by Gene Stiles
A gigantic, monstrous titan separated from the rest and strode toward Guel like a solid block of black granite moving on tree-trunk legs. Ebony hair fanned around his boulder-like head in the light morning breeze, matching the blackness of his garb and the long, flowing robe that billowed around him. The only trace of emotion the behemoth displayed shown in the clenching of fists large enough to engulf the entirety of Guel’s skull as if wanting to crush it like a grape. He stood before the Clansmen unspeaking, his flat, obsidian eyes reminding Guel of something dead and cold. Guel stood tall, staring up into those dispassionate eyes, his gaze never faltering.
“Lay down your weapons or die,” the mountain rumbled like rolling thunder.
“Die,” Guel responded in Peoplespeak.
Iapetus stared down upon him as if making a quick assessment then gave the slightest of nods. Turning his back on the Izon, he raised his hand in a dismissive wave. The Aam surrounding them lifted their weapons, preparing to reduce them to smoldering cinders. Guel spit a sticky blob of green phlegm on the black boot of the retreating giant and spoke with complete and utter contempt.
“Coward,” he spat savagely at Iapetus, unbridled fury causing his entire body to tremble. “Without your weapons, you are nothing. You have no honor.”
The colossus gazed over his shoulder at the tiny animal behind him, a cruel sneer parting his full, dark lips. He turned slowly, his cold onyx eyes appraising the tiny insect who had the audacity to speak to him in such a way. When he at last spoke, his deep, aloof voice dripped haughty ridicule upon the flattened green grass in drops of scornful distain.
“You speak to me of cowardice, of honor?” Iapetus flared in return. “You who kill men, women and children while they sleep in their beds? Where is the honor in that?”
“It is the same honor,” Guel seethed, “your kind showed when you butchered my wife and child. The same kind you showed when you slaughtered our Clan when we sought only our freedom. So go ahead. Kill us where we stand. We will never yield to such as you. You fear to fight me as a man. That is if you even consider yourself a man.”
Iapetus heard the ring of truth in those words and they stung. Even though he acted only on the orders of Cronus, he had committed or allowed atrocities against the Izon. He understood the reasons behind the Lord Father’s hatred, but he did not share those feelings. His brother was driven mad by his fear and loathing and Iapetus saw that same madness burning in the eyes of these Clansmen. He understood, but it changed nothing.
“You have the arrogance to believe you would stand more of a chance with a warrior of the People than against our weapons?” Iapetus shook his head almost sadly. “I sought to make your end quick and merciful which is far more than you deserve, little man.”
“I have killed many of your warriors,” Guel replied with sarcastic ridicule. “So many dead at the hands of a ‘little man’. Given the chance, you could be next, demon.”
“You crave a painful death so much?” Iapetus could not help but feel a flicker of respect for the Izon leader. In truth, he remembered the man from his time with the People and his subsequent escape. He knew Guel to be a fierce warrior.
“I would rather die a thousand deaths in battle,” Guel said, his dark eyes ablaze with flames of hatred, “than quickly at the hands of a coward.”
“As you wish.” Iapetus signaled the Aam to lower their weapons and threw off his damp, ebony cloak, letting it fall in the grass. He unbelted the long silver sword at his side, dropped his sidearm and plasma rifle and laid them on the ground. Guel began to lower his knife and spear, but Iapetus stopped him with a gesture. “Keep them.”
“And what of my men?” Guel tied his unruly long hair behind the nape of his corded neck with a strip of hide.
“What of them?”
“Should I win, you will release them.”
Iapetus could not help but snicker. He turned to his men surrounding the Clan and commanded, “Should I lose, you will let the Izon go unharmed.” He waited until the Aam controlled their derisive laughter before continuing. “When I win, you will cut these animals into small, agonizing pieces,” he said coldly.
At that moment, Guel cared not about the ghastly sentence he laid upon his men should he lose. Within his tormented, seething mind were horrific flashes of Sheel’s charred body, her belly swollen by a child who would never feel a warm breeze upon his cherub face or taste the sweet scents of a colorful field of new spring flowers. Guel saw his Clan family humiliated, tortured and murdered at the despicable hands of the Ancestors for which they had spent their entire history searching. Fury was far too simple a word to describe the unfathomable, turbulent emotions burning his every nerve ending with ferocious, volcanic rage.
