by Gene Stiles
“In their defense,” Iapetus rumbled, unable to allow his men to be threatened any further, their honor and service insulted in such a manner, “even with the Sentinels and drone Birds scanning the skies, the oceans are simply too vast to track every route upon them.”
“There are too many ports these days for every one of them to be monitored.” Iapetus ignored the fiery glance he received, meeting those burning emerald eyes with a steady, cool, obsidian stare. “We have too few men to garrison every city and outpost as it is, let alone search every harbor or safe haven where they might land. The empire has grown too large.”
“Then get more men,” Cronus replied icily, the Commanders grateful that his attention was diverted from them, no matter how briefly.
“How?”
“Conscript them.” It was Crius who answered from his seat across the table. The young man had hardened over the years, his shy, boyish temperament replaced by a steely spine. He looked up from his folded hands, the curls of his midnight-black hair bobbing around his oval face as he continued. “The People have reaped the benefits of our protection for centuries while complaining about our methods. It is time they paid for it with their own flesh.”
Thorina felt her mouth drop as she gaped at the man she once cared so much for. The red-headed beauty could not believe what she was hearing. Gone was the kind quietness of the youngest of the Twelve, his gentleness changed into iron-like harshness. His mahogany eyes had lost their laughing luster and now burned with the self-righteousness of a religious zealot. Even though Thorina held a seat on the council now that there were so many empty chairs, she had never seen this aspect of the boy she used to love.
“Not a bad idea,” Cronus replied, his anger assuaged somewhat by his youngest brother’s suggestion. “Not a bad idea at all.”
“If you do this,” Phoebe warned, brushing her platinum-blond hair away from her alabaster skin, her ruby-red lips pursed above her slightly pointed chin, “you will only feed the flames of dissent.”
“Maybe,” Crius said, a sharp edge to his words. “Or maybe they will finally see how difficult it is to maintain order throughout the empire.” He glared at Phoebe as if she had wounded him personally. “Maybe they will learn discipline and honor instead of whimpering about how we treat those who would spread chaos throughout the cities. And just maybe they will feel with their own bloodied fingers how important it is to keep the rule of law.”
“There is precedent,” Mnemosyne interjected, her waves of auburn hair falling across her jade-flecked, hazel eyes as she consulted the information the history crystals displayed on her monitor. “Back on Atlan, as the domed cities were being built, one son or daughter from each household was drafted into the Aam to establish order in the tightened, enclosed spaces.”
“Then let it be done,” Cronus commanded, shifting his gaze back to the Black Guard. “Find as many men as you need to enforce the law of Atlantis. If we do not have enough ships to patrol the seas, seize more and arm them.”
“It is time to quell these rebellions once and for all,” he said, sending them scurrying for the door as fast as decorum would allow.
‘This will not go well,’ Coeus thought anxiously, lowering his head to hide the apprehension bathing his ancient hazel eyes beneath the disarray of his wild, cinnamon hair. ‘Not well at all.’
“You are one of the few who has no fear of me these days, Themis,” Cronus said, his body sagging into the plush, red brocade cushions of the chair in his private quarters. He sipped on the cup of strong, dark green tea he held between his hands, staring into the steaming liquid as if searching for answers to as yet unspoken questions. “Have I become such a monster?”
“You are not a monster,” the golden-haired woman on the sofa next to him responded bluntly, “though you have done monstrous things.”
“It may seem that way to some,” Cronus returned with a sigh, his emerald eyes hooded by a touch of shame, “yet, everything I have done has been for the good of the People.”
There was something about the twin sister of Thea that set his mind at ease. It was not the way she lounged upon the thickly-padded maroon couch, her long, shapely legs curled slightly as she lay half on her side. It was not the way her long, shimmering gold hair flowed over her slightly sloped shoulders, covering the ample rise of her chest like the waters of a babbling brook, so different looking when not bound captive by the tight braid she usually wore. It was not her incredible beauty nor the way her coppery skin caught the light like a glowing candle flame, shimmering and soft. Thea had all of these same attributes as well, but Cronus never felt as comfortable around the flirtier, sexually flamboyant sister of Themis.
