by Gene Stiles
“Who are you, Demons!?” Cronus wailed, the skin flayed from his weakening legs. “Who are you?”
Cronus ran in panic through the dead city, the moans and accusations whispered in the wails of the empty streets berating him with each stride steadfastly ignored. The cold, red orb dimly glowing above the cracked and melted sky over his head was weak and sickly, black patches like poisoned boils disfiguring its surface. A demonic sandstorm howled across the rusted carcass of the planet, scouring the last vestiges of life from the blighted and empty landscape. Needles of fine grit stung his naked body, welting his skin like the lashes of a thousand barbed whips. The pack of razor-toothed goblins harried his head-long, desperate flight, darting out of the dark to rip bloody chunks of flesh and sinew from thighs, heels and calves, leaving a wide, jagged crimson trail in the rocky soil behind him. If he did not learn their names and soon, he would fall, his pitted bones bleached and rotting like the world around him.
All at once he knew them.
They were his very own children.
And they must die.
About The Author
International author, Gene Stiles, a Michigan native, moved to Simi Valley, CA in 1963. His first publication was at age eleven when the Los Angeles Daily News (then the Valley News and Green Sheet) and the L.A. Times both wrote articles on a young poet selling his work to buy a Mother’s Day present.
His interests include mythology, world religions, archeology, geology, paleontology, lost civilizations, science fiction and the 2012 phenomenon which are the basis for his Colony Series of novels, Colony - Atlantean, Colony - Neander and Colony - Bloodkin.
Growing up an outcast in his family, he lived much of the story in his first novel To Walk the Winding Road – A Story Of Abuse And Survival.
At age seventeen, he started a three-state wide non-profit organization called Teens, Inc. in the hopes of helping other troubled teens like himself. As an adult, he continued his devotion to kids by opening teen-oriented businesses including two arcades and three teen nightclubs - which are the sources for his book Phenomenon - The Xenon West Story.
He is also a martial artist and major karaoke junkie.
He lives in Missouri on the land he and his late wife, Dianne, cleared together and in the house the two built alone and with their own two hands. She promoted him, believed in him and without whose inspiration none of his books would ever have been printed.
Colony
Seeds of War
Written By
Gene Stiles
Other Books By Gene Stiles
The Colony Series
Colony – Atlantean
Colony – Neander
Colony – Blood Kin
To Walk The Winding Road – A Story of Abuse and Survival
Phenomenon – The Xenon West Story
Brotherhood Of The Bike
Dedicated to my lovely wife, Dianne, who gave me so much support, who brought me pots and pots of coffee while my head was buried in the computer. For believing in me and my goals and who made all my dreams a reality. I miss you, my love.
A special dedication to my nephew, David and my niece, Burgendee, for giving me ideas, being my sounding board, helping me with artwork and for being my editor.
I love you both.
Thank you.
Copyright © 2017 By Gene Stiles
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the author except where permitted by law.
ISBN-13: 978-1981188048
ISBN-10: 1981188045
Cover Art By BoBooks and H. Wale, Copyright © 2017
Author’s Forward
What If It’s True?
If you heard the same story from ten different people who did not know each other, would you believe it? How about fifty different people–with no Internet access–from different locations around the world? How about hundreds?
There is a theory that we as the human race or not native to this earth but, rather, are a colony planted here long ago from another world. Not a new concept and scoffed at by most rational adults. But what if there is recorded documentation around the world that proves that such a possibility exists?
There is. Thousands of documents.
As I stated in the previous Colony forwards, there are literally millions of links between ALL religious and mythological writings from ALL around the world. Many events and even specific names mentioned in the Bible, for example, can be found in ancient mythology. Did you know that there are over Five Hundred stories around the world of survivors of a Great Flood? Hell, the underworld in Christian religions is also Hel, the underworld ruled by the goddess Hela, in Norse mythology. The Tree, so predominate in the Bible, is also referred to in Norse mythology as Yggdrasil and is found in many other writings as well and in Great Flood stories as the receptacle of survivors instead of the Ark (also made of wood).
As I continued my researches into the unexplained, lost civilizations, UFOs, archeology, geology paleontology and history more and more links became obvious, tying these areas of study with religion and myth.
Many others have written extensively on these subjects. Some of the best researchers are Erich Von Daniken in his book and movie, Chariots of the Gods, which chronicles possible visits by extraterrestrials to the earth in ancient times; Joseph Campbell in his studies of mythologies; Graham Hancock’s studies in lost civilizations and the origins of humanity such as ‘Fingerprints of the Gods’, ‘Keeper Of Genesis’ and many more; Michael Cremo, author of ‘Forbidden Archeology, the Hidden History of Mankind’ and many more writers too numerous to mention.
