by Gene Stiles
“It was bound to happen,” Captain Raet told him kindly, putting a tiny hand on his monstrous knuckles. “I think you may be right that Cronus masterminded the festival attack to gain the support of the People. We cannot prove it, though.”
“At least we had proof of the slaughter at Clearwater,” Bella said morosely, watching the frothy sea as it split around the sharp, high prow. Far in the distance, she saw a giant whale breach, blowing a spout of seawater into the high air before it dove again with a huge splash of its tail.
“Now we can only hope the Twelve act upon it,” Raet said, her eye catching an odd patch of dark ocean way off to port. It was not much more than a dot, but it seemed to be moving against the wind and appeared to be keeping pace with them. ‘It could be no more than an illusion,’ the captain thought, but something about it brought all her senses alert.
“Excuse me, if you would,” she said calmly. Until she knew more, Raet kept her concerns to herself. “I must go to the helm for a bit. Roam the ship as you wish, of course, but,” she said with a slight grin, “Anak, please watch your head.”
“Fernandis,” Raet said to her First Mate as she took over the helm, “please check the long-range scanners for anything unusual off to port about amidships.”
“Aye, Captain,” the former Aam said without hesitation. He called below and relayed the order, lifting a set of farseers to his eyes and searching the western horizon. He saw nothing but a low swirl of fog bank.
The comlink buzzed and he answered quickly. “There is a blip at the far edge of scanner range, Captain. No details available.” Fernandis looked at her intently. “It seems to be trailing us. Should I call for battle stations?”
“Not yet. Keep an eye on it and order all hands on deck,” she said, an ominous feeling rippling up her spine. “Raise all sails. We shall run full out and see if this thing can keep up.”
The Golden Eagle was the fastest sailing vessel to ever grace the seas. Unlike the usual, wide, high-prowed design of most Nillian ships, she was sleek and narrow. She was not intended as a cargo vessel so her holds were small, mainly for carrying supplies and passengers. Her length was just over seventy feet, but her beam was only fifteen feet wide. Three masts rose from her decks like many others, but her sails were quite different. The bowsprit was half as long as the hull, piercing the sky far in front of the bow. Three triangular sails were rigged to it in a complicated series of booms and ropes. The foremast had not only an almost large, rectangular sail but was also a squarish topsail. An even bigger sail ballooned from the mainmast with another square topsail hanging from the yards above it. The configuration allowed the Golden Eagle to catch and control the lightest breeze or strongest gales. She was beyond fast.
Captain Raet did not have to even glance at her crew. They moved with well-oiled precision and a speed that was the envy of other captains. Instead, she kept her eyes on the gently rolling waves and her monitors. The blip was not close enough to show on these displays yet and, unless it could fly, Raet doubted it could catch them.
Salty spray coated the deck and crew as the Golden Eagle blazed through the dark green water, her blade-like bow slicing through the waves like a hot knife through soft butter. Raet held firmly to the wheel keeping them on a northeastern heading. No matter that they might have a stalker, a brilliant smile spread across her small, red lips. The deck canted slightly to starboard as the winds grew stronger, blowing from the west. She widened her stance and held tight, exhilarated by the surge of power vibrating the deck beneath her feet. Oh, how she loved her ship!
“Captain,” the First Mate said, he voice tense, “the ghost is gaining on us.”
“That is impossible!” The grin left Raet’s face as she stared at her monitor. The blip appeared on the edge of her screen at the same moment an excited call came over the coms.
“Captain! It is a ship!” the crewman shouted. “And it has no sails!”
Raet’s face dropped into a dark cloud. Only one type of vessel had no sails. It was an Atlantean warship powered by a Proto-Sun engine. The Golden Eagle was only lightly armed. They were in serious trouble.
“Battle stations!” Fernandis yelled, anticipating the Captain’s orders. Klaxon horns blared throughout the ship as the crew raced to man the small plasma cannons mounted two on each side of the vessel. Aam locked themselves into the battle harnesses attached to the bulwarks, slipping their pulse rifles into the rail mounts.
