Colony - Nephilim

by Gene Stiles

  “We should have pursued Cronus and Iapetus,” Inopos growled, snapping sticks between his white-knuckled fists and tossing them into their meager fire. His sea-green eyes glittered like diamonds in the dim light. His sun-red curls hung tangled and shaggy down his thick neck and over his ripped and scorched vest. Inopos’ normally stiff posture was gone, his broad, flat shoulders slumped, his back bent. “The monster should not have escaped us.”

  “They will get their just due,” Zeus promised gravely, his sparkling gold eyes staring into the angry red embers before him. He hated himself for not feeling more. No tears damped his face. No pain-filled shutters cascaded through his body. No agonies tortured his heart or soul. Instead, his mind was as cold and distant as a mountain glacier, separated from his emotions by a blanket of shock and misery.

  At the edge of the glade, next to where Haleah lay in fitful, troubled slumber, Morpheus rested in painless eternity, wrapped in the hide-bound cloaks of his friends. Zeus bit his lower lip as he glanced in his direction. Here lay his true father and grandfather all in one. The one who welcomed him into his home as his own son. The one who taught him genuine strength came not from raw power or force of arms, but from the courage of character. The one who showed him all the races of man were one under the Creator, different from him only in the shapes or colors of their bodies, not of their minds. Here was the man who countered the stories of atrocities and horror his mother, Rhea, told of Cronus to fester his soul with the kindness, greatness and sufferings the Lord Father had endured to save the People. Morpheus, his incredible family and friends proved by means of living example how tolerance, unity and love could overcome all the wickedness plaguing the world.

  Zeus felt his steely armor cracking as happy, loving memories seeped around the chinks. With an iron will, he clamped down on his heart. Now was not the time to grieve. There was much to be done and he could not allow himself to break just yet. That, he was sure, would come soon, very soon.

  “Decisions must be made,” Captain Lianas grumbled into the nighttime air, his ebony skin making him almost invisible in the darkness. He leaned into the firelight and looked pointedly at Zeus.

  “I am the youngest among us, barely past my one hundredth year,” Zeus pondered aloud, his gaze scanning the others. “How is it that you look to me for leadership? You are all far more experienced than I. You have seen more, know the histories better, understand the Twelve on a much deeper level and have fought harder and longer. Why should one of you not take command instead of me?”

  “You give yourself too little credit,” Ellison responded kindly but firmly. “You are more the son of Morpheus than the rest of us. Your life has been devoted to understanding the People, the Twelve and all of this world. You are a natural born leader of men and women. You are not boastful or arrogant and listen carefully to others before making any judgment. You are well-respected by all.”

  “I thank you for that,” Zeus replied, unable to hide the blush that colored his cheeks. “Yet, all those things I learned from all of you. You have them as well plus much more experience than I.”

  “Those qualities are important, to be sure,” Lelantos added, his finely chiseled features grim and clouded by the rage that burned inside of him, “but you have two important traits that we do not, traits that will draw together all who would oppose Cronus and the Twelve and strike fear in their hearts.”

  “And those would be?” Zeus asked, his head tilted, not understanding his importance above all others.

  “First of all is your birthright,” Lelantos answered, a thin, humorless grin upon his face. He looked at the rest of his brethren seeing their nods of assent. “You are the son of Cronus, Lord Father of all the People, and of the Lady Rhea, his wife, whom many consider to be the Mother and Heart of Atlantis. Those who still see the rest of us as traitors who fought against our own kind for the sake of the bestial Izon would see you as the rightful heir to Cronus.”

  “Secondly, you are a unifier,” Lelantos continued. “You seek to free your imprisoned siblings not to gain power but to bring your family together once again. Children of the People or venerated, especially now that so few are born each year. Many despise Cronus for stealing his children from his heartbroken wife. Most assume they are dead. Bringing them back into the world of the living will draw thousands to you. When the People learn of their suffering and the horrors of their lives at the hand of Cronus, which will bring many more to our cause.”

