by Gene Stiles
She watched the sun sink slowly behind a puffy bank of rolling clouds, coloring them in blazing reds and yellows. Removing her Nillian garb, Wadjet slipped into red, cloth-lined, leather breeches that clung to her curvaceous hips and long, well-muscled legs. She pulled on black, fur-lined, thick-soled, calf-high boots, luxuriating in the way they molded themselves to her feet. She drew on a mid-thigh shift of crimson silk, tightening it around her narrow waist with a simple black, silver-buckled belt. Wadjet piled her shiny, ebony hair on the crown of her head, letting a long wave hang over her broad shoulders and using a bun to hide the rounded oval of her skull. She did not try to hide her large, almond, gold-flecked, jade eyes or shining copper skin. Wadjet checked her appearance in the mirror one more time, more than content with look. She turned toward the oaken doors of her quarters, her sensuous, full, ruby lips curled in a smile of impending excitement and adventure.
The Wind Song echoed with the babble of more than a hundred People all talking at once, trying to be heard over the musicians bathing the room in rich, blood-pounding melodies. A myriad rainbow of colors and styles of dress dazzled the eye and added to the excitement and pockets of raucous, joyous laughter. A huge, mahogany bar took up one side of the city-block-sized room, crowded with people clamoring for tall, odd-shaped glasses of multi-colored, throat-searing concoctions. The eight-thousand square foot, polished oak dancefloor was packed with gyrating, sweaty bodies dancing feverishly to the soul-pulsing rhythms. Racks of light tubes hung from the ceiling surrounding the floor, sending down beams of colored lights and swirling patterns that flashed in time with the music. Tables and high-backed chairs were scattered around the rest of the massive room, jammed with crowds of People who came to share in the camaraderie that soaked the smoky air.
To Wadjet, the effect was the most beautiful, exhilarating thing she had ever seen or felt. She weaved her way through the milling throngs making her way toward a calm spot near a back wall, stopping to observe and to absorb the electrifying, breathtaking sensations cocooning her in euphoric vivacity. She felt the pulsating beats buffet her ears, sending shockwaves of tingling vibrations along her nerve endings and rippling along her skin. It felt incredible! This showed the heart and soul of true Atlantis and its People and Wadjet yearned to be a part of it.
“Why do you deprive us of your company, beautiful lady?” a rich, happy voice called to her.
She turned her head and met the radiant smile of the most strikingly handsome man she had ever encountered. He was like a great artist’s chiseled creation of perfection personified. He stood just a few inches taller than her, but his twinkling emerald eyes, square-planed face, framed by tight, black, oiled curls, sensuous full lips and powerful-looking, athlete’s body made him appear to be larger than life. A wide headband of ornately engraved turquoise kept his shiny curls from intruding upon his high forehead and his long, ebony eyelashes. He was flamboyantly dressed in a glistening, sea-blue, satin blouse that shifted in color to shades of green as he moved, open in a deep V to midway down his hairless, muscular chest. The sleeves billowed out from his broad, flat shoulders, narrowing as they made their way to the gold band tightening them to his thick wrists. Dark blue britches, streaked with silver strands, belted at his slender waist by a sash of sparkling white, hugged every muscle of his long, dancer’s legs, disappearing beneath the tops of calf-high, midnight-blue boots he wore. Wadjet could do nothing but stare at his stunning, mesmerizing presence.
“Hello, Wadjet,” Hyperion said, his smile dazzling her with its intensity. “Welcome to the Wind Song. Please join me at my table,” he said, giving her little choice in the matter. He reached out a hand to her, taking her by the elbow and maneuvering her through the throng that parted before him like waves before a ship’s prow.
“I did not think you knew who I was,” Wadjet said, blushing a bright red as she sat next to him on a high stool at a large oval table sitting on a raised dais to one side of the teeming dance floor.
“How could I not notice the most alluring apparition I have ever seen?” Hyperion queried, his full, almost feminine lips curled to one side. He kept his soft hand on top of her palm as he introduced her to the other four people gathered at the table. “This awkward young man is Crius, my younger brother and a member of the Twelve.”
