind and spirit she possessed. Ida had seen and silently endured much in her years as a spy in Atlantis and it saddened Haleah deeply. She only wished peace and happiness for her children. Unfortunately, life was not always kind.
“You are born Atlantean and of the Clan,” Haleah continued firmly. “You, your sisters and many of your daughters are among the finest warriors of Home. Of that, there is no doubt. As such, I am relying on you to protect those who are not. You are the Aam of both the People and the Izon. You are needed at the Retreat. That is where you will go.”
“And, yes,” she added with the smallest of smiles, “you are my daughters. I would keep you as safe as possible. As far from harm as I can.” Haleah caressed Ida’s forehead gently. “My place is with your father. Now go.”
Morpheus stood with the Captains, First Mates and the Aam Commanders gazing at the holo of Home floating above the large walnut table in the Main House. His wavy ebony hair flowed down his black-clad, square shoulders, bound at the nape of his thick neck and near his hips. Around his narrow waist, he wore a wide, pocketed belt from which hung a condensed light sidearm and a long, deadly-sharp long knife. Over his tightly laced, black leather vest, he carried extra charge packs of his plasma rifle and three round, golden spheres. His onyx raptor eyes scanned the terrain for likely points of attack with the calm detachment of a Commander.
“The question is will Cronus come by sea, overland or by air,” Captain Kaikinos said, pointing at the Delecrete landmass where Home was located. “The Planum River is our biggest advantage from land, but would not even slow a skyship.”
“Cronus has too few skyships,” Inopos interjected, his curly red hair banded away from his boulder-like head by a wide strip of crimson leather. Ever the Aam, he kept it short, cut just below his thick, muscled neck. Inopos held his broad back straight and firm, his emerald eyes studied the terrain like a hungry hawk in search of a fresh meal. “I doubt he would send them just to find a runaway wife. I believe he will come upriver from the delta as did Rhea.”
“We should send the transport as far north as possible before turning toward the Merilic Mountains,” Haleah added. “That will keep them out of sight from the river.”
“Agreed,” Morpheus began. His next words were lost in the sound of a rising, excited babble filling the streets.
The commotion grew to a fever pitch as he and the others rushed outside to find the source of the uproar. A crowd surrounded a ragged, worn and dirty man who fought to stumble through the pack of people toward Morpheus. He recognized the man instantly as one of the scouts set out to watch for possible incursions. The man fell exhaustedly to one knee at his feet, panting and bleeding, burn marks scorching his black, hooded robe.
“What happened?” Morpheus asked, helping the man to his feet, a dire grimne
ss tightening around his heart.
“Cronus,” the scout near whispered, laboring to pull air into his lungs. “Cronus and about a hundred Black Guard. They are coming from just east of the Black Forest. Sleds, troop carriers, heavily armed.” He took a moment to pant, his face twisted in a spasm of pain. “Moving fast. They will be here within the hour.”
“Where is the rest of your squad?” Inopos queried as the man sagged against Morpheus.
“Dead,” the man muttered weakly. “All dead.” He went silent, passing out as Morpheus caught his battered form.
“Get this man inside at once,” Morpheus shouted, rushing back inside and motioning for his Commanders to come with him. “Heal him! Haleah! Get everyone you can onto the ships and get them out of here!”
“But only about half of the people are here so far,” she replied, shaking at the implication. “What about the rest?”
“Inopos, get to the coms in the data center,” Morpheus ordered, not answering Haleah directly. “Send out a Home-wide alert. Tell the people to find every sled or freight vehicle they can find and head for the Retreat. After that, load all the data crystals you can, get them to the transport and destroy the systems. I do not want Cronus to find anything that might lead him to us. Leave nothing. Go!”
“Captain Lianas, gather as many Aam as possible but leave a squad to protect the people. The rest of us will meet at the south end of Home. We will buy the people time to escape.” He threw his dark robe over his shoulders and rushed toward the armory.
“I am coming with you,” Haleah stated firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “Let us swing by our home so I can dress more appropriately to see Cronus again.”
Morpheus only nodded curtly, knowing she had made up her mind. In truth, he wanted her with the girls as far from the coming battle as possible. They were outnumbered three to one and did not know what weapons Cronus might have. At least it did not seem he brought a warbird. Home only had one airship and one transport. He did not wish to risk them.
“I have to go to my shop,” Lelantos said, interrupting his train of thought. “I will need help. There are things we need and much I do not wish for Atlantis to find. I shall join you shortly.”
“I will go with him,” Loki said, grateful Haleah insisted Ida go with their daughters and her sisters. Morpheus simply nodded his assent. Loki threw himself on his sled, joining Lelantos as he sped toward his workshop as if a Dire Wolf raced behind him.
Inopos and Loki reached the data center in mere seconds. The processor took up a large portion of the ground floor surrounded by shelves stacked shoulder-high with crystals and data pyramids. The history of the Izon, Home and much of Atlantis resided here. All of the intelligence they gathered about the Atlantean outposts, cities and settlements around the globe, supply lines over these long years could not be lost. Nor could their sciences, inventions and, especially the location of the Retreat and what was being done there. He knew he could not take it all, but it broke his heart to destroy so much. After gathering as much as he could and loading it in the back of his freight sled, he placed a Magnetic Pulse grenade atop the pyramid-shaped processor, setting the timer for only two short minutes. With a last sad glance at their combined knowledge, Inopos rushed to the sled, racing away as fast as he could before the charge wiped every nano-byte of data from the system and demolished the circuitry.
