by Gene Stiles
Chapter XIII
The snow dropped down from the jagged mountain peaks behind Atlantis and covered the city in a brilliant shroud of cold, white light. It was not as thick as the storms of the far north, but it was enough to bring the streets to a silent standstill. The blanket was about six foot deep with drifts on the windward sides completely blocking out many lower windows. Only the ancient One Tree was immune, the heat rising from the hellishly deep chasms surrounding it creating an umbrella of hot fog that the snow was incapable of penetrating.
Cronus stood at the warmed crystal windows of his quarters near the top of the Great Pyramid staring through the sheen of moisture from the melted flakes at the quiet city below. His mood shifted as frequently as the scenes before his emerald green eyes.
Never in his centuries-long lifetime had he ever seen so much snow. It sparkled like a field of blazing diamonds when the clouds parted long enough for rays of golden sunlight to beam down upon it. It coated the spires and domes of Atlantis, reflecting back a rainbow of amazing hues as if the light passed through a multi-faceted prism. The city seemed like a mountain of colorful jewels of every imaginable shade. It filled him with a wondrous awe that somehow lifted his spirits at the sight of such incredible beauty.
But then his perspective changed and he saw something vastly different. The cracks in the cloud cover closed and the radiance was gone. In its wake was a frozen landscape as barren and cold as the desolate red plains of long-dead Atlan. Rounded humps were all that was left of the smaller geodesic buildings, reminding Cronus of the deserted domed cities of his homeworld. Flat-topped squares devoid of life were the remains of granite warehouses hidden beneath a vast meadow of ice and snow. The plumes of wispy white vapors from chimneys and heating vents shimmered in the air like a demonic negative of the fires that consumed war-torn cities.
Not a single soul dared those empty, freezing sidewalks. Grav-sleds could float above that icy carpet, but there was nowhere for them to go. No markets were open, businesses were closed and the harbors were still. The ships stuck in the port looked like frosty skeletons, huge, sharp-pointed icicles hanging from their spars and riggings like the daggers of the dead.
Cronus pulled his long, black robe tighter around his broad, muscled chest, cinching it closed with the sash at his waist as if fending off the bone-numbing chill outside. Even though his quarters were as warm as a spring day, his mind was as frigid as this hyperborean winter. He looked up at the ghostly cocoon surrounding the One Tree in an impenetrable shell and his soul sunk deeper into despair. Even that last living reminder of ancient Atlan was removed from his sight. Would this Creator-forsaken desolation be the legacy he left behind for the People? Would this consume Atlantis as it did in the past?
He turned from the windows and walked to his big, mahogany desk. Sitting on its polished surface was something Cronus had not looked at in centuries. The massive tome was bound in the leathery hide of a long-extinct saurus that had roamed this land before the People set foot on this planet. He ran his fingers over the carved lines in the scaly skin feeling both reverence and heart-wrenching fear.
Cronus remembered the day when the Keeper, Haleah, had presented it to him. Her bright, blue eyes were aglow with wonder as she naively placed it in his hands. Once he read the horrors within and understood the ramifications to his people, he buried it from sight and kept its contents to himself. When, at last, he shared it with the Twelve, the first cracks in his rule were created.
The Book – the history of the Izon and diary of his friend Iasion – had resided in stasis in the Atlantean archives ever since. Now it sat before him, a thin strip of burgundy cloth marking the passages that caused him to bring it out once again. Was this what he saw when he looked out of his windows? Would this happen to the People once again? He stared at the words, hoping to find some kind of guidance in the ancient text.
From the Diary of Iasion
Year 27, AL - Terrain Scale
Hello, Friend Cronus. I hope the passage of time finds you still in peaceful slumber. I have visited you every other month, staring across the chasms that divide us. I search for the faintest sign of movement, the slightest clearing of the mountain that rests upon you. I have seen naught. Is that a good thing? Does it mean that the hulls have held against the crushing weight upon them? Or does it tell me you lay not in sleep but in the dark embrace of death? Alas, I may never know now.
