by Gene Stiles
Chapter XVII
“I found it,” Wadjet told Ramathus in whispered excitement. Her gold-flecked emerald eyes glowed like a thousand stars against a velvet sky, a rosy blush covering her cheeks. Her ruby lips spread across her oval face in a brilliant, sensuous smile, even hidden beneath the cowl of her plain, coarse, hooded woolen robe. “After all these years, I finally found it!”
The Atlanteans sat beneath the thick branches of a giant oak at the edge of the dark grove to the north of the expansive farmlands, tilled and ready for seed. Springtime had finally defeated the frozen armies of winter, covering the meadows and grasslands with jubilant blooms and joyful blossoms of every imaginable hue. The bright yellow sun celebrated the azure sky with golden rays that warmed the still chill air sighing in relief. The shallows of the mighty Nil River babbled and shouted out in delighted wonder, welcoming their icy brother creeks and sister streams back from their cold winter imprisonment.
Ramathus, Isis and Astraeus leaned back against the rough bark of the tree trunk, taking a small repast of bread, cheese and watered down grape wine, resting from their hard morning labors. Wadjet stayed among the shadows behind them lest prying eyes take note of her regular visits, keeping them informed of the moods of the city and the progress of her exhaustive search. Now, it seemed their long wait was about to end.
In the seven years since Cronus abandoned them to their abasement at the hands of Apophus, the trio made countless attempts at escape only to be caught time and again, publicly, viciously punished and shackled for months on end. After four years of useless attempts, they gave up hope in favor of biding their time. They were too far from Atlantis to make it overland. Even with the aid of their Izon friends and their growing number of allies among the Nillian People, there was simply nowhere to go. Now, at last, there was.
During their imprisonment, Isis made an observation that should have been readily apparent which made them all stop and think. A great winter blanketed the lands in a death grip making outside work impossible. Apophus sealed the doors of the compound against the howling, killing winds leaving the Izon outside to fend off the icy snows as best they could. The Atlanteans toiled inside, making repairs to woodwork, polishing stone, cleaning floors and any other menial task their captors could contrive to abuse them. While scrubbing the rough granite hallways in a lower, seldom used level of the pyramid, Isis glanced over at her brothers and sighed.
“Well, at least,” she said, drying her damp hands on her dusty wool shift, “it is warm down here.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth when her jade eyes opened wide, her full lips formed a large O. Astraeus and Ramathus stared at her in open wonder, surprised they had not thought about it earlier.
“Creator!” Astraeus shook his head boulder-sized head, leaning a massive shoulder against the stone wall. His ebony skin looked ghostly with the dust circulating around him. “Why did we not pay attention to this before?”
“We have been through many seasons in our prison,” Isis commented, running a delicate hand through her dirty auburn hair, “and yet the climate within the Nillian edifice and the interior of the pyramid remains a constant comfortable temperature.”
“We are so used to Atlantis,” Ra replied, chiding himself as he slipped down the wall to sit upon the hard granite floor, “we never gave it a second thought. Since they use torches to light the commons and the hallways, we never noted that the smoke never lingers or that it never gets to cold or hot.”
“There is a higher technology at play here than we gave them credit for,” Astraeus said, watching the flickering dust motes disappear along with the smoke from the torches over a thin, nearly imperceptible ridge in the wall near the ceiling.
“It suggests a power source we never saw,” Ramathus agreed, “and one is seems the Nillians, themselves, have long forgotten. Maybe it is similar to the power of the staff of Apophus. If so, it may give us what we need to defeat him.”
“We must find it and find it soon,” Isis nodded emphatically. “It is time we left this horrid place!”
Wadjet delved deeply into the archives of the Great Library, scouring the earliest histories, mythologies and even the religious text for the minutest reference as to hidden or lost power sources within the Central Pyramid. She found nothing, but what she did find was even more exciting; something millennium of searching left undiscovered. She had to be sure, very sure, before she raised the hopes of her Atlantean friends.
