Rise of Prophecy

by Abdur Mohammed

  Steven stops at Alexius, laughing enthusiastically. His three-year-old sister, Chloe, sits on her uncle’s lap, clapping and giggling wildly. She grabs a handful of grapes to offer her brother. Suddenly, she freezes as if caught in unexpected mischief. Steven sees her expression then quickly turns to the mouth of the cave. Their aunt makes her way down a rope.

  Cassandra drops on to the cave floor, furious at what she sees. Alexius smiles at her, expecting a tongue lashing. She strides over to the band of troublemakers ready to pass judgment.

  “You are the worst babysitter!” she declares as she unhooks Steven.

  “Calm down, they are alright,” Alexius points out.

  Cassandra is irate, “Look at where they are, can’t you even…”

  “You’re the one who insisted I take them out of the house,” Alexius interrupts.

  Cassandra puts Steven on the ground, grasping his hand tightly. There will be no reasoning with this donkey, she decides. She gives Chloe a stern look; the toddler begins to pout, waiting for a warning, ready to cry in defiance.

  “You are a bad influence on them. These Children love you so much they will follow you down to the ocean if they had to.”

  “They were never in any danger, promise,” Alexius reassures her.

  Cassandra sits on a small box to catch her breath. The ocean breeze cools the cave; for a moment she remembers just how tranquil it is.

  She looks at her brother, “I know why you’re down here. You can’t avoid today.”

  “What’s to avoid?” Alexius says sarcastically. “There will be all the town’s folk, wretched family, present associations excluded, and oh yes, your worthless husband, Andros.”

  “There will be a lot of them surely; fighting, arguing, trying to claim a share of mother’s fortune.”

  “It’s yours and Remus’. Don’t let them rob you of it.”

  “And yours…”

  “No, not mine,” says Alexius.

  “Alexius don’t do this. The rantings of a sick woman are like a receding wave; all it can do is make a splash then never return.”

  “You’re right…you’re right,” he agrees.

  The silence invites the beats of crashing water. The rhythmic sounds start to relax the cave dwellers.

  “This is where it happened isn’t it?” Alexius asks, looking at the cave’s opening.

  “What are you talking about?” Cassandra asks with a hint of discomfort.

  “You know what. Where mother jumped off the cliff into the ocean.”

  Cassandra’s eyes drift to the children, “How did you know about that?”

  “Whispers through the years. Uncomfortable stares from the town folk, dreams.”

  “It’s true, mother was unstable, hearing voices, imagining things. So she tried to kill herself. If it weren’t for Carrel and his fishing boat, she would be dead, you along with her. You were born that night, two months early.”

  “And now here we are,” Alexius quickly adds, attempting to put an end to the topic. There would be no point in revisiting the past. Cassandra felt the same.

  “How did you get down here anyway?” she asks as she looks at the rope.

  “It’s a secret.” Alexius lets a moment pass to torment his sister. “There’s a secret passage, let’s go.” He kisses Chloe on her head, then carries her towards the back exit; Cassandra and Steven follow.

  -THE CITY OF RIHZON, ILLYRIA-

  The peaceful city of Rihzon has always existed near the calm lake of Shekodra. It started as a small settlement after the Great War. Tribes of man flocked to the clean water supply, fearful that it was the only one left. Slowly, tents became huts, later turning into wood cabins; ultimately, marvelous stone buildings were erected.

  Now it is a trading metropolis, rich in commerce and banking. Most of the buildings are constructed of stone, laid out intricately amongst more modern architecture. Cobblestone walkways are everywhere, adorned with colorful plants hanging over awnings. The residents carry about their days happily.

  Vehicular traffic is always light, unlike the more popular cities such as Corinth, or Dalmatia. Here the residents relish the free public transportation system. High train rails spread across local destinations while large buses traverse the streets. One would find that many of the cars come from other places, showing off their colorful placards.

  Not many vehicles are found abandoned within city limits, especially one from a south-western kingdom. A black truck is parked in a quiet alley, with bullet holes draping the sides. The same truck Mica stole for his getaway from the temple in the southern kingdom. By nightfall, it will be gone, stripped by the more unscrupulous residents of this neighborhood.

