Rise of Prophecy

by Abdur Mohammed

  “This part of your journey is almost at an end,” Deidra announces. “You have endured just a fraction of what the Foreign Legion does.” She steps off the platform to walk between the ranks. “Hunger, sleep deprivation, fatigue…”

  As she turns her head to the left wall of cadets, she spots Alexius running towards them. There is a slight change in her tone. It goes from a stern, authoritative one, to an ever so slightly accusative one. She carries on while looking at Alexius with a suspicious stare.

  “…confusion, faltering discipline, temptation,” she continues. “You have faced your enemies. Soon you will face the flesh and blood ones. Squad commander!” she screams to the front of the formation.

  A disciplined cadet shouts out, “Squad commander Andros awaiting instructions!” He steps away from his row.

  “Take charge,” Deidra orders. “Hit the showers. After, report to your classes. On your way out try your best to run through Captain Alexius,” she demands with a devilish smirk.

  All twenty cadets shout acknowledgment. The squad methodically turns to begin their exit. They run in unison toward the approaching Alexius. In waves of two, the cadets try to run him over, still keeping their steely gaze ahead of them.

  The onslaught manages to throw the unsuspecting Captain off balance several times. He is irate, up until he sees Deidra in the distance chuckling.

  Alexius makes it up to Deidra with a miserable look on his face, “Your idea?”

  Deidra can’t contain her laughter, “Cadet Andros has bigger balls than I thought.”

  “I don’t like that little prick. He’s just like his namesake…my brother-in-law. Rigid, never smiles, conniving.”

  “Maybe it’s his shifty eyes or that snorting laugh,” she points out still chuckling. They begin walking towards the main buildings in the distance. “Aren’t you tired of all this?” she asks, “We are not teachers. It is…”

  “I know. It’s not us, not what we are trained for. Everything here is all so, predictable. No adventure or excitement. Just Illyria.”

  “You mean, not enough gambling, wenching, and stealing?” Deidra accuses. “You’re more predictable than this shit-hole.”

  “Don’t be a cynic,” he complains. He quickly steps ahead to spin around while walking backward, smiling at her. “Hey, come with me into town later.”

  “What for?” she asks suspiciously.

  “An adventure,” he offers with a smile. Deidra scowls, signaling her distrust of his intentions.

  “The Archon wants to see you,” she says.

  “Maybe he will go with me.” He spins around to start his jog. Deidra reluctantly follows.

  -THE OFFICE OF THE ARCHON INIAS-

  The military forces of Atlantis pride itself on its unique structure. There are the lower ranks, the middle ones, the leadership, then the commanders. Depending on the force type, the commander can be either a battle-hardened officer or a High Priest at the rank of Archon. To get to this rank, one must belong to a particular branch of the priesthood; one devoted to military affairs, along with spreading the religion.

  Inducted at age 15, now at 55, Inias has seen his share of conflict. At first glance, one would not place him as the Archon but rather a High Priest with a pudgy stomach. His neatly combed grey hair, well-manicured hands, combined with his round face and penchant to articulate words, is the opposite of a soldier’s demeanor. With his shrewd nature, sharp tongue and wit, he has risen to the highest rank a priest can reach in the military. Now, he commands this garrison outpost, wishing for the day he will return to Atlantis.

  His office is laid out with a precision severely lacking in the rest of the spaces. It is large and foreboding, causing one to incur a sense of dread at first glance. The feeling quickly fades when the décor is noticed. Standing in separate corners are two marble statues, one of a High Priest, the other a patron god. They are decorated with silks thrown over shoulders, hanging over colorful potted plants. Large glass windows welcome the sunlight shining on comfortable furniture. Further in is a large oak desk with a monitor amidst scattered papers. Behind the desk, there is an intricate bookshelf, with strange artifacts showing off the Archon’s exquisite taste.

  At present, Inias is supervising local workmen who are attempting to spread a newly procured rug. The monstrosity is causing some confusion with where to place it. The workmen are frustrated as Inias is challenging to please. They ramble on in their dialect, confusing the Archon as he tries to listen in. He finally becomes frustrated himself.

