by Gene Stiles
“How dare you threaten the Lord God?” the gargantuan roared, charging Ramathus like a maddened bull.
Stopping that onslaught would be as impossible as trying to halt an avalanche of granite with a tree branch. All Ra could do was roll out of the way, his mind shifting to hyper drive, searching for a weakness in the monster before him. The two combatants shifted around each other, assessing their opponent, looking for the smallest opening. Ramathus realized in an instant Seeker had no true fighting skills, but relied on the sheer power of his gigantic, heavily muscled stature. And it worked. He was far faster the Seeker, but every rapid-fire, deadly salvo of fist and foot bounced off the monstrosity as a pebble off a Dire Wolf.
Ra knew he must dispatch his assailant quickly. The blows that the gargantuan landed, though blocked, numbed his muscles and bruised his bones. He was tiring. All the colossus had to do was land one solid strike and it would be over. He slipped under a vicious punch aimed at his head, savagely slamming his elbow into Seeker’s exposed kidney. It was like hitting a marble wall. Burning sparks coursed up through his forearm and into his hand. Ramathus ignored the pain, lashing out with a kick to the ankle as he spun away. He heard the satisfying crunch of breaking bone, a howl of pain and the crashing of a mammoth body into the hard granite floor.
Unnoticed by Ra, the mob had gone deathly quiet, engrossed in the mortal dance between the two warriors. When their champion fell, all hell broke loose. Screams and bellows of outrage rocked the assemblage, echoing off the marbled walls. The mob surged forward, slamming into the Aam despite the rivers of blood and bodies falling before their slashing swords. The sheer weight of the horde shoved the fighters backward, breaking their line. The Captains and First Mates were up the microsecond the riot exploded around them. All warrior-trained, they smashed into the Nillians who managed to get past the Aam, leaving broken, moaning bodies in the wake of their bloody blades. When the melee erupted, Seshat and Wadjet retreated to safety behind the throne, but the women of Atlantis needed no such protection. Corpses and shattered forms lay in pools of blood at their feet, the granite floor slick with crimson fluids.
Apophus had not shifted from his golden throne, his black eyes glowing with sinister glee, a malignant grin stretched across his ugly, twisted, pleasure-filled features. With each scream, with each moan, with each wail of misery, his breathing quickened, his hand falling to caress the growing bulge in his groin. His guards held back any rioter who attempted to breach the space before him. He stopped self-indulgence only long enough to wave his hand at his guards, freeing them to attack the Atlanteans from the rear.
Ramathus saw the glint of metal behind him, spinning to face the onrush of lowered spears at their backs, Raet at his side. Metal clanged on metal as their spinning blades swept the shafts aside, splintering wood and bone in the same vicious stroke. Raet’s thin, supple body swayed like a reed in a hurricane, slipping between the thrusting javelins like a wisp of smoke, her raven hair swirling around her like a deadly black thundercloud. Wherever she passed, howls of pain and terror marked her path.
The roar of a lion ripped the air next to him. Captain Astraeus rushed forward, his mountainous body a wall of granite fury. His ebony skin glistened with beads of blood and sweat, small cuts oozing crimson on his tree-branch arms. His snarling, white teeth shone like pears beneath his thick, curly beard, gnashing together as if seeking prey to rip asunder. Black leathers against onyx flesh made him appear like a demonic, raging horror to the Nillian guards, stunning them for precious seconds as he smashed into them like an avalanche of death.
A feline ferocity, clad in bright red leather, screeched like a banshee and slid across the blood-slicked floor between the legs of their assailants, flipping to her feet behind their ranks. Her unexpected assault bowled over two of the men, cracking their heads on the rock-hard granite. Her wavy mane of auburn hair haloed her red-flushed face as she tore into the back of their ranks with the rabidity of a frenzied murcat.
Never had the Nillians faced such savage warriors. All thoughts of discipline, courage or superiority vanished like fog in a gale wind. Those that could threw their weapons to the ground, running for their lives from the tornado of flesh-flaying fiends tearing them apart. Those that could not flee, died where they stood, surprised at the swiftness of their demise.