Wadjet waited until the night of a new moon when deep shadows shifted the landscape into patches of utter blackness. She slipped silently from dark pool to dark pool, carefully backtracking and twisting her way through the quiet city streets. Her hooded, onyx cloak helped mask her movements from any casual observation from open window or door, still she breathed much easier when she reached the outer edge of Nil and the supplies she had waiting.
Buried beneath a heap of dried grass and broken brush lay the sled Wadjet managed to steal, loaded with a cache of food, clothing and blankets she stored way a few items at a time. The star-filled midnight sky provided just enough light for her to clear the camouflage and start up the sled, grateful the engine made almost no sound at all. Once mounted, Wadjet took a circuitous route away from the city and toward the small range of mountains to the southwest.
It took her three days to reach the craggy pile of rock and rubble so bleak and desolate no one found it of any interest at all. The range was only twenty miles long and surrounded by thorny thickets of poisonous red and black berries. No streams, creeks or even dry riverbeds fell from the broken mountaintops, only an occasional pool of brackish water in the scraggy, sickly looking grassland. Only the most desperate of creatures dared sip at that black liquid and their dried bones gave profound testament to its acidic flavor.
Wadjet circled the entire range twice, searching for a way through the briar before finding a narrow upward slanting defile just wide enough for her to get the sled through. The crack in the mountain wall was so tight in places Wadjet was forced to pull her legs in close to her body. Even so, sharp protrusions of shattered shale and sandstone slashed at her clothing, ripping flesh from her arms and legs even through her leathers. The sled screeched in protest as the metal sides slid against crumbling rock walls. Wadjet feared getting stuck, but now had no choice but to press forward.
After an eternity of ear-piercing agony, her terrifying ordeal was over. The crevasse opened up to a ridgeline overlooking a deep, oblong basin lush with thick, green brush and trees. A winding path led down to the valley floor too scant to accommodate the sled. Wadjet left it parked on the small flat outcropping where she stood and tossed her pack over her shoulders, anxious to reach the bottom before her daylight slipped away.
She made her way slowly and cautiously downward, her feet crunching on the brittle stones littering the trail. The route was harrowing and frightening. The cracks in the path made for dangerous footing and Wadjet tested each step before she put her full weight behind it. A sheen of salty sweat bathed her copper skin by the time her shaky legs and grateful feet touched the tiny grassy meadow at the base of the rocks. Wadjet rested for an hour, nibbling on jerky and cheese before scouting for a campsite and searching the area for dry twigs and branches to build a small fire for the evening.
The morning sun blazed bright and beautiful over the eastern crest line, burning away a wispy blanket of ghostly fog from the valley floor. Wadjet was up at first light building a small fire to boil water for some tummy-warming sweet green tea. She wrapped her thick gray cloak tightly around her as she sat staring at the flickering flames, her hands out to shake off the lightly chill early air. The smile spread across her ample, red lips rivaled the golden orb glowing above her, competing with its glistening brilliance.
Wadjet curled her fingers around the tin cup steaming in her hands and sipped carefully at its contents. Her over-sized, oval, gold-flecked, emerald eyes danced with the firelight and the ebullience that set her nerves to tingling. She
would do today what a millennium of searchers could not. She just knew it. Her body quivered not from any cold, but from the vibrant enthusiasm rippling through her long, well-muscled limbs. Wadjet was almost overanxious to get started, yet she held herself back, awaiting the rising sun.
She read again the ancient passage she found in a dusty old tome buried in a stack of books carelessly tossed in a heap in a tiny alcove near the back of the Great Library. This would lead her to the treasure she sought. Cryptically, the verses simply said:
“At the beginning of this world, Sirius, the Father, scooped out from the earth a bowl and planted within all type of plant and animals for the welcoming of his People. There He commanded them to take rest from their long journey for three-hundred days and no more.