Warily, Guel circled the man as he would an injured bear, feinting here and there with his metal-tipped spear to seek out weaknesses. He carefully stayed just out of reach of those long, deadly legs knowing a single kick to the head would end his battle before it even began. Several times, he lashed out only to have the beast slip away as if it had not even been there. It burned his soul to know he was being toyed with, but Guel did not allow his instincts to be blunted by injured pride.
Iapetus taunted the Clansman, knowing he could kill the Izon any time he chose. He would at least allow the warrior a few moments of life for his brashness. He danced around the feeble attempts at his impenetrable defenses with contemptuous ego. Iapetus used only the long reach of his mammoth legs to keep his adversary out of range, delivering light blows that he knew would hurt, but not disable his adversary. Once he felt he gave the man an honorable fight, he lashed out with a roundhouse kick that would stop the warrior’s heart.
It did not connect. Guel had found his enemy’s weakness.
A lifetime of hunting beasts far larger and much faster than himself taught Guel to react quicker and develop deadly skills to make use of his smaller stature. As the gargantuan spun, Guel dropped to one knee, planting his spear in the soft earth and resting it across his leg. He held on with all of his considerable strength as the giant’s kick cracked through the warm morning air above his head. Guel felt the sharp metal tip slash through flesh and tendon in the sweet spot just behind his adversary’s kneecap and the spray of hot, red blood upon his face. He let the spear fly from his grasp once it had done its work then flung himself forward toward the monster’s other leg, drawing his long knife from the sheath at his side. Hitting the ground in a roll, Guel slashed out as he passed, slicing just above the heel and feeling his blade nick bone.
A thunderous roar of pain and anger rent the clear, blue sky. The ground trembled with the violence of the mammoth’s fall that hit the earth with the force of a volcanic quake. Guel tumbled to his feet, launching himself through the tall, wet grass toward his wounded prey. Scenes of horror and twisted bodies, the screams of the dying and the weeping of the living flooded his mind sending a surge of primal savagery coursing through his limbs. His back arched midair, every tendon standing in high relief against his powerfully muscled arms. Guel clenched the haft of his blade in both of his corded hands, aiming at the exposed neck at the base of the skull of the loathsome murderer of his family and Clan. He would have his revenge.
An explosion of fire tore through Iapetus at the severing of his hamstring, blinding his black eyes with an eruption of sparkling stars. Before he could adjust for his crippled left leg, his other leg crumpled helplessly with the slicing of the tendon above his ankle. He smashed into the unyielding earth, the blast filling the air around him with a thick cloud of dirt and stone. His useless legs twisted in the slippery, flattened grass, fracturing bones and forcing a howl of excruciating agony through his gritted teeth. For the briefest of moments, the torturous flames extinguished all other things around him, leaving him languishing in a pit of molten lava. Only the purest of instincts kept his head attached to his shoulders.
Iapetus felt the thin air separate behind him, sensed the body cleaving the sky at his back and reacted without thought.
His boulder-shaped head still bowed in insufferable torment, he snapped his tree-trunk arm backward, catching Guel harshly by the throat. His forward momentum so suddenly halted caused the Izon to drop his blade, his fingers clawing at the coils of the serpent that crushed his neck. Iapetus swung the haplessly struggling man around, the kicking feet touching nothing but air, until their eyes locked. His face coldly impassive, hiding the physical anguish within, Iapetus slowly, deliberately closed his monstrous fist.
Guel tore at the stone hand crushing his neck with a strength bred from a desperation to suck air into his screaming lungs. He swung his legs upward, locked them around a forearm as thick as a limb of the One Tree and squeezed with all of his adrenaline-charged muscles. He might as well have attempted to crush a block of granite with his fingertips. Guel felt the blood pooling in his crimson face, his mouth gasping like a fish out of water. His legs and arms sagged limply at his side, his body giving up the will to survive.
