Colony - Nephilim

by Gene Stiles

  “I do not like this,” their squad leader whispered, almost startled by the sound of his own choked voice. “Turn around. Let us get out of this place.”

  But they had nowhere to go. Dust fell down upon them like droplets of dirty rain, a screeching of stone on stone assaulting their ears. Huge blocks of squared granite tumbled down from the roofline above, smashing them under piles of rocky rubble. All that was left was the moans of the dying and shattered white shards of bloody bone.

  Haleah stepped from the protective doorway and climbed over the sickening wreckage trying not to gag from the stench of loosened bowels. Her unsmiling lips sat terse upon her oval face in the darkness, her blue eyes cold. Yet, she could not keep the salty tears from streaking the dirt on her cheeks at the thought of the hapless men crushed beneath her booted feet. Moving as lithe as a cat, her feigned injuries forgotten, Haleah quickly made her way to the exit and slipped onto the roadway to rendezvous with the rest of her team.

  Captain Lianas led a small, five-man team of Aam along the edge of a row of rock and wood, neatly maintained homes that surrounded the open square near the Main House. In the dimness of full night, he could make out only the silhouetted shapes of Cronus and his guard as they encircled the oaken building. There were too many of them for him to slip past unnoticed even though his black skin made Lianas almost invisible in the darkness. His men, dressed in black leathers, their faces streaked with gray and charcoal, huddled inside a small family dwelling and peered through the large windows that faced the green, manicured lawn surrounding the public house. There was nothing they could do and the harsh reality of it gnawed at their bellies.

  Expecting to repel the Atlantean invaders long before they got this far, all of the injured were transported here and were trapped inside. It would not take long for them to be discovered. Already, the noose had tightened around them. Cronus and his men were now standing upon the covered porches that encompassed the structure. Lianas could hear their cautious voices as they made their way inside and it made him sick. He ground his teeth together so hard they hurt. His entire body ached to fight to free his brethren, but he knew that path would only mean his own death. Lianas signaled his men, dejectedly turning to meet up with Morpheus deeper inside the city. He would return, he vowed to himself. He would return.

  In the large storeroom of a food store a quarter mile from the city center, the remainder of the forces of Home gathered around a tiny fire built in a pit used for smoking meats. There were no windows to give away their position with the flickering of the flames and the nighttime hid the small tendrils of smoke that slithered up the chimney. For now, they were safe.

  “Only fourteen,” Ellison muttered, shaking his head. Even though they were far enough away from Cronus not to be heard, they kept their voices low should he have scouts out in the streets. “All we have left is fourteen. Cronus still has at least forty. There is no way we can storm the Main House. It would be pure suicide.”

  “Agreed,” Morpheus sighed heavily, his pitch-black eyes staring into the yellow and red flames. His velvety black hair hung loose and tangled, red splotches of dried blood marring the strands. “Yet to leave our brethren in his hands is both a horrifying thought and dangerous to all of Home. Unwillingly, they may be forced to give up the location of the Retreat. I cannot, in good conscience, risk so many in the name of the few. ”

  “What do you have in mind?” Haleah asked, her tan leathers darkened by sprays of life fluids. Her long, blond hair lay tangled across her shoulders, limp and dirtied from battle. Her full, rose-red lips were tensely pursed below her high, pink cheekbones, her azure eyes, moist and shiny.

  Morpheus slipped his gaze over his compatriots, assessing their physical condition, but never doubting their personal commitment. Of his Commanders, only Captain Lianas, Ellison, Inopos, the gargantuan Loki and Lelantos remained. The other seven were battle-hardened veterans who fought at his side against Cronus before. They all were fully aware of the horrific atrocities the Lord Father was capable of and deeply feared for their captured comrades and the fate that awaited them. Morpheus saw the determination and fury etched into their eyes, but he also saw bleak, despondent acquiescence of their own demise written there. He would not allow that. Coming to a harsh decision, he looked hard into their eyes.