Lelantos hastened into his workshop, grabbing molds, tools and supplies. Long dowels of borithium lay stacked on a rack near his workbench intended to be made into aeros. He could not leave them behind. With a wave of his hand, he sent Loki to load them on the flat bed of his truck sled. The muscled giant lifted the entire, heavy stack as if it were nothing but twigs. The two made quick work of the shed, placing explosives that would twist the things left behind into unrecognizable shards of wood, crystal and slagged metal. The last thing Lelantos loaded was the case holding his new weapon, carefully placing in the cab next to him. ‘It may come in handy this day,’ he thought as they rushed away.
Cronus stood in the high, green grasses of the veldt spreading out from the northern tip of the Black Forest staring through his farseers at the wide river flowing through the landscape before them. They wasted time going around the forest, but even he was too uneasy about that haunted place to risk going through it. Stories still abounded of the malicious spirits that inhabited that unholy place. Many who entered came out shattered, babbling about trees and nettles sprayed with the blood of the dead, bodies of men and animals left in ripped shards of flesh and bone. Others did not return at all. He shivered unconsciously at the mere thought of being so near that silent blackness, but his scouts told him Rhea had gone in that direction. The short, bloody skirmish with that other group proved it.
“Our men found the trail of the damaged sled,” Iapetus rumbled, standing next to him in the meadow, the late afternoon sun beating hotly down upon them. “It flattened the grasses to the northwest, skirting the foothills of that low mountain range ahead.”
“After all this time,” Cronus replied angrily, lowering the farseers from his flashing jade eyes, “to find the legendary home of the traitorous Morpheus and his ilk so close to our borders. I want to know how it remained hidden so long.”
His flaming mane of reddish curls fanned out around his sharply planed, squared head in the warm, stiffly blowing breeze, held from his fury-darkened features by a jewel-encrusted crown of worked gold, the crest of Atlantis rising above the center of his furrowed forehead. Cronus’ hard-cut, powerfully defined arms bunched with the balling of his hammer-sized fists. His massive chest heaved beneath his shirtless, crimson leather vest. The sinews in his long, dancer’s legs rippled beneath his black leather breeches, anxious to stomp their way into that hated stronghold and crush everything beneath his black, knee-high boots.
“Someone knew,” he growled, his deadly stare resting upon his brother’s impassive, emotionless face, “and someone will pay. Later.”
“The men are impatient to distance themselves from this wretched woodland,” Iapetus stated coolly, ignoring the implied threat. His pitch-black eyes, set in his boulder-like head, remained flat and cold, not betraying the simmer of fire he felt at the personal affront. His long, straight, onyx hair hung down his pillar-like back, tied in a long tail by a braided net of leather. His ebony leather vest and pants struggled to hold his bulky, gargantuan muscles as Iapetus stood as still as a block of granite.
“We will wipe that scourge from this earth once and for all,” Cronus muttered more to himself than in response to Iapetus. He spun on his heel, striding toward his sled. “But Rhea and the boy are mine and mine alone.”
There was no need to state which boy. Everyone already knew.
“We will make our stand here,” Morpheus stated firmly, his eyes staring across the swiftly moving turquoise waters of the Planum River. “The dense tree line along the rise above shore should provide us sufficient cover for a spell. If we have to retreat, we will draw Cronus into the city.”
“We know the streets and alleys,” Haleah agreed grimly, her lithe, deadly form clad in tight, tan leathers. Her honey-gold hair lay twisted into a long braid down to the black leather belt around her narrow, muscled waist. “We can ambush them in numerous places and slow their advance.”
“We will need every advantage to counter their numbers,” Captain Lianas stated coldly. “Though I hate to fight our own people, we must be brutal if we are to survive.”
Morpheus only nodded his assent. He glanced over his shoulder at his men spread out behind him. He trained most of them himself and knew them to be tough and brave. His only real concern was for the young ones. Committed in their defense of Home, yes, but most had never been in a real battle. They knew not the horrors of war, the death, pain and blood they would soon see. They never felt the appalling effect of hot, red spray upon their skin or seen the death throes of an enemy killed by their own hand. Taking a life took a toll on any man, no matter how necessary. Morpheus had hop
ed to spare them that weight.
“They come,” Lelantos almost whispered, his raptor eyes catching the first movements rounding the tip of the low, rocky, mountains across the river.
After sending his sled away, Lelantos and Loki joined Morpheus at the shore. Across wide, square shoulders, encased in leathers of patchwork tans, hung a golden, strangely shaped, flatten rod bent by a taunt, twisted wire. On Lelantos’ hip hung a sheath containing four feathered rods. When asked what it was, he replied with a terse grin, “It may come in handy.”
“Spread the men out through the trees,” Morpheus commanded. “Wait until they are over the river. Take out the sleds. The current will do the rest.”
The Captains moved out, keeping their voices low as they spoke into their coms. As quiet as ghosts, the Aam separated into small units, each a blend of combat veterans and younger soldiers. They picked out spots among the darkened stands of oak and mahogany near the camouflaged inlet that led to the lake and waited.
As the warriors hugged the warm ground, hidden behind patches of briar and tree trunks, they quivered and trembled with anticipation. For the young, most of the tremors that wrapped their bodies were those of excitement as they looked forward to using all they were trained to do. Though they would not admit it, many shivered in fear. The older Aam, those who fought with Morpheus, Haleah and the Izon in the escape from the terrors of Atlantis, knew what they were up against and the odds of their survival. They thought not of glory, but of friends and family they may never see again. They fought for them and for the freedom of all their people. Still, they did not relish the coming battle. They did not welcome corpses left in waste, be it theirs or their assailants.
Morpheus watched grimly as the first of the transport sleds slipped over the sands and onto the river’s edge. The wind began to whip over the swiftly moving, turbulent water causing white caps to form on the tips of the rapid, rushing waves. Sparkling spray glistened in the bright, golden sunshine washing the sleds in an almost beautiful glitter of diamonds. The mist did nothing to slow the sleds but did cause them to rock somewhat with the power of the river passing beneath them.