  Not too far off is the city promenade; a favorite place that is remarkably clean. Plots of grassy mini-parks are everywhere, put there to accentuate the beauty of the area. Exclusive stores stand proudly on a short boulevard, catering to the wealthier clientele. As with any city poverty always finds its way into the social strata; even in this patch of Rihzon.

  Liviana strolls casually on a sidewalk. Her clothing is ripe with perspiration, and her expensive boots are muddy. She fits right in with the transients who make their way into the boulevard begging for handouts from the many pedestrians. She stops on the sidewalk joining a crowd waiting to cross the street.

  Two well-dressed chubby nobles stand at the corner with heads held high, arms locked; Carpus the pudgy man and Altia, the well-rounded snob are known around town. They are part of the banking cartel’s board posted in Rihzon, overseeing the day to day operations for the Illyrian conglomerate.

  Altia turns around to Liviana, who is standing behind her. She looks at the tribal markings on the woman’s face, her dirty attire then huffs in that snotty aristocratic way; one who announces that she is of proper breeding. She returns her gaze to her plump husband.

  “That trash may be following us,” Altia points out. “Be a dear, give her a coin.”

  Carpus knows who the boss in this relationship is. He complies with a, “Yes dear.” He selects a single copper piece from his coin purse. He offers it to Liviana, wincing at the thought of a beggar touching him.

  Altia looks at the coin as it falls into the woman’s right hand, making sure it’s of the correct value. Her eyes travel up her dirty wrist to stop on a pattern of dots on her forearm; they look like a constellation in the skies. It is not ink, she decides.

  With the worst impression of an Illyrian accent, Liviana says, “Thank you, M’Lord, M’Lady.” Like a hungry cat, she scurries off, ignoring the oncoming traffic.

  “Filthy gutter trash, this city is overrun with them,” Atia says with her nose in the air.

  “Yes dear. I hope the master gets her,” Carpus adds.

  “Watch your mouth,” Altia snaps. “No need to wish that brigand here.”

  “Yes dear.”

  The couple casually crosses the street as if they were royalty; arms still locked, noses up in the air. Altia scans the crowd ahead for Liviana, expecting the waif to appear around the corner begging for more coin.

  Altia would be disappointed, or relieved, for Liviana has already made her way several blocks ahead of them. She scans the side street behind her, then the major road. Where is Mica? How long does it take to find a car? She fumes.

  A horrible sound catches her attention. It’s a low sputtering, dying even, engine sound, accompanied by whines with occasional bursts of what has to be exhaust. She rolls her eyes, shakes her head, aggravated. As the noise gets closer, she covers her face with a palm, knowing all too well who would be in the driver’s seat.

  Mica pulls up along the curb, munching on food in a paper wrapper. The thing he is sitting in was once a delivery truck. The rusty body is covered in grey paint.

  He looks at Liviana peeking out from behind her hand. “Get in…hurry up,” he yells. He opens the door letting it swing with creeks and cracking sounds.

  Liviana carefully enters trying not to be overcome by the excessive odor. “
Really? This is what you find? Why not a fish truck? Or even better, a garbage collector?”

  “Oh stop your whining, it fits right in with your stink. Did you get what you needed?”

  Liviana sniffs her clothing, “It’s the right temple, no mistake.” She makes an awkward face from her odor. “You get the supplies?”

  Mica gestures to a thick canvas covering what had to be the back seat. Liviana lifts the fabric revealing a bag of rope, a fusion cutter, a bound and gagged old man, and crumpled up food wrappers; the old man mumbles with eyes wide open.

  “You do realize that I am hungry too?” Liviana protests.

  Annoying Liviana gives Mica insatiable pleasure. There would be more time for that, but now they were on a mission. Time is a luxury they did not have.

  He licks his fingers with delight, “Are you sure about this one?”

  “I am. We are so close. It won’t be long now. This has to be the one.”

  “I’ve heard that song before. You know, I think I just ate a pigeon…that I am sure of.”

  “Do shut up and drive.”