Her mind racing as fast as her ship, Raet fell into combat mode. Her fear, anger and anxiety slipped into a secluded corner of her brain to be dealt with at a later time. She closed her hearing down to all except necessary information. Her over-sized, almond hazel eyes went cold as she weighed her options and calculated their odds of escape. They were not good.
The Captain knew this part of the sea well. They were over six hundred miles northeast from the big island of Heliseous which sat far off the eastern coast of the Paragon continent - renamed Afrikanikis by Ra. It was the most remote of Atlantean outposts. Normally, they would be heading there for supplies, but the warship was in their path. It would be impossible to reach. Raet swung her ship to starboard. There were two uninhabited island chains directly in their path to the north which should be within scanner range soon. If the nimble Golden Eagle could reach them first, they might be able to outmaneuver the warship among the shallows and through coral reefs so sharp they could rip the belly out from under a vessel. The Eagle had a shallow draft. It could skim the reefs that would kill the Atlantean ship.
Raet spun the wheel back and forth, zigzagging across the ocean to confuse their direction as well as giving their pursuer a difficult target to track. Blessed be the Creator, the winds blew hard against their stern, billowing out the taunt sails as they bolted across the dark waters. The Golden Eagle canted port and starboard, graceful as a bird in flight. The harnesses kept her crew secure at their posts and there was no loose equipment or cargo to skid dangerously across the dampened decks.
As the high, volcanic peaks of a landmass bloomed on the horizon, Raet heard the terrifying roar of a jet engine rip through the late afternoon air. Her body shivered in response, but she kept her mind calm and steady, her hands hard on the wheel. Sound traveled long distances on the open sea and she prayed they were not yet within weapons range.
Something hit the water off to port behind their stern and exploded in a flash of fire, a huge spray of salt and water erupting into the azure sky. It caught the Captain off guard and caused her to jump as she spun the wheel hard to starboard. Only the harness holding her to the helm kept her from losing her grip. This was something new, not the white blaze of a plasma cannon. The Golden Eagle canted over so far that the Aam at the bulwarks were doused by the waves that swept over the sides.
Another explosion to their right sent another plume of smoke and sea into the sky aft of the ship. The warship had yet to get a bead on its fleeing prey, but it was getting perilously closer with each attempt. Should such a blast hit the ship, she would sink in a heartbeat.
Raet chanced a glance at her monitor, noting the Atlantean vessel was swinging to port, anticipating her swerve. Instead, the Captain righted the ship and raced in a straight line for the islands now looming before her. The talons of the Golden Eagle dug into the sea, ripping through the waves that parted before her. Raet held her course steady for as long as she dared and then swung them sharply to starboard. She rightly guessed the other ship’s captain would assume she would swing away from the rapidly approaching craft and run toward the big island off her port bow.
The warship blew past them before its captain could correct course. Raet saw the beast for the first time and it chilled her soul. It was half-again larger than the Nillian craft and painted a dark malachite green. Multiple gun ports dotted her sides just below the main deck, round, deadly-looking barrels sticking two-foot out. Black Guard lined the bulwarks firing pulse rifles useless at this distance. The enemy captain managed to fire a fusillade from the big guns, m
ost hitting the water far ahead of the Golden Eagle. However, one shot came so close that it nipped the bowsprit before exploding into the churning ocean.
Raet’s crew were not caught napping as the creature swept past. The two port plasma cannons sent ropes of white-hot fire raking against its side as the enemy ship sped by. Their mouths dropped open as the thick, molten beams bounced off, boiling the sea beneath its hull. They did not see the glint of dark metal armoring the craft nor that it steamed as water splashed against it.
Once the warship passed, Raet whipped the wheel to port sending the Golden Eagle leeward toward the western side of the island. She knew of a hidden cove there and, if they could make it, they might be safe for a while. It was so close now that she could see the white caps of surf smash against the rocky shoreline. The water changed color rapidly from near-black to aquamarine, marking the shallowing over the coral reefs. The Captain dashed toward the razor-edged shoals, hoping the deeper draft of the warship would prevent it from following.