You see, we must move again. The changes I have wrought upon this land appear to be increasing in rapidity. Where once a blanket of green covered the soil there is only rocks and sand. Where once great trees formed a canopy above our heads there are now only gray, lifeless limbs reaching to the darkening sky. Where once muddy rivers rolled off the mountainsides there is now but shallow creeks winding their way to the sea.
It is the cold, Cronus. Strange is it not? Cold is what we wanted. But this cold! The first winter after we set up our new encampment simply never ended. White crystals of soft, wet ice fell from the heavens coating the ground as far as the eye could see. It was so very beautiful at first. The children frolicked about, making odd and intriguing patterns as they rolled in the powder. I admit that even I felt a childish wonder at the sight. Yet after the skies had deposited so much of the stuff that we could not even open the doors of the domes it lost most of its grandeur. When it finally melted away a couple of months later we were all more than happy to see it go.
But it did not go entirely. The mountains in the distance have been topped with a thick coating of white ever since. As each month goes by the ice seems to creep down the slopes, reaching toward the plains below. The temperature continues its decline and the chill never leaves the air. This winter the blanket of ice crystals lasted for almost four months and the sun has yet to penetrate the dense, black clouds overhead. On my last trip to the ships, that once beautiful valley where you rest was glistening with a thin sheen of frost. The small lake had frozen over and the creek moves no more.
Yet the One Tree still thrives. Cronus, you would not believe the sight! It is as if the Creator has cocooned the great Tree in the warmth of his heart! Steam rises from the rifts surrounding the island it sets upon. The ground beneath the widespread branches remains green and warm. And the One Tree is now nearly half as large as it was in Home! Such wonder! It is this sight alone that keeps the hope in my heart that you still live. I believe it is a sign from the Creator that the One Tree stands as guardian over you as you sleep.
Cronus closed the Book and glanced back out at the silent city below. His emerald eyes blazed with defiance. He was not as helpless as Iasion was back then. All the technology of Atlantis was at his command. His city would not fall! But to save it, he would need his every resource. That meant he would have to defeat Zeus swiftly and put down the rebellions diverting his attention. He would do what he had always done, fight for the survival of the People whether they understood it right now or not. He would not fail.
“I warned you this would happen,” Coeus said accusingly. His dark hazel eyes burned and his words had the sting of a hornet. His silver-streaked, cinnamon hair was more disarrayed than usual, tangled and unkempt. Even his dark blue, thickly insulated, linen gown looked as if he had slept in it. “If you had listened, we could have been better prepared for this harsh weather.”
“Keep your useless recriminations to yourself,” Cronus snapped back harshly. He leaned forward in his cushioned chair near the hearth in his quarters, his elbows resting on his knees and his fists clenched before him. “I did not call you here to suffer your insolence. I want to know how long you think this winter will last. Nothing more!”
The old man bit his lip to keep the bitter retort from passing through them. He knew Cronus would only listen to what he wanted to hear. As everyone in the small gathering knew, showing anger would only shut the Lord Father down further. Besides, he and Phoebe were too busy to waste time getting into a shouting match with an irrational man.
“As I told you in the p
ast,” Coeus said, unable to keep from adding at least a small dig into his comments, “the planet’s oscillation is changing the weather patterns. We have not dropped into even the upper polar regions as yet and I do not expect us to for hundreds of years.”
To keep himself from letting his emotions cloud his words, Coeus turned his gaze to the others around him. “What we are experiencing is not caused by the shift in temperate zone, but more by the change in ocean currents. The cold, southern polar waters moving northward are cooling the air and driving these storms. That is why these snows have reached the valley floor.”
In his peripheral vision, Coeus could see the pinch of Cronus’ lips and answered the question before it could be barked. “As for how long it will last, I believe it will pass within a couple of months. Our observations show we are at the bottom of the wobble and as cold as we are likely to get this year.”
“However,” he continued, staring pointedly at Cronus, “I warn you, next year will be worse and longer lasting as will future years. We must be prepared for that eventuality.”