Themis had an iron spine and a strict, uncompromising sense of justice. Her values were not based only on the laws of men – even those of Cronus -, but on her immutable morals and her sacrosanct belief in the will of the Creator. She was compassionate and caring, but unremittingly harsh to those who would commit crimes upon their brethren. That is why she was the final arbitrator of all disputes and the punisher of the wicked. It was for this reason Cronus sought her out. She was never afraid to tell him he was wrong.
“You have always done what you believe is right,” Themis assured him as she pinned him with her jade-green eyes. “It is what makes you such a great man. However, you are not always correct. You have made many mistakes.”
“You hid the true ancestry of the Izon from us,” she admonished him. “No one understood your fear and hatred of them. They only saw your brutality. It turned many against you. I dare say even me for a time. Had we known, I guarantee you the Clan would have been looked upon differently. Perhaps we could have educated them, taught them our culture and language and made them a productive part of our society.”
“Do you really have such faith in the People?” Cronus asked, a barking laugh coming from his throat. He met her gaze firmly, the first twinkling of fire flashing in his green eyes. “Did you, yourself, see them as equals or as barely human-looking animals? Did you hear their hoots and whistles as a language or as simply the grunts of wild beasts? Do you honestly think the People would have seen them as bloodkin or would they have been horrified to see what might happen to their own children after a time? Truth.”
“I am ashamed to say I saw the Izon as nothing more than intelligent animals,” Themis admitted tersely, her guilt bringing a blush to her high, smooth cheekbones, “easily trained and domesticated. I only saw them as strong, ugly brutes.”
“If one such as you could only see them that way,” Cronus asked, hot flames churning in his stomach as he sat his tea upon the small table at his side, “how do you think the less enlightened would have reacted?”
“Maybe no better than you imagine,” Themis countered, meeting his stare unflinchingly as she lowered her long legs to the floor and sat up straighter on the sofa, “but you never gave us that chance. You have too little faith in the People, brother. Even without the knowledge you kept to yourself, many of the People regarded the Clan with respect and dignity. Had they not, we would never have learned to sail, there would never have been an uprising among the Aam nor would so many have questioned your authority.”
“When you used the Black Death last year to attack the fleeing Izon, it cost many Atlantean lives and caused many to wonder about your sanity. I dare say it was your reaction to them and those who aided them that put the first cracks in the walls of our society.”
Cronus wanted to strangle the woman for her impudence. His muscles tensed beneath the dark blue tunic he wore over his black-dyed cotton pants as he leaned toward her, his forearms bunching upon his thighs. Instead of recoiling at his rising anger, Themis bent forward until her bright red lips were within a hand’s breath of his. She reached out her fingers and cupped his fisted hands in her open palms.
“Now we have Pettit and the Nephilim to deal with,” Themis said to him, watching the fury building inside of him, but not allowing him to close his ears to her. “You should ha
ve come to the Twelve first. We might have found another way to ensure our survival other than the rape of our women.”
“And what Atlantean woman would have willingly laid with beasts?” Cronus countered savagely. “I did what had to be done and it worked!”
“Yet are the Nephilim seen any differently than the Izon now? Aberrations that stain the bloodlines of the People? What is it doing besides turning more of the People against you and giving you more enemies to fight?”
“The People will come to understand in time,” Cronus responded, turning his face away from hers so she would not read how badly he wanted to smash her perfect, rose-red lips into her rounded jawline.
“I know why you banished your children,” Themis said softly, her eyes lightly misted, drawing the topic away from one dangerous subject and into another. “It was a cruel thing you did to Rhea and to your offspring, but I do understand. I was on Atlan with you. I know how it tears at you that you had to kill your own father for the sake of the People. I know what Uranus said to you before he died. I know the guilt and shame that torments you and how terrified you are of his horrific prophecy. It still did not make it right.”
“And I have lost Rhea and part of myself because of it,” Cronus replied bitterly, lowering his head, his mane of yellow-red hair falling across his face.
“And hunting them now will not bring you peace,” she told him. “It will only add to the turmoil inside of you. I implore you, leave them alone.”