The boyish looking youth had a round, smooth face that turned crimson as he stammered out a hello. Like Hyperion, Crius had tightly curled hair, but his bounced like maddened springs with the nod of his head. He was thin and gangly, with thin, pink lips and liquid-brown eyes. He wore a simple, dark green, high-collared shirt with straight sleeves, green pants a shade lighter than his blouse and shining black boots. The only extravagance he wore was a golden necklace with a pendant in the shape of the signet of Atlantis, a pyramid inlaid with a tree of green.
“This sorry excuse of a person is Amitis, Commander of the Aam of our fine city,” he continued, pointing at a walking block of granite sitting opposite him at the table.
“A person who could break you in half like a twig,” Amitis grinned, shaking a hammer-like fist in Hyperion’s direction. He was dressed in all black leather from the snuggly laced vest that stretched across his monstrous chest, down the breeches that covered tree-trunk legs to the high, black boots on feet that could walk on water. His boulder-shaped head was shaved close to the skin, highlighting his over-sized, almost pointed ears that stuck to his head as if they were glued there. As formidable as he appeared, his golden eyes glimmered with warmth and his ample lips were quick to smile.
“I quiver at the thought,” Hyperion replied, roaring in unrestrained laughter. “Lastly, but most importantly,” he continued, “Are the twin goddesses, Thea and Themis. I do believe you met them earlier at the council.”
“Goddesses only to you, sweet Hyperion,” Thea said, her crystalline laughter like chimes tinkling in a summer breeze.
The twins were indeed incredibly beautiful with large, polished-jade eyes, thin, arched, black eyebrows, perfectly straight noses, full, rose-colored lips and high cheekbones set in smooth, oval faces. Each had long, lush hair of shimmering honey-gold. Their curvaceous bodies exuded a lascivious sensuality that could ensnare the most pious of men. Beyond that, the two women were as different as night and day.
Thea wore her sexuality like a shining cloak, basking in the lustful looks of the males openly and secretly enthralled by her presence. Her loose, flowing hair blazed around her head like a golden halo, falling down the back of her chair almost to the floor, over her smooth shoulders and over the rise of her abundant chest. A sleeveless, floor-length gown of crimson cloth enshrouded her voluptuous body like a second skin. Thin straps held the low-cut dress over her expansive cleavage, drawing the eye to her glistening copper skin. A thick band of braided gold wrapped her narrow waistline like the touch of a lover’s embrace. She wore a necklace of braided silver embedded with multi-colored jewels of red, green and blue and dangling earrings of teardrop-shaped rubies. A long slit up one side of the gown came almost the hip, exposing her shapely, muscled leg and ankle-high, bright red, high-heeled boots.
Themis was severe by comparison. Her golden hair fell in a single tight braid across one sloping shoulder and over her modestly open, puffy-sleeved, ocean-blue shift that stopped at mid-thigh over a skirt of sparkling, dark green material that reached the floor and covered her forest green, calf-hugging boots. A loose collar of dark blue wrapped her golden, graceful neck, embedded with white diamonds.
The two women warmly welcomed Wadjet, fawning over her apparel and exotic beauty. The men bombarded her with questions and good-natured flirtation, playfully fighting for her attention. The music and laughter enclosed her in a wondrous bubble of elated ambience. Hyperion kept touching her as he spoke, stroking her arm, hugging her to him while his infectious laughter spread around the table, holding her soft hand in his as he shared humorous stories with those around him. His touch made her shiver inside and filled her soul with a burning hunger, not for him b
ut for her dreams of Ramathus. Yet, to make matters worse, the Captain seemed oblivious to the effect he had upon her. He spoke more like a friend than a desiring lover. Perhaps in the future. She prayed it would be soon. Very, very soon.
“Where have you been, Sister?” Seshat seethed as she stared accusingly at Wadjet. “We have been ready to leave for hours.”
“I have been learning about our hosts,” Wadjet replied boldly, meeting her Sister’s incriminating gaze. “Something you would be wise to do. Their society promotes freedoms, education for all, encourages innovation and exploration. Because of this, the Atlanteans are warm and friendly, filled with vitality and excitement. We could learn much from them.”