“Thank you,” Cronus replied, his tone more acidic than congenial. “That is all I wanted to know.” Dismissing Coeus with a curt wave, he turned his flickering jade eyes upon the others. “How fares the cities?”
“Thanks to my husband’s predictions,” Phoebe replied tersely, irritated by Cronus’ attitude, “our storehouses in every city are filled to capacity with provisions. No one on Atlantis will go hungry. Our only problem is with distribution. The snows are making it difficult to travel.”
“And as far as security?” Cronus asked Iapetus, ignoring her rudeness.
“The weather has slowed our troop movements,” the black-eyed Second responded, his deep voice rumbling in his barrel chest. “However, it has also kept these little rebellions quiet as well. I see nothing our city Aam cannot handle, though patrols in the mines are reporting growing unrest. The lower levels are flooding and the pumps are overworked since power has been diverted to keep the cities warm. They are demanding assistance.”
“They have not been producing enough to give them extra consideration,” Crius said sharply. The youngest of what had once been the Twelve brushed off the complaints as irrelevant. Without Thorina to soften him, he had become hard and uncaring. “If they were doing their jobs, power would not be an issue. Maybe a little discomfort is what they need to spur them on.”
“Or it could turn them further against us,” Themis replied as she sipped on her steaming, green tea. Her long, golden-blond braid hung down her ample chest and curled on her lap beneath the dark-blue robe cinched firmly around her body. Her sky-blue eyes were pensive as she studied the swirls in her cup.
“We need the ores and minerals they provide,” she said firmly, unhappy with her little brother’s off-handed demeanor. “Do not forget that. Would you personally replace them in those hellish pits if they chose to leave?”
Seeing the angry flush come to Crius’ cheeks, she continued. “Keep in mind there are thousands of miners scattered throughout many of our cities. Adding them to the rebel lists would not be good for Atlantis.”
“Do what we can for them,” Cronus said, acknowledging the wisdom of Themis. He trusted her council more than any of the Twelve. Only Iapetus held more respect and confidence to him. “We will talk again soon,” he said as he walked to his windows and put his back to them. “Iapetus, please stay.”
Once Cronus was sure the doors were closed and the others were out of earshot, he turned to his stoic brother. “Are the legions ready?”
“Yes, Lord Father,” Iapetus replied in his cool, impassive voice. His ebony eyes were as flat as the giant sharks that roamed the seas and just as deadly. The sculpted muscles of the granite column he called a body rippled beneath his raven-black, Aam garb. He had been too long in the halls of the Great Pyramid and yearned to leave the politics behind for the plain truth of the battlefield. Though it did not show on his square, block-like face, Iapetus was excited and eager to lead his troops once again.
“Coeus believes I did not heed his predictions,” Cronus said, a cold-blooded sneer touching his darkly tanned lips beneath the fiery curls of his beard. His dark green eyes sparkled cruelly. “Zeus thinks this bitter winter will keep us imprisoned here and give him time to marshal more forces against us. Both are wrong.”
“We have ten thousand troops camped four hundred miles south of Solarum,” Iapetus said, bringing up a map of Afrikanikis on the main monitor. “They are well-hidden and remain undetected. Once I arrive, we will push forward and take the city. Their primary industry is fishing so, if we cut communications to Nil, they should be an easy target. There we will secure our position and await the fleet.”
Iapetus ran a thick finger up the coastline. “The port of Enubia will be next. That will put us directly across from the Olympian base on the island of Heliseous. Take that and we will leave Poseidon’s armada nowhere to resupply.”
“The major problem,” Iapetus said, looking up at Cronus, his face hard and grim, “is how Ra will respond. Those cities are on the continent he claims as his own. He gave Heliseous base to Zeus. Should he send his army to defend those lands, we would be facing two enemies. I do know if we can take both.”
