Rise of Prophecy

by Abdur Mohammed

  “I lived in Illyria for a few years, did you know this?” Timon asks. Stavos shakes his head. “It was common practice to send the royal children to live with our cousins in Aryavan. There I met an Illyrian girl. I fell in love with Leena, and I was at peace with the world.”

  He pauses for a moment to remember the time spent with his beloved. Stavos sips his tea.

  “She was the dearest thing to me,” the Prince continues. “Treachery snatched her away. Since then I vowed to purge the world of the evil and decadence that plague our civilizations. Corruption, poverty, but most of all, defiance, all of which you can see in this ghetto.”

  “A noble task, but an impossible one I dare say,” Stavos says.

  Timon gets closer, “I now have the chance to accomplish this. Your campaign in the borderlands, there is something I need for you to do.”

  “Command it, and it shall be done.”

  “I seek an artifact, one lost through the ages. It belonged to my ancestors, and is of great worth to me.”

  “Tell me where to look and I shall,” Stavos says proudly.

  “Not looking, rather taking; one of the nomad tribes possesses it.”

  “Are you certain?” Stavos asks with some surprise in his voice.

  “I am. My source is infallible. The leader is an outlaw named Darius. An Atlantean wanted by the Senate for treason.”

  “I know who Darius is, I remember,” Stavos states. “He murdered Lord Arias of house Badur.”

  “I want you to lead the campaign yourself. Start in Cappadocia,” Timon orders.

  This is what Stavos has been yearning for; a chance to get out on the battlefield once more. And now, charged with this great responsibility, he regards his prince with respect and love.

  “The Senate will never allow a move on Cappadocia. It is protected,” Stavos reminds the Prince.

  “Who is the more powerful, the Senate or me?”

  “Apologies,” Stavos says humbly.

  “You will meet resistance, be certain of it. Stavos, no survivors, do you understand?”

  “It shall be done,” Stavos promises.

  “Do this for me without question, and you will be rewarded with the highest honor; you shall be raised to posts nearest my person.”

  Stavos stands, and then humbly bows. Timon stands, and within seconds the Red-Guard rise; the chairs ‘screech’ on the floor, but this does not break Stavos’ reverence. Timon puts his hand out to Stavos, who then reverently kisses it.

  “I am your humble servant,” Stavos declares.

  The prince retracts his hand, and motions that it is time for their departure. He heads for a back door in the room, which leads out to an area behind the tea shop.

  They walk several paces down the moderately lit alley, then Timon points to a broken, moldy wall. A couple of stray cats run out from in front of it, making their descent on a short stairway. The group makes their way to the stairs and follows the cats.

  They come upon a heavy wooden door with a small closed window cut into the top portion. Timon retrieves a small purse of coin then beats his fist on the door. The window opens. A ghastly man appears peeking through it.

  “Moira,” Timon announces as he passes the purse to the doorman. A short while later, the door creeks open.

  “What does that mean?” Stavos asks.

  “Fate,” Timon explains, “or what has been dealt to you. An expression to honor an ancestor. These fools believe she is the goddess that dispenses fate.”

  The group enters through the door; the path ahead is a damp tunnel. The door closes behind them, bringing on the total darkness. Fire torches can be seen hanging on the walls forward; crackling and glowing brightly as they descend into the sewers.

  After a short walk, they come upon an entrance to what appears to be a vast chamber filled with a rowdy crowd. The noise and clamor echo as everyone tries to get a glimpse over a wooden banister. Beyond the rails is a drop some fifteen feet into a circular area, where two men are engaged in bloody combat.

  Timon and Stavos rush to the edge, pushing through the crowd, eager to see the current match. It is an even pairing, with two bulky men doing battle with their fists. Stavos is intrigued.

  “Your father outlawed these games,” he shouts to the Prince. “I remember when I was a young recruit; we purged the city of such sordid establishments.”

  “The great king is gone,” Timon responds. “It is only natural that things return to how they once were. That is after all, what he sought; a return to the old ways.”

  Stavos smiles, eager to start the entertainment, “Are we betting then?”

