Colony - Seeds of War (Colony - The Saga of Earth's First Civilizaton Book 4)

by Gene Stiles

  He lay there for hours staring blankly at the painted granite walls and tapestries hanging mutely on their pegs, trying desperately to digest the petrifying advice of his parents. Through his shattered vision he saw phantasms of the vile, disgusting Izon grunting and growling as they lay upon horrified, screaming Atlantean women. His Father was right. How could he have the strength to inflict such mental and physical agony upon his own kind? But what if it was the only to save the People? How would the scions of such matings appear? As bestial creatures of nightmare or something pure? The only way to know was to find the spawn of Amelia if there was such a thing. And if he did commit such a barbaric atrocity, he knew the rest of the Twelve would condemn him for all eternity.

  Killing his newborn son, on the other hand, made far more sense to him. He could not allow the child to grow up into the man destined to take his life as he had taken his own father’s. Cronus allowed his other offspring to live only because they posed no threat to his rein or his life. Still, he could not tolerate their presence in his world and he found peace and clarity with them gone. This new babe would die before it took five breaths, but not by his own hand.

  When Cronus finally gathered the wits and the strength to leave his bed, he knew in his heart what he had to do and how to do it in a way that would keep him sane and, at the same time, prevent his brothers and sisters from turning on him. He had a plan. As with the flight from Atlan, he would do whatever it took to save the People.

  “You are the only one I trust completely,” Cronus told the mountainous Iapetus in the privacy of his office. He only shared with his brother that part of his vision related to the survival of the People, keeping the rest to himself. “Can I count on you?”

  “Of course, Cronus. Always,” the Titan replied, steadfast in his loyalty to the Lord Father. Still, his pupiless, pitch black eyes sat half-lidded in his boulder-like head. He ran a massive hand through his straight onyx hair, brushing it over his massive, almost over-muscled shoulder. His narrow lips were downturned toward his planed square jaw, showing his discomfort to Cronus.

  “I agree with your decision,” he rumbled, leaving his brother in open-mouthed surprise. “The Izon are blood kin so offspring should be possible. They also have a strength and courage far beyond that which you grant them and such intelligence that gave us our sailing vessels.”

  “I am sorry, brother,” Iapetus continued, his dark eyes meeting the emerald ones of Cronus. “I have come to respect the Clan and to understand many of their ways. I do not hate them as you do. Forgive me.”

  “Your understanding may help in many ways,” Cronus replied, fighting to keep the acidic bile filling his churning belly from rising into his throat. He wanted to choke the life out of Iapetus for such statements, but he held himself in check by force of will alone. He managed to speak calmly though he could not help the reddening of his cheeks from displaying the fury he contained inside.

  “I want you to find men who can be counted on for their loyalty and discretion,” Cronus bit through a tightened jaw. “Build a compound in the southeastern desert big enough to house two hundred volunteers and staff to tend to operations. Do not pick them from Atlantis proper but from outlying cities as far away as possible. Complete this in absolute secrecy.”

  “If we do not find volunteers?” Iapetus knew the answer by the coldness in his brother’s flat, stern voice.

  “Entice them with the knowledge they will be insuring the survival of the People,” Cronus informed him, jade-chipped ice flickering in his eyes. “If they refuse, explain to them how painfully devastated they and their families might be by their rejection of my request.”

  Chapter XXI

  “Lord God! Lord God!” the guard shouted, forgetting to do so in the presence of Apophus would surely mean his painful demise. “There is an army at the edge of the city led by fearsome, hideous demons! I beg you to save us!”

  The quivering, pallid man fell to his knees before the golden throne, his eyes wide and his mouth dripping spittle on the stone floor. “Oh, Sirius! Oh, Sirius!” he mewled, dropping he forehead to the cold granite.

  “How dare you speak such absurd hallucinations before the Lord God?” Seeker shouted, slamming the guard to the floor with his giant sandaled foot. He pressed down so hard the popping of vertebrae cracked in the air.

  “I swear by all that is holy,” the man gasped, barely able to force the worlds from his bloody, cracked lip. “Please,” he whimpered, “see for yourself. Help us, Lord God!”

