by Gene Stiles
Unfortunately, a small group of others did not share her worries.
In a small arched hut, covered with stretched hide far from the settlement and bereft of the trappings of the People, about a dozen Izon sat before a blazing fire. Their sullen words were not of peace, but of hate. In their eyes burned a flame hotter than the crackling embers in the rock-lined pit. Rage blackened their souls and vengeance ruled their troubled minds.
“Soon this coldness will pass,” Guel growled, “and then will be our time to strike.”
Grumbles of assent fogged the air in the hut. Each man warming their hands around the fire and those sitting behind them had lost someone in the escape from Atlantis and their hearts seethed with black fury. At last they would get their chance to wreak havoc on those responsible and make them pay dearly for what they had done.
Guel studied the map drawn crudely on a ragged piece of dried deer hide that lay before him. It outlined a safe route around the continent and a way into the outskirts of the city undetected. They had constructed a small ship, hidden beyond the thick pine forests south of Home, along the riverbank. It would take them to the tributary that ran from the northern edge of coastline into the delta of the Gaia and through a hidden pass beneath the mountain range. From there, they would travel downriver along the seldom used, shallow waterway that skirted heavy forests to where it forked to the west and south. They would hide their vessel there.
“We will slip through the trees here,” Guel said, pointing to a spot the map, his deep bass voice rolling like thunder over the others. “The forests will give us cover all the way to the edge of Atlantis.”
“I will take ten lives for each of the three they stole from me,” Luc snapped, his dark brown, fiery eyes hidden beneath his over-sized brow ridge. He curled his callused and scarred fist into the smoky air and shook it at the sky above. “I promise this!”
The room roared its accord upward at the chilly night sky outside the hut, chasing away a family of coons drawn there by the smell of discarded dinners. The sneer on Guel’s face was like that of a wild cat viciously tearing at the flesh of fresh prey, relishing in its bleating, terror-stricken cries. Soon those who took the life of his beloved and their unborn child would bathe in their own blood. They would scream over the broken, burned bodies of their children, their wives and husbands. With their last, tortured breaths, they would see Guel standing over them, ripping their lives from them as they had torn his away. And he would laugh at them as cruelly as they had laughed over the dying corpse of his Sheel. He would see who laughed then. Oh, yes, he would.
Chapter VI
“The scans sent back from the Sentinel has shown two promising sites,” Coeus said, bending over the glossy pictures scattered across the council table. “Uridium radiation has been detected in abundance, but there are a couple of problems.”
His cinnamon brown hair fanned around his ovoid face, highlighting his large, pointed ears and chin. He pushed errant strands over his forehead and out of his excitedly shining hazel eyes as he poured over the documents. Charts and maps covered the space before him showing various locations noted in grids, marked in colors where the ore they sought might be found.
Thorina stood at his side trying ineffectively to keep them in some kind of coherent order. Her long mane of flaming red hair, streaked with golden blond, fell over her shoulders and into her face, adding to her irritation. With a loud huff, she gave up and sat down hard in her chair. Her emerald eyes flashed sparks of green fire, her thin lips pouting, but she knew it was best to wait until Coeus finished before she spoke.
She and Coeus, along with Crius, Oceanus and Phoebe sat at the table with Cronus and the always-present Iapetus going over the readings. Time was of the essence, Thorina knew, but they had to be sure before they acted. Resources were limited so expeditions would have to be evaluated. She gave Crius a tiny, exasperated grin, making him smile lightly in return. Her time would come.
“What might those issues be?” Cronus asked, staring at the charts and documents. His thick red hair was held back from his lionesque face by a wide band of blood-red leather that matched the heavy cloak he wore. The robe hung open in the front, exposing the warm, midnight black clothing he was dressed in from his polished, calf-high, ebony boots to his thick, muscled neck. His jade green eyes gazed up at Coeus, gripping him in those emotionless depths.