“At the end, He instructed them to go forth into the world to find His missing children and to return not until they were found and brought back to His arms. So His People be could find their way home, He created a sign to last forever. A beacon of His love to point to the way to source of their ascension.
“In the western sky, at the time of His supper, Sirius holds his golden light in the palms of His majestic hands, illuminating the home of His People with His shining glory and their path back to His bosom in the stars.”
With the other clues Wadjet found secreted in ancient history, she found the location she believed to be the ‘bowl’ where her ancestors landed on Terra. Now, here she was, surrounded by the gifts of His creation. The thick green foliage sang with the chirping of birds, the rustle of squirrels leaping and playing among the branches and the mating calls of small, hidden creatures scampering through the dense undergrowth. The ground felt soft and spongy beneath her black-booted feet, rich with moisture and loam. Now all she had to do was find the ‘hands’ of Sirius by ‘the time of His supper’, roughly six in the evening.
Wadjet loaded her pack and wrapped her blankets, tying them to the frame. She stomped her fire out, making sure every ember was buried and extinguished. She plotted a course along the western side of the basin first in search of rock formations in the shape of hands. There were three problems she had to account for that could end her quest so close to her goal. First, if indeed, a rock formation is what the passage referred to, time and weather may have altered the shape. The stone of this range was brittle and easily broken. Secondly, when she circumnavigated the mountains from the outside, she did not see landmarks that matched the description. She did see many broken spires and prayed they appeared different from the inside. Lastly, she could find no reference for a time of year. Depending on the season or even week, assuming she found the hands, there was no way of knowing if the setting sun would point in the right direction. She just had to have faith and pray.
By midafternoon, Wadjet hacked her way to the northernmost end of the oval valley using her curved sword to cut away the thick underbrush. Her arms were leaden, her footfalls heavy upon the cushy ground. Tendrils of dubious despair creeped into her weary mind, whispering in wraith-like voices words of doubt and fearful uncertainty. Even with the aid of her farseers, she did not find rock formations in the shape of hands no matter how misshapen. Could she be wrong? Was she searching in vain? How great was her ego to think she could accomplish what generations could not?
She sank down to the mossy ground, her shoulders slumped, her head bowed and her hands laying limply on her lap. Gone was the smile that graced her beautiful face. Her shining eyes now shimmered in hopeless dismay, half closed and burning. She lay back and crossed her arms over her stomach, completely closing her eyes against the flood of tears that threated to seep between the lids. She set her breathing to a slow, calming rhythm, pushing back against the tide of apprehension clouding her mind.
Wadjet awoke with a start, her brain screaming at her to move. She did not mean to fall asleep and now the sun tickled the peaks to the west, leaving her little time before it fell below the horizon. She jumped to her feet, threw her pack over her shoulders and hurried to the east. The undergrowth thinned out on this side, making the journey faster, however, Wadjet knew she could not move too quickly lest she miss a sign and pass her goal unaware. Every few yards, she stopped, scanning the western ridge before continuing on. She almost missed it in her hast and her diffidence.
The bright yellow sun touched the sharp, shattered crags, slipping slowly between two tall, twisted spires, one flattened and shorter than the other as if the top had been sheared off. The blazing light reflected off scattered piles of boulders, illuminating them from behind. And there it was. The irregular stones heaped together, forming a near-perfect set of hands, the fingertips missing from one. A beam of golden light struck the tumble of a cliff side to her left, highlighting the giant open maw of a brush-covered, oddly-shaped cave. She hacked her way past ropy hanging vines and stepped inside, lighting the torch she made earlier in the day. Her mouth fell to the floor and she screamed out her wonderment, falling to her knees and thanking Sirius with all of her fast-beating heart.
“I spent the better part of two days exploring the ship,” Wadjet told the Ramathus, her breathing coming in short, excited gasps. “There is a lot of debris and damage and it will take all of us to clear it away. I did find the control room and that is when I wept for joyful hours.”
