by Gene Stiles
Her stunningly beautiful face went dark as she met Cronus’ eyes. She remembered how the Lord Father treated the Izon and those who aided them. The memory of the atrocities of Pettit and the violence toward the Nephilim still filled Thea’s heart with rage and she fought to keep her feelings from coloring her words. “With your history, I have to ask. Are you responsible for this? Is this some kind of purge of those who oppose you?”
“How dare you?” Cronus shouted, rising from his high-backed, black leather chair. His curls of yellow-red hair fanned around his head like a fiery corona as his jade eyes blazed at Thea. The veins and tendons stood out on his rippling forearms as he leaned on the table, his anger-blushed face fuming.
“I dare because you are a vicious, vindictive creature,” Thea snapped back, coming to her feet. “Do you not think we are aware you destroyed Home and Olympia to rid yourself of your own children? Do you actually believe we do not know the real reason you are building armies? You would invade Nil for no other reason than so you can rule the entire world. We are far from stupid.”
“Take care how you speak, woman,” Cronus said, his deep baritone voice rumbling like thunder. Even the bright yellow sunlight pouring through the crystal windows seemed to dim behind the cloud of malice filling the room. “There are reasons for all I do and it is not your place to doubt me.”
“What are you going to do?” Thea huffed unconcerned, her body vibrating. “Are you going to kill me as you murdered Rhea, Oceanus, Tethys and your own children? Try it and you will find I am not that easily dispatched.”
Iapetus put out a restraining hand to keep Cronus from rounding the table and throttling the woman on the spot. The Lord Father glared at his Second and stared at the big man’s hand as if it offended him. Iapetus simply returned the look with cold, ebony eyes blank and calm.
“Stop this,” Coeus said harshly. His words cracked like a whip and caused every head to turn in his direction. The oldest of the Twelve rose slowly, the weight of his years bending his back and slumping his shoulders. His wild, unkempt mane of wavy cinnamon hair billowed around his long oval face almost crackling with the electricity filling the room. “We did not gather here to air our grievances. We came here because there are serious issues facing us all. As troubling as they are, the disappearances are only one of them.”
“We found something disturbing and potentially deadly happening in this world,” Coeus continued, his voice dark with ominous warning. “Hyperion was the first to notice it so I will let him inform you. I strongly suggest you set your differences aside and listen and listen well.”
“The stars are moving,” Hyperion said bluntly after Coeus reseated himself. He stood before the Twelve, careful not to look at Cronus. His handsome, Creator-sculpted face was devoid of the light, carefree air that used to shine from his bright green eyes. There was no mischievous arch to his almost feminine lips as he spoke.
“Do they not always move?” Crius asked, the youngest among them not seeing the significance with so much else happening around them.
“Yes,” Hyperion replied flatly, his tightly curled, raven-black hair bobbing slightly as he nodded his head, “but not as quickly as they are now. The entire sky is shifting to the north. It is as if the entire planet is slipping southward at a rate that should not be possible.”
He brought up charts on the monitor that showed the changing constellations. “These are from our observatories around the world. They show the time span of the last two hundred years.” Hyperion ran his finger along one of the rows of images, pointing at one particularly bright star. “Note how far this one has moved since we first started recording it. The procession of the heavens should take millennium not a few hundred years.”
“And this is important why?” Cronus asked, intrigued despite himself.
Hyperion did not look at him when he answered. He feared the loathing he felt for the man would distract from the vital importance of his information. “Have you not noticed the change in the weather patterns? The summers are hotter. The winters more severe and longer lasting. Fall and spring are shorter and abrupt. This affects our growing seasons and water levels. If this continues at the current pace, we could face food shortages within four hundred years or less. It also changes the migration patterns of animals and birds, making hunts less productive. Falling water levels will begin to dry out currently fertile lands and turn them into barren wastes.”
The people around the table shuddered at the grim thoughts flowing through their minds. With the population beginning to slowly grow again and the sheer size of the Atlantean empire, they could easily see the consequences.