  “That is not the main reason I sought out my sisters and continue to search for my brothers,” Zeus muttered, though he had to honestly admit to himself, as he had told his sisters, it was definitely a part of it.

  “We know,” the Captain responded softly, placing a burly hand upon the shoulder of Zeus. “They are your family and there is nothing you would not do for family. That is one of many things that sets you apart from your father.”

  “And let us not forget,” Inopos added, a vicious tone to his bitter words, “Cronus is terrified of you. You are the Prophesy incarnate, the very reason your brothers and sisters were imprisoned. You are the harbinger of his doom, the Sword of Justice for his murder of his own father.”

  “I do not believe in such prophesies,” Zeus stated harshly. “I do not wish to kill him, simply make him pay for his crimes.”

  “You may not believe it,” Inopos said bluntly, “but most of the People do.”

  “These things and more is why we ask you to lead,” Captain Lianas interjected. “We shall always be here to counsel and aid you in any way we can, but fate and the Creator have chosen you for this path. Who are we to supplant His will?”

  “Leave those weighty decisions for later,” Lelantos stated. “We have two more immediate ones to make.” He glanced toward the body of his fallen comrade, a deep, painful ache in his heart. “Should we lay Morpheus to rest within the city he built and loved with all his heart or should we take him to the Retreat where the rest of his people may mourn him as one?”

  “We take my beloved to the Retreat,” Haleah’s trembling voice spoke from the darkness. She stepped into the circle on shaky legs, her beautiful face drawn and marked by the tracks of tears. Haleah sat on the hard ground, raising her hands to the fire though the air was almost as warm. “His home is where his people are and I will not give Cronus the satisfaction of knowing he succeeded in taking my love from me. Morpheus will live on in legend and through us. Let Cronus believe he failed and my beloved still lives.”

  “As you wish, Grandmother,” Zeus replied, using the term of respect and endearment she so much deserved. He moved to draw her to him, cradling her head against his muscled chest, his arm holding her in comfort and safety.

  “And as for the prisoners?” Inopos queried, his desire for revenge plainly written in his flickering emerald eyes.

  “In the morning,” Zeus sighed, suddenly bone-weary beyond measure in both body and spirit. “Let us determine their fate in the morning. We must all rest after such a trying, mournful, devastating day. Too much hatred, pain and vehemence color our hearts and minds at the moment.”

  “Please,” he said, holding Haleah softly, loath to let her go, “get as much rest as you can. We have a long way to go in the morning.”

  Finally, as the others moved away to find their bedrolls, Zeus lay down upon his blankets near the fire, leaving Haleah to silently stare at the dying flames. He thought of all that had been said to him and it troubled his sleep. Would he be up to the task? Would he be able to live up to the faith they all had in him? As exhaustion overtook him, Zeus sent a quiet prayer to the Creator for strength and guidance in the trying days to come.

  “You attacked our home without provocation,” Zeus told the five men kneeling before him, their hands bound behind their backs. “You killed our brothers and destroyed the city built with love by our own hands. And for what? Why should we show you mercy that you do not grant?”

  “We were ordered to do so by the Lord Father,” one Black Guard snapped back,
his blue eyes cold and heartless. “It is our duty. We do not need your mercy. Do what you will.”

  The morning sun lit the day slowly, filtered behind the thick foliage of the forest. A gentle, warm, easterly breeze caressed the grasslands, swaying the tall stalks with a sound like soft whispers. The scent of wildflowers was buried beneath the sickening aroma of burnt wood and lost dreams drifting in from the remnants of the still-smoking city behind them.

  Most of the prisoners stared at them with sullen, hateful defiance written across their twisted features. They followed the will of Cronus, destroying the city of traitors of Atlantis as he commanded. They would not admit, except to themselves, how much they enjoyed the rending of flesh and bone, the heady smell of blood and battle. It was for their viciousness and contempt for others that they were recruited into the Black Guard in the first place. It was plain to see within their cold, dead eyes, they had no remorse or repentance for their actions and never would.