  “No, no, no!” Inias shouts with pouty lips. “Not there. I want visitors to behold it, not glance at a thing in the corner.”

  The broad gesturing of his arms causes some snickering amongst the locals. Their behavior infuriates Inias, causing him to storm off to his desk.

  Fuming, he opens a small purse of coin. He carefully picks out the gold pieces, leaving nothing but lower valued ones. Once satisfied he is compensated for the lack of respect, he closes the purse then looks at the workers.

  Suddenly, the doors swing open causing a “thud.” Inias peeks out around a wall to see Alexius walking in with an aide.

  Inias claps several times at the workers, “That’s enough. Out. Return in one hour.” The workers begin their exit. He tosses the coin purse to one man, smiling. The room quickly clears. He decides to answer Alexius’ questioning glare, “It is lunch money.”

  Alexius notices the hideous rug with an erratic pattern of reds and blues embolden with golden images of priests. He cannot contain himself. “New dust-mat your holiness?”

  Inias turns red, infuriated at the insinuation, “It’s not a mat! It’s a work of art. Woven by Aryan monks, blind they say…”

  “That I can see, blind for sure,” Alexius interrupts. “Tavern wenches in Parthon would have done it for less.”

  “Yes, and bless it with decadence, whereas this is made with the holy…why am I explaining myself? Sit Down.”

  Inias sits behind his large desk; Alexius finds a comfortable chair. Inias’ fat finger taps on a switch, activating a monitor on the wall behind him. “I called you here for an assignment.”

  Alexius’ face lights up. The prospect of something to do other than dealing with cadets thrills him, “Finally, something that isn’t teaching.”

  “No, it’s less demanding,” Inias explains. “I am tasked with consolidating certain, assets. A shipment is due to arrive at our local temple tonight. I want you to oversee the securing of it.”

  “What is the shipment?”

  An image of a small chest fills the screen. It is intricately crafted, the body silver and bronze colors, with a golden-eagle crest adorning the face. The picture zooms out, displaying the box amongst other treasures; diamonds, rubies, with other items of value. Alexius is intrigued.

  “Are you expecting trouble Archon?” Alexius inquires.

  “No. All you’re doing is receiving it, then bring it back here. I am tasking you with this…”

  “Because I am your best soldier,” Alexius states quite arrogantly.

  There is a hint of amusement in Inias’ response, “No, because the other squads are occupied.”

  “I’ll take Captain Deidra then.”

  “I thought so. Anything happens to that chest, and you will pay severely, despite your family pedigree. Now, leave.”

  As he stands, Alexius congratulates Inias, “Marvelous your holiness, the perfect spot for a rug.”

  “Out!” Inias screams.

  Chapter 03: Oh, that Yak

  The kingdoms of Illyria have long since formed their conglomerate consisting of five vast realms, all ruled by man; quite an accomplishment since the destruction of the Anuk. Warring tribes united, all with the common purpose of commerce. Yes, economics is their strength, and they excel at it. No longer barbarians, the Illyrians conducted wars with currency.

  Like with any flourishing civilization, the priesthood managed to weave their way into the fabric of Illyrian society; like cancer they spre
ad, demanding absolute adherence to their religion. Humanity always knew they had to submit to a higher power, and the forefathers of ancient past were the power they owed reverence to.

  The kings of Illyria opened their borders to each other when they formed the conglomerate. It is a guild of sorts, with the Chairman possessing more power than a king. A High priest presided at the Chairman’s side, usually more corrupt than holy. Together, they controlled vast wealth, protecting the interests of the priesthood. No one challenged them, except, Nebpkara.

  Nebpkara, also known as The Master, is a mysterious figure fighting a war against the Illyrian conglomerate for over 100 years; this villain remains elusive. Reason dictates that the Master is more of a figurehead than a person. Whosoever wears the mantle, they have proven to be detrimental to the priesthood and the trading guilds. A new word found itself into the vernacular of all the civilizations; thus all followers of the Master were labeled with it…terrorists.