What I have done in the Colony series is not an attempt to duplicate the work of so many great writers. It is instead a fictionalized story from the perspective of the people who may have lived it. It is an attempt to put into words the hows and whys of what happened long ago. In each novel, I attempt to explain reasons for many of the events and symbols in myth and religion as well as scientifically factual occurrences. In the forward of each book, I lay out what the story will include so you, the reader, can understand how these events tie together. I ask for your patience and indulgence in getting the full story as the information I’ve gathered over fifty years of research is monumental. For more specific detail, I suggest you read the works of the previously mentioned authors with an open mind.
Colony – Seeds of War
Questions:
What led to the Second War the Gods?
Where did the First Gods of Egypt come from?
How did the children of Cronus survive?
Where were the great cities of Atlantis?
Why are many cultures obsessed with elongated skulls?
Why do many ‘aliens’ seem to have large heads and eyes?
Is there geological or hard science proof?
You’ll also find a few other little ‘inferences’ tossed into the mix for good measure, some fact and some whimsical.
The truly scary part is that things are happening today, right now, that show the events of the past are repeating themselves. From global warming and worldwide changes in weather and tectonic activity to political unrest and even war and terrorism. The Mayans predicted the next great change and possible destruction of civilization as occurring in 2012. Could they have been just a few years off? Are the events of today leading to this very conclusion?
Read on and decide for yourself.
And be prepared.
Prolog
From the Diary of Rhea, Wife of Cron
us:
There is something badly broken inside of Cronus and he must die. For many years, I refused to see it. I shut my eyes to the horrid things going on around me, refusing to believe they were anything but necessary. I closed my ears to the cries of the People thinking them only the lies and the fabrications of malcontents. I could not equate the rumors of his hatred and viciousness with the kind and gentle man I loved. It just could not be! Oh, how I blinded myself to the truth!
Oh, how I missed my love! I wish with all my heart we could ride again the windy currents in the canyons of Atlan. I remember so clearly our unsanctioned forays to the cold, windswept surface of what had once been a paradise planet. To sit with him on the pitted steps of ancient stone ruins speaking of the adventure of our futures together, the pelting of red sand upon our suits. I quivered at his slightest touch, our naked forms entwining in the sacred waters around the One Tree. Of course, we would be severely punished should we be caught, but the forbidden pleasure only heightened our arousal.
Once upon this lush and fertile world, our new Atlan, there was so much joy between us, I thought my heart might well explode. Here was a home extraordinarily fantastic and filled with such inconceivable beauty it seemed the Creator, Himself, had built it just for us. From the lush, green forests to the sparkling blue waters of a mountain lake, we were confronted with wonders of life so intense and colorful our eyes wept at the splendor. Never, in our wildest fantasies, were we remotely capable of envisioning such place where we might live and prosper. Our lovemaking became at times frenzied with ecstasy and, at others, tender and slow, followed by hours in contemplative embrace.
All of this was as nothing compared to the exuberant elation that rippled throughout the People and between Cronus and me as we were all blessed with the birth of so many children. Oh, the euphoric blissfulness that touched us all! More children were born in that first year than in the last two hundred years of life on Atlan. It was a miracle granted to us by the Creator and this ferociously regenerative world for all our great sacrifices. What more could we want of life?
Then, for some horrid, unknown reason, Cronus turned from an incredible man, husband, father and leader into the twisted, demonic beast he is today.
His treatment of me I, at first, blamed on myself. I was too busy with my own life and did not pay enough attention to his. I spent too much time with the children, ignoring the suffering he was going through. When his nightmares began, I did not press him more to tell me of their contents, to share them with me so we could work them out together. His coldness in the bedroom was my fault. I had lost the art of lovemaking somewhere and no longer pleased him with my touch. I knew I must do better as a wife and a lover. If I did, all would be well with us. I was never so wrong.
Then the Izon. They were our saviors. It was they who had awakened us from eons of unintended slumber. Without them, how long would it have been before the People simply died in their sleep, encased in borithium tombs, never to have seen the light of day? They deserved our respect, our help, our love and our eternal gratitude. It was not what they received.
When first I heard of their imprisonment, I though it the whining of a few bleeding hearts. I truly believed him when Cronus explained to the council and me that the Clan was well cared for. They were given homes of stone, safe from rain or wind. A community was built for them of their own kind, away from the People who would not accept or understand them. The Izon had wards placed around them to protect them from the beasts of the field. They had food and water more abundant than they had ever known. They were safe and at peace. All we asked of them in return was a little help in the building of Atlantis. What could be more fair?
Morpheus and Haleah were the first to bring stories of vile abuses to my attention. They spoke of beatings at the hands of the People who were supposed to be guarding them from wild animals as they worked. They showed me the unmarked graves of the Izon who refused to do the bidding of their ‘masters’. We went to the compound and I saw for myself the broken men staring at flickering campfires with empty eyes. I witnessed the sullen anger emanating from the women who tended the children and the old. When their black eyes looked upon me, I vibrated with their burning fury and naked, unbridled fear. It shook me to my very soul and I took pity upon them.
