Colony - Nephilim

by Gene Stiles

  “I thought that time was on the horizon,” Eriktis nodded gravely. “At least in this matter, we can choose for ourselves. I already know what my decision will be. I will follow Zeus wherever that may take me.” He gazed down upon his beloved and brushed her cheek. “I owe him that and much, much more.”

  “This is the most incredible sight I have ever seen,” Xavier said, his gaze sweeping over the throng of people gathered in the manicured field on the outskirts of Nil. “Izon, Mags, Nephilim, men, women, Aam and the People all mingling together under one roof. I would never have thought it possible.”

  Under one roof was a misnomer for the great house was more a pavilion than an actual building. It was the only way so many could be accommodated at one time. Over a thousand people sat on long rows of benches beneath mammoth canopies arched over a graceful framework of wood and steel. Monitors and podiums were scattered among them so all could be seen and given voice if they so desired. A plain wooden stage was raised at one end with a row of padded benches near the back. Seven high-backed chairs sat near the center, the one in the middle raised a little above the rest. A polished oak podium stood at the front of the platform, empty at the moment, two large halo screens raised high at the rear.

  “I admit,” Eriktis said, sounding a little ashamed, “even though I have always believed in equality, seeing so many Izon among us is strangely troubling yet amazing at the same time. We were raised to see them as barbaric animals, far beneath even the Mags, dangerous and stupid. My time here has taught me better, but, still, I feel a bit uneasy in the company of so many.”

  “It is difficult to overcome the indoctrination of our youth,” a deep, rumbling, baritone voice came from nearby. “The mere fact that you recognize it shows the strength of your character.”

  The gargantuan man that accompanied the words smiled warmly as he walked down the aisle that led toward the stage. The giant stood over ten foot tall and was built like a sculpted pillar of granite, yet he moved with the deadly grace of a mountain cat. A waterfall of blue-black hair rolled down his massively broad back, held from his handsomely squared features by a band of tooled, red leather. A simple, V cut, sleeveless tunic of dark blue hung to his mid-thigh, belted around his thick waist by a wide black belt that held a scabbard for his silver-hilted long knife. His breeches were of loose, blue linen tinted a few shades lighter than his shirt, tucked into calf-high, black boots. His mahogany eyes shimmered with kind understanding as he reached out a huge paw in greeting to the three young people.

  “I am Loki,” he said, clasping each of them briefly on the forearm, though everyone knew who he was and had heard rumors of his birth. Once introductions were made, he looked hard at Eriktis, his smile broadening as he held the young man’s gaze.

  “Ahhhh, of you I have heard,” he said, gripping his forearm tightly. “You are the one who spoke up against your brethren and refused to follow them to Atlantis. It was you who convinced so many to leave with us and to include all of the residents of that horrid valley as well. I understand your words were so profound and impassioned that most of your Mothers came as well.”

  Eriktis blushed, his cheeks flaming a bright red. He dropped his eyes and stammered as he spoke. “I…I may have played a part, but I was not alone in my beliefs. All of those who came to feel as I do. I just reminded them of it.”

  “You do yourself a discredit,” Loki said firmly. “Your words swayed far more people than you know. Forgive me, I must go, but we shall talk again I promise.” He turned to walk away, hesitating after a few steps and threw back over his shoulder, his deep voice shimmering with good humor, “And you did all that for the love of a mere girl. For shame. I hope she is worth it.”

  His impish laughter trailed behind him all the way to the bottom steps of the platform.

  Zeus stepped to the podium and seared the crowd with is golden eyes. “I would like to thank Lord Ra and the people of Nil for your help and kindness”

  “I would like you to know the truth of the choices before you,” Zeus said, speaking to the throng as if speaking to equals. “There will be much the hard labor of building our new home. Our society is one where all are treated fairly based on your own merits and not on the circumstances of your birth”

  “But understand this,” Zeus continued, his voice booming across the crow. “All will be required to work. There would be no free rides. The creature comforts you were promised will not happen with us. What you have will only be earned by the sweat of your own brow.”