  “You may,” Timon answers. “We have to see someone first, come.”

  They make their way to the edge of the banister at the beginning of narrow stairs. Stavos catches a glimpse of two figures he knows. He stops to look carefully.

  “What is it?” Timon asks.

  “Alexius and Deidra,” Stavos answers with a smile. “I should have known.”

  He raises his hand in an attempt to get their attention. They spot him. He can see Deidra smiling from ear to ear. He looks at Timon, who is pointing down the stairs. They make their way below quickly, leaving the rowdy crowd behind.

  Chapter 18: The Stink Beneath the Stairs

  The roar of the crowd is fierce at the lower levels of the sewers. Timon has led Stavos into a room just below the arena. They sit in a dank, smelly space, which appears to be an office. An old crone is rummaging through a broken ceramic urn.

  She is hideous, short, hunched, in desperate need of sunlight, and has a head of wiry silver hair. Some bones of unknown origin adorn her head. The crone’s smile reveals several missing teeth. Her bony fingers are long with dirty fingernails. She retrieves a small bowl with what seems to be blue fire. Settled within the strange flame is a vial with an unknown substance.

  Stavos sits uncomfortably close to Timon on a moldy couch. He is panicking inside, worried that there is something sinister about to happen. He fakes a calm demeanor as the crone approaches, but his anxiety is beginning to show. Timon looks at him, smiling, patiently waiting for the old woman to finish her moving about.

  The hag smiles at Stavos, raising her dirty index finger, “Is he the fighter tonight?” she asks in a raspy voice. The Prince shakes his head.

  “It is I who shall be fighting,” Timon informs her. He throws a coin purse on a nearby silver platter, bringing some relief to Stavos.

  “What shall it be my prince?” she asks while placing her bowl of blue flame next to the Commander.

  Stavos looks at Timon then back at the woman; they were supposed to be incognito. A whirlwind of possibilities enters his head, hoping that the Red-Guard were right outside. He quickly calms down when he realizes Timon chuckles at him.

  “Relax,” the Prince says. “She knows who I am. She runs the games. I am grateful for her discretion. I am in the mood for something, big.”

  The crone gets close to Stavos, “His Highness is a loyal benefactor,” she explains.

  She grabs Timon’s right hand, alarming Stavos; before he could spring up in protest, the prince pushes him down.

  The crone closes her eyes then spits into Timon’s palm while she chants something in an unknown tongue. “It is difficult to tell. There is high energy in the ether. The ancestors do send their favors tonight.” She hobbles away to her chair.

  Stavos stands, anxious to leave. Timon pulls him back down. He notices a metal door in a corner opening. The creaking is loud but quickly dissipates. Samiri slithers into the room.

  Timon smiles as he looks at the villain, “Commander Stavos, meet Samiri. He is a…” He struggles to find the right word, “holy man.”

  “Begging your forgiveness your highness, but I am not religious,” Stavos explains; his heart is racing.

  “Neither am I,” admits Timon, “but no matter, he is. On your mission for me, I require that you indulge us in a small ritual.” He nods to Samiri, who quickly makes his way to the now
frightened and squirming Commander.

  The old crone hobbles over to plant a dirty hand on the soldier’s shoulder. They open his shirt. He is about to push them off, but Timon’s mighty hand secures him to the chair. The disgusting couple smile as Samiri exposes Stavos’ bare flesh.

  Samiri’s wrinkled face gets close to Stavos, “Not to worry Commander, this won’t hurt, much.”

  Samiri picks up the vial from the flames; his hands appear to be unburnt. He grins as he brings the flask close to Stavos’ chest, pouring slowly. The bright blue liquid is thick and penetrates the flesh instantly. Stavos’ screams bring delight to the old crone as she chants once more. With the last drop dissolving into flesh, Samiri closes his eyes as he joins the crone’s chanting. Stavos passes out from the ordeal.

  -AT THE BANISTER OVER THE ARENA-

  The crowd has settled down as the last match ends. There will be a brief intermission. It’s the perfect time to indulge oneself at the bar, which is serving a more potent beverage than what’s offered in the surface establishments. For those who can’t make their way to the bar, a squad of boys and girls run about taking drink orders and making deliveries.