“Lights flickered on the panels, Ra!” She took both of his hands in hers, her face glowing in the shadows. “The power is still alive! I do not know what it means or what it can do, but it lives! We can go there, my friends. We can go there and no one will ever find us!”
“Then it is time for us to leave this place,” Ramathus stated harshly, seeing the stern agreement of the others. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow night we go.”
“This issue has reached extremely critical proportions,” Asclepius informed the council, his rich, kindly voice dark and dire, charts, graphs and reports scrolling across the wall-sized monitor before the Table. “There has not been a single live birth within the Atlantean race in four years and as few as fifty stillborn births this year in Atlantis, itself. If this trend continues unabated, our current children will be the last of our species.”
The council sat stunned, their tumulus minds thinking of their sons and daughters playing in the meadows, in the classrooms and curled around them at home, safe in warmth and comfort. They saw them alone among a world of Izon, watching helplessly as their numbers dwindled until only one stood as a reminder of a bygone era. Tears flowed freely from the eyes lowered around the Table, no one speaking for long, drawn out moments.
“Unacceptable,” Cronus said, standing before his high-backed chair and slamming his fist against the polished wood surface. “The Nillian People still bear children. They, too, are of Atlan! There must be a solution! Fix this, Asclepius!”
“As yet, I cannot,” he replied dejectedly. “The new science of Medico-Biology is in its infancy. We are still creating equipment, tests and data banks and training personnel. We are learning as we go and there are few of us. We need much more information to even define the problem let alone find a remedy.”
“What of the Nillians?” Themis asked, her long fingers nervously entwined before her. Even her usually stern green eyes blurred with dampness, her long, golden blond braid hanging limply across her shoulder. “How is it they still produce?”
“I do not know,” Asclepius responded sadly, his full, pink lips downturned and grim. Shoulder-length, tight strawberry-blond curls surrounded his square-shaped head, held from his kindly azure eyes by a simple silver band. “Their birthrate is comparable to what ours was on Atlan. Pregnancies occur haphazardly about every six to seven years. I understand that they, too, experienced an increase of children at first, though not as great as ours. That is all we have learned. They have not allowed us to scan them or to perform tests of any kind.”
“Well,” Coeus injected, staring pointedly at Cronus, “our contact with them is limited to a few trade goods and remains very tenuous since we attacked them.”
“With cause,” Iapetus rumb
led, his black eyes narrowed in warning. “Do not forget, Coeus, they still hold our people prisoner.”
“I have not forgotten,” the older man grumbled, his hazel eyes beginning to flame in response. “I would say…”
“Asclepius,” Phoebe interrupted, taking the hand of her husband in hers and squeezing slightly, “what of the Izon? Are they similarly affected?”
Coeus glanced at his beautiful wife, his rising anger abating as he gazed upon the river of platinum blond hair flowing over her alabaster shoulders. Her pale blue eyes, still moist from her tears, shifted in his direction, the tiniest of smiles flickering quickly across her ruby red lips. How such an amazing beauty found his old, tired bones of interest he wondered for the millionth time. The teal linen of her floor-length gown wrapped every curve of her sensuous, shapely body like a lover’s caress from the fullness of her chest to her long, muscled legs. Her intellect matched his own, overflowing with curiosity and love of life. Her tenderness calmed his most furious of moods like water quenched a raging fire. He knew how luck he was and thanked the Creator every day for sending such an angel to fill the voids in his life.
“They are not affected at all,” Asclepius responded, pulling Coeus from his reverie. “Their birthrate continues unmitigated by whatever is causing our problem.”
“But they are our direct descendants,” Mnemosyne questioned, her thick auburn hair shimmering in the crystal lights of the chamber, “are they not? They are bloodkin. Should not whatever is inhibiting us also inhibit them?”
“From the tests and scan we have run on the Izon we received from Nil,” Asclepius answered, “there are significant differences besides the obvious. They are, in many ways, stronger and more resilient than we are even though we are of the same basic species. It is probably because they have had much, much longer to adapt to this world than we have.”