What she could not have predicted was the speed of the Atlantean vessel nor the range of its cannons. Before the Golden Eagle could kiss the colorful coral, Raet heard a screaming whistle coming from behind her. The stern exploded in a blaze of fire, smoke and oaken splinters. The impact tossed the rear of the ship so high into the air that the barnacled keel touched the sky. Raet slammed into the helm, her face driven into the wheel. Another explosion rocked the ship causing the vessel to arch its spine as it split in two. The Captain was ripped from the helm, her fingers still locked around the spokes of the shattered wheel and thrown high enough to bounce off the burning mainsail. She crashed into the sea as if the water was made of stone, her harness wrapped around her like a burial shroud. The breath was torn from her lungs and she kicked in a terrified panic to keep her head aloft. The last thing she saw before the dark waters sucked her into their warm embrace was her beloved ship erupting in a fiery conflagration as it keeled over and sunk slowly beneath the gently rolling ocean waves.
Chapter XVIII
“Where is the Golden Eagle?” Ra demanded, his face flushed and dark. Upon his wide, furrowed brow, he wore the crown of Nil, gold with a pulsing sun upheld by two curved horns. He stood in the conference room of Nil dressed in full body armor, his eyes blazing with blue fire. Tiles of gold-edged, black plates draped his massively muscled shoulders and girdled his V-shaped torso. Covering much of his huge chest was a slightly rounded disk as bright and fluid as the surface of the sun held in the grip of down-turned horns hanging from a thick, gold chain. Sheaths of dark maroon trimmed in gold encased his forearms from his wrists almost to his elbows. Bands of the same encircled his bulging biceps, stark against his reddish skin. A wrap of burgundy-edged white linen fell across his sinewy thighs, a wide, tiled belt encircling his narrow waist, falling in an inverted V almost to his knees. Dark crimson boots encased his legs, coming to a pointed peak just above his kneecaps. On the glossy table next to him sat Ra’s helmet. Its vicious-looking, golden beak nearly screamed from its metallic hawk visage, mouth agape with fury. The hood that cloaked it was of shining metal striped in purple and gold.
Cronus stood in front of the holo projector in the chambers of the Twelve, high in the Great Pyramid of Atlantis, his legs spread wide, hands fisted upon his hips. Beneath his crown with the Tree-Before-The-Pyramid symbol of Atlantis centered above his forehead, his fiery red hair fanned around his sculpted, square-planed face like a corona.
“I swear by the Creator, I do not know,” he said, his voice hard-edged and furious. His corded arms were tensed, the tendons and veins raised in high relief against his bronzed skin. “And I do not like being accused in such a manner. My word should be enough for you!” Cronus shouted, his emerald eyes crackling with lightning.
“You forget, Cronus,” Ra responded, his words steely and cold, “I was once one of your Captains. I know what you are capable of. I have not forgotten your attacks on the Izon nor your pathetic attempts against Nil. Should I find you are responsible for any harm coming to the Golden Eagle or my people, there will be dire consequences.”
“Do not threaten me,” Cronus growled, his face going crimson. “Should you act against Atlantis, I will level your city and everyone in it.”
“This is not a threat,” Ra countered, his hand reaching for the switch of the projector. “It is a promise.”
Ra cut the connection and turned to the others surrounding him. Isis and Astraeus sat upon their thrones to the right and left of his own. His face was grim, his jaw clenched and his back rigid. He glared at the other two of the Trinity, his rage not directed at them. “Forgive me,” he said, waving his at the faded image behind him. “I do not trust that vile man.”
“Nor do we,” Isis replied, her voice chipped and icy. She wore a silver-scaled gown that clung to her every curve, the armor glistening like polished pearls. Covering her head, she wore her helmet shaped like the terrifying visage of a silver and black-furred cat, rows of sharp, white teeth snarling from its drawn back lips. Once the connection was severed, Isis removed it, shaking her head to free her long, lustrous auburn hair.
