by Gene Stiles
“The people before you have been deemed criminals for their actions in the riots of a week ago,” Themis said, addressing the crowd in a strong, harsh voice. “They harmed and killed others, damaged property and destroyed the peace of our city. They will all be sent to the mines for a length of time determined by the severity of their crimes. Once their sentences are over, they will be banned from Atlantis for the rest of their lives.”
Themis let the angry murmurs and grumbled curses run their course through the crowd before continuing. “Keep this in mind before you think of stirring further unrest or disrupting the lives of our peace-loving citizens. Such actions will have severe consequences. Such is the law, the will of the People and the judgment of the Lord Father.”
Jaxeum watched grimly as the prisoners were taken away, his head lowered in case one of his friends saw him, pointed him out and accused him of starting the brawl in the first place. Hearing what was about to befall them, he was immensely grateful for the protection of his unknown benefactor. Thankfully and on purpose, Chadimus and his family were among the dead, but now that what he did had time to sink in, his soul was racked with guilt and sorrow. It terrified him to know there would be a price to pay for his deeds. He wished he could be far from Atlantis when the bill came due, but his employer made it perfectly clear he could not leave the city. His services would be required again.
As the congregation exited the square, he made his way to the nearest tavern as quickly as he could. He would need ale to ameliorate his troubled conscience and alleviate his fears. Lots and lots of ale.
Metis sat with Bella in a small cabin hidden deep in the Irissian Forest that filled the center of the Aropian Veldt outside of Atlantis. The night was onyx-black and muggy. The sky above the thick canopy of foliage was filled with moisture-laden, ominous clouds that promised a soggy trek home on the morrow. A pot of crushed, herbal tea steamed upon the kitchen stove, filling the living room with a potpourri of calming fragrances. The lighting was purposefully dim so as not to reveal their presence from any passing patrols even though the very denseness of the woodland made that highly unlikely.
The two women slipped their unwanted chaperons earlier in the evening as they wound their way through the darkened city streets, each arriving here at different times and by different routes. The others huddled here tonight would not appreciate undesired attention even though they were in no real danger at the moment. It was not so much who they were but the topic of their secretive discussion that could put them in jeopardy and none of them wanted to chance added surveillance heaped upon them. Their mission was too important.
“After this riot, we have been besieged with requests for help,” Khryseis was saying as Bella served the sweet tea. “The fact that the mere accusation of being a Nephilim led to such violence has the true children of Pettit among us terrified for their safety. They want to leave this city to find a new home elsewhere. I do not blame them.”
“Nor do I, my sister,” Metis said to her younger sibling. She patted her sister’s arm as she sat next to her on the well-padded, flower-patterned sofa. She felt the tension radiating from the passionate woman and hoped to assuage it somewhat. “That is why we formed this secret corridor in the first place. At first, it was mainly for the giants among the Nephilim, but now we help all those in need of relocation.”
“Even though many of them are able to travel by conventional means,” their brother, Imbrasos, said as he thanked Bella for the tea, “some are too large or afraid to take that route. The main problem for them is where to go once they have left Atlantis.”
“That is why Oceanus and Tethys left for Prubrazia in the first place - to establish a colony in the wildlands,” Ezmerelda said as she looked out the window at the gathering storm. The first flashes of bluish lightning raked the blackness in the far distance, reflecting the crackling tension filling the room. “It is a shame they were lost along with Poseidon when the Sea Dragon went down. I am so sorry.”
“I thank you, but I would not grieve for my parents just yet,” Metis replied, finally sitting down with the rest. She sat her cup on the small table next to her without taking a sip. “They are far more resilient than you might think.”
“Their plan is still viable,” Imbrasos said. He leaned back on the sofa and draped his burly, bronze-skinned arm across the back, crossing his muscular legs at the ankle as he stretched them out before him. “I purchased a small ship out of Daedalia and have secured a berth there. It can only hold forty people at once, including the crew, but it should be sufficient for the task at hand.”