“Maybe that is why people are vanishing,” Phoebe injected. The platinum-haired beauty twisted a data crystal before her and the monitor changed to show the specific areas where towns had gone empty. “They could be moving to find better hunting grounds and richer soils for crops.”
“Possibly,” Themis replied, not convinced this was the only reason. “Phoebe and I have debated this issue. Yet, it would not account for such a mass exodus nor the fact that the missing people left no word of their intentions. If it was simply to move on to greener pastures, surely we would have heard something about it.”
“That is not the end of this problem,” Hyperion said, changing the screen again to show pictures sent by the Sentinel orbiting the planet high above them. Dark swaths of black and grey marred the blue skies and pockets of fiery red blistered the landscape in a huge ring around a vast green-blue ocean. “These are images of the other side of the world in lands we have yet to explore. They show volcanic activity on a gigantic scale. The winds dissipate the ash clouds long before they reach Atlantis, but they still cool the areas surrounding them. Should they ever reach here, we would face a winter more fierce than we anything have ever known. We are headed for a massive climate change.”
“We must prepare for this now,” Coeus said as Hyperion turned the floor over to him. “We must build bunkers and fill them with storehouses of grains, seeds and materials. If the world does not right itself, we may have to move all of Atlantis to another part of the planet. Either that, or we all die.”
After hours of debate and discussion the remaining members of the Twelve split up, none of them in agreement on a course of action or even if one was necessary at all. Mnemosyne pointed out that climatic changes were a normal part of nature. They had seen hard winters and hot summers before. There was a cyclic pattern to all things and she believed this, too, would pass. With the exception of Coeus, Phoebe and Hyperion, none of them thought these dire predictions would come to pass. What was happening on the other side of the world was of no importance to them. There were far more urgent matters on this side to deal with. Much to the frustration of Coeus and his small group, their concerns were cast aside as pure hysteria. The idea that Atlantis should be relocated was scoffed at as utterly impossible and completely ridiculous. The pall that fell over the room after the trio left had nothing to do with their foolish prophecies of doom.
“The disappearances are disturbing, to be sure,” Thea said, having been cooled down by her sister and the gravity of their predicament. She set aside her fury at Cronus and did her best to deal only with known facts. “We may never know the reasons behind them and, at the moment, they are irrelevant. However, the ripple effect of them are not.”
The long, blue-sky patterned gown she wore skimmed the glossy marble floor as Thea walked toward the bay of windows overlooking the city she loved. The twisted spires, rounded domes and tall pillars of the buildings glittered with a myriad of colors and the reflection of the bright sunlight on their crystal and glass-paned windows. The smoothly paved streets were filled with a steady stream of traffic and the sidewalks bustled with a seemingly happy, peaceful people. This was the idyllic Atlantis Thea always dreamed about and the one she wanted as the crown jewel of inspiration for the empire.
Unfortunately, Thea knew there was a dark side to that façade and an underbelly of turmoil, ha
tred and intolerance down there that was eating away at its foundations. Atlantis was held up as a gem of perfection, but as Thea gazed at the populace, she was all too aware of what was missing. There were no Izon. There were none of the gigantic Nephilim. This was a city based on the filthy, despicable belief that the People were superior to all other races of humanity and that by ridding themselves of lesser beings they were achieving the purity the Creator had intended. And Cronus was the primary source of this vile and disgusting belief system.
“The farms are growing less as families and crops vanish,” Thea continued, pulling her mind back out of her bleak thoughts. “Mine production has dropped steeply as fewer workers report for duty. Manufacturing suffers and supply lines are disrupted. Some items, services and foods are becoming scarce.”
“Yet we have plenty,” Crius said, waving his hand as if all this was of little consequence. Ever since Thorina, his once-love, left the city, the young man had become bitter and cold. The tight ebony curls that used to bounce like maddened springs around his oval face were now cut short and restrained. “There are no shortages here and, even if there were, there are many things we can do without.”