“Enough!” Apophus bellowed above the fray, slamming the butt of his staff against the ground. The battle did not go as he planned, his pleasure turning to black, vehement wrath. He stood before his garish gilded throne, his barrel chest swollen with the blazing fire filling his maddened soul. The bulging muscles beneath his copper skin rippled like the waves of a turbulent storm at sea, as he stared at the back-to-back circle of Atlanteans surrounded by the piles of broken, wailing bodies of his People.
“I agree,” Ramathus replied viciously, his temper erupting like hot lava from a volcano. He stepped over the corpses at his feet, stomping bone beneath his black-booted soles. “You dare attack the might of Atlantis? We will grind you to dust! Aam,” he called over his shoulder. The remaining three Aam, cut and bleeding from multiple wounds, but still strong from the adrenaline course through their veins, rushed to his side. “Take this creature into custody!”
“You are removed from your throne and a prisoner of Atlantis,” Ra ordered. “You will be brought before the Cronus and the Twelve to answer for your crimes.”
“I think not,” Apophus responded as cold as a mountain glacier. “Instead, I shall make you and your Captains my slaves and hold you hostage against any attempt of invasion by your city.”
“You are mad,” Ramathus said simply, laughing his audacity. “Take him.”
The Aam stepped forward, their crimson-soaked blades at the ready. Apophus remained where he stood, staring at the advancing men as if they were bugs to be squashed beneath his sandals. He waited until they neared the foot of the dais then lowered his staff. The swirling, blue jewel pulsed, glowing like an exploding indigo sun. A blast of dark, searing fire tore into the Aam leaving nothing but ash where good men had stood. They did not even have time to scream. Apophus aimed his still pulsing staff at the stunned Atlanteans, freezing them with dire expectation.
“Lower your weapons,” the Lord God commanded, calmly.
Many looked as if they would take their chances against him, but a lowered palm from Ra gave them pause. His gaze never left Apophus as he dropped his sword amid the splashing clatter of metal on blood-soaked granite. He knew their blades were no good against such a weapon. Ramathus wished he had never allowed them to be so lulled into complacency as to give up their rifles, but knew it was too late for regret.
“Guards!” The few left cowering behind the throne meekly regained their feet and stumbled to the fore. “Find shackles for our ‘friends’,” Apophus ordered, his men grateful to rush from the sickening smell of loosened bowels stinking up the chamber.
“Captains, you shall remain where you are,” he said, his staff unwavering in his hand. “By my grace, your Seconds shall be spared to return to your ships. I shall escort them myself and they will lay all of their arms at my feet. Then they shall cleanse my river of their presence within the hour or they will be destroyed.”
“Go back to your city.” Apophus burned with rage, a growl rumbling deep in his throat. “Tell your Twelve if any attempt is made to free the criminals it will result in their immediate execution. Should I see any vessel of Atlantis within my waters I shall reduce it to cinders. This is my land! You shall never sully it again!”
“Now let us go and you will never, ever return!” Apophus slammed his staff into the hard floor, the serpents surrounding the gem daring them to defy him.
“I cannot leave you!” Raet looked up at Ramathus, tears filling her almond eyes. “I will not!”
“You must,” Ra said quietly, tenderly touching her flushed cheek. “I must have you safe. Go. Take command of the Morning Star and see her home. We shall be together again soon. Now go, my sweet. Go. That is
an order.”
Raet kissed him softly, hesitantly turning to leave. She stopped a few feet away. “I shall return, my love,” she whispered before exiting the courtyard. ‘And when I do, Cronus shall be with me and Apophus will die,’ she promised herself. ‘Slowly. Very slowly.’
Chapter XIV
“How dare this insect threaten me?” Cronus roared, his wrath so explosive the members of the council winched in their chairs, hammered by the fury soaking his words. He stood with knuckles rammed into the Table, the coiled muscles of his thick arms vibrating with his rage. His golden-red curls swirled around his leonine head like a halo of scorching fire, made even more brilliant in contrast to the midnight-black of his wide-lapelled robe. Jade green eyes blazed beneath his furrowed brow, his lips twisted into the snarl of a maddened beast.