  “Seeker,” Apophus said, skeptically gazing at the quivering thing on the floor at his feet, “see what this madman is speaking of and, if his words are not completely true, have him publicly stripped of his flesh. Guards!”

  The gargantuan Seeker left the royal chambers, ignoring the blathering idiot being dragged away muttering insane ravings. No one would dare oppose the omnipotent power of the Lord God. There was no weapon on this earth capable of standing against the Staff of Apophus. The foolish, arrogant Atlanteans had learned that harsh lesson firsthand. The gold-edged crimson tiles of the shoulder-wide neckless he wore jingled like a million chimes with each angry step of his tree trunk legs. Those in the path of the stomping pillar of stone scattered like flies from his path. One look into those over-large, almond-shaped black pits he called eyes and everyone knew that to impede him meant a crushing blow from his monstrous fists.

  The sled left by the Atlanteans barely held the ten-foot-nine-inch bulk of the priest, fighting to skim along the hard rock tiles of the city streets. Seeker raised a bushy black eyebrow at the emptiness of the causeways, not a soul to be seen as he passed. The hair on the back of his neckless head rose and a shivering tingle swept down his spine. The dead silence of the city set his every warrior sense into a sudden state of alertness. ‘Something is definitely wrong,’ he thought, his ample lips terse, his square jaw tense.

  Seeker slammed the sled to a skidding halt at the edge of the city, nearly throwing himself off in the process. His pupiless black orbs widened, his pointed chin falling toward his massively muscled, bare copper-skinned chest. He sat on the saddle, unable to believe the fantastical sight before his stunned vision. Even the High Priest of Sirius felt the touch of the cold, frozen fingers of fear clutching his throat as he stared at the demonic creatures arrayed before him. So focused on the apparitions before him was he that he took little notice of the quiet crowds of Nillians packed along either side of the boulevard or the Izon kneeling behind them.

  The warm morning air was thick with expectation, still and oppressive with the coming of a great storm. Even the blazing yellow sun seemed unmoving in the clear blue sky above as if waiting to see if it should continue its trek across the heavens. It was then that Seeker noticed no calls of chirping birds or skittering of small creatures among the grasslands, not even of crickets making their chittering sounds. It felt like the whole of the earth awaited to see what actions were to follow this moment.

  Keeping his angst from his features, the High Priest dismounted the weary sled and forced his feet into steady steps toward the demonic miscreations aligned before him. They did not move, holding a line at the boundary of Nil. Seeker studied the half-man beasts while he walked, taking in every terrifying feature. To the fore stood a demon with the body of a man bulging with knotted muscle, his skin slightly reddish and smooth where it was visible around plates of black and gold armor. A short skirt of white linen wrapped his wide thighs, girdled at his narrow waist by a belt of gold trimmed in red that fell in an upside down V between his corded legs to the top of blood-red, knee-high boots, pointed in the front. A wrist guard of gold-edged, dark maroon covered his forearms almost to the elbow with a similar band encircling his biceps. His head was that of a vicious looking, golden-beaked, metallic hawk gazing out from a hood of gold with purple stripes. Horns outspread holding a rounded disk of reddish gold set in a crown encircled his head, centered above his furrowed brow. Upon his broad, powerful-looking chest sat a huge golden orb, s
et in silver, downturned horns. The monster held in his curled fist a staff carved in ornate symbols topped with a pulsing, swirling sun.

  An ebony-skinned, beady-eyed, snarling jackal-headed man-thing stood on his left, sheathed in night black armor holding an onyx staff angled at the top, embedded with a sphere of gold. To his right stood a curvaceous, white-armored woman with the head of a silver and black-furred cat, rows of sharp, white teeth smiling from her drawn back lips. She held in her slender fingers a staff of gold inlaid with strange symbols. At its crest sat an oval glowing like a sun, horizontal rays of gold separating its surface. Arrayed around them gathered a pack of Nillians, battle dressed, awaiting only the command of their leader.

  Seeker stopped far enough from the invaders to watch their every move and to force them to come to him. He was the High Priest of Sirius and bowed to neither man nor monster. He remained back straight, his knuckles planted at his narrow waist, his immense black eyes meeting those of the Hawk-man. A dark, deadly energy crackled between the two behemoths facing each other in the street, filling the air with expectant anticipation. For long moments the two gargantuans did nothing but lock eyes. Finally, the Hawk stepped forward.