“And yet, their leader promotes the genocide of the Izon race,” Seshat countered heatedly. “Cronus denies us armament while building his army of Aam.”
“These heathens serve only themselves,” Seeker interjected, The Book of Sirius clutched against his massive bosom, his face dark and cloudy. “Their society refuses to accept the rightful rule of Apophus, the Lord God, and the commandments set forth by Sirius, the Creator. They are blasphemous and prone to violence. They are infecting our society with their ‘freedoms and equality’ and backing it with force of arms. How long before they attempt our destruction?”
“You forget that the Atlanteans are our ancient ancestors,” Wadjet stated harshly, a pool of helpless anger growing in the pit of her stomach. She knew her words fell on deaf ears and she should remain silent in her beliefs, but she felt it was imperative to speak the words. “Their society is that upon which our own was built. Is it possible that we are the ones who have lost our way? That we should strive to be more open to change and growth? That the People should have a voice in all decisions? Would we not be the better for it?”
A bruising backhand cracked across her face, rocking her head sideways and dropping her to her knees on the hard granite floor of the chamber. A tickle of bright red blood dripped from her split lip and stained the white surface a dark crimson. Wadjet felt a purple blemish rising upon her cheek. She stared at the ground for long moments trying in vain to clear the fog from her eyes and the ringing from her ears.
“Never speak these words again, Sister,” Seshat said, spitting out her words like droplets of burning acid. “They are treasonous to the Lord God and an affront to Sirius, the Creator. It may be true that the Atlanteans are our primordial forefathers, but we have had millennium to grow and learn from past mistakes. They are but fossils of a bygone era. It is they who should learn from us. Never forget that.”
Wadjet rose on shaky legs, forcing herself to stand straight-backed in front of her Brother and Sister. She knew to speak further would only enrage them so she remained silent, but her gold-flecked, jade eyes blazed with emerald fire. She pointedly turned her back on her brethren, returned to her quarters and picked up her packed belongings. It would be a long and weary trip home.
Cronus stood with his hands clasped behind his back at his favorite place before the wall of crystal-paned windows in his private quarters. Staring out at the vast array of color and majesty of Atlantis sparkling in the last rays of the sun setting behind the snowcapped peaks of the Western Mountains always swelled his chest with pride at all they had accomplished together. Even at this hour, the smooth streets below teemed with life and the movement of the People. A sense of purpose intertwined with joyous happiness radiated from the faces of the old and young. ‘So very different from the cold, stagnant lands of Nil,’ he thought, seeing the city come alive with brilliant lights as darkness spread across the valley. ‘Something will have to be done about that.’
“Send word to Ramathus,” he said over his shoulder. “Tell him to be prepared to remove this Apophus if he decides to stop shipments of uridium. We will not allow this arrogant fool to impede the growth of Atlantis.”
“At your command,” Iapetus replied simply, spinning on his heel and heading for the docks. ‘I will also tell him to free and protect the Izon,’ he thought, refusing to let them to be eradicated from Nil as they had been from the Atlantean continent. After all, they were bloodkin.
Chapter XVII
Tomilic slipped through the near darkness of the moss-covered forest floor as if he belonged with the Dire Wolves and yellow cougars that ruled this place. Nary did a footprint or broken branch mark his silent passing. His tall, sinewy, athlete’s body was clothed in pure black leathers, matching shirt and soft-soled boots. Long, blue-black hair, held from his sculpted features by an onyx headband, fell to mid-back beneath his tight, midnight cowl. His golden eyes, as sharp as a hunting hawk, pierced the gloom around him searching for the tiniest sound of detection.
He ran as quickly as could be accomplished in this twilight without injury or disturbance of the woodland denizens. There was little time left and he had wasted much traversing the Black Forest of the Atlan Isle. He slowed to a crawl in those haunted woods, his Aam senses on high alert, a prickly feeling of being watched raising the hairs on the back of his thick neck. Yet he passed unmolested, never seeing the source of his discomfort. The grassland meadows beyond the forest allowed Tomilic to make up some of the time, but finding a safe place to cross over the raging river he needed to get beyond forced him to skirt the rocky foothills of the southwest mountain range slowing him further.