  He told them pointedly of the destruction of Home and the persecution by Cronus they would all face. Grimly, Zeus spoke of a coming war and, should they choose to go with him, they would all be embroiled within it. He described, in bloody detail, the horrors of the battlefield, the pain and suffering. Zeus made no attempt to glorify it with honor and duty. When he finished speaking and stepped away from the podium, it was not to cheers or wild applause, but to quiet reflections.

  When the Lord Ra stepped forward the differences between the two men stood out in stark relief. Where Zeus dressed in simple white linen pinned across one shoulder that hung to his mid-thigh, belted around his waist by a tooled leather belt and calf-high, tan leather boot, Ra was resplendent in full body armor. Horns outspread holding a globe of reddish-gold set in a crown encircled his wide forehead, centered above his furrow brow and keeping waves of long blond hair from his hawk-like blue eyes. Plates of gold and black armor covered his shoulders and massive chest, strapped with black, flexible metal around his ribcage. In the center sat a huge pulsing, golden orb set in silver, down-turned horns. His skin had a reddish tint, smooth where it could be seen and bulging with corded muscle. Maroon boots covered his bulging calves, coming to a peak in the front just above his knees. Around his narrow waist, a belt of crimson-edged in gold buckled a wrap of white linen to his broad hips. It spread downward in a wedged swath of tiles almost to the pointed top of his boots. On each arm, he wore a sheath of gold, trimmed in dark red, from his wide wrists to his thick forearms with a narrow band of the same style around his huge biceps. The effect was majestic and awe-inspiring.

  Adding to his stunning visage was the reaction of the people of Nil to his presence. As one, they all took to one knee and bowed their heads as he stepped to the podium. They arose only after he raised his hand and beckoned them to stand.

  “People of Zeus,” he said, his rich, baritone voice filled with kindness and compassion that seemed to Eriktis at odds with his warrior’s appearance, “it has been my honor to house you here. Now the time has come for you to create your own home.”

  His shining sky-blue eyes seemed to touch every face on the benches before him. Eriktis felt as if Ra spoke only to him, reaching inside to weigh the character of his soul. His heart skipped under that sharp and measuring gaze, enthralled by the god-like man, but knowing without question what he must do with his life.

  “Should you chose to stay, you have my word you shall be welcomed as citizens of Nil. If you decide to go with Lord Zeus, I will see to your safe transport to wherever he wishes to go. If you decide that neither path is your own, you are free to go in any direction you want. I will provide you with supplies for your travels and give you safe passage through our lands. You are a free people. Choose the course of your own destinies. No matter what you decide, know that I and the people of Nil only wish you well. Safe journey to you all and may the Creator guide your steps.”

  Decades later and thousands of miles to the east of Nil, across the Tyrrhena landmass where the Oenotria Ocean seeped around a needle of land and through a narrow passage of high, steep cliffs, lay a wide, deep bay, calm and protected from the rough ocean currents. A wall of mountains so high that their peaks were perpetually hidden in thick black and gray clouds bordered the entire northeastern side of the bay, inaccessible and impenetrable. The aquamarine waters lapped against endless, white, sandy beaches as gently as a lover’s kiss. Rich, dark soil stretched for hundreds of miles inland and for thousands to
the north and south. Vast flatlands filled with huge, dark forests and meadows of wild wheat, flowers and fruit trees gave way to gently rolling hills of bright green grasslands.

  Olympia spread for fifty miles along the shimmering shoreline and for almost a hundred miles inland. The city center rested in a cup of land formed by a peninsula of land that stuck out like a thumb into the water providing a natural, deep harbor ideal for the massive navy Zeus was building. Already over sixty, tall-masted, sharp-prowed ships plied the oceans along trade routes with Nil and Atlantean cities and outposts. A few even had the audacity to slip into Atlantis, itself, under the guise of Nillian ownership.