“In Atlantis, you are correct, little brother,” Themis responded with a curt nod. She poured herself a cup of tea and sweetened it with a dollop of honey, her green eyes hard as she watched the steaming liquid swirl in the porcelain cup. Themis ignored the glare Crius gave her. She knew he hated being called ‘little’. “But outside of our city things are becoming tense.”
“These acts of piracy on the open seas are disrupting supply lines,” Themis continued tersely. “Food shortages are becoming a major issue in the towns and cities that do not have their own farms. Storefronts suffer without goods to sell. Without gold, silver and ores, economies begin to falter. There are a million different ways a city can crumble and it begins with the loss of income, food sources and security.”
“Then we must put a stop to it,” Cronus said darkly. He managed to regain a semblance of composure, redirecting his fury toward his most hated enemy.
Cronus stood up at the head of the table, his fists clenched upon his hips. His emerald-green eyes blazed beneath his furrowed brow. “You accuse me of preparing for war only to expand our territory,” he said, his gaze locking on Thea for a moment. “Yet this is not the case. At first, it was only to keep our cities and towns safe from the unrest that has plagued them. That has been quelled. I kept building our forces to ensure the peace and to police our far-flung empire. I am glad I did.”
“Now we face the attacks at sea.” Cronus pushed his emotions down into the pyramid in his soul and locked the door. Those he did allow to show upon his ruggedly handsome face were a carefully calculated mask. “We all know who is behind them. Ra. Only Nil has the resources, ships and arrogance to take on the might of Atlantis.”
“Think of the lives lost,” he continued, walking around the table to stare at the list of missing ships and crews now scrolling across the display screen. Pondering for a moment, Cronus turned around to face those gathered in the chamber. “Do they not deserve justice? It is Ra who has violated our truce, not me. It is time we took the fight to him.”
“Do you think Cronus is right?” Thea asked Hyperion as they walked the streets of Atlantis toward the silver, twisted spire of the Wind Song. The arguments the Lord Father had made for Nil being behind the piracy made sense, though she was loath to admit it, and it troubled her. “Do you think Ra has broken the truce?”
Hyperion stayed silent for a long while, not knowing how much he should tell her. Thea had found him at a small café along the Grand Boulevard where he had stopped for lunch. Phoebe and Coeus went to the observatory to continue their research, but Hyperion needed time alone. This was one of his favorite spots within the city. Not only was the food here exceptional with its wide variety of braised meats simmered in sweet to spicy sauces, served with roasted or steamed vegetables, but the view was spectacular.
To the east, the Great Pyramid rose in the center of Atlantis with its polished stone façade, crystal-paned windows and the swirling, yellow-red Proto-Sun crowning its golden peak. When the morning sun rose above the snow-capped mountains behind it, the pyramid blazed with amazingly brilliant glory like the crown jewel of the Creator. The multi-hued radiance bathed the city shimmering colors that were awe-inspiring in their beauty.
From his table on the smooth stone sidewalk in front of the little restaurant, Hyperion could look to the west down the broad concourse and see the gigantic branches of the ancient, alien One Tree rising above the eternal mists that rolled over the edges of the bottomless chasm that surrounded it. It was the last remnant of lost Atlan, planted by Iasion of the People when they first arrived on this world. As big as the entire city of Atlantis and taller than the highest skyscraper, how the One Tree had survived and thrived for millions of years was a mystery no one could answer. Most believed the Creator held it in His own hands and kept it alive to remind the People of all they had lost on Atlan and all they had gained here in their new home.
Sometimes when Hyperion looked upon the One Tree, he saw the promise of eternal life for the People and the hope of growth and beauty for Atlantis. Most of the time these days, he only saw its sadness. It was alone. No other like it existed on this planet or any other. Beneath its behemoth branches and thick foliage, only near-black mosses grew in the dimness of an endless twilight in daytime and the complete dreary darkness of the night. It filled Hyperion with a bleak depression and a longing for all that was lost – his beloved Rhea, his friend Morpheus and all those brothers, sisters and good friends now vanished from his life.
