by Gene Stiles
It was these people that startled the Table of Twelve into speechlessness and filled Cronus with dread and anger. Seen close up through the far-eyes of Ramathus’ scouts, two disparate body types were clearly defined in the holo. Though dressed oddly and seemingly misshapen at such a distance, the majority of those gathered were obviously of the Izon race. Their short stature, barrel chests and long, scraggly hair stood out in sharp contrast to the other group. Towering above them, blond-haired and dressed in robes of whites, blues, reds and golds, sons and daughters of Atlan strode through the milling throngs.
“Coeus is correct,” Phoebe interjected, her pale blue eyes shimmering with curiosity. She slid ethereally across the room, her maroon, silver-stranded robe gliding silently behind her, to flank Cronus between her and her husband. Her platinum blond hair blazed like moonshine against the colors of her robe, highlighting her full, ruby lips and alabaster skin. No one save Cronus was immune to her curvaceous charms and sensuous beauty. He simply glared at her, quickly returning his attention to the images floating before him.
“Undeniably, Atlantean technology built that incredible pyramid,” Phoebe continued, turning to address the rest of the council, waving her slender, long-fingered hand through the holo. “The stones are too heavy to move by hand and too perfectly cut for stone chisels to accomplish. We cannot see enough detail in these far-scans. We need to talk to our brethren to learn what has and is happening.”
“I agree,” Cronus grumbled without argument, much to the surprise of those around him. He twisted the crystal in his hand and the holo-scans winked out of existence. His green eyes blazed beneath his crinkled brow, his square-jawed, handsome face darkened like a coming storm. “Let it be done.”
“Iapetus,” Cronus continued in the stunned silence, “give the order to ready our fastest ship. Coeus and Phoebe, I want you aboard.” He rose from his chair, moving with innate feline grace toward the bank of windows overlooking Atlantis, his broad-shouldered back to the council. “Send word to Ramathus to keep the city under constant surveillance and to hold position. I want there to be no contact until you arrive.”
“Dismissed,” he said curtly, ignoring the mummers and mumbles as the council members filed out of the room. “Iapetus, please stay.”
Only after the granite-walled chamber was empty, did Cronus turn from the windows. The storm clouds were dissipating, broken by the craggy, snowcapped mountains, shafts of golden sunlight dazzling where it glanced off the multi-faceted sides of the buildings. Colorful rainbows arched across the sky where light rain still fell, bathing Atlantis in a mystical, magical glow like a scene from some fantastical fairytale.
The enchantment of such incredible beauty was lost on Cronus though. He ignored it as he had ignored the council. He had his own reasons for his quick acquiescence. Yes, the enigma of another colony of the People was strange and somewhat disturbing. Why had there been no communication from their settlement? Where had they come from? Mysteries indeed, but there were a few other crucial questions that must be addressed. Did they pose a threat to Cronus? Doubtful since the scans showed little to compare to the technology of Atlantis. Why did they set up a base exactly where uridium was located? Did they know of its significance and use? The limited scans showed no mines, but that did not mean they were not there. Could they be folded into Atlantean society, used as an operations outpost?
What filled Cronus with a burning fury was not these concerns. It was the Izon. He thought he purged those hated creatures from his life and from the lives of the People. Now the monsters were back, outnumbering those Atlanteans by far and keeping them prisoners at the top of that pyramid. It could not be allowed. It would not!
Iapetus stood silently like a block of granite, his massive arms folded across his heavily muscled chest, his onyx eyes flat and cold. He watched impassively as Cronus paced the hard, stone floor, knowing his brother would only speak when he was ready. He had not seen the seething serpent coiling inside of Cronus since the battle on the high seas, but now it had returned to raise its wickedly fanged maw. He knew the ugly hatred boiling inside his commander as he knew the cause. The Izon. Iapetus sent a quiet prayer to the Creator that his brother would not sink to the unholy depths of madness once again.