“Send an armada to wipe this scum from the face of the Earth!” he screamed, sending guards scrambling for the door.
“Hold,” Iapetus commanded sharply, freezing the men in their tracks. Their eyes enlarged with fear and indecision, they shifted their nervous gazes between Cronus and Iapetus.
“Hold?” Cronus turned on his brother with a stare that, were it flames, would have reduced the giant to ash in half a breath. For a heartbeat, it appeared as if he might attack. Instead, his voice turned from fire to a bitter, frostbitten cold. “Now you, Iapetus? Now even you would defy me?”
“I mean no disrespect, Lord Father,” Iapetus responded formally, letting the coldness roll off him like snowflakes on a volcano. “I am here for you to command. Yet, I must urge cautious restraint. We only know of the staff of Apophus. We do not know the extent of its power nor if he has other such weapons. He has the arms he took from the ships and, most importantly, he holds our citizens hostage. To engage him without further intelligence could be disastrous.”
Cronus stared at his Second as if he were a bug, his emerald eyes flashing with the crackling of lightning. Iapetus did not flinch from the gaze, his ebony eyes locked with his brother cool and passive. He kept his emotions buried deep inside, his face placid and inscrutable, providing calm in the eye of a storm. He waited, affording Cronus a granite cliff to expend his waves of rage upon, waves that increased in frequency and fury these days.
The Table remained silent with expectancy, knowing only Iapetus could speak to Cronus in such a manner and survive. He was the rock that rooted the Lord Father to the ground, the immovable mountain that steadied his brother’s hand and gave Cronus something on which to depend and lean on.
“You are correct,” Cronus said finally, deflating like a punctured water bag. He sagged into his seat, his head dropping with a heavy sigh as if defeated in battle. “I do not want a repeat of the Black Death.”
“Use every resource,” he ordered, raising his eyes to bore into Iapetus. “Learn all you can quickly. We must not allow this wound to our heart to fester. Our people must be freed!”
“As you command,” Iapetus returned soberly, nodding to the guards to continue on their mission. He turned on his booted heel, spreading his massive legs slightly, his hammer hands clasped behind his black leather clad body. He ignored the comfort of his high-backed chair, preferring to stand at Cronus’ side, his hawk-like gaze constantly sweeping over the council members.
“Now to the next matter,” Coeus injected into the grim quietude, his wavy cinnamon hair twisted in wild disarray around his old oval face. He hated to brooch a subject that was likely to fuel the flames simmering inside Cronus, but there was no way to get around it. He leaned his lanky arms upon the table and clenched his long-fingered hands into a fist before him.
“The uridium received from Nil is not holding its half-life.” He leaned is pointed chin upon his fists, his warm hazel eyes staring only at the rich grains of the polished table as if attempting to find patterns within the swirls.
“One golden goblet should last for a thousand years,” he continued, his usually kindly voice somber and sullen. “Instead, it is only lasting just over two years before breaking down. At our current rate of consumption, there is not enough uridium on the planet to meet our needs.”
He saw the storm rising within Cronus, the thunderclouds darkening his countenance, and awaited the explosion of furiousness with resignation heavy upon his slumped shoulders. Cronus opened his mouth to let loose the gale, but before he could speak, Thea thankfully interposed a question.
“Are the Nillians at fault?” Her honey-blond hair flowed loose over the teal gossamer robe she wore over a sapphire gown, glistening with silver threads, which hugged every curve of her faultless, sensuous body. Her large gold-flecked, green eyes pulled him into their tender depths, her ruby lips curiously questioning without condemnation.
“No,” Coeus replied, thankful it was she who asked instead of the volatile Lord Father. “It is the uridium refining process that is to blame. The properties of the element of this world is different from that of Atlan. There is something omitted in the binding of ores used to create the globes. Thorina and our team are searching for what is missing and have some promising leads, but no clear solutions at present.”
“We should impose limits on power consumption until we have an elucidation then,” Thea finished for him, taking the pressure from him should Cronus erupt at the old man.