  “Lelantos, you know the city and the surrounding landscape better than the rest. Lead them out of Home and head east.” His friend tilted his head quizzically, one eyebrow arched above his raptor-sharp, gold-flecked hazel eyes, but he said nothing. “Wait for me at the grove of oak east of town toward the Defile. If I have not arrived within an hour, get to the Retreat and prepare them for what will surely follow.”

  “Whatever you are planning, my love,” Haleah said sternly, “I will remain at your side.”

  “Not this time, my sweet,” Morpheus replied sadly. He ran his wide, burly hand down her finely muscled back, stopping at her narrow waist. “I need you safe with our children and grandchildren. They will need you should something go awry. For once,” he smiled wanly, “do as you are told, woman.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Captain Lianas could see the dark despair shimmering behind the eyes of Morpheus, hidden beneath a cold, calculating mask of assuredness. He did not like the look. Not one bit.

  “I intend to burn Home to the ground and Cronus along with it,” Morpheus responded gravely. He reached into the large pack sitting on the floor next to him and drew out two round, red balls. “These fire starters are chemical, not electronic,” he continued, twirling them in his hand. “They were not affected by the pulse. I will set a ring of fire around the Main House then throw the remaining ones upon the roof. Everything – and everyone – caught inside will perish.” Thinking of his men, he added, “It is a far better way for our brothers to die than at the hands of that monster.”

  “Even you are not fleet of foot enough to trap Cronus in the circle before the flame wall is complete,” Ellison said coolly. “You will need us to help you set the fires.”

  “No, I will not,” Morpheus replied. “I can set them to delay ignition until all are placed. It will be easier for me to avoid detection if I move alone.”

  “Then I should be the one to do it,” Inopos interjected, his black leathers covered in sickly stains, his reddish curls matted against his bull-like head, his lithe but powerful body marred with deep cuts and purple bruises. His emerald eyes were as calm as a waveless sea, flat and serene. “You have a family while I do not. Captain Kaikinos and our crew were my family. I have less to lose.”

  “No,” Morpheus returned kindly. He understood his friend well, knowing how close the Captain and his First Mate had been. “I am the Commander of Home. This is something I and I alone must do. I will not allow anyone else to condemn our brethren to such a fate.”

  “I have a much better idea,” Lelantos interrupted, his voice rich and smooth, “and no one will have to stay behind.”

  All eyes turned upon him as he reached over his broad, flat shoulder and unslung the mysterious golden weapon from his back. He wrapped his wide hand around the thick center of the curved metal, reached into the sheath strapped to his hip and pulled out one of the feathered rods. He laid it upon the indented niche on one side, slipping the notched end beyond the feathers into the thin, braided wire. Holding the rod between two fingertips curled around the string, he straightened his left arm before him, drawing the rod toward his chiseled cheek with the other. The golden, plated weapon bowed backward into an arc, the rod sliding along until it stopped just short of its sharp, barbed, pyramid-shaped, metal tip. Lelantos eased back the tension until he could remove the rod and gave his companions a wry grin.

  “Wrap the fire starters tightly together in a sack of cloth,” he continued as the others looked at him, puzzled by what he had in mind. “Attach the sack to this,” he said, pointing to the rod, “with a long piece of hide. I call it an ‘aero’. Once I launch the aero, it will drag the sack along with it. I can fire it
directly into the Main House once we gain some distance from Home. When the starters explode, the entire building will erupt in flames. Cronus will not have time to escape.”

  “You can do this?” Morpheus asked his friend sternly. He eyed the contraption dubiously but trusted Lelantos completely. Much of Home ran on his engineering skills. If he said he could do a thing, it could be counted on.

  “Without a doubt,” came the ready response. “This bow,” Lelantos said assuredly, raising the weapon before him, “is enormously powerful and deathly quiet. The Lord Father will never see it nor hear it coming.”

  Morpheus pondered for a few moments before making a decision. If he could get his people far enough away before setting Home ablaze, their might yet be a chance for them to all escape. Still, if things did not go as planned, he must save the mother of his children and as many of the rest as possible.

  “Alright,” he conceded with a nod. “We will leave the city. Once we are away, Lelantos and I will lag behind within range of his weapon. The rest of you will continue on to the grove for an hour then on to the Defile.”