I took all this to the council, believing them unaware. I thought these sickening assaults the actions of a few perverse, twisted individuals who must pay for their wicked crimes. I knew Cronus and my brothers and sisters at the Table would take swift action.
It was then I first saw the black hatred seething in the eyes of my love. With each mention of the Izon, his face darkened. Deep furrows appeared on his once handsome forehead, his sweet lips twisting into a snarl of unimagined, demonic viciousness. It shocked me to the foundations of my soul and, at that moment, I knew all things happening to the Izon were at his command. I was so sickened, I felt I would empty the contents of my squirming stomach on our beautiful council table.
Even then, I did not feel Cronus was beyond reason and redemption. I just knew I, my brothers and sisters could reach him, learning the source of his fury and easing his pain. Maybe it was the great burden he held upon his wide and powerful shoulders for all that had transpired even before we fled from our beloved Atlan. The weighty decisions that forced us to this world must be as crushing as the heaviness of this world’s gravity upon unaided feet. If I could ease his guilt and make him share his responsibilities with those who loved him, I knew Cronus would be renewed and strengthened, once again being the man I fell so very hard for. I have never been so wrong.
I could forgive him for all of this. I could cherish the man I knew and strive to pull him from the pit of blackness and despair he wallows in. I could absolve him for his harsh, horrible, vile and repugnant actions toward the Izon. Even if I could not forgive Cronus for his evil transgressions, I could leave him, taking the children as far from his influence as possible if that choice had not been ripped from my hands. I could forgive him for much.
But not this. Never this. For what he has done to the children, Cronus must die and I swear before the Creator, that I shall be the instrument of his death.
Chapter I
Cronus lay unmoving on a vast and desolate plain, tiny grains of red-tinged sand stinging his exposed skin like the bites of a million hornets. With each breath, the pellets lacerated the inside of his narrow nostrils, adding to the rivulet of dried scarlet that melted into the pebbled ground. The howling wind screeched and moaned all around him, wailing with the muffled voices of a million wraiths as if the doors of the underworld had been ripped asunder. His cracked and bleeding lips were parched and blistered from the intense heat of the unseen sun. His eyelids were so crusted over with dried sand and tears they could not even flutter with the horrendous nightmares that preyed upon his fevered mind. His throat and lungs burned like fire with the acerbic stench of death and decay that surrounded him like the repugnant effluvium of decomposing corpses.
For and eternity Cronus lay upon the dry, cracked earth, cocooned in a blanket of screaming pain and soul-searing torment unable and unwilling to move. He could not feel the muscles or tendons in his long, powerful legs, only a sense of blankness where they once were. His bulging biceps, capable of lifting a grown man high off the ground, hung limp and useless at his sides, twitching with small, jerking spasms. His mind was lost in a thick miasma of love and hatred, terror and fury, guilt and a clear mission of purpose. Adrift in a roiling, black sea, his squirming brain refused to send signals to his scorched body other than the survival imperative to breathe.
“How much longer will he be like this?” Rhea asked, her long fingers brushing damp red curls from his fevered forehead. “It has been two long months since Iapetus brought him back to us.”
“I do not know,” Phoebe replied quietly, sitting on the wide, thickly cushioned bed, her long legs drawn up beside her. Her light blue eyes gazed down upon her barely breathing brother, her thin, soft fingers restin
g on his muscled chest. Phoebe felt the steady rise and fall, noting the shuttering ripples that sometimes broke the constant flowing rhythm. Her cherry-red lips pursed tightly together, bright and seemingly out of place against her alabaster skin. She absently pushed her platinum blond hair behind her slightly peaked ear and studied the shifting, erratic movements behind her brother’s pinched eyelids.
“Have his wounds not yet healed?” came a deep, rumbling from across the room. Iapetus stood near the ornately carved wooden doors of the bedchamber, nearly invisible in the floor-length ebony robe he wore. His black leather vest stretched across his massive chest, hiding any shimmer of his Enviro-Suit from reflecting the dim lighting in the room. He remained as he had for most of the last weeks since their return to Atlantis, planted in a shadowed corner watching over his commander and brother.
“Completely. Some time ago,” Phoebe nodded, not adding his question had been asked and answered every day for many moons. “There is nothing physically wrong with Cronus. With just a few Lends, his injuries Healed in a matter of days.”
“It is as if he chooses to remain gone,” she spoke quietly, turning her sharp gaze upon Iapetus. Her eyes pierced the darkness as if it were but a thin veil, dwelling on the stoic figure of her brother. Her empathic senses could discern the guilt radiating from his impassive countenance as if it were the rays of a golden noontime sun, but what the remorse was about she could not tell. It could be nothing other than a belief he was negligent in allowing Cronus to be so badly harmed, but there was the hint of something deeper, more profound in the big man’s demeanor she could not quite fathom.
