by Gene Stiles
“They are here to help. Fear not,” Morpheus calmed the Clan, standing and raising his voice so all could hear. “They will reunite you with your people. Please welcome them as if it were the Keeper herself.”
He could not help but gaze down upon limp, battered form of his beloved. Not even the faintest glow of Healing emanated from her restless form, showing how incredibly weak she was. Morpheus wanted so badly to Lend his strength to her, but he could not for now, he had little left for himself, but he could at least calm her sleep. He knelt down beside her, kissed Haleah on her fevered forehead and placed a gold shimmered hand upon her brow. In seconds, her low moans and tense muscles quieted, her breathing not so labored.
Two of the People came to her side in replacement. They sat cross-legged on either side of the unconscious woman, placing one hand on her fevered brow, the other on the steady rise and fall of her stomach. Both of the two men dropped their heads, seeming to fall into quiet slumber. A collective gasp escaped the Izon. They stared in awed wonder as a bright, golden glow emanated from the hands of the men and formed a bright aura around the Keeper. The Clan had witnessed Haleah glow as she healed herself in the past, but never had they seen others aid her. Never had they seen the glow as brilliant as the morning sun. As one, the Izon pulled back for fear of being burned. Many looked to the sky, afraid the light would give away their position only to realize the thickness of the foliage above blocked out even the dimmest twinkle of the stars above.
With great reluctance, Morpheus tore his gaze away, rose to his feet and scanned the apprehensive and, in some cases, downright hostile crowd before him. He motioned for his men to step closer so the Izon could see their faces in the meager light of the fire.
“These men and their brethren camped a short distance from here came with me knowing full well that to do so would mean they could never go back. The men and women of the Aam who stood with the Izon to see you free are now considered traitors to their kind. If they return to the city, they will be put to death in the most horrific and public means possible.” He saw his words ripple across the Clan, felt the tension relaxing and beheld faces that rendered surprise, admiration and a touch of awe. “I hope you will welcome them and their families into yours. I ask you offer them the same protection they have risked all to give to you.”
Nods and murmurs of assent rippled through the Clan. The sudden awareness of all these People had sacrificed for the sake of the Izon touched many to the point of tears. Warriors recognized warriors with a deep, abiding and grateful respect.
Morpheus motioned for the shortest man of the People to come forward. “This is Elisson, First Mate of the Wind Star, a sailing vessel of the People.”
The man was of less stature then most of the People. He was barely taller than the Izon, but he looked like a block of stone on legs. Elisson had wide, flat, muscular shoulders and arms that looked like the thick branches of the One Tree. The rest of his powerful body cut a near strait line down to legs seemingly torn from the tusked giants the Izon used to hunt. The squared head was devoid of hair and burnished dark brown from a thousand days of sunshine, but a full, thick, black beard hid the jaw line from view. Chipped ice gazed over the Clan, but could not hide the cracks of good humor etched in the corners of his eyes.
“These men,” Morpheus continued, motioning for the other three to join them, “are the second in command of their own captains, First Mates, and have come to aid the Izon. They are Neilos, Inopos, and Shuk of the Izon.” Each man nodded with the sound of his name then stood waiting. “They come with a plan I do believe you would be wise to listen to.” Morpheus moved back slightly, allowing Elisson to take the lead. Though Shuk would have been a better choice, knowing the Clan language, it was decided that the Izon hear from one of the People. It was of paramount importance that they speak to the Clan themselves so the onlookers could gauge them and learn to trust them.
“Thank you for hearing us,” Elisson began, struggling with the guttural language of the Izon. “We on the docks have worked hand in hand with the men of your Clan for some time. We have shared blood and…eaten them...at supper.”
The children were the first to giggle loudly at the words, but the laughter was like disease and spread through the Izon until even Morpheus could not contain himself. The joyous sound rippled through the bodies of everyone present. Two of the First Mates chuckled loudly, not even knowing why they were laughing. Only Shuk understood and he laughed the loudest. The ice was broken.
Elisson stood with hands spread wide, his brow creased, wondering what he had said. Shuk wiped a tear from his eye, leaned close and whispered to the First Mate. Elisson’s jaw dropped like a stone, he shook his lowered head then roared with mirth at his own mistake. When he regained control, he continued solemnly, yet unable to hide a crack of a smile not quite hidden by his curly beard.