  Not wanting to be the only one sick from the meal, Mica pulls out a sandwich from his pocket. He offers it to Liviana, who takes it willingly.

  The truck’s engine sputters to life, making its way loudly down a side street. It passes Altia and Carpus strolling down the sidewalk.

  “This is where I found you…seem like yesterday,” says Liviana as she looks at Mica, who remains silent. “Any regrets?”

  “Never,” he says with a smile. “You gave me purpose, a reason to live. Who could refuse the…”

  “Shhhhhh” Liviana cuts in quickly. “We have company. Who is he anyway?”

  “Him? That’s Dorovich, an old friend. He was kind enough to sell me to that slobbering pig Clabber.” Mica reaches over to punch the hump under the canvas. “You see, he’s not a slave trader…that would require a license, be legit with the authorities and all. No, he snatches children from anywhere he can find them, then sells his product to the temples. His latest venture, snatching babies for the Corinth sex temples.”

  “I thought sacred prostitution in Illyria was voluntary,” says Liviana.

  “It is, but this scum offers seedlings free of commission. Why pay a temple prostitute when you have a slave? One hundred percent profit; that’s what’s wrong with Illyria, it’s always about the profit.”

  “And Clabber, is he mixed up in this?” Liviana asks.

  “He’s up to his clerical neck in it.”

  “Good thing he’s our stop after this.” She reaches over and punches the hump; the old man grunts in pain.

  -A BREEZY EVENING IN PARTHON-

  A half mile roadway leads up to the main house of the Badur estate, with tall fern trees draping the roadside; from a distance, you can see the massive structure sitting at the top of the hill. It fits for a family of high nobility. Many other buildings are scattered nearby: stables, smaller dwellings, garages. Just the mere size of it all in olden times would be considered an entire village.

  Several vehicles are parked in front of the house. Later this evening everyone will travel to the town of Garthos for the funeral services. The local temple will be hosting.

  Everyone is in somewhat of a somber mood, the family, the servants, the visitors. All who knew Alexa loved and admired her. For despite her being mentally ill, she was a kind, gentle lady. She died peacefully in her sleep, with her loving family all present.

  Her youth was robbed by the sickness which she suffered with for thirty-three years. At the early onset of her dementia, she would only experience violent episodes around Alexius. Then there were times she would be kind towards him.

  As the years progressed, she was overcome with blind rage fueling hatred for her son. Demon, unnatural, evil, were some things she would call him. Names would be the best part of her abuse, for on many occasions she attempted to put an end to her son’s life. Alexius’ escape was his cave, second only to his father’s study.

  The room is a large sanctuary, with walls of shelves filled with all sorts of literature. Strange ornaments amongst relics are scattered about near a sitting area which looks like it was meant for a king. There is even a small iron grate by the fireplace, where a small child could hide to observe the happenings in the room; this was not only Arias’ sanctuary, it was also Alexius’.

  He stands quietly at the entrance observing the oversized oak desk near the window. The drapes are pulled open, exposing the view of the lush landscape towards the rear of the mansion. Chirping birds can be heard singing their evening song; their music is relaxing. The tranquility is interrupted by a man entering the room.

  One of the guests from the capital stands just behind Alexius. He is dressed modestly, with a small pin on his collar signifying his status as a High Priest. About five-foot-seven-inches, slim build, proper clothing with a thin face, he appears minuscule next to the giant soldier.

  Alexius looks over his right shoulder to see long dark hair. A memory of a similar, much younger man sitting with his father in this room, flashes in his mind. Who is this? He wonders.

  “This is a private area,” Alexius states, watching the man smile.

  “Yes, I know,” comes the reply. There is a hint of nostalgia in the man’s voice. “It has been many years since I’ve sat here. I am Calis, a High Priest of Atlantis.” He offers his hand to Alexius, who takes it. “My sincere condolences for your loss.”

  “Thank you. Did you know my parents?”

  “Oh yes, for many, many years. I was first acquainted with your father when he served the King. I have been a friend to your family ever since, even after his death.”

  Andros walks by the room; he stops to observe the two men through the open door. He decides to interrupt them.