“You will go with them,” Cronus said suddenly, spinning on his heel sharply, his fists white-knuckled at his side. His green eyes glittered beneath his furrowed brow, burning with the fire that filled the pit of his soul. His thin lips pulled tight across his square jaw, his breathing slow and measured in an effort to contain the rage building inside of him. “Take a contingent of well-armed Aam with you. Drive those vile beasts from the land. Purge them from that city as we cleansed Atlantis. Free our People.”
“At your command,” Iapetus rumbled, a familiar doubt twisting his stomach into a tense, churning ball. More than ever, knowing that the Clan were bloodkin to the People, he was loath to harm them. Drive them from the city, yes. Kill them he was not sure. Iapetus trusted Cronus. His wisdom and guidance saved the People from utter annihilation. He understood his brother’s fear. Still, the Izon were the blood of Iasion. Were they truly keeping those People prisoner or were they servant unto them? From the holos he saw, there was no way to know. He would assess the situation personally before deciding on the proper course of action.
Cronus said no more, his black robe swishing across the floor as he turned and strode out of the chamber. Iapetus stood like an oak, unmoving, until the wide oak door slammed behind the Lord Father. Letting a deep draught of air seep from his full lips as if he held his breath, he gazed out of the windows at the sunlit city. A sense of dread creeping into his troubled mind, Iapetus opened the wide, carved chamber doors, stomping down the hallway, unsure of the road ahead of him.
Cronus sat at the head of the long, polished oak table in the dining room of his family’s main quarters, picking at the succulent, herb-seasoned deer steak on the plate before him. It was drenched in a spicy, light brown sauce and cooked to a perfect tender medium rare, almost melting in his mouth. A mixture of fresh, steamed vegetables, a giant baked potato and hot, sliced bread spread with sweet honey completed the meal and filled the room with an incredible, pleasant aroma.
Hidden light crystals, tall candelabras and the reddish glow of the setting sun softly lit the corner room near the top of the Great Pyramid, just below Cronus’ private chambers. Two walls of clear crystal provided a majestic, panoramic view of the city spread out below them and the snow-capped western mountains. Red-grained, clear lacquered cedar paneling covered the other two walls, rich tapestries and oak-framed artworks bringing a warm ambience to the otherwise open space.
The stunning grandeur was lost on Cronus as he swirled a chunk of cut meat around the drippings on his plate. His jade eyes were dark and cold beneath his furrowed brow and it was beyond his strength to meet the eyes of the others around him. Rhea sat quietly at the other end of the table feeding Hades crushed and blended vegetables and tiny pieces of meat. Hestia sat next to Hera on his right, both girls quietly whispering to each other as they ate. Demeter chattered aimlessly on his left, smiling as always, seemingly unaware of the thick fog of tension that floated in the air. Cronus closed his ears to her giggly little words, keeping his eyes down as if studying the patterns appearing in the bloody, brown gravy.
He tried his best, making sure he shared a weekly dinner with his family, but Cronus could not bring himself to even look at his wife and children anymore. When he met his beloved’s eyes, he saw naught but disappointment and growing anger, tinged with a touch of fear. Hestia’s emerald green eyes always burned into him, her thin ruby lips terse, questioning why he no longer held her in his arms. Hera pierced him with an icy-cold, viridian stare, her gold-streaked, curly red hair billowing around her sharp, angular beauty. She reached into his mind and heart, seeing the darkness of his soul and clawed him with harsh judgements. Even sparkling, happy, Demeter deplored him. Her endless laughter never included him in its joy. He wa
s never a part of her explorations, adventures and discoveries. When she chanced to glance in his direction, the sparkles within her sky-blue eyes were extinguished as she gazed at her father’s face.
Black-eyed Hades terrified him the most. The babe constantly stared unblinking at him whenever Cronus dared a glimpse at the child. Those large ebony pits bore into him and saw the seething, venom-fanged serpent inside him that Cronus fought so hard to contain. He envisioned Hades sinking his tiny, talon-fingered hands into the bleeding muscles of his abdomen, wrapping them around the throat of that hissing demon and choking the life out of it. Cronus saw himself dying upon a cold granite floor, his entrails spilling from the tatters of stomach, Hades pulling the viper…and his guts…from within in him. Cronus remembered the prophesy and he hated the boy for it.