“I am counting on Ra to send troops,” Cronus replied, his vicious grin widening. “In our war with Zeus, the fortress city of Tholis established on the western coast of Afrikanikis long ago has gone unnoticed. I have been sending men, arms and supplies there for years. They are over a hundred thousand strong, have a large airbase and our latest weaponry.”
The only indication of surprise by Iapetus was the way he cocked his head as he looked at Cronus. In truth, he, too, had forgotten about the northwestern base. It was created when they were intending to attack Nil, but Zeus had disrupted those plans. The Lord Father had not mentioned Tholis since the Olympians began their assaults.
“Besides,” Cronus said enigmatically, “we have an ally in Ra’s own court. We may be able to break the hold of the Trinity at the same time and finally have access to all of the Cydonian technology.”
His brutally handsome face turned as hard as the stone walls surrounding him. Cronus burned inside as he leaned heavily on his oaken table. “Zeus and his siblings will be crushed at long last. I will be free.”
Zeferian and Naridine walked along the sandy beaches of Solarum Bay, a wicker basket of sandwiches and sweetberry wine held between them. The long summer made the dirt almost too warm as it slipped around their bare feet so they stayed close to the shore where the gently moving surf could cool their toes. A bright yellow sun blazed in the cloudless blue sky above the young lovers as they found a green swath of grass to spread their thin, red blanket.
The cove was exceptionally beautiful today. The turquoise water was so crystal clear it was impossible to tell how truly deep it was. Flat slabs of stone on the bottom appeared so close to the surface it seemed as if you could walk them like a path a mile out into the ocean. In fact, they were forty feet beneath the placidly moving water. The wide peninsula that stuck out like the Creator’s finger on the eastern border of the bay blocked even the largest of waves from reaching this area. Just beyond its tip sat the huge isle of Loraquez which was so thick with trees and vegetation that it was impossible to walk through it. No one lived there except for the incredible array of colorful, but sometimes deadly wildlife that made it their home.
“What a perfect day,” Naridine smiled, her copperish skin glistening with the remnants of their cooling swim. She wrung the salty moisture from her long, wheat-blond hair and tied it at the nape of her slender neck with a strip of cloth. “I am glad we decided to spend a few days far from the city. Thank you.”
“There is no need to thank me, my love,” Zeferian replied as he opened the basket and brought out the wine. He smiled contentedly, his dark brown eyes traveling appreciatively over every inch of her well-proportioned, naked body. “Any time I can get away from the docks to be alone with you is time w
ell spent. If all goes well, it will be only another year before we can afford our own home together. Then I will never have to leave you again. I love you so.”
Naridine beamed like a midnight star, her sea-blue eyes sparkling. She placed her palm on his strongly sculpted face and graced him with a tender kiss. “I love you more than life itself,” she almost whispered. She leaned her forehead on the soft tan curls that carpeted his broad, well-muscled chest and closed her eyes. “Always and in all ways.”
Zeferian sat the two glasses of wine in his hands down on the lid of the basket and drew her tightly against him. They were only fifty miles away from the city, but it seemed like they were the only ones on the entire planet. Birds sang love songs in the forest behind them just for their ears and no one else. The breeze was light against their entwined bodies and barely cooled the heat rising between them.
Zeferian was so lost in their passion that it took him long moments before he realized the woods had gone unnaturally silent. When he did, he stopped and stared suspiciously at the dark tree line, more curious than alarmed. A tingle rippled up his spine and the hairs on his neck stood erect upon his flesh.
“What is it?” Naridine asked, pulling away from his embrace. Suddenly feeling vulnerable, she pulled her wrap around her body and sat up.
“I do not know,” Zeferian replied, wishing he had brought a weapon with him. “It is probably nothing more than a predator in the forest.”
He was right, but it was not the kind of predator he was expecting.
Ten heavily armed, black-clad men slipped out of the woods as quiet as the birds that no longer sang in the branches above. In moments, the two lovers were surrounded by a squad of fifty more. None of them said a single word, though more than a few looked at Naridine with pure lust written on their sneering faces. Zeferian stood, protectively putting himself between her and the silent strangers.