  “Your eminence, we shall be leaving shortly for the service” Andros announces in an authoritative tone. “Captain, you shall join Cassandra and me…”

  “Alexius! That’s my name in this house,” he cuts him off harshly. “I will ride with High Priest Calis, Andros.” The exchange bewilders Andros; he turns and walks off.

  “My apologies, if you will be so kind, I am in need of your assistance.”

  “Of course…it will be my honor; my car is yours,” Calis states.

  They leave the room then make their way to a grand staircase. They descend the three levels slowly, looking at the mass of people walking to the exit.

  “If I may be so bold,” Calis begins, “by right all this is really yours. You are, after all, Arias’ sole heir.”

  “That is bold,” says Alexius.

  Calis instantly becomes uncomfortable, for he did not know Alexius personally, but have heard stories of his temper. As they reach the ground floor, he stops to offer Alexius his humblest apology.

  “Please forgive me.”

  “It’s quite alright. You only state what you know. My brother and sister will inherit everything. I am but a soldier. None of this is mine.”

  They leave through the front doors, descending more stairs headed to a waiting area. A limousine with markings of the priesthood pulls up. The driver quickly jumps out then runs around to open the rear doors. Alexius is noticeably uncomfortable as he is not used to all the fanfare. They get in the car, ready to start on the thirty-mile journey.

  The car’s interior is beautiful, clean, and comfortable. Maybe I can sleep all of the way, Alexius muses. He decides not to appear as the mindless brute he is rumored to be or is sometimes. He runs his hand along the seats, admiring the soft fabrics.

  “Nice isn’t it?” Calis points out. “One of the luxuries afforded me by the priesthood.”

  “Inias would be impressed.”

  Calis chuckles, “Ah yes…Inias, that old buzzard. I hear he is returning to Atlantis, taking up the position of Archenieus.”

  “He is an uptight, miserable Archon,” Alexius explains. “He will make an even more intolerable Grand High Priest.” Both men chuckle. “We spent quite a few years to
gether, can’t say I will miss him.”

  “I also hear that you were responsible for the return of some, stolen assets. Thank you for that.” Calis notices Alexius is a bit uncomfortable.

  “I was doing my duty,” he explains. I wonder if he knows a book is missing.

  “Do you know what the books contained?” Calis asks.

  “Inias said they were ancient texts from before the Great War. Nothing interesting I gather.”

  “Did you see them?” Calis asks, subtly setting the bait.

  “No,” Alexius lies.

  “They are very valuable; in some circles, sacred. It’s a shame; few outside the priesthood rarely ever get a chance to see the ancient tongue of the Anuk. Far fewer can read it.”

  “Can you?” Alexius inquires.

  “In a fashion,” Calis admits with a smile. “That knowledge was passed down to the royal family, only they, the pure-bloods, can fully interpret the language.” He decides it is time to change the subject to one he has meant to touch on. “Say, your sister Cassandra has terrible taste, by that I mean Andros.”

  The uncomfortable few minutes suddenly disappears. Alexius had noticed stolen glances between Calis and Cassandra. It left him wondering whether his sister was finally going to get rid of that bottom feeder Andros.

  “Your Eminence, if I didn’t know better, I’d be certain you had some interest in my sister.”

  Calis begins to blush, raising his hand, shaking his head.

  “At this point, I’d prefer the butcher for a brother-in-law to that idiot,” Alexius states.

  The men chuckle, promising the foreseeable time to their destination to be a bearable one. All that was left now was to endure a few hours of torture.

  Chapter 10: Old Things Under New

  Acultural revolution had once hit the Illyrian kingdom of Rihzon nearly one thousand years ago; the citizens abandoned all religion then devoted themselves solely to the worship of economics. No longer was the priesthood revered, nor was devotion to the royal family of Atlantis required.

  Most of the holy sites, including the ancient temples long in ruins, were buried. Some were converted into government buildings, while others were turned into shopping malls, but none were demolished. It was as if there existed some deep-rooted desire to preserve a link to the past. This longing would eventually open the doors to reform.