  ~LIVIANA~

  The early morning has already passed; the sun is out in this sleepy smoky mountain town. Everything starts late here. The leaves have already turned color, showing off their bright reds and yellows for autumn. People are scarce; only a handful of shopkeepers along the main street are out, sweeping the sidewalk, putting out their signs. The occasional car drives by, respectful of the speed limit. Only the sound of engines from Atlantean patrol crafts high in the sky interrupts the serenity.

  Everything in the town is quaint, including the local hotel. Standing between a sandwich shop and an antique store, the structure’s age is masked with fresh paint. The brilliant white walls occasionally get blasted with leaves thrown over by a gust of wind.

  The rooms are warm, available in single, double, and family sizes. There are always occupants here; tourists are never failing to visit this friendly little town. One guest has taken up with the local custom of sleeping in late. Despite the invading light through the small window, she refuses to wake up.

  Liviana stretches her naked body under the sheets. At six-feet-tall, her toes extend beyond the bed’s edge. She appears to be in her mid-twenties, with her long blonde hair displaced and wild. She runs her hand along the vacant spot next to her. The emptiness forces her eyes to open, wondering where her bedfellow ran off to. The light streaming through a space in the curtains is beginning to aggravate her, so she decides to duck beneath the sheets. The door opens.

  Mica enters rather loudly, not caring whether Liviana is asleep or not. He is a ruff, twenty-nine-year-old looking fellow, moderately built at five-feet-nine-inches, with a scruffy face and long neat dark hair. He has a cup of steaming tea in his hand, slurping the liquid rather loudly. The sound is aggravating Liviana; she makes it known by her angry tone.

  “Mica,” Liviana grumbles, “have you no decency?” She reveals herself from under the sheets. She is a mess to look at, once you get past the slender arms on the goddess-like frame, displaying shameless nudity.

  “As decent as pie,” Mica answers. “Your girl ran off…must’ve been something you did.” He decides to aggravate her some more by opening the curtains.

  Liviana cringes with the light, “What time is it?”

  “Late. Barely time to find breakfast.” He offers her the tea. She takes it gratefully.

  She stands with the bedsheet around her, towering over Mica. He walks out, leaving her to get ready for the day.

  -COFFEE SHOP-

  The coffee shop is small with just a handful of patrons this morning. Only over-priced coffee with light pastries is served, making up a “second-breakfast” for some.

  Liviana sits with Mica at a table near a large window, disgruntled that they missed breakfast at the hotel. They sip on their hot beverage, indulging in quiet contemplation.

  A barista turns up the volume on a television. A reporter is talking about a horrendous attack on a guild-owned bank in a town not far off. Everyone looks at the monitor expressing surprise and horror.

  Liviana gives Mica an annoyed look, “Why can’t I tell him it’s for Nebpkara? That would save some annoying foreplay. I don’t understand the need for a charade.”

  “Don’t you see what’s happening? One mention of the Master and he will call the authorities or worse, soldiers. It will be alright, show him the coin and he will sing.”

  Liviana chuckles, “Just like that? Is it so easy to get information from these, shady types?”

  “I know Stonebreaker, he’s a weasel, but he is loyal to his code. Once he verifies the coin, he will give you the information.”

  “I could have stolen the coin…”

  “You did…”

  “There’s my point,” Liviana proclaims. “How can we be sure he’s giving us accurate information?”

  “Flirt with him, give him an incentive. He’s not that smart,” Mica suggests.

  “Fine,” she concedes. She sips on her coffee, falling into thoughts about the simpler days.

  A teenage girl approaches with her mother, almost swooning as if they are meeting royalty. They stop at the table and are beside themselves.

  Mica puts his hand on a concealed dagger, ready to dispatch the pair; Liviana ever so subtly gives him a look he understands to stand down.

  “You’re…” the girl begins.

  Liviana quickly cuts her off, “No, I’m not. But thank you. It is very flattering.”

  The mother smiles then pulls the girl away. As the pair leaves, Liviana slips back into her memory.