“I cannot,” Cronus snapped at her, drawing his hands away and rising to gaze out of the windows overlooking the sparkling spires of the rain-soaked city of Atlantis. “You know I cannot. Zeus raises an army. My children are now a threat to all we have built. I will not allow the empire to fall.”
“I know I say much you do not wish to hear, dear brother,” Themis said soothingly, joining Cronus by the windows, her dark turquoise eyes searching his ruggedly handsome face, “but hear them you must. I do not oppose you and I understand you far better than you realize. Do not forget that it was I who cared for you long before you met Rhea. I may not love you in the way she did, but I still care deeply for you and I worry about you. Who but I will give you the unpalatable truths you must have if you are to continue to be the Lord Father we all need you to be?”
“If you do not heed my words,” she concluded in warning as she wrapped an arm around his waist and drew close to Cronus even though she felt his body tighten at her touch, “the empire will surely crumble. Lead us in peace, not into war. I truly doubt the People could survive another such devastating calamity.”
“I may be given no choice,” he replied fiercely, his emerald eyes narrowing, sparkling with the embers glowing inside of him as he gazed out of the moisture-laden windows at the golden city below. “No choice at all.”
“There is always a choice,” Thea told her twin sister with a huff. She stood in the kitchen pouring light green tea into the delicate porcelain cups on the tray before her for their guests gathered in the living room.
“That will depend greatly on Zeus and the plans he has for his father,” Themis replied, adding a few more pastries to the platter on the counter. “Will he be content to create his own city or is he set on revenge now that he has his brothers and sisters at his side? I do not know what life he has led or the kind of man he has become because of it.”
The twins brought their refreshments into the main room where their friends awaited them, serving the tea and offering sweets. Coeus sat on one end of the small divan next to his platinum-haired beloved, Phoebe, his ancient hazel eyes reflecting the concertation swirling within his mind. Hyperion sprawled languidly on an overstuffed, arch-backed cathedra, his long legs stretched out on a padded footstool. He thanked Thea politely for the tea, the impish smile that once graced his sensual, feminine lips replaced with a tense, down-turned arc ever since Rhea had fled the city. Mnemosyne sat to one side of the small fire that burned in the stone-faced hearth more for comfort than heat. She sipped at the hot liquid cautiously, the emerald flecks in her hazel eyes catching the sparkles of the flickering flames as she pondered the many possible outcomes of their clandestine meeting.
“You know Zeus more than any of us do,” Themis said to Hyperion as she took a seat next to her sister on the long, blue brocade sofa that fronted the hearth. “Do you believe he would actually attack Atlantis?”
“That depends on Cronus,” Hyperion replied, brushing crumbs from his muscular, hairless chest where they had fallen into the deep V of his sky-blue, puffy-sleeved blouse. The oiled, tight curls of his raven-black hair were held away from his artistically rendered, handsome face by a rune-covered band of polished silver that highlighted his thoughtful, chipped-jade eyes.
“You would like him, Themis,” Hyperion said, meeting the emerald eyes of his host, a tiny smile upon his lush, pink lips. “He is much like you. Despite the fact that Rhea tried to poison him with the same hatred for his father that she feels - as much as it pains me to say that -, he was raised more by Adrasteia, daughter of Haleah and Morpheus, and she is a kind and caring person. Home was a place of tolerance, forgiveness, justice, love and compassion. Zeus learned more from that environment than from anything else.”
“And yet, Cronus destroyed it,” Mnemosyne interjected softly, still staring into the red and yellow flames.
“True,” Hyperion responded, nodding his head in her direction. “Therein lays one of the many problems. Zeus spent his life searching for his imprisoned siblings and, if the stories are true, he succeeded. We know not what their lives have been nor what they might have endured, only whispers and innuendos. Whatever happened to them at the hand of their father will color his decisions.”
Hyperion rose from his chair and leaned his hand against the warm stones of the chimney, his back to his brethren. He was silent for a moment, choosing next his words carefully to convey their import.
“It is said by many,” he continued, turning back to face the others, “that Morpheus was murdered by Cronus, himself. I do not know. I have not spoken to Rhea since she left. If this is true, Zeus will not take it well. Morpheus was more a father to him than Cronus ever was.”