“Very good,” Metis said, thanking her brother with a nod. “It is lucky that you and our sister did not grow up in Atlantis. Few even know your parents are of the Twelve. You can pass through the ports and cities unnoticed. There are enough secluded beaches nearby where we can load our charges without being caught by Atlantean patrols. We do not want to subject our friends to the kind of hatred seething within the harbor at the moment.”
“Unfortunately, it is not just the harbors that have turned against the Nephilim,” he said, his ample, tan lips grim beneath the neatly trimmed, blond beard that surrounded his mouth and came to a point under his sharp chin. “The foulness has spread through many Atlantean cities. Only those that rely on the mines seem to be somewhat immune to this outrage.”
“You give the People too little credit,” Bella said softly, a kindly smile gracing her small, pink lips. “It is only a few that have such animosity and hostility for the Nephilim. The childless hate them for bearing young ones. The weak fear them for their strength. The disenfranchised blame them for their own failures. Yet, far and away, the majority of Atlanteans see them only as brothers and sisters. It is truly a shame that the bad among us always seem to be the most vocal and cause the most trouble.”
“You are right there,” Ezmerelda agreed, her raven-black eyes echoing the flickers of lightning outside. She turned from the window and pulled up a thickly-padded, high-backed chair to join the others. “Still, their bigotry seems to spread like poison. I wish we could round them all up and imprison them on their own island where they could all rot together.”
“Enough of this,” Metis interjected, steering the conversation back on topic. They could debate the hows and whys all night and never change a thing. Some things they could change and that is why they were here.
She spread a map out on the large, low table between the couches and chairs and pointed to dotted lines that wound through Atlantis and into the woodlands beyond. “These are the safe routes we have established. Now that it is known that Oceanus and Tethys left with their son, Poseidon, I am under watch in case they survived and try to contact me. Cronus sees them as traitors and wants them badly. I can no longer slip in and out of the city easily.”
“I need you to help get those who request our help to a place where your ship can pick them up,” she said, looking up at her brother. “We have about twenty-six ready to leave. There enough craftsmen and farmers among them to help set up a community on Prubrazia if you can get them there.”
“That I can do,” Imbrasos assured her, leaning forward to study the chart with his eagle-sharp, turquoise eyes. His golden-blond locks fell around his thick, muscular neck as he memorized the pathways. “It is time we completed what our parents set out to do.”
The man slipped through the empty streets and back alleyways of Atlantis like a ghost, hidden by the night and the violent thunderstorm that hammered the city. He was immune to the torrents of rain that fell like a waterfall from the sky above. The black, hooded cloak he wore shed the water like a sheer, granite cliff, barely leaving beaded drops upon the treated material. Even the blaze of blue-white lightning seemed to be absorbed by the cloth, making him appear as only a shifting shadow to anyone who might be stupid enough to be out in such terrible, turbulent weather.
It helped the man that he traversed a rarely visited section of the port where old warehouses stored unused, outdated parts and piles
of rotted lumber left over from ship repairs. It was far from the busy harbor and farther still from the bright lights that lit the city like a glistening jewel in the nighttime. It was best that his secret rendezvous be kept from prying eyes.
A massive bolt of crackling lightning stuck the upraised, borithium ‘hands’ that held the Proto-Sun atop the Great Pyramid. The enormous current was captured and sent deep into the underground chambers that stored the energy and redistributed it to power Atlantis and the surrounding area. In the flash of light, the man saw the vague outline of the building he sought and hurried on his way. With the stench of burning ozone filling his nostrils, he stepped inside.
“You are late,” a deep, grumbling voice said from a darkened corner of the huge room. It echoed off the walls of the barren warehouse like the rumbling thunder of the storm outside.