A white-robed servant quietly asked if he was finished with his dinner. Cronus nodded, pushing his half-eaten meal away roughly, some of the juices spilling on the oaken table. He shoved his chair backward, the legs scraping on the stone floor, muttered goodbyes to his family and left the chamber as if demon dogs were nipping at his boot-clad heels. Once beyond the carved mahogany doors, Cronus leaned his back against the cold granite wall, letting a deep breath out of his muscular chest. He felt a quiver ripple down his spine akin to an evil spirit brushing past him. Forcing the feeling from his body as a dog would shake off the wetness of rain, Cronus ordered his weakened legs to carry him down the brightly lit hallway. With each step, his stride strengthened, his back straightened, his breathing slowed as if distance from his family returned calmed his tremulous soul. He was in command. He was the Lord Father and there was much work to be done.
Rhea watched Cronus hurry from the room, her aquamarine eyes damp and shimmering. She could tell by the strained rigidness of his broad shoulders, the way the cords of his tendons stood out in high relief on his forearms, that he hated being in the company of his family. Her heart shattered into a million pieces seeing her husband rush from the room as if he feared attack from those who loved him. She did not know how to help him. He confided in her no more and could not or would not find the words to tell her what was wrong.
For a time, after Cronus awoke from his coma, things were as they had once been. He was loving and kind, warm and happy. His flaming red hair swirled around his strong, handsome face as if renewed from its rest. His welcoming lips showered her with sweet kisses and his stalwart arms enshrouded her in their heated embrace. Their lovemaking was passionate and tender like it was when the world was new and wondrous. Yet, as time passed, Cronus retreated from her, hiding himself in a shell made of stone. He no longer took joy in his children, instead ignoring them as if they were enemies to be assessed and guarded against. She feared for them, sensing a rising turbulent storm brewing in his soul.
The children felt it too and they did not understand. Rhea wept when the girls, her sweet, loving girls, asked her what they had done wrong. Why did their father love them no more? Had they been bad? Could they be better? Their questions ripped her heart into shredded tatters. Her fervent assurances to the contrary felt hollow to her own lips and her children saw through them as if they were made of clear crystal. Rhea ensured them that their father loved them deeply. It was not their fault. It was just that he felt consumed and overwhelmed by the weight of his duties to the People. Not to worry. Once things settled down, their father would be able to spend time with them again. The girls nodded and gracefully pretended to accept her excuses, but she could see in their childish eyes they believed her not. It hurt Rhea more than a thousand knives plunged into her soft flesh. All she could do was bath them in the shining light of their mother’s love and hope that it would be enough. Every night at bedtime, on her knees at the bedside next to her blessed girls, she prayed to the Creator that it would be.
Chapter XII
The sapphire waters of the swiftly flowing river curled around the bow of the Gaia’s Star forming frothy white waves as the ship made its way toward the banks of the unknown city. The morning sun arose through a splintered bank of thick clouds that blanketed the eastern horizon. The arc of the crimson orb set them ablaze with angry reds and burning yellows streaked with bands of blues and golds. The rest of the wide expanse of cerulean sky above the ship was laced with traces of high, misty clouds that lay like a thin bridal veil above the top of the gigantic step pyramid. The dusty beige blocks caught the light staining them with rivulets of blood. The overall effect was stunning and awe inspiring.
Iapetus stood on the foredeck of the vessel flanked by Coeus and Phoebe, his onyx eyes studying the movement of the milling crowds gathering along the shoreline. His bone-crushing hands made unconscious indents in the thick wooden rails. His Aam-trained senses sent ripples down his nerve endings as if he lay on a hill of biting black ants. Something was not right and it set him on edge. There was an eeriness here that tensed his jawline and bunched his muscles as if he expected attack.