He did not know if he would find the place he sought or if he was on a fool’s errand. He followed no map or Sentinel scan. Whispers and rumors were his only guide to the sanctuary he hoped to find not for himself, but for his mistress. She told him if anyone could find this mythological haven, it would he him. Her confidence in him would not be in vain. He would find the hidden city.
The woods suddenly gave was to plowed fields, green plants and golden stalks of maze. Quaint homes of wood and stone spread out across the well-tended gardens, quiet and lightless in the silence of the last vestiges of nighttime. Far in the distance, Tomilic found what he was searching for, a cluster of tall buildings silhouetted against a background of vast, grassy meadows. He stopped to catch his breath, his thin, tan lips curled with the glory and grandeur that stretched out before him. Careful not to wake the residents from their peaceful slumber, Tomilic raced down the smooth dirt roads of the sleeping farmlands.
Dirt met paved roads of granite tiles under his pumping legs sending shockwaves up his aching, powerful thighs. He ignored the pain of his exhausted body, putting it away like a memory saved for future reflection. Onward he moved, using sheer, iron will to force himself forward. Unable to keep up his pace, he finally staggered and fell to the cold stone just as he entered the outskirts of the city. For an eternity, he could do nothing but suck in the chill morning air. Finally, he rose on quivering legs, walking quickly through the waking streets to ease the screaming, bunched muscles in his calves.
Early morning risers began to exit their homes as the glowing yellow sun topped the eastern mountains. Though he heard about the nature of this city, Tomilic was still surprised to see Izon clansmen mixing freely with the Atlantean People in neighborly friendship. Many people stared at him as he passed, but not with malice, just simple curiosity. Some waved and smiled, welcoming him into their city. It amazed Tomilic, a warm sensation touching his soul, and he knew he had found the right place.
“May I help you,” a young man asked, noticing Tomilic seemed unsure of where he was going.
“Thank you. I am a bit lost.” Tomilic smiled, offering his hand to the stranger. They clasped forearms briefly and he continued. “I am seeking Morpheus and Haleah. I come with an urgent message from the Lady Rhea.”
“I shall take you there myself,” the young man replied. “I am Mikala. Please follow me.” He spun on his heal, hurrying past the Main Hall toward the other side of town. The residence of Morpheus sat just outside the compound, near the edge of the lake. Mikala noted the grave tension in the set of other man’s stance so he moved at rapid, ground-eating pace.
Haleah stood in the kitchen stirring a large skillet of scr
ambled eggs to go with the high stack of wheat pancakes on the platter near the stove. The spicy tang of fresh sausage patties added to the rich aroma of the morning breakfast filling the warm air. Adrasteia and Ida laid out plates and utensils on the huge oak dining table while Chalandra and Celessa poured tall glasses of fresh, chilled milk and passed them around.
Morpheus sat at the head of the table silently enjoying the girlish babble of his happy brood. His wavy, ebony hair cascaded over the indigo blue, wide-colored, deep V tunic he wore with his black leather pants. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad, well-muscled chest, his onyx eyes gleaming with love and pride. How he ever got so lucky as to have such a wonderful family, he would never know. Morpheus thanked the Creator every day for His incredible gifts.
No sooner had the family settled, said their prayers and begun their repast when a heavy pounding came upon their front door. Morpheus excused himself, crossed the huge living room in quick, gliding strides and pulled the carved oak door open wide. Two men stood on his threshold red-faced and panting. One was dressed oddly in all black clothing, a hood pushed over his back.
“I am sorry to bother you at such an early hour,” Mikala stammered, working hard to catch his breath. “This man says he comes from Atlantis and has an important message from the Lady Rhea. I thought you would want to know right away.”
“Thank you, Mikala,” Morpheus replied, taking in the stranger with an appraising gaze, stepping aside to welcome them. “Please come in. Would you join us for breakfast? I am sure your message can wait that long and you look as if you could use it,” he said, directing his words at the stranger.
“You are most kind,” the man replied, his mouth watering at the enticing smells emanating from the table. He rubbed his chilled arms, thankful for the heat of the blazing fire within the large stone hearth. “In truth, I have eaten little in the past week. I would welcome a hot meal. My name is Tomilic, sir.”