“It could not be helped,” the man said, unperturbed by the attitude of the red-haired giant sitting on a dusty crate a short ways from the door. He shook off the pearls of moisture that stubbornly stuck to his cloak and threw back his hood to reveal the honey-blond curls matted against his bullish head like a helmet. “Even I cannot move swiftly with stealth in such a downpour.”
The other man wanted to admonish him more but thought better of it. To do so would be an utter waste of time. “I have a job for you,” he said flatly. I want you to find a few people in each of the outlying cities and spread rumors of Nephilim uprisings and atrocities. The more bloody and violent, the better.”
“This will spread more fear and hatred among the masses,” the cloaked man stated dispassionately. His dead, blue eyes stared calmly at his green-eyed companion, his sharp mind making swift calculations as to numbers required and costs involved.
“Do you care?” the other man asked coolly.
“Of course not,” he answered offhandedly. He thought for a moment, his thin lips cutting a downward path upon his cruel, sadistic face. “There will be a lot of travel involved and people to pay off. It will not be cheap.”
“You know money is not an object,” the red-haired man said with a huff, brushing aside the concern. “Will you accept?”
“Of course,” the cloaked man responded curtly. “You know I do not care about your reasons as long as I am well paid.”
“And as always, you shall be.”
He waited until his employer had been gone a sufficient amount of time, before pulling his hood up and stepping back into the downpour. It would not be good for them to be seen together. He would leave Atlantis as soon as the tempest abated. Plans swirling within his mind, the man let the storm and the night enshroud him, disappearing into the inky blackness as if he had never been there at all.
“We know where they are,” Iapetus said, handing the Watcher’s report to Cronus. He stood as still and solid as a block of stone before the Lord Father’s massive oak desk, his long, straight, black hair falling over his huge, flat shoulders. “Do you wish to plan an attack on their city?”
“No,” Cronus said firmly. He twirled the crystal upon his desk, his jade-green eyes narrowing as he studied the data on his monitor. Seeing the images of Zeus reunited with his brothers and sisters sent a shiver up his spine. It could mean the beginning of his destruction and the thought both terrified and infuriated Cronus. “I will honor the pact for now.”
“Then, if I may ask,” Iapetus said, his deep baritone voice rumbling like the thunder that exploded outside in the violent storm, “why did you want the Watchers sent in the first place?”
Cronus looked up at his brother as if the question perturbed him. “It is better to know where your enemy resides than to have them lurking the shadows. You know this.”
He shut down his monitor, the scenes of his children together causing the serpents in his soul to awaken and stir. He fought against them and pushed them back into the pits. Cronus stepped away from his desk and walked slowly to the bank of crystal windows overlooking the city. He had to keep his demons at bay. There was much to do.
“I believe our agreement will leave them contained for now,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared into the night. A particularly violent blast of lightning struck the top of the Great Pyramid, sending sparkles of electricity crackling through the borithium frames around the window. Cronus was grateful for the system that automatically dimmed the crystal or his eyes would have boiled in his skull. Still, the ferocity the strike seemed a counterpoint to his words and shook him to his core.
“We have more immediate things to contend with right now,” he said, turning his fear to anger. His fiery red man swirled around his square-jawed, grim face as he turned on his brother. He needed an outlet for his turbulent emotions before they consumed him, so he took them out on his Second. “How did this riot break out on our own streets while we were gone? What started it and who? Where were your men?”
“My men responded quickly,” Iapetus stated flatly, fully aware that Cronus was looking for someone to blame. His Aam would not be the scapegoat. He stood stiffly at attention as his brother advanced angrily upon him. “They put down the brawl harshly and efficiently. They did their jobs well. Those responsible were rounded up and punished by our own hands.”
“Fine,” Cronus grumbled, not appeased in the slightest by his assertion. “Then can you at can you at least tell me what caused this uproar?”
“A fight over the Nephilim,” the stony-faced giant responded firmly.
“The Nephilim,” Cronus muttered, his fists bunched at his sides. “I thought telling the People what I did, why and how important they are to our future would put an end to this controversy once and for all.”