“But he did not retaliate against Atlantis,” Coeus said, placing his empty cup upon the oak table next to the couch. “If this were true, would he not have sought to wreak vengeance upon the one responsible?”
“Zeus is far from stupid,” Hyperion replied, leaning his back against the wall and crossing his corded arms across his chest. “He knew he would have had no chance taking on the Black Guard at that time. He is not ruled by his emotions. Besides, his first responsibility is to his people. He would see them safe before taking any action at all.”
“He did destroy Pettit shortly thereafter,” Thea responded, curling her suntanned legs upon the couch. She brushed her long, shimmering gold hair back over her shoulder and reclined back on the arm of the sofa. “Could that have been a reaction to the attack on Home?”
“Doubtful,” Hyperion said firmly. “Once he learned of the existence of that foul place from Rhea, Zeus would feel it was his duty to free the people there just as he had freed his siblings from captivity. That is who he is.”
“So you are telling us Atlantis has nothing to fear from him,” Phoebe said, leaning her silver-haired head upon her husband’s sloped shoulder.
“Again,” Hyperion answered her, “it depends on Cronus. We have all heard that he hunts the Sea Dragon and that Poseidon, his youngest son, is the Captain going under the name Neptune. We also know how much the Lord Father is afraid of the Prophesy. Zeus has yet to actively join the rebellion. Should harm come to his brother or if Cronus finds and attacks wherever the people of Home have gone all of that could change. If Zeus and his brothers and sisters gather all the dissidents under one banner, they will be a force to be reckoned with. As I said, Zeus has an innate sense of justice.”
“So what we must do,” Mnemosyne said calmly, finally gazing thoughtfully at the others, “is to st
op Cronus from searching for his children, finding and assailing the city of Zeus and from reacting harshly against the insurrections all around him, all the while forgetting the dire prediction of his downfall at the hands of his son. A simple task.”
“A simple task indeed,” Hyperion agreed stiffly amid the humorless laughter filling the living room. “May the Creator save us all.”
Cronus pushed himself through the cold, barren city streets, leaning into the howling winds that wailed through the blasted windows and broken buildings that surrounded him. He covered his eyes and mouth with a dirty, thin strip of material from the tattered remains of the shirt that flapped like whipcords around his narrow waist, lacerating his bare, heaving chest wherever they struck. His tan, linen breeches were ripped and torn to the middle of his bulging thighs, stuck to his skin by the quickly drying blood that flowed down his powerful legs in a never-ending waterfall.
The six demons flashed barely seen through the unholy gale, slashing at his body with their wickedly sharp talons leaving deep, ragged, bloody furrows in his tortured sinews with each passing. He could hear their hideous laughter even above the wailing laments of the sandstorm’s tempest. He fought to ignore their vile taunts and depraved recriminations as he forced one foot in front of the other, but the truth hidden in their words twisted his stomach and filled his parched throat with acidic bile.
It was the noxious apparitions’ softly whispered promises of peace that sickened him the most for they made him yearn for sweet release. ‘If you will only stop your struggling for just a few scant moments,’ they told him gently, ‘we will draw you into our bosom and you will know serenity and freedom from pain. You will rest and renew in the Creator’s loving embrace. You have His word and ours. Just stay with us. Stay with us.’
But Cronus knew their vows were naught but cruel, wicked lies. He refused to even look down at his trembling legs as he fought against the hellish winds. He felt the excruciating pain surge up his spine each time the nightmarish wraiths sunk their venomous fangs into his fevered flesh, tearing bloody chunks of meat and muscle from his quivering calves. The tiny grains of red sand pitted the white shards of bone exposed to the savage maelstrom seeking to keep him from his goal. Behind him, the hard, dry and cracked soil greedily sucked up the trail of crimson left in his wake, desperate for the even smallest drip of moisture. Should Cronus hesitate in one spot even for a second, the water-starved landscape would absorb his liquid life-force like a vampire, turning the dirt beneath his feet into a swampy quagmire so the foggy phantasms could yank him into the cold, lifeless depths below. Should he succumb to weakness, he would be lost for all eternity, enshrouded in agonizing darkness.