“Ah, first of all,” the older man stammered before regaining his composure, “is the locations.” Coeus turned a small pyramid crystal on the table and a holo-display lit above it. “The site where the highest concentration of uridium is to be found is here, high in the mountains of a continent thousands of miles to the northwest. It is closer, but far from any coastline or water route. We would have to fly any mining equipment and personnel there and send the ore back the same way.”
“That would require the use of a sky ship with a Proto-Sun engine,” Crius interjected. “Would the yield be worth the power consumption?”
“Without doubt,” Coeus nodded.
“I would still favor our second site,” Thorina said, reaching over to turn the crystal ever so slightly.
Moving up in a northeastern direction, the Sentinel scan flew around another massive landmass, tracing its way along the coastline until it came to a wide delta that narrowed into a river twice the width of the Gaia. Moving south, the holo finally centered in a snow-whitened river valley near the north most end of the continent. On either side of the flowing waters, the land was flat for thousands of miles with no trace of hill or mountain. Vast plains, dusted with winter white, spread out as far as the scans could see. Tall stalks of dry, dead grass stuck up through the snow, feeding the huge herds of deer-like animals that dotted the landscape. In a wide swath on either side of the river, thick forests of fir and pine stood tall and green, contrasting sharply with the white snow.
“This location is much farther away, without question,” Thorina continued, turning the holo with a touch of her long finger, “however, this bay to the east would provide easy access to sailing ships which require far less energy to operate. This large island halfway between Atlantis and the river valley,” she pointed out, “would make a great place for a base and harbor where fresh food and extra equipment could be stored.”
Cronus carefully studied the charts before him and the holo display still shimmering above the tiny pyramid on the table before commenting further. Thorina leaned back in her chair next to Crius, their fingers intertwining between their laps, secretly smiling at the way his tight, black curls danced around his smooth, boyish face. Coeus excused himself and paced slowly in front of one of the crystalline windows, his hands clenched behind his knee-length, night-blue robe, adorned with sparkling, silver stars. His gaze shifted from the brilliant golds and silvers of the city, ablaze with the glory of the morning sun, to the Lord Father pouring over the facts before him. It mattered not to him which choice Cronus made, only that one was made soon.
“Does anyone else have comment,” Cronus asked, breaking his silence, his emerald eyes stopping on the faces of the small assembly, “before a decision is made? Oceanus? Phoebe? Crius?”
“Both places have great merit,” Phoebe said quietly, her platinum blond hair tightened severely away from her soft, pale face by a wide, beaded tie at the nape of her long, smooth neck. The deep pools of her sky-blue eyes drew her listeners into her extraordinary beauty and the intelligent pouting of her ruby colored lips.
“One has easy access,” Oceanus added, taking Phoebe’s slender hand into the wide maw of his palm. His near-black eyes danced with the idea of such adventure, his darkly tanned face alive with the possibilities. “The other is much closer to Atlantis. Can we not do both?”
“That is a good idea,” Cronus nodded, his face as stern as if he were giving distasteful orders. He seemed to take no pleasure in the discussions before him, only doing his duty for the People. “Please allow me to consider this further. Let us bring the information to the full Council two
days hence after we research a bit more.”
“I need to know what size crew is required for each site.” Cronus arose from his chair, turned off the holo and shuffled the papers before him in a disorganized jumble. “I also want to know what resources are needed and if we have them. Get me this data by tomorrow night.”
In a swirl of crimson robe, he turned from the others and strode out of the chamber alone. Cronus stepped into his private lift, taking it to the main floor of the Great Pyramid. His breath was hard in his lungs as he nearly ran to the nearest exit, steadfastly ignoring any inquiries made of him. Tremors cascaded down his rigidly wound muscles, his stiffened legs making him feel as if he walked with stones for feet. There was but one thought filling his darkening mind and that was to flee.
Once outside, Cronus almost gasped for air, taking a moment to lean against the smooth rock walls of the pyramid. The composure he maintained in the conference room was slipping away, shattering like a hammered piece of thin crystal. He needed to find a safe haven before he exploded in front of any others. He took a sled from a row sitting on the multi-colored, marble tiles that surrounded the building and pointed it toward the dense green forests near the eastern border of Atlantis.