“It seems to have had the opposite effect,” Iapetus said, understanding the quandary. “The People fear the Nephilim are their replacements and they hate them for it.”
“So you are saying this is my fault?” Cronus asked, the lightning outside reflected in his emerald eyes.”
“No, Lord Father,” Iapetus replied, seeing the danger written in those cold words. “I am just stating a fact. You know I am here to speak the truth, no matter how hard it may be to hear.”
Cronus stared at his brother, his muscles rippling beneath his tight, burgundy tunic. His full, tan lips stretched across his ruggedly planed features as if he would make an angry retort. Instead, he took a deep, ragged breath and let it out slowly. Iapetus was right. Few others would stand before him say things that needed to be heard no matter the consequence. His brother would.
Somewhat mollified, he sank heavily into the long, black leather couch in his office. “Sit,” he said, waving Iapetus toward a hard-cushioned, carved-oak chair. “The question is what we shall do about it.”
“That,” Iapetus said, thankful that the Lord Father’s rage had abated, “I do not know. How can we channel the fears of the People into another direction?”
“By giving them something else to hate and fear,” Cronus answered suddenly, a terrible thought coming to his mind. “By giving them something – and someone – else to fear.”
Chapter XIII
Karanack stomped through the streets of Lycus bent on bloody revenge. His murderous blue eyes blazed in the twilight of coming night as he shoved his way through the densely packed sidewalks of the port city at the western end of the River Gaia, ignoring the incensed shouting of the people he pushed aside. He knew exactly who is targets were and where they would be at this hour and nothing would stop him from getting to them.
Since the time when Lycus was just an outpost at the end of the river, he and his family had farmed the fertile lands to the north of the settlement. Their crops fed the people of Atlantis and, as the port grew, was shipped to all the coastal cities. His family was highly respected and well-known, their produce renowned for its quality. They lived in peace and prosperity for generations, loved by their neighbors and the people of the city. That made what happened earlier even more horrifying.
He almost tore the doors off the hinges of the Dolphin’s Breath as he bur
st into the busy tavern, drawing all eyes in his direction. He was not a particularly tall man, but his bulky body rippled with the muscles of hard, daily farm work. His sleeveless, beige tunic was covered with, black, sooty stains and the legs of his trousers were singed and torn. His short-cut, blond hair was grayed with ash, the stench of burnt wood surrounding him like a dark cloud.
Elias saw him coming but did not move from the scared oak table where he sat with four of his friends. He simply slid his chair back and turned it to face the broken front doors. He was smug and confident surrounded by a room full of sailors. His thin, dark lips were curled in a snide, vicious sneer as he sipped from his tankard of strong ale as if he had nothing to fear at all.
He was wrong. Karanack reached him before the stunned crowd could even shift on their feet. The farmer picked him up by the throat and slammed him against the rough wood of the back wall, holding him with one hand, his feet dangling off the ground. Instinctively, Elias wrapped his hands around the powerful wrist that choked him. His eyes bulged as he struggled to breathe, barely feeling the palm that came up to pin his chest to the wall. His terror lasted only a moment as Karanack ripped out his throat and dropped his gurgling body to the floor.
The other four jumped him, plummeting him with fists and feet, but Karanack ripped through the men who had burned his home to the ground with his children inside like an enraged, rabid Dire Wolf. As the last one lay broken, bloody and dying at his feet, he stared into the man’s dimming eyes and screamed, “They were not just Nephilim! They were my children!”
The small valley just off the sandy shores of the southern tip of the Afrikanikis continent was filled with a hodgepodge of canvas tents and hastily built wooden buildings. Piles of supplies and boxes of personal belongings were stacked under tarp canopies that flapped noisily in the stiff breeze blowing in from the crystal-blue ocean. A group of about two hundred hate-filled Nephilim filled a hollow at the bottom of the valley next to a sparkling, azure lake.