“This uprising of the Nillians will have serious repercussions to us then,” Themis, twin to Thea, said sternly. She absently tugged on her tight, blond braid, her jade eyes hooded with concern. “Until the Tartarus mine on the Arsai continent is fully functional, Nil is our only source of uridium.”
“Another reason to crush their rebellion now,” Cronus growled, slamming his balled fist upon the table, the tide of malevolent acrimony rising in his turbulent soul. “Work fast, Iapetus,” he spat at the man standing at his side. “Work fast!”
“Now,” he said darkly, fighting to control the venomous, golden-eyed serpent twisting and coiling in the blackness of his soul, “are there any other prophesies of doom I must be made aware of or can we return to our duties?”
No one spoke, all too cognizant of capricious nature of Cronus’ mercurial moods of late. One moment he could be happy, passionate and open. The next the Lord Father could detonate like an exploding star and Creator help the source of his wrath. They all saw the ferociousness marring his handsome face and heard the murderousness in the tone of his voice. Silence was their only weapon in these circumstances and they knew this was the time to wield it.
“Good! Now get out and solve these problems,” he bellowed before turning with a savage swirl of his robe. “Solve the now!”
Cronus stomped out of the room, slamming the carved oak door to his private chamber so hard the floor reverberated with the impact. Iapetus swept his gaze over the still-seated members of the Twelve, waiting for them to speak what was on their minds. He knew there was more to be said from the fog of tension that remained once Cronus left. Something else troubled them deeply. He did not have long to wait.
“I feared bringing it up to Cronus again,” Themis near whispered, tossing her long golden braid over her smooth shoulder to keep from fidgeting with it. Her stunning countenance seemed somber and foreboding, filling the room with a thickness that made breathing difficult. “He did not take the problem seriously before and, with these other difficulties we are facing, his mood today did not imply he would be open to more discussion on the issue. However, we all know what is happening.”
“Our birthrates have dropped to near zero,” she intoned, her words chilling even the great Iapetus. “We are beginning to see something unique and horribly distressing happening with the few women who have become pregnant. Almost half of them have miscarried their children midterm. Of the others, there have been over a dozen stillbirths - children already gone to the Creator before they took a single breath of life.”
“Oh, Creator!” Mnemosyne wept openly, her tears flowing in rivers down the reddened cheeks of her soft, golden skin. She hung her head, waves of lustrous auburn hair ca
scading down to hide her face buried in her hands. She raised her head and swept her gold-flecked, hazel eyes over her brethren.
“As far as I know,” she said, her voice quivering with sorrow, “in the history of the Atlantean People, this has never occurred before. What are we to do? Is this plague affecting only us or are the Nillian People and the Izon losing precious children as well?”
“Of the Nillians, I know not,” Themis replied, speaking so softly that her words barely circumvented the Table. “I have never been there, but, thinking on it, I have heard no reports that speak of their children. That, by itself, is odd. As for the Izon, we have not seen any in the last decade since Cronus drove them from our midst. I do not know if they suffer from the same malady.”
“We need to find out,” Coeus stated sternly, his generous lips pressed tightly together, his ancient hazel eyes filled with an angry sadness. “And we need to find out now! The very survival of the People is at stake.”
Hyperion remained silent during the council session, listening intently to every spoken word. The normal cordial flippancy for which he was so well known did not make an appearance nor did a quirky smile play across his full, almost feminine lips. His artistically chiseled, handsome face was impassive and as placid as a smooth mountain lake. The tightly curled, shoulder-length, black hair that surrounded his squared planes of his features only highlighted his eyes of sparkling chipped jade. Those eyes carefully watched the body language of each of his brethren, learning more from their demeanors and tones of voice than from their conversations.
He did not like the pain of his assessment. The truth in Themis’ alarmingly frightful predictions and the terrible consequences they prophesied for the future of Atlantis rippled through her body with tremors that rattled every member of the council. Still, it was Cronus who worried him most. A glint of insanity glistened through the cracks of the Lord Father’s armor, shining in the flaming madness of his eyes. His moods were so fractured and terrifying his closest advisors were loath to speak in his presence for fear of retribution. What did that say of his stability?