In his last fleeting moments, Guel felt a warm, bright light encompass him, drawing him into a gentle, painless embrace. Ghostly shadows glided toward him along a silver path, welcoming arms outstretched to urge him forward. The milky mist parted slowly and an angel of incredible beauty appeared before him. Dressed in the silver furs of a snow-white stag, his beloved stopped inches away from him. Her full, sensuous lips lit her dark brown face with a smile that made his eyes water with its brightness. Her crow-black hair fanned around her wide face like a halo of the night sky. Sheel pulled him close into her arms and nuzzled her soft face into his neck.
“Welcome home, my love,” Sheel whispered tenderly. “Welcome home.
Chapter VII
The high summer sun blazed down on the bustling of the city of Atlantis through a cloudless azure sky. Spires and domes sheathed in veneers of gold and silver reflected the glow and bathed the cityscape in brilliant light. Granite skyscrapers covered with crushed emeralds sparkled with a myriad of colors as if the stars in the sky had dropped down into the light of day. The wide, smooth stone streets flowed with hurrying people dressed in a kaleidoscopic array of styles from dyed leathers to thin summer dresses, all anxious to get to their appointed tasks. Their faces were as vibrant as their garb, shinning with purpose, hope and happiness.
Along the rushing, white-capped waters of the Gaia, the docks swarmed with activity. Ships filled the harbors on both sides of the river while scurrying crews hustled to load or unload their cargos. Settlements and outposts now spread along the coastline and around wide inland rivers and they all needed supplies. Mines spotted throughout the continent shipped their ores to the closest port for refinement and distribution, the end products transported the Atlantis for manufacturing. The dockhands worked around the clock to keep up with the demand, especially now that the Izon were scoured from all ships and docks. Atlantis was a living thing, glowing like a glistening jewel amid a colorful landscape.
Rhea parked her skimmer on the green, manicured grasses of the tended park that fronted the city-side chasm of the One Tree. Set back a few feet from that bottomless split in the earth, a foot-foot high, fence of intertwined, treated mahogany was erected to keep children or the unwary from toppling into the gorge. Beautiful arched bridges gave access to the sacred isle of the One Tree for those seeking the quiet serenity of the perpetual gloom beneath its massive branches.
Rhea needed that solace today. She had a decision to make and the weight of it bowed her smooth shoulders and forced her to stare only at her feet as she walked. She pulled together the edges of the thin, plain, tan colored, hooded cloak she wore over a long, rust-colored dress as much to hide her identity as to warm her bare arms in the coolness beneath the One Tree. Up ahead, barely discernable in the darkness, a dim yellow light beckoned her and guided her path. Rhea did not hurry toward that beacon, wishing to give her troubled mind time to quiet its turmoil so that her words might be coherent and so she would not just sob at the pain.
Hyperion rose in the dimness as she approached, his impish smile radiant at the sight of her. So busy was Atlantis right now that the two barely saw each other these past months. He missed the golden smile that lit his heart so, her warmth and kindness, her gentle ways and her sharp intellect that matched his own. No matter how deep or light their conversations, Hyperion loved every moment and yearned for more. Yet, he could tell by the slump of Rhea’s shoulders, her bowed head and the tremor in her walk that this one would be heart-wrenching and it saddened him greatly.
Rhea pushed back her hood, her honey-blond hair glistening in the steady glow of the light rod planted in the ground. She gave him such a weak smile that it barely curved her full, pink lips. Surprising Hyperion immensely, Rhea slipped into his arms, laid her head on his chest and held him in a tight and warm embrace. He could feel her body trembling while she clutched him so he held her gently and stroked the back her head in soothing reassurance. When at long last she released him, she sighed deeply, seemingly reluctant to let him go.
“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice,” Rhea whispered, looking up into his jade-green eyes. “I have need of your wise council.”
“Lady Rhea,” Hyperion replied tenderly, holding her soft, long-fingered hands in his, “I am always her for you whenever you need me. You need only ask. Please, sit with me and share a glass of wine.” He swept his hand over the richly pattered blanket he had spread on the thick carpet of moss where a basket, glasses and a tall, dark bottle awaited her. “Then you can tell me what troubles you so.”