  One of the captives was different. He knelt at one end a little apart from the others, his head hung low, long, blond, wavy hair covering his face. His shoulders were slumped and trembling, his hands clasped tightly between his knees upon the pebbled ground. He said nothing, not replying with crumbled murmurs of assent at the words of the squad leader. Zeus noted his posture and quietude and moved to stand before him.

  “You,” he said firmly. “What say you?”

  The face that rose to meet his words was young, barely past a fortieth year, wide-eyed and full of fear. Tears streaked the child’s reddened cheeks and quivering tan lips. Turquoise orbs glistened with dampness beneath thick yellowish eyebrows on a smooth youthful face. The voice of the boy was oddly high-pitched, sounding strange coming from his well-muscled frame.

  “I am sorry,” he replied, his speech shaky and weak. “I only did as I was commanded by the Lord Father. I…I had no idea he planned on ravaging your homes. There was no need. That is not why we came here.”

  “And why did you come here?”

  “To retrieve the Lady Rhea and to reunite Cronus with his lost son,” the boy responded, his gaze returning to the soil beneath him. “I am so very sorry.”

  “I am that ‘lost son’,” Zeus intoned harshly, causing the Black Guard to snap their eyes toward him. He was surprised to see the astonished terror painting their open-mouthed faces. They all knew the Prophesy. “I am Zeus, last born of Cronus and Rhea. Hidden from him at birth by my mother to save my life. Morpheus, the man you laughingly watched die at the hands of your Lord Father, raised me in his own household as his son. His wife, Haleah, stands there crushed by your ‘orders’. Their daughter, Adrasteia, is my adoptive mother. Do you think we care that you were only following orders?”

  “No,” the young man stammered softly, too ashamed to raise his face again. “I am sorry. I…I did not know. I deserve no forgiveness. I deserve only your justice. Do…do with me as you wish.”

  Zeus glanced at his compatriots, seeing the grim nods of their heads.

  “Kill them,” he commanded. “Sever their heads from their bodies. There is no Healing from that.” As the others moved to obey, he added, staring at the boy at his feet. “Except for this one. He will carry a message to Atlantis for us. A message that all will hear.”

  “Morpheus is not just my father,” Zeus said, standing behind the podium upon the raised dais placed in front of the massive camouflaged doors of the Retreat, his voice amplified and carried by the winds. “He is the father of each and every one of us. He is the father of our beliefs and our convictions, of our strengths and our devotion to peace, tolerance and justice for all mankind.”

  Two days after the destruction of Home and the death of Morpheus, over a thousand people gathered in the low grasses of the vast green meadow that fronted the foothills of the Merilic Mountains, all of the residents of the Retreat. The light that filtered down upon them through a veil of high, gray clouds was muted and melancholy as if the Creator, Himself, mourned the loss of his greatest son. The very air was still, heavily laden with the damp tears of heaven. Upon the white cliff of granite behind Zeus, the holo image of Morpheus smiled down upon the people he loved.

  “His love of the Lady Haleah is legendary,” Zeus continued, sweeping his hand back to her where she, the Captains, First Mates and the council of the Retreat sat upon the dais with him. “It is through that love that our friend, father and brother showed his true heart. Morpheus did not see her as an oddity, a genetic mutation spawned by a pack of barely intelligent animals, but as a woman of humanity. He saw her as a person first, then as a bridge between the Izon, our descendants, and the People they awakened. Morpheus accepted her and the Clan without hesitation or judgment.”

  “Through their love, we learned to see the ancient connection we have together, to rejoice in our differences and to welcome them into our lives,” Zeus said, sweeping a hand toward Haleah. “It is through the light their love gave us that we fought to free our Izon family from the grip of Atlantis even though it meant leaving our homes, friends and sometimes families to forge a new destiny together as one race, one humanity.”

  “Morpheus is my true father, if not by blood then by strength of heart.”

  Zeus lowered his head, not to hide the tears welling in his golden eyes, but to calm the quivering of his cracking voice. When he raised his gaze once again, agony and heartache plainly etched upon his sculpted features, his rich baritone voice barely shook.