The moment the four ships, led by the Gaia’s Star, came into view of the city outskirts, runners bolted for the pyramid, shouting out as they ran. The Izon rushed from their huts and fields hurriedly following the stately progression of the vessels toward the city center. But, there were no excited waves or calls of greeting from the growing throng. Their words were indistinct, whispered behind raised palms. Not even the children laughed or smiled. Muted murmurs like the coming of rumbling thunder was all that Iapetus could hear.
He could sense their reverent awe at the pageantry of the colorful ships, all sails lowered and tightened just enough to catch the miniscule breeze that flowed in from the south. The wind was not nearly strong enough to push the four vessels forward against the power of the rushing, churning current, yet still they glided stately upstream as if the tugging and shoving of the angry river mean nothing. Along the bulwarks facing the shore, a multicolored group faced the masses. The Aam took to their stations, weapons at the ready along the rails, dressed in pure black leathers, matching, knee-high boots and hooded cloaks of pure ebony streaked with tints of blood red. Scattered around and among them, officers and deck hands dressed in the best finery in their possession. Cloaks of sky-blue, bright red, yellow, blue, and every other imagined color covered dresses of leather and brilliant, patterned cloth and britches that highlighted each individual robe. The grandiose spectacle was meant to astonish and overawe the city, impressing them with hope and happiness. It was not meant to instill them with the silent fear that Iapetus saw in the eyes of the Izon.
“Why are they so quiet?” Phoebe wondered aloud. Her pale blue eyes glittered in the rays of the rising sun, the slight waves in her knee-length, platinum blond hair held from them by a wide headband dyed a soft, light green. She wore a long, gossamer gown of willow-green layered over a moss-colored shift and a thin chartreuse cloak patterned with twisting vines and three-fingered leaves that lustfully impassioned every sailor aboard ship.
Coeus’ attire seemed drab and plain in counterpoint to his stunningly statuesque wife. Beneath a vest of light blue leather, he wore a midnight-blue, high-collared shirt with billowed sleeves laced tightly at the wrist. His britches were an austere black to match his calf-high boots. His only fashionable indulgence was the long, crushed-crystal studded, dark blue robe that graced his stooped shoulders. His wavy cinnamon hair billowed around his kindly, oval face like the unkempt mane of a lazy lion in the light breeze. His twinkling hazel eyes studied the rustling human tide flowing in twisting eddies alongside the riverbed in counter current to the waters beneath the bow. He pursed his generous lips as he watched them. They cowered in their curiosity, flinched in their fascination. It trouble him deeply.
“I do not know,” he answered his beloved, leaning his boney arms on the polished wood rail. “I expected a warmer reception. These people appear to be afraid of us. They seem to cower and herd together like animals protecting their young against a hungry predator. Look how the children have been hustled toward the back. This is a little unnerving.”
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sp; Iapetus crossed his massive arms over his barrel chest, his tree-trunk legs widespread like the exposed roots of a mighty oak. They were entering the cove cut deep into the landscape, coming into view of the damp wooden dock that reached out into the gently moving, crystal-blue waters. His black eyes scanned the teeming assemblage, noting how they stopped on either side of the wide, paved boulevard that lead to the dock as if an invisible wall blocked their path. No guards of any kind materialized along the street or on the dock but not a toe touched the road and that alone disturbed him deep within his soul. The boulevard remained empty. No envoy of the People moved along the streets toward them or awaited them on the dock both angering and alarming Iapetus.
The wharf was not large enough to accommodate the Atlantean vessels so the small armada weighed anchor just inside the harbor where the current eased, yet the river was deep enough to keep the ships afloat. The Gaia’s Star remained at the lead followed by the imposing majesty of the hundred-foot-long Morning Star. Captain Astraeus parked the Golden Star at her stern with the Night Star behind him. Iapetus decided that only the Captains would go ashore with the Council members, leaving the First Mates in command should problems occur. Skiffs larger than most of the tiny vessels tied to the dock were lowered to tender the delegates ashore.
“The Aam and I will disembark first,” Iapetus rumbled, his tone brooking no argument. “They will take up positions on either side of the boulevard to guard our arrival.”