“Again, thank you,” she replied, settling down on the warm ground.
Hyperion filled a glass half full with a rose-colored wine and passed it to her before pouring a glass for himself. They sat quietly for a while, basking in the peaceful serenity of this sacred place. He did not push her to speak even though he was very concerned by the thing that distressed her so. He sat with his long, muscled legs crossed beneath him, close enough to Rhea to reach out to her if she needed him, yet giving her enough space to feel at ease.
“I find myself in a grave position,” Rhea said in hushed tones, the words tumbling from her lips in a torrent, “and I do not know what to do. An event of massive import is happening that will rock the People to their very core, yet I do not know if they should even be given awareness of it. There are so many aspects to consider that my mind cannot pull the pieces into any coherent picture. No matter what I do there will be severe consequences and pain for the people involved and for our society as a whole. What do I do, Hyperion? What do I do?”
Hyperion moved to sit closer to Rhea as she broke into uncontrollable sobs. He wrapped his corded arm around her and let her tears soak the thin, white, silky-soft shirt he wore. He tenderly traced the lines of her beautiful face with his other hand, wiping the tears from her bright pink cheeks. Hyperion rocked her gently as she wept, his tightly coiled, black curls mingling with the thin strands of her flaxen hair. He pulled his sky-blue cloak over her, her body shivering not from cold, but from the raw emotion burning through her veins. He spoke no words, simply whispering cooing sounds into her ear.
After a time, her weeping subsided into soft breathing. Rhea was quiet for so long that Hyperion thought she might have fallen into exhausted slumber. When at last she raised her head, her bright blue eyes were dark and sparkled with wetness. She used his cloak to brush away the undried tears from her glowing, red cheeks and gave his a wan, forced smile.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, pulling back from Hyperion’s embrace.
“There is nothing to forgive, my Lady,” he replied, running the back of his long-fingered hand down the side of her face. “Please know I am always here for you in good times or in bad. You can tell me anything. Anything at all. There is no judgement I will make and your secrets are always safe with me.”
“This I know, good Hyperion,” she nodded, her soft smile genuine this time. “If I did not, I would not be here.” She pulled his face to her and kissed his forehead just below the blue, well-tooled, leathe
r headband he wore. “Thank you.”
“Always and in all ways,” Hyperion replied with a small smile. “Now tell me of this problem that vexes you so. If there is some way I can help, we will find it together.”
“You know of Amelia,” Rhea nodded, her eyes checking the gloom around them as if fearing other prying ears might overhear them.
“Yes,” Hyperion replied. “The young girl that was so savagely attacked in the wood. How is she?”
“Physically, she is renewed,” Rhea answered, “but she has yet to utter a single word. She sits alone in a chair, looking out at the city through the windows of the chambers we gave her in the Great Pyramid during her recovery. I have been attending her every day, Lending her peace and serenity.”
“Sad, so very sad.” Hyperion shook his head. “Do you think she will pull out of it?”
“When and if she does,” Rhea responded, her face going hard, her full, pink lips drawn together tersely, “her nightmare will truly begin.”
“What do you mean?” Hyperion asked, a single black eyebrow raised quizzically.
“I noted a small shift in her energy flow,” Rhea told him. “It moved to surround a tiny sphere of golden light in her stomach. A new force is growing.”
“Does this mean what I think it does?” Hyperion’s face was terse, his lips drawn and his square jawline tight.
“Yes. Amelia is pregnant,” Rhea responded sadly.
“Oh, Holy Creator!” was all Hyperion could say. “Holy Creator!”
Amelia walked through a vast field of wild flowers, her thin, long fingers trailing across the waist-high grasses. A vibrant yellow light filled a blue cloudless sky warming the air and the light breeze that rippled the meadow with curling waves. As far as Amelia could see, the field exploded in a kaleidoscope of blazing color. Vivid reds, florid blues, purples and yellows in a myriad of hues filled her eyes. Scents rich and sweet assailed her nostrils more lustrous than the finest perfumes. Her full, pink lips curved upward in a happy, contented smile.