  The dirt arena below is being prepared for the next match. Alexius and Deidra drink their drinks while complaining about their betting strategies. Deidra’s girlfriend Cleo comes stumbling towards them; she is drunk. She hangs on to Deidra before planting a passionate kiss.

  Cleo smiles at Deidra, “All this makes my blood boil, I feel, alive.” She grabs Deidra’s crotch.

  “And horny,” Deidra responds. “Come on, one more match. Then we’re leaving.”

  There is a sour look on Alexius’ face, “I’m not betting with you two anymore,” he complains.

  “Don’t be a sourpuss,” Deidra teases as she hits him in the stomach. “I’ll give you double or nothing on the next match. Which color, blue or green?”

  The trio had worked out their own ‘side-betting’ amongst themselves. Crude displays would show the names of the upcoming contenders, allowing patrons to place their bets on a fighter. These three took it a step further; before the names are announced, they betted on the fighters’ side of the arena. One corner is blue, and the other is green. They did not have a clue as to who the contenders were. Their only hope was that fate would bless their color.

  Alexius shakes his head, “Alright, blue.”

  The girls laugh, impatient for the next match. Alexius finishes his drink. He does not realize that Stavos is standing behind him.

  “Seems I’m missing out on the party,” the Commander says with a smile.

  The girls instantly sharpen up. They relax after Stavos puts a finger to his lips. They move closer to give Stavos a tight hug.

  “Well don’t look at me, I’m not hugging you,” Alexius says sarcastically.

  A bell rings as the names of the contenders are displayed. The crowds retrieve small devices from their pockets to begin their betting. Heated discussions drown out friendlier ones, while scantily clad barmaids push through the rabble.

  Stavos pulls out his device, “A little illegal affair is within our rights I think. It is the night before a deployment after all.”

  “I didn’t know you partook in these games, Sir.”

  “Please Deidra, in here I am not your superior officer, you are not a Captain. We are just old friends who are enjoying a bit of blood and betting,” Stavos explains.

  “Wait a moment,” Alexius says, “you said ‘within our rights,’ does that mean what I think it does?”

  Stavos nods with a smile, bringing much joy to the group. They are interrupted by a loud bell signaling the start of the next match. They look down at the dirt, anxious to see the fighters. There are at least several cubits at stake between the three gamblers.

  In the green corner, a seven-foot beast of a man appears. The crowd goes wild. ‘Digger!’ they yell; ‘Digger,’ being short for Grave-Digger. He wields a large broadsword, wearing nothing more than a pair of brown shorts and a black helmet. Alexius shakes his head as the girls laugh, expecting an impending victory.

  In the blue corner Timon appears, wearing a helmet and the leather pants he came in with. He swings his sword in controlled patterns, getting himself ready to do battle. His size is immensely dwarfed by the giant he is about to face. The crowd does not acknowledge his handle of ‘The Undertaker.’ They keep on shouting ‘Digger!’

  Stavos’ eyes are on the Prince, “So what are the odds?”

  “Double on blue,” Cleo answers.

  “I’ll take it,” says Stavos.

  “What, you don’t like money?” Deidra asks.

  Stavos winks at Alexius who shakes his head, expecting to be paying the wenches shortly. A petite barmaid brings them a new serving of drinks and cigarettes, which they take gratefully.

  The bell rings. The fighters rush each other. Swords smash together, echoing that metallic ‘cling’ with each contact. The larger man is strong, easily overpowering the prince. Timon miscalculates a lunge; the giant connects him with the heel of his boot.

  He slides across the dirt crashing into the stone wall. The giant is on him with the broadsword in the air. The steel comes down hard, barely missing its target. It appears that Timon moves with superhuman speed, dazzling the crowd. He gets behind his opponent.

  The giant roars in anger but then is furious as he gets the back of his thigh sliced. Timon flips in the air, lands in front of his now kneeling opponent. He begins to slice into flesh, occasionally smashing the hilt of his sword on the man’s face. There is no more fight in the giant.