  “But we could…” Captain Lianas began.

  “Now is not the time for discussion, debate nor dissention,” Morpheus stated, stopping the Captain with a raise of his hand. “This is how it will be. Now let us go. The night will desert us soon. Let us go. Now.”

  Moving as silently as ghostly wraiths, they slipped around the Main House and outward through the man-high, green grasslands to the east. The moon was only a tiny sliver in the black velvet blanket of stars above them as they moved. The warm easterly wind slowed to but a small breeze that rippled the top of the verdant stalks, masking their passage through the veldt from prying eyes. Cautiously they moved as quickly as possible, hurrying with the night, but the first dim fingers of dawn clawed the tips of the horizon by the time they were just half a mile from the outskirts of Home.

  “This is far enough,” Lelantos stated quietly, loath to break the silence surrounding them. The shadowy silhouettes of homes and buildings loomed far behind them, a wide, straight boulevard open enough for his eagle eyes to still see the bright lights blazing in the Main House.

  Without words, Morpheus waved the others upon their journey and helped bundle the fire starters. Lelantos pointed to the small hole drilled into one of his aeros just after the feathers, bidding him to thread the tip of a coil of staunch, but thin string through it.

  “Go now, Morpheus,” the big man said, standing with the small loop of cord lying on the ground at his feet. “A firestorm is coming and there is nothing more you can do here. Get to the grove. I shall be on your heels in a heartbeat.”

  Do not give me that look,” Lelantos smiled wryly as Morpheus cocked his head to one side and stared at him. “I am faster on the run than you, old man. I shall catch you before you are halfway there.”

  “Old man?” Morpheus replied with a thin smile. He reached out and clasped his friend firmly on his bulging forearm. “Good luck to you,” he said, his black grim but warm.

  “I do not need luck,” Lelantos responded. He held his golden bow out before him proudly. “I have this.”

  He waited until Morpheus vanished into the meadow, counting a hundred slow breaths before turning his gaze back toward the city. Lelantos hated himself for what he was about to do. With no one to stop it, the conflagration of fire would spread rapidly, consuming the House and ravaging the city he loved so very much. Only the thick stone walls would be left to attest to the shining star of peace and harmony that had been Home to all the races of man.

  Lelantos laid his dark cloak on the ground and tossed his wavy auburn hair over his square shoulders. The curve of the rising yellow sun touched his broad back, adding heat to the dark leathers stretched across his burly, bronzed chest. He planted his tree-trunk legs, his body turned slightly sideways. Wide nostrils tested the light breeze and tasted the rich aroma of wildflowers. He drew back his bow, his sinewy biceps bulging with the tautness of the string held next to his square cheek. His bright hazel eyes sighted down the long, borithium shaft, along the boulevard, centering on the twinkling lights of his target. Raising the bow into the air, Lelantos took a slow deep breath and let fly.

  The aero arched high into the morning sky, dragging the pouch behind it like the tail feathers of a great bird. He did not tear his gaze away until the fireball erupted with a blaze that rivaled the crying sun. Tears ran down his chiseled cheeks as the dancing red flames savagely attacked the oaken logs, tearing into them like some ferocious, ravenous beast. Lelantos hung his head in a sorrow that cut into his bleeding soul. He tossed his robe over his slumped shoulder and slung his bow. With one last look back, Lelantos turned east and loped through the meadow at a ground-eating pace.

  Morpheus heard the thunderous explosion behind him, turning his head to see the flaming demon rise above his beloved city. He imagined he could hear the wailing screams of tortured, blazing wood and the wretched howls of generations of memories lost as homes were reduced to smoking ash. He stumbled at the agony coursing through his veins, praying to the Creator that Cronus, at least, burned as well.

  Morpheus broke through the tall meadow into the large clearing of scraggly grasses that surrounded the grove of tall oaks, birches and elms before him. A small stream bubbling its way over tiny, smooth rocks cutting through the landscape, singing softly into the morning. The sun topped the tree line in a bright, golden arc, glowing softly in a cloudless, azure sky. The scene appeared peaceful, serene and quiet.