The roughly textured roadway wound between tall, painted-stone homes and lodgings of stained and naturally dark woods in a myriad of styles and colors. In these neighborhoods, few people sauntered along the walkways this time of day and sled traffic was light. Older children were lost in their studies and the younger ones usually gathered together with their mothers in the meadows warmed by the heated air surrounding the One Tree. Still, startled stares followed the man as he sped through the byways as if a demon raced behind him and new mothers were often forced to jerk their toddlers out of the way as he passed by.
Cronus rested the sled on the tiny beach of a small, spring-fed pond on the far side of the wide stretch of tall evergreens that bordered the end of the southern mountains and sat cross-legged on the deep carpet of green grass. The air was alive with the buzzing of insects and the twittering of unseen birds. Thick mosses, wild berries and fragrant flowers filled the air with a rich aroma that tickled the nostrils and filled the senses with the breath of life. Rainbow colored fishes leaped from the still, blue water, snatching flying things that came too close to the lightly rippling surface.
On any other day, he would have found peaceful serenity in the calm quiet of this place. On any other day. But not today.
The dreams had returned.
Cronus slept little this past month and, when he did, his slumber was tortured by small, dark demons that ripped the flesh from his heels and calves as he ran through a sickly, pale forest, leafless trees bent and screaming in despair, leaving behind him a slick, bloody, red trail. They leapt upon him if he fell, tearing chunks of raw meat from his heaving chest, clawed at his upraised arms with razor-sharp talons trying desperately to pluck his terrified eyes from his head. Teeth like a million needles gnawed into his muscles and sinews, snapping tendons from bone, sending crimson torrents down rivers gouged into his ravaged flesh.
When he awoke, Cronus found himself bathed in salty sweat, imprisoned by twisted knots of torn, soiled bedsheets. His pillows were scattered across his bed and strewn around the floor, bunched into misshapen clumps as if they had been beaten and tossed from his body. He would often find deep scratches, red and angry, etched into his skin and soaking his blankets with dark fluid stains, his own fingernails damp with his own blood. Visions of tiny goblins and gremlins, their wickedly pointed teeth wet with globs of flesh and viscous fluids, hung like dreamscape afterimages behind his burning eyelids. Cronus was never sure if the echoes of shrill shrieks and screams that filled his mind came from his fiendish tormentors or from his own dry and aching throat.
“What is wrong with me?” he beseeched the whispering wind, pleading with the Creator to liberate him from these savage nightmares. Cronus listened carefully, straining every highly tuned sense for some miniscule response. Yet, all he heard were the chirping birds, croaking frogs and the nameless things that crawled and slithered in the jungle-green undergrowth.
Finally, wearied of soul and body, Cronus wrapped himself in his black cloak and lay back on the thickly piled grass. He cupped his hands behind his boulder-like head and stared blankly at the indigo sky, watching thin wisps of high, white-smoke clouds skim slowly across the horizon. He fought with all his skills to clear his mind of the vivid nightmares, attempting to center his thoughts on that pearl of white gold in the pit of his stomach from which all power came. Tumbled thoughts, dark with fear, intertwined with the problems facing the People, making it near impossible to free himself of concern.
Somewhere in those lost moments, heavy eyelids slid over shimmering jade eyes. His massive chest rose and fell in rhythm with the sweet, soft murmuring of the warm, afternoon breeze and Cronus slept.
The wind on the barren, rocky landscape ripped over high, red dunes, pelting his shirtless skin with the sting of thousands of sharpened, miniature spikes. Cronus tucked his head against his heaving chest, keeping his eyes closed against the violent sandstorm, breathing only through his flaring nostrils so his laboring lungs would not be inundated with choking dirt. He forced his quivering legs to push forward through the turbulent maelstrom, the serrated edges of splintery stones deeply lacerating his bare, bleeding feet. Behind him, there was no trace of his passing, the desiccated soil sucking up the crimson moisture as would a desert denizen dying of thirst.