  “It has been over forty years,” Haleah said, her voice harsh and bitter. Her sky-blue eyes were as cold and angry now as they had been every day since the loss of her beloved. “We should be attacking Atlantis instead of trading with it. Cronus still searches for us by land, sea and air. It is only a matter of time before he finds us and destroys this place as he did Home. You all stand by as if you think we are safe from him. It is like you no longer care about what he did to us, to the women of Pettit, to the Izon and what he continues to do the People. I would have thought you better of you.”

  Zeus and the High Council were used to her tirades by now, but they still stung, touching nerves and memories, disappointments and guilty consciences. The spies they had planted within the Atlantean Empire brought back stories of unrest and rebellion spreading through the cities, cracking the iron control of the council throughout the world. In response, Cronus lashed out in blind fury, his wrath so great he leveled entire cities that dared oppose him. The Twelve, themselves, were fractured, so deeply divided than some fled the golden city to form their own governments. Others tried their best to remain neutral, putting the welfare of the People above their own beliefs. Unfortunately, without a united council to temper his moods, Cronus became more erratic and hate-filled, at the same time building his personal power through fear, terror and with armies of Black Guard.

  “I understand,” Zeus said, the weariness plain in his tone. He sat on the hard stone throne raised slightly above the other twenty-two high-backed chairs that encircled the gigantic, polished mahogany rectangle table which filled the central chamber of the Main House. Only a thin pillow of richly patterned red brocade soften the granite beneath him, bringing back an ancient Atlantean proverb, ‘A leader should never be too comfortable upon his throne’. “But, as we have pointed out countless times before,” Zeus said, “we cannot take on the armies of Atlantis before we can match it with our own strength.”

  “Half this planet will join us now,” Rhea countered at his left. She fingered the holo crystals scattered before her, twirling a data pyramid upon the wood. “These reports show the angered dissention tearing at the fabric of his command. Many of his own Aam have deserted him, swelling the rebel ranks, his cruelty too much for even their inbred loyalty to the Lord Father.”

  Her long, honey-blond hair hung in a tightly woven braid down the back of her midnight-blue shift, stopping just below the wide maroon belt that encircled her small waist. Rhea seldom wore those wavy locks loose anymore, keeping them as tight as her heartstrings. Her shimmering azure eyes now gleamed with a hard, steely gaze. Even the return of her daughters to her life had not dampened the fury that simmered inside of her.

  Nods of agreement and murmured conversation rumbled around the long table. All of the old and new races of man were equally represented here in this new council dubbed the Senate, an ancient Atlantean word from the time before the domed cities meaning ‘leadership’. Five each of the Izon, the People, the Nephilim and the Cro-Mags - the halflings of Home and Pettit - brought their unique insights and concerns to the Trinity made up of the Lady Haleah, Lady Rhea and Lord Zeus. He refused the title of Lord Father, equating it with the horrors of Cronus, but Zeus realized that the peoples they ruled needed an anchor in tradition, a piece of the past when Atlan stood for peace and justice. Though it galled him, Zeus accepted the shortened version of Lord.

  “The rebels are scattered and disjointed,” Hektor of the Izon pointed out, a hint of scorn touching his words as his dark brown eyes scanned the table. His grumbling voice rolled over the chamber like a wave of soft thunder, stilling the muted conversations. “They are poorly armed and hide underground, only making lofty speeches and limited forays against supply lines. Many of those attacks are only to feed their own egos, warehouses and coffers and do nothing more than incite Cronus to further violence.”

  “You give the rebels too little credit, my friend,” Lelantos said, his rich, baritone voice calm and soothing. His gold-flecked, hazel eyes glistened in the bright sunlight coming through the huge windows on either side of the room and a faint touch of a predatory grin touched his ample tan lips.

  Lelantos rose from his seat to be better seen and heard by all. The waves of lustrous auburn hair that fell over his broad, square shoulders were held back from his finely chiseled features by a simple, plain headband of tan leather. Lelantos held the attention of the chamber with his raptor gaze, kind, intelligent, demeanor and the power of his sharply sculpted muscles.