  Ramathus stayed just out of leg range of the High Priest, having felt the power the man possessed. His Aam senses felt every emotion Seeker had within him, despite the blank slate of his face. He saw the rippling of sinew, the twitching at the corners of the tense jawline, the darkness in those ebony eyes. Ra also sensed the tinges of fear swirling behind them and he was pleased. It was obvious that Seeker would not be the first to speak, so he took the lead.

  “I have no desire to destroy your city,” he said, his voice deep and distorted by the armor he wore, amplified by the circuitry in the helmet so all could hear. “Tell your Lord God to meet me here in the fields within an hour. Unless he is a coward.”

  “Who are you to make such demands?” Seeker snorted, spitting on the ground at his feet. “The Lord God will not be summoned like some peasant!”

  “Then I will come and get him,” Ra replied coldly. “If I have to do so, it will not go well for him nor anyone who remains at his side.”

  “You will pay for your insolence,” the High Priest responded, knowing he could not take on so many alone. With a look of burning hatred, he turned on his heel sharply. “This I promise you.”

  Ra waited until Seeker was gone from sight before rejoining his men. All the Nillian guards sent out to find them stood behind Wadjet, Isis and Astraeus, the shuffling of feet displaying their fraying nerves. It was one thing to speak of defying Apophus and another thing completely to actually fight against him and their own brother guards. Many wondered if, when the time came, they would actually have the courage to kill those they had lived with every day. Ramathus took the time to speak to each of them, thanking them for being here and reassuring them that he and his captains would handle Apophus and his guards. He asked Wadjet to remain with her people and out of sight for the time being which did not set well with the woman, but she reluctantly did so.

  “Ra, are you sure your armor and staff can defeat his?” Isis asked in a low whisper, her emerald eyes sparkled in the sunlight, radiating her deep concern. She ran her long, slender fingers through her glistening auburn hair, her ruby lips slightly pursed. “We have witnessed the horrible power of the blue light.”

  “I do.” Ramathus smiled grimly, caressing her beautiful forehead just below the crown of gold that held the silver horns with a glowing sun cupped between them. “According to the computers on the ship,” he said, tapping his chest, “these thick, curved disks should absorb or deflect the power of his staff.”

  “Should,” Astraeus responded with a tight grin. “Well, we shall find out soon enough,” he said with a nod, pointing over Ramatus’ shoulder. “Our guests are arriving.”

  The procession moved slowly and stately down the wide, empty boulevard even though no crowds of civilians lined the streets this time to applaud its passing. Apophus chose not to use a sled, instead forcing the Izon slaves to carry the massive, heavy, gaudy palanquin of gold and silver, the serpent heads crowning its corners. To the fore walked a contingent of two dozen guards led by the High Priest, Seeker, and High Priestess, Seshat. From the angle of the causeway, Ramathus could see another two dozen guards brought up the rear along with four whip-carrying escorts on either side. Once the parade reached the gathered masses, the Izon behind the Nillians dropped in fearful subjugation.

  Apophus’ litter settled to the stoneway a hundred feet away and the draperies were draw upward. The Lord God sat upon his jewel encrusted, golden throne with its ruby-eyed, silver serpents much like the Atlanteans first saw him. He wore his midnight black robe, edged in interlaced gold, silver and crimson swaths, a knee-length skirt of blood-red banded by gold and his crown of braided gold with its green-eyed serpent surrounding his diamond-chipped, ebony headdress. He held the gold and silver staff tightly in his left hand, the sapphire crystal at its tip pulsing and twisting, yearning to be free. Apophus did not look as cocky, smug and self-assured as he did that first time. His big, almond-shaped black eyes were narrowed, a red light of fury blazing within. His thin red lips stretched across his copper-skinned, block-shaped head like a crack in stone.