All sense of direction was lost in the rust-tinted typhoon swirling around his blistered body. Cronus shuffled forward toward a voice not shredded by the tortured tempest, but calm and inviting within his fevered mind. He knew that sweet voice and ached to be embraced by those beckoning arms. But the blizzard of sand and the tumulus twister battled against him, shoving him backward or violently knocking him to his hands and knees. Cronus laid there panting like a dog in heat, dried sweat plastering his sandblasted hair across his nose and mouth, his lips cracked and bleeding, only to rise again to struggle vainly ahead.
Pitted stone steps appeared before him and Cronus crawled up each of them, fighting powerful fingers of sand that sought to rip him back into the storm. His mighty muscles bunched into painful knots, his knuckles cramping as his fingertips found cracks and crevasses in the rock to pull himself forward. His toes sought out the smallest of holds in which to lock themselves, his nails splintering, his trunk-like legs trembling like a frightened child.
An eternity later, Cronus fell through two massive wooden doors at the top of the ancient staircase. He curled into a fetal ball on a cold marble floor, hugging his raw, scraped knees to his heaving chest, gasping for air like a fish fresh out of the water. Still quiet surrounded him, the fury of the hurricane outside silenced by the oaken portals hanging limply on broken hinges. Huge pillars of cracked and pitted granite, thicker than ten men standing, disappeared into the milky darkness of an invisible ceiling high above, surrounding him like an army of dead sentinels. The choking air was rife with motes of dust the size of gigantic, dirty snowflakes that glittered in the wan light like filthy fairies.
“You are here,” a sweet, golden apparition smiled, coalescing in the stale mists of the hall. She reached out with slender, soft fingers, took his hand in hers and drew him up onto his feet.
Cronus arose, the touch of her renewing his sand-beaten body as if his strength had never left. His tree-trunk legs felt solid and strong, the tremors that had quivered them gone without a trace. His wide, well-muscled chest filled with honey-tasting, nectarous air, ripe with the aromatic fragrance of a field of wildflowers. The eye-searing brilliance of the ghostly figure should have blurred his vision, but instead cleared it, wiping away the fog of sand and sweat. Cronus was buoyant and happy, the weight of his worries lifted away like feathers floating in a hot summer breeze.
The beautiful phantom materialized before him into the tall, shapely form of the loveliest woman Cronus had ever seen. Her ov
oid head, draped in a blanket of straight, blond hair, tilted to one side, a small, tender smile playing across her thin, pink lips. Her eyes mirrored the emerald sheen of his own, but sparkled as if the heavenly stars had taken up residence within them. Her tall, statuesque body was swathed in a gossamer gown of purest gold, inlaid with rippling filigrees of silver, bound tightly around her small waist by a wide, bejeweled belt of tooled gold. Her sleeveless, floor-length dress flowed over every curve of her goddess form, hiding yet somehow highlighting every graceful line. A soft glow of honey-gold completely surrounded her like a springtime sun shining through a thick curtain of pure white fog. Cronus began to kneel, overwhelmed by the magnificence of her presence.
“No, my son,” she cooed, tightening her grip upon his palm, preventing Cronus from dropping to his knees. “Stand proudly before me for you have accomplished great things. Through you, the People have grown and prospered. Atlantis shines like a beacon of grandeur amidst green and lush fields. You have no reason to kneel.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Cronus said, bowing his head before her brilliance, “but if I have achieved so much, why is it so painful to gain your council?”
“Only through pain can true strength and wisdom be found,” she replied. “Have you not noticed your journeys here have shortened with each difficult choice you have made?”
“I have, thinking back now,” he agreed.
“Very good,” Gaia smiled, letting go of his hand and interlacing her fingers at her waist. “More arduous decisions await you, some that seem most foul and burdensome, but for the sake of your soul, they must be done.”
“Is that why these nightmares plague my sleep so?” Cronus questioned, looking into the shimmering well of her brilliant green eyes as would a child seeking answers.
“To be sure, my son,” rumbled a voice as deep as a starless night is black.