Astraeus lifted the snarling, onyx jackal helmet from his tightly curled hair, black hair and brushed his fingers through his thick beard. His granite-hard body was sheathed in glossy, midnight armor that blended seamlessly with his ebony skin. He sat the ruby-eyed headgear on the floor next to him and slipped the shaft of his staff into the mount on the side of his chair. The runes engraved in his wristbands glimmered bluely in the brightly lit room almost as if they were alive. His dark eyes were nearly hidden beneath his thick brows as he looked up at Ra.
“The question is, do you believe him?” Astraeus asked, his voice a deep, base grumble. He stood up and unlatched the armor constricting his monstrous torso, taking a deep breath of relief. One of his men quickly took it from him and mounted it on the rack at the back of the chamber.
“I do not know what to believe,” Ra said, hating to admit it. He took a chair at the side of the table, only using the throne for formal occasions. Even after all this time, he still felt uncomfortable sitting separate and above his people. Yet, even as a Captain, Ra understood that a distance must be kept between himself and others under his command. He could not be respected as a leader if he was also considered a friend.
“It would seem to be beyond foolish for Cronus to attack a Nillian ship,” Meleknight of Nil said. “With the current chaos within Atlantis, it would be unreasonable and unwise for him to incur our wrath.”
Ra listened attentively to the advice of the old Nillian scholar. He was one of the few who once served Apophus, the vile ruler of the city that Ra had defeated and banished, that he trusted completely. The stoop-shouldered, thin-bodied, silver-haired man was ancient but highly intelligent. His knowledge of Cydonian technology was of paramount importance to Ra and he was the driving force behind the Message.
“I think we must give limited credence to the claims that Atlantis is not involved,” Meleknight said, the light glistening in his pale yellow, almond-shaped eyes. He ran his thin, gnarled fingers over his ovoid skull in the unconscious gesture he always had when not wearing his conical headdress. “There are many other reasons to account for the Golden Eagle going missing these past weeks. The sea can be a harsh and deadly mistress.”
“This is true,” Ra said with a nod. “The only problem I have with that is we received no distress call. Whatever happened, happened quickly. I have every resource out looking for them. If they can be found, they will be.”
He looked up at the other ten people in the room - a mixture of the People, Nillian, Izon and Nephilim - and asked the question that was plaguing him. “Now we must decide. Do we broadcast the Clearwater images as we were asked to do in the event of just such a circumstance or do we wait until we know for sure what happened to the Golden Eagle?”
Ra studied each and every face, knowing he needed their advice. “If we do,” he said grimly, “it is almost assured Cronus will see
it as an act of war.” He let that sink in before continuing. “So I ask you, do we honor our vow now or wait for another week?”
Cronus bellowed and cursed foully at the fading holograph of Ra. He stepped forward, smashing a fist through the air where Ra’s image had been. Behind him, the council was in an uproar. Angry voices shouted over one another amid questions and recriminations. Thea and Themis stood side-by-side, their jade eyes crackling with verdant fire. Like twin goddesses of primal fury, they stared across the table, demanding to know what happened in Clearwater. Coeus sagged in his chair, his head held in his gnarled, old hands. His shaggy, disheveled, cinnamon hair fell over his face, but the shudders of his stooped shoulders showed he was weeping. Phoebe stood at his side, one arm wrapped around her husband. Her alabaster skin was more pale than usual as the horrific images replayed behind her misty, pallid blue eyes. Crius was yelling at his brethren, berating them for doubting the word of the Lord Father. Mnemosyne sat in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. Her green-tinted, hazel eyes were as harsh as her tightly pursed lips.
“Enough!” Cronus shouted, stomping back to his high-backed, black leather chair. He tossed his long, diamond-laced, ebony robe across it and stared at the council, his face a mask of barely controlled rage. “This will stop now!”
“Did you have anything to do with the disappearance of that ship?” Mnemosyne asked bluntly above the ensuing mumbles. She locked eyes with Cronus, her gaze steady and unflinching.
“I said I did not,” he said, spitting the words at her. If his stare was flame, she would have burned to ash in an instant, but Mnemosyne did not look away. “Do you doubt me?” She said nothing, but he knew she was suspicious and not at all convinced.