“I am sorry for my error. I meant we have eaten with them!” Another wave of merriment surged over the Izon. If Elisson could have blushed, he would be glowing the brightest of reds. He waited for relative quiet then added, “I do not mean to make light of your worries. Your tongue is difficult for me, yet I wanted to show you respect. My brothers know even fewer words. Maybe I should let Morpheus speak for us.” He moved back, gesturing Morpheus to the fore.
Though he had thought he could sit next to his beloved, Lending a touch to aid her, Morpheus knew that translation blunders could damage the exchange. He sighed and took his place. “Please sit before the fire, my friends,” he said to his kin. As they took his offer, he moved to the fore.
“It is nothing short of a miracle that you are all here with me now. This miracle was brought about by the hard work of your many friends and allies among the People. However, that event has left many divided and many furious. Keep that in mind as I tell you of how we intend to get you back with the rest of the Izon and with your loved ones. Careful attention from all of you is the only way this will work. Here is what we shall do…”
The First Mates slipped cautiously back into Atlantis, using night and darkness as their allies. Within a few days, they returned to their respective Captains, informing them of the Clan’s decision. Shuk was the only one to stay behind, the better to hammer out the details of their plan and to act as translator when Morpheus rested.
Over the next month, mismarked crates and supplies were discreetly slipped into the holds of select ships, meticulously mingled amongst legitimate cargo. The Aam that patrolled the docks knew little of shipping and failed to notice that some vessels returned from their coastal runs without disgorging the full contents of their holds at the outposts dotting the shorelines. Only one man would have been aware and drawn unwanted attention to the stratagem and was warily introduced to the plan.
The Harbor Master, Pleistos, felt immediately drawn into their endeavor. It took little coaxing. He knew well the plight of the Izon. He did not fail to notice how many of his workers had disappeared after a wrong word spoken – and this included citizens of Atlantis as well as the Izon. His men now spoke with exaggerated care. He saw his beloved city disemboweled by the Black Guard, wanting so badly to help her before she died. He now felt he was far, far, too late. The city of Atlantis barely existed now, crumbling from the top down to the people and soldiers moving like phantoms in the byways. Pleistos thought back but a short month ago…
…‘This is the most incredible opportunity!’ he thought. He listened with growing exuberance when Morpheus and several of his Captains met in secrecy with him in one of the most despicable bars he had ever seen. He was warned that everything was for sale here – everything – and told not to react to any soldiers, ships’ crews or Captains mingling here. Morpheus told Pleistos flatly that he was not to meat out punishment to anyone – no matter what! He witnessed far more than he had ever seen or ever wanted to see.
In voices barely discernable above the rabble, a plan hastily outlined came to be. Just before the next new moon, four ships would dock for loading. The Wind Star, t
he fastest ship of the fleet, would berth to the fore, followed by the Northern Star, the Ocean Star and the Midnight Star, in that order. The cargo they would be stocking would not be those on the manifest. Each Captain, with counterfeit documents, would pass the scrutiny of all but the most superlative eyes. Once full, the Ocean Star would leave port first. It would sail to the south, against the turbulent current, powered by her Proto-sun engines. Once hidden by darkness, she would reverse course, slipping past the harbor, pushed by the ferocious waters. Well out of sight of the city lights, the Ocean Star would pull up tight against a finished portion of the boulevard on their port side. Holding herself in place with screaming engines, Captain Simoeis would lower the ramp and await the arrival of the Izon. He would remain in place, lights hidden, until the Wind Star passed. If the Clan were not on board by then, he would follow his comrades to the great ocean…
“A perfect night for treason,” Captain Lianas muttered under his breath.
“What was that, my Captain?” Elisson responded. “I could not hear you. Forgive me, please.”
Lianas glanced around them and over his shoulder before answering. “I said, ‘a perfect night for treason,’” he said quietly masking his words from unfriendly ears. He scrutinized the dock, searching for any miniscule trace of a trap or of some sight of the momentous events about to unfold. There was none. The only curiosities raised by cargo loaders was about the strange, over-large, curved main deck hatch, laid over with taunt, black leather instead of the flat hatch normally used. The only other ship that had one was the Northern Star, the same questions arising there. Both Captains had the same ready answer. It was a new design, they said, curved in hopes of clearing wave wash during stormy seas from the main deck. Captain Lianas feared in would draw unwanted attention, but it appeared unfounded. He and Captain Kaikinos had high hopes for those hatch covers yet both hoped they would never be put to use. Still he watched.