  “True, they are scattered,” he said, agreed with a slight nod of his square-jawed head. “True, the rebels are poorly armed and, true, their skirmishes against Cronus seem ineffective. However, did the Izon not use the same tactics when they hunted prey much larger and stronger than themselves? When you hunted the wooly, tusked mammoths, you harried them from the edges until they tired, exhausted in their rage. It was only then that you were able to bring them to their knees. The same is happening here.”

  “If you look at what their strategies have been,” Lelantos continued, touching the edges of a data crystal lying before him, “most of their attacks have been against the weapons convoys Cronus sends to the Black Guard contingents he has in various cities.”

  The monitors behind the head and foot of the table sprang to life showing maps, inventories and vivid pictures of battlefields. As the images scrolled across the screens, he pointed at the seemingly random locations picked for their assaults.

  “They hit in open areas well away from towns and outposts to keep civilian causalities to a minimum and never in the same locations twice,” Lelantos continued. “Even the food and clothing they take is meant for soldiers and not for the general populace. I would say the resistance is doing quite well considering the forces they are up against and they are showing great restraint in taking human life – something Cronus is not. That is making them honored amongst the People and even, privately, within the Black Guard.”

  “I hear,” Barrathus of the Cro-Mags interrupted, “most of the supplies the rebels are taking they are re-distributing to the townships hit hardest by Cronus, especially those around those cities he ordered destroyed.”

  “I have heard that as well,” Lelantos said, nodding his head in agreement. “Only a few privateers seem to be using this conflict to build their own power base and personal wealth. There will always be that type.”

  “All things considered,” Loki added, leaning back in his high-backed, black leather chair and steepling his fingers beneath his chin, “the rebellion is maintaining the ideals upon which Atlantis was originally founded. They are fighting for independence and freedom. I applaud them for that.”

  “What they are lacking,” he said, his mahogany eyes staring directly at Zeus, “is a unified leadership. With coordinated command, the battle could be brought directly to the doors of Atlantis.”

  “I told you we are not ready,” Zeus said, shaking his head as all eyes turned upon him. “Olympia is filling with new citizens faster than construction can keep up. All our energies must be used to protect them, keep our location secret and to firmly establish a solid base to lead from. If the foundation is not firm, the house will crumble before the roof is in place.”

  “And yet you still attack breeding pens wherever you find them,” Eriktis said, a terse, but warm smile playing across his wide, tan lips. �
�Is that not one of the reasons we grow so quickly?” His azure eyes twinkled at his intentional pun. As one of the elites among the Nephilim, he knew the irony of his words.

  “Those places are abominations,” Zeus countered sternly, his golden eyes grim and narrowed. “You know this better than most. How could we count ourselves as good men if we allow such horrors to exist? At least we can do that much to help. We are not strong enough nor well-armed enough to take on Cronus directly at this time.”

  “Time. And just how much time do you think we need?” Rhea spit the words at him as a viper might spit venom. “The beast continues his vile programs, forcing more women into his camps to be raped and tortured. He tears their children from their arms and brainwashes the young to do his bidding. He destroys lives and promotes slavery and hatred. How could you allow such things to continue? You above all.”

  “Mother,” Zeus replied, fighting to soften his words and keep his anger at her tone and implications at bay, “I do understand your feelings. I do.” He touched her arm, trying vainly to ease the tension in her vibrating body. “Still, I would not risk all to take on Atlantis before we are ready. I promise you, I will continue to fight to halt these atrocities and free these people whenever I can, but I will not do so at the price of the lives we have rescued. Forgive me.”

  Rhea huffed at her son and turned her head, jerking her arm away from him, scorn written in her bitter blue eyes.

  “Thankfully,” Captain Lianas said, hoping to steer the discussion in another direction, “the air power of Atlantis is limited. The raw materials needed to house the Proto-Sun engines is running out. All of the borithium salvaged from the spaceships has been used up. Not even the strongest steel thus far created is able to contain the nuclear reactions safely. Until another means of propulsion is developed, Cronus cannot command the skies of an entire planet. He limits that awesome firepower to the protection of Atlantis and to retribution against cities that grow too powerful.”