  Timon raises his hands in the air, feeding off the crowd’s chant for blood. He looks at his kneeling opponent; there is defeat in the man’s eyes. He pierces his sword at the top of the man’s shoulder, then down to his chest. The body falls lifeless to the ground. The crowd goes wild with the spectacle.

  A bell rings ending the match. Four attendants run out to remove the defeated giant. Another two quickly begins evening out the dirt with their brooms. Timon hurries to a small tunnel on the blue side, striding triumphantly like a conquering warrior.

  As he exits through the arena door, he is greeted by Stavos and his officers. He removes his helmet, causing the juniors to drop on one knee immediately; Stavos remains standing, bowing.

  “Please, get up,” Timon says calmly. “This is not a place one needs to be recognized.”

  “Excellent match your highness,” Alexius says. “Next time you need a bigger opponent.”

  The words bring a smile to Timon’s face. His jealousy of Alexius was creeping up again. Somewhere in his mind, he asks himself, why I should feel this way about a mere soldier.

  “Maybe not bigger,” Timon responds as he looks at Stavos. His gaze shifts to Alexius, “More affluent maybe. How about it my lord, shall we?”

  Stavos’ smile disappears, “Surely you jest. We deploy tomorrow,” he protests.

  “I promise; it will not be a death-match,” Timon reassures Stavos. He puts his hand on Alexius’ shoulder, “Your ancestor Badur fought the house of ENlil on their first arrival to Atlantis. That was ages ago, but it is still in our nature to fight, won’t you say?”

  “If his highness wishes it,” Alexius says to Stavos while he strips off his shirt.

  “I wish it,” Timon proclaims in a harsher tone. He walks back to the arena.

  “Deidra, blue or green?” Alexius asks while he hands her his shirt. He removes his necklace. “Protect that with your life,” he whispers to her, looking at his heirloom.

  The prince walks through the tunnel, stopping at a small armory. Alexius starts towards the tunnel while looking back to the group; they look at him as if he is a condemned man.

  Deidra makes sure Alexius sees her, “Green!” she shouts.

  The short pause between matches is almost over. The new contenders are announced; Timon in the blue corner, Alexius in the green. They each wear a protective helmet and wield swords. The artificial lights brighten, causing the
sweat on their shirtless backs to shimmer. The crowd is shouting ‘Undertaker!’ pumping up the prince’s ego. There are no cheers for Alexius’ handle ‘The Immortal.’ The bell rings, they charge.

  Both fighters rush each other swinging swords high then connecting the blades. The clashing of steel is quick, fierce, with both men moving with calculated rhythm. Dust kicks up within the wake of their footwork. For a moment it seems as if they are evenly matched.

  Timon uses his smaller size to outmaneuver Alexius. He blocks an incoming sword to his right side with an upward stroke, plants his right foot into the dirt, then forces his left fist through the opening he created. Within a split second, his fist connects with Alexius’ jaw, sending him reeling back several feet in the air.

  Undertaker sprints to his downed opponent, slicing his sword downward but misses his target as Alexius rolls away. Distracted by how fast he moved, Timon is surprised by a sturdy heel connecting his face. He spirals to the ground.

  What have I done? Alexius screams in his head; he did after all just ‘floor’ the prince of Atlantis. The rage in him quickly takes over, however. Timon is back on his feet, he is angry. This fight will now be with fists.

  Alexius catches Timon’s mighty right fist as it plunges toward his neck; the left fist fires off. The Prince is strong. He can’t hold back the force much longer. He slams his head into Timon’s temple, disorienting him. He smashes his fist into Timon’s jaw sending him flying off in the air. The prince crashes on the ground, unable to get up.

  The bell immediately rings, which is unusual, for a defeated fighter has to yield, or lose his life; this is the only way a match will end. Stavos rushes out to the arena with the Red Guard. They pick up the unconscious prince. Alexius raises his hands. The crowd screams ‘Immortal!’

  -HOSPITAL AT CITY CENTER-

  The private wing of the hospital is quiet; far removed from the ever-present activities of the lower levels. At night time it feels deserted, with only a small dedicated staff ready to serve their elite patients.