“Hyperion, are you even listening to me?” Thea asked as they walked beneath the colorful canopies of the open-air marketplace. The awnings were rolled out to block the heat of the bright yellow sun beaming down from a crystal-clear, stunningly blue sky, but Hyperion looked like he was enshrouded in cold blackness. “What is wrong, my friend?”
“Forgive me, Lady Thea,” Hyperion replied, his chipped-jade eyes brightening and a small smile crossing his full, pink lips. He raised his lowered head and straightened his back, taking Thea’s hand and laying it on his corded forearm. Arm-in-arm, he looked down on the incredibly beautiful woman at his side and said, “I was lost in thought. Please continue.”
Thea raised a golden eyebrow at him, seeing the mask of lightness suddenly drop over his sculpted, artistically handsome face like a curtain. A gust of warm breeze blew her long, wavy, honey-blond hair into her dark green eyes and she brushed it away with long, slender fingers. Thea pursed her full, ruby lips, wanting to ask him why he felt the need to hide himself from her. Instead, she wrapped her arm tighter around his and leaned against his powerful shoulder for the briefest of moments.
“It can wait for another time,” Thea responded, sensing his discomfort at the subject of Ra. She, too, shifted to a happier false mood and took in the life swirling around them.
A small flatbed truck heaped with produce passed them on the narrow strip of road winding through the market, its wooden wheels making an odd sound on the smooth stone. “It is strange to see such vehicles on our streets,” Thea commented as it rolled by.
“True,” Hyperion said with a nod, thankful for something else to talk about. He knew who was behind the sea attacks, but would only reveal it with Zeus’ permission, even to Thea. “Yet, with the rarity of uridium these days,” Hyperion went on, “maintaining the anti-gravity systems of the Polaris-sleds is more difficult. Using wheels again is far more energy efficient.” His smile brightened as he watched it go. “I kind of like it. The sound has a rhythm to it that I find pleasing. I even own a small one myself.”
It was difficult to know which drew more attention, the flatbed or the couple who commented on it. Even though Atlanteans had not used wheels on vehicles for eons, they were becoming commonplace these days. The People were slowly getting used to them. Hyperion, on the other hand, was seldom seen outside of the Wind
Song. His nightclub was his home, his domain and still the most popular spot in the city, even with many other clubs now open.
Though elegant and embroidered, the dark blue, billow-sleeved, V-neck shirt he wore tucked into his black, form-fitting, linen pants was subdued compared to the flamboyant, colorful garb he wore in the Wind Song. The gold-buckled belt that encircled his narrow waist was plain and unadorned. His knee-high boots were polished and shiny, but pure black without the rich patterns of color of the ones he usually wore. Even the tight, ebony curls that surrounded his strongly-planed, square-jawed face were lusterless, not sparkling with the light oil he customarily coated them with. Still, many a flirtatious glance was tossed his way, though Hyperion did not seem to notice.
Unlike Hyperion, Thea was well aware of every envious or lust-filled eye that skimmed over her as she slipped through the throngs in the market. She had dealt with them all her life. Even with the high standards of beauty among the Atlantean people, she and her twin sister, Themis, stood out above the crowd. Unlike Themis who downplayed her extraordinary looks and perfectly shaped body by wearing less revealing clothing and keeping her flowing, golden locks in a tight braid, Thea reveled in her sensuousness and used it to enjoy life and get what she wanted in the world.
The couple made their way through the market and back to the Grand Boulevard, enjoying the sights, sounds and aromatic smells of the vibrant city around them. The warmth of the day, the merchants hawking their wares and the gaiety of the People filling the streets turned their fake happiness into something real by the time they finally reached the steps of the Wind Song across from the Great Pyramid. The chimes in the silver spire above the club sang softly in the light breeze filling the air with warmth and rhythm that touched even their weary hearts.