  ~LIVIANA (Age 06). WILDERNESS PARK, ATLANTIS~

  The Wilderness Park in Northern Atlantis is a treasure. It spans five hundred miles in diameter, consisting of mountains, lush valleys, lakes, and abundant wildlife; it is a paradise for those seeking an escape from city life. The clouds are fluffy, the breeze is cold, the streams are clean.

  Liviana and her father Barish, are on a father/daughter retreat, spending their time in the family’s mountain cabin. It is a midsummer's afternoon with ideal weather for fishing and swimming.

  Little Liviana finds herself pouting at a window, growing impatient for her father to take her outside. The sound of approaching footsteps makes her smile. She quickly turns to see her father across the room.

  Six-feet-four-inches tall, and two-hundred-twenty-pounds of muscle, few are not intimidated by Barish. He stands still, smiling enthusiastically. Liviana darts towards him then jump into his open arms. They begin their exit towards the nearby lake.

  Small pebbles outside the cabin crunch with Barish’s heavy stride. He kisses his daughter wildly, and she eats up every bit of his loving.

  “Little Nephele…we could go fish after swimming if you like,” Barish offers.

  “Papa, you know I can’t fish,” Liviana reminds him. “Why don’t you go fishing and I’ll go swimming?”

  Barish smiles at his daughter, “Then who will protect me?”

  Liviana suddenly has a sad look, “I couldn’t protect mama.”

  They reach the nearby lake; a literal stone’s throw from their door. Barish drops to the bank, still holding on to his precious Nephele.

  “You will have to protect us all one day my love when you are big and strong. This world is descending into the chaos that will see its end.” He kisses the child, and then quickly throws her into the water. She screams with delight.

  ~BACK IN THE COFFEE SHOP~

  A military vehicle drives by slowly. Liviana pulls her cloak over her head; Mica turns his back to the window. They look at each other, acknowledging together that it was time to leave.

  -MAIN STREET-

  More people are walking about now, ducking into alleyways to listen to local music from street shows. Everyone is bundled up as the cold mountain air blows. The streets host more cars now, which share the space with cyclists. A tall figure strides along the sidewalk, dressed in black city clothes. With her cloak drawn, Liviana approaches one of the conveniently placed souvenir shops.

  The space inside is cluttered with all forms of merchandise: lamps, small statues
, paintings, and cheap electronics. At a far wall the shopkeeper, Stonebreaker, takes a mid-morning nap. A short chubby little man, he has the appearance of any working-class anti-hero who is out to make money any way he can. These days it’s working for the black-market cartels.

  The door opens, ringing a miserable bell at the entrance. Stonebreaker jumps up from his nap, quickly wiping the drool off his face. He smiles from ear to ear looking at Liviana in her fancy outfit. The prospect of a rich out of town customer encourages him to neaten up his hair.

  Liviana cautiously navigates around the merchandise, moving like a graceful cat. She spots two surveillance cameras mounted bluntly on the walls. She makes an apparent effort to avoid the devices while heading to Stonebreaker. She stops at the counter, looks at him for a moment, and remembers Mica’s advice.

  “I am here about the starlight package,” Liviana announces.

  Stonebreaker’s smile disappears. He speaks with authority, “And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

  “Oona. Marcus sent me,” Liviana explains.

  She offers him a silver coin. There is an engraved image of an Illyrian senator on the face, with an out of place black dot on an eye. Stonebreaker looks at it, not satisfied.

  “And who vouches for you?”

  The question throws Liviana off. She was expecting to be welcomed as Mica promised. She suddenly remembers the idiot knew the man.

  “Mica,” she blurts out.

  Stonebreaker becomes irate, furious at the mention of the name. “You tell that lying son of a whore to drop dead! I can’t help you. Get out!”

  A slight “click” sounds as Liviana un-sheaths her dagger. She grabs stonebreaker by the collar and pulls him down towards her blade. Fear fills the shopkeeper’s eyes. “Look little man. Do you want to kiss my blade? Speak, now!”

  She eases her grip, allowing him to regain his composure. He is more compliant, looking at the dangerous dagger.

  “All I know is that it’s not coming here…I swear,” he says.