  Seshat stepped forward, dressed in a long, dark blue linen gown tightly wrapped around her tall, slender, graceful body, her narrow waist encircled by her beaded, silver and ocean-blue belt fanning out as it fell to just above her knees. Her onyx curls hid beneath a hat of deep blue, sparkling with diamond chips. Her wings of gold-tipped white and turquois were limp beneath the tensely straightened arms held tight to her sides, her knuckles clenched into fists. Her stunning beauty was twisted with red-faced anger, the jade flecks in her hazel eyes flickering with the seething in her soul. She held a staff of purest silver, ornately carved and topped with a pulsing blue gem in her slender fist, planting it firmly upon the ground. She stopped mere feet away from Ramathus, showing no fear at his terrifying visage.

  “Who are you to threaten the Lord God, monster?” Her withering gazed passing over his dreadful companions with equal contempt. Her eyes froze far to his left and narrowed into slits. “I see you brought a vile, despicable traitoress with you along with these other treasonists who cower behind you,” she spat viciously, sweeping her arm over the group.

  Ra turned his head, seeing that Wadjet did not heed his suggestion to stay in the background. She strode stiff-backed toward her Sister, her face a dark mask. She appeared as if she might attack the other woman, but refrained just before Ramathus moved to stand between them.

  “Who are you to speak of treason?” A furious bonfire blazed within her emerald eyes, gold tipped flames reaching outward toward her Sister. “You allow our leader to enslave an entire race and to sell them to Cronus as if they were sheep!”

  The Atlanteans stared at Wadjet, glad their masks hid their stunned expressions. This was something they had no knowledge of and it sickened them to their very cores.

  “You permit public torture and abasement of our own people,” the Priestess ranted, her knuckles white and her muscles quivering from the venom of her words. “You force all of Nil to live in fear! You allow a monster to sit on the throne of the People! You foul the very name of Sirius and yet you call me traitor?”

  Seshat faltered under the explosive thunderstorm of fury, backing away from the maelstrom of words as if they slashed her flesh like the barbed strokes of a whip. She took four steps backward and dropped her staff, her hands raised as if to ward off blows, her white and turquois wings fanning out beneath her arms. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, no voice finding purchase upon her thin pink lips.

  Seeker charged with the roar of a maddened Dire Wolf, smashing not into brittle bone, but into a wall of yellow radiance that cast him aside as if he were a child’s toy. He rolled across the boulevard, landing with breath-sucking force against the thick trunk of a large oak. Foliage and small branches, dislodged
by the impact, showered him in a torrent of leaves and twigs. A lesser man’s bones would have shattered, but the titanic mammoth shook it off and rose to his feet, his exposed skin scrapped raw from the rough bark, rivulets of red dripping down his body.

  The black-fleshed, snarling jackal strode toward him, the spear of his onyx staff held in his massive ebony paws. Sunlight glittered off his shiny, midnight armor, absorbed by the darkness of its plates. It seemed to sneer at Seeker through those wicked fangs, daring him to attack once more.

  “Coward!” Seeker growled back at the demon, wiping blood from his cracked lips as he advanced. His headdress lay crumpled in the low grass exposing the tight ringlets of oiled dark curls surrounding his rock shaped head. The shoulder-wide, plated neckless of gold and silver that lay against his mountainous chest hung askew, broken on one side. He tore it from his body and flung it aside. His bronzed, sculpted muscles stretched in fibrous ribbons across his huge torso. “If you were to fight like a man, I would snap your spine in two. Cast your staff away and let us see what you are truly made of.”

  Much to his surprise, the creature planted the glowing rod into the soil without breaking stride. The metallic lips of the beast curled up in a savage, bestial grin. Though much shorter than the Priest, the Jackal emanated a raw, primal ferociousness. The tall, pointed ears above its round dome glistened in the sun, the tips wicked and sharp. Tiny, ruby eyes, crackled and sparked behind that long, narrow, fanged snout giving Seeker the impression they could burn a hole all the way to the depths of his soul.

  The Jackal crouched low and began to circle the Priest, head cocked to one side, knuckles popping as it crunched its black paws together. The runes engraved on the golden bracelets sheathing its thick forearms gave off a bluish shimmer in the bright yellow sun. The ebony armor seemed to turn misty, blurred with a sheen of fog. Seeker shook his head, trying to clear his vision, yet the fuzzy film remained.