  “Morpheus shall always live on in our hearts, minds and souls,” Zeus said, pain coloring his every word. “He lives in the decisions we make, the communities we create and even in the battles we fight. Let us make sure we do these things as he would want us to, driven by justice, not vengeance, love not hatred, compassion not cruelty. Let his very name mean ‘Change’, not for power, but for personal growth through an understanding of self and others.”

  “He will live in our dreams,” Zeus finished, a harsh, warning note seeping into his tone. “Let Morpheus also live in the nightmares of those who would inflict evil upon the world. His justice will come to them. Justice not vengeance.”

  “Justice not Vengeance,” the crowd chanted, raising their fisted hands into the air, their words united in a single, powerful voice. “Justice not Vengeance!”

  “We cannot stay here,” Morduk, leader of the Izon within the Retreat, stated unflinchingly, his deep-brown eyes flaring beneath his thick brow ridge as he stood firmly against those who would make this place the new Home. “No matter how well-hidden the Retreat is, the attack on Home proves we are too close to Atlantis to ever be safe. Secondly, the Izon have no desire at all to return to being cave dwellers.”

  “Nor do the People,” Captain Lianas agreed hardily, his long, twisted tresses of tightly curled, midnight hair swirling around his square boulder of a head like a nest of serpents as he nodded. “We did not leave Atlan and travel through the vast blackness of space only to live in dark caverns with no sun upon our faces. We were buried beneath rock and dirt for millions of years, asleep in our ships. We will not be entombed in stone ever again no matter how well-appointed. Ever!”

  “But we need to stay close if we are to free Pettit and all of Atlantis from that monster’s grip,” Rhea snapped back, standing at one end of the table, her body rigid and quaking, her sky-blue eyes blazing in the brightly lit chamber. “Our women are being raped and brutalized in that hellish city, their children ripped from their breasts and sold into slavery!” She glanced pointedly at her daughters sitting next to her at the huge oak table that took up most of the room. “I will not allow such torment and anguish to continue! I will not!”

  Over twenty people sat around the polished table in the great hall of the Retreat debating their next move. Clan members and leaders who helped build and maintain the fortress carved deep within the mountain sat on one side interspersed among section leaders of the People. On the other side sat Captains, First Mates, Aam Commanders which included Haleah and her daughters and the newly reunit
ed family of Rhea.

  Zeus sat at the head of the table, listening quietly but intently for the past two hours as the arguments were discussed and disputed, often in terse barrages of vehement language. He saw the fear rippling through many as he had seen it vibrating within the cold stone walls of the Retreat. Coloring all of the high-running emotions was the grief of losing their beloved leader, Morpheus. He understood their abhorrence and anxiety, their desire for revenge and for escape. He agreed with both. But how to accomplish both?

  The skies outside were deadly. Skyships and Sentinels crisscrossed the clouds, scanning the countryside for the slightest scent of the escapees, only the depth of the rock above keeping them from being found and annihilated. It was far too dangerous to attempt to move so many people at the moment. They did not have enough of their own ships to carry everyone, their belongings and supplies. Their sailing ships were lost, burned to the hulls by the fires that ravaged Home and by the Black Guard sent back by Cronus to search for any survivors who might be among the wreckage of the city. He wanted them all.

  Pettit was a barbaric abomination that must be wiped from the landscape, its people freed from the fiendish, vulgar abuses under which they suffered. It was not surprising in the least to Zeus that his sisters were among the most vocal in this sentiment given the horrific lives they had been forced into at the hand of their father. It was possible, under the cover of darkness and with careful planning, that a large enough contingent of fighters could take that depraved city, but then what? How could they get saved populous back to the Retreat unnoticed or to anywhere else of safety for that matter?

  His compassion and concerns, his hatred of that vile situation aside, his first responsibility was to his people here. He would not endanger them further. Making a final decision within his own mind, Zeus took a deep breath and stood, raising his hands for quiet.