  ‘Too quiet,’ Morpheus thought suddenly, all of his Aam senses tingling and alert. No birdsong touched the branches. No rodents scuttled among the undergrowth. He slowed his pace, casting his eyes around the glade, his ears heedful of the slightest noise. Cautiously, he made his way closer to the dark shadows lurking beneath the thick foliage blanketing the treetops.

  Reaching the halfway point, Morpheus stopped, rooted to the low crabgrass. His brow darkened, his ebony eyes dropping to mere slits above his pinched lips. A rattling of metal against sheaths scraped against his eardrums as the dark-hooded Black Guard rose from the tall grasses on either side of dell. In front of him, another group stepped from within the dusky forest, the Aam of Home bound and gagged between them.

  “Hello, Morpheus,” Cronus said his voice as cold as a mountain glacier as he slipping from behind the base of a mighty oak. The monster, Iapetus, moved to stand at his side, Haleah gripped firmly by the neck in one of his giant paws. “It has been a very long time. A very long time indeed.”

  Chapter III

  Zeus walked down the smoothed cobblestone streets of the port city of Daedalia unnoticed by all except for the flirtatious glances of admiring ladies. His lion’s mane of blond-streaked, fiery red hair cascaded down the middle of his pillar-wide back, held from his broad forehead by a wide band of ornately tooled brown-leather. Eyes the color of golden wheat sparkling in a summer sun sat deeply above prominent cheekbones on either side of a wide, straight nose. Full, tan lips peeked out from the thick, curly, red beard that was cut and neatly trimmed, hanging down just above the pit of his throat. A simple beige cotton mantle fell over his monstrous thighs, belted at his narrow waist. It was pinned over one muscular shoulder, leaving most of his sculpted, softly furred, bronze chest exposed to the golden rays of the noontime sun that sat high in the cloudless blue sky. The thick-soled sandals he wore, strapped up to his bulging, sweat-dampened calves, kept the waves of heat radiating from the stone from burning his feet as he strode through the shining city. At any other moment, he would have gladly returned their overtures, but not today.

  A heavily salted wind blew in from the Southern Sea and across the gigantic harbor that was protected from the frequently violent waters by a four-tiered wall of huge granite blocks. It left his lips dry and stinging even in the moisture-laden air. The docks and warehouses stunk of fresh fish, cured meats and unwashed bodies. The pungent odor seeped into his clothing and nostrils as he made his way to the rough-woo
ded restaurant that sat deep in a seedier part of the neighborhood.

  Zeus stepped from the brightness of day into the dusky light of the dilapidated establishment, hesitating just long enough for his eyes to adjust to the murk. Boisterous conversation and laughter muted as he entered, his clothing alone marking him as out of place among the leather-clad dockworkers and seamen sharing stories and savory meals of breads, potatoes and braised meats and large tankards of strong ale. Even his powerfully muscled body did nothing to slow the derisive snickers his appearance caused among these robust, sea-hardened men. After a few sneers and rude, contemptuous comments, they returned to the repasts, ignoring Zeus in favor of more lascivious, exaggerated stories of conquest.

  Zeus strode up to a polished teak counter, stools of oak and leather lined before it, which covered the length of one wall. Behind the bar stood a short, fat man wearing a food-stained apron that hung from around his flabby neck to his puffy thighs. The man gave him a scornful look, brushed beads of moisture from his dark, bald dome and dried his sweaty hands upon a tattered towel hanging from his side. His disdainful demeanor fled from his widened eyes as Zeus lay a two-finger-wide ingot of gold upon the counter.

  “I need some information,” Zeus demanded, keeping his rich baritone voice low and his body between the gold and the patrons behind him.

  The bartender only nodded, licking his lips, his beady eyes locked on the riches before him.

  “I am looking for a place called the ‘Dire Wolf’. I know it is near, but I cannot find it,” he continued. “How do I get there?”

  “The ‘Dire Wolf’?” the man questioned, never shifting his gaze. “Why would you want to go there? I could direct you to much finer establishments than that. My brother, Finallus, has a well-respected house but a mile away with the best, most beautiful, clean women you have ever…”