“I understand, Captain. We make a weighty decision,” Elisson nodded solemnly.
“That we do, First Mate,” Lianas replied softly, listening to the roar of the river hiding in the night. “That we do.”
The river tore along southern mountains behind the ships of the People. Once the People had cleared the rock and rubble, they found a wide, swift moving river beneath. The more boulders they removed or destroyed, the faster the water rushed. The waters, tasting lightly of salt, ran from east to west near the southern mountains. Once revealed, the river was over a hundred feet deep, giving it a blackness as dark as night. Cronus had it completely surveyed from inlet to outlet, learning of great gorges on either end, expanses of clear shoreline on both sides. Plasma cannons broadened the chasms and smoothed out the shorelines, creating roads and a massive harbor with support buildings.
The docks looked no different tonight from a thousand other nights. On this side, the mighty river, Gaia, named by Cronus, himself, for his mother, roared as it passed. The river was deadly to the uninitiated and even too many a seasoned sailor. Tonight the wind shrieked over the white-capped, salty waters if in competition to reach the ocean before the first waves. If not for the harbors carved on either side, movement in that torrent would have been impossible.
Lianas thought, ‘That wind will be very helpful this night.’ He cocked his head and listened to the docks. Faint voices tickled the air, audible only as sounds, all words swept away into the starlight. What could be reckoned were the grunts of Izon and the dock men, themselves, while they helped load heavy crates and boxes aboard the ships. Polaris-Units were rare here and only used when all other methods failed. The dockworkers and ships crews did not understand this. It would have made their tasks so simple a child could have done it. Lianas had only recently learned why. It created a fester of fear knotting his extra full belly. Laughter rose up, filled with happiness and good humor. If any but his comrades had even a whiff of concern, it was not present in those exuberant noises.
“Do you think they are about ready,” Elisson whispered in Lianas’ ear, the better heard above the controlled pandemonium of labor. He, too, scanned the docks and dockworkers for any sign of treachery He felt none. It seemed as if their dangerous plan was undiscovered. Still, he remained extra vigilant.
Lianas made one more survey then answered with a jovial smile plastered on his full lips. He roared as if something funny had passed between them and pounded Elisson on the back. He rested his head on his First Mate’s shoulder as if to calm himself, muttering in his ear, “If they were done, someone from the Wind Star would have come to inform us.” Elisson agreed.
There were seven ships on this side of the port. Unknown to everyone except for their own crews and officers, the first four did not expect to return. Those Captains, along with their men had come in unobtrusively, spread out over a matter of weeks. They unloaded their cargo on the far side, taking care to empty their cargo slower or faster waiting for other ships behind the Wind Star to head out with their new freight piled inside. Afterward, they slid up behind her, disembarked and lashed their vessels to the stanchions provided, then took to the port to visit the Wind Song and other, much seedier places along darkened streets where only sailors go. Even while playing the role of normalcy, the men were extra careful not to get drunk or to tussle with ladies of the night. They took extra heedfulness with whom they spoke and took even greater vigilance of words spoken.
Captain Lianas, short for one of the People at only seven foot, stood on the mist-wet dock, still towering above the Izon dock men, personally supervising the teams loading each marked crate aboard. Giant winches and pulleys lifted enormous, wooden containers, swung them slowly over the deck and carefully deposited them in the hold below. His ebony skin sparkled in the dampness of the night air, reflecting the harbor lights as if twinkling with a thousand stars. Long twisted, tresses of curly black hair, held back from his wide, square head by a narrow, well-tooled, leather band, cascaded down his rippling, almost over-muscled back, stopping just short of his invisible waist. Like most of the Captains of the fleet, Lianas daily lowered his Polaris-Belt, using Lendings to cope with the pain, to better handle the rigors of the open sea. The result for him was greater strengthening of his already tightly corded muscles. His broad nostrils flared with each breath of the chilly river air as if seeking a scent treachery.
“Please go aboard and see that all is well with crew and cargo, Elisson,” Captain Lianas spoke aloud for all to hear.
“Yes, Captain!” the First Mate responded, clicking his black boots together and heading aboard the Northern Star. Below decks, Elisson saw to the careful stacking of boxes and the lashing down of each one. The dirty, well used crates were labeled food, clothing, tents, medical supplies, equipment and such and most of that was true. Weapons stolen from the Aam before the Black Guard roamed the streets actually filled boxes fire-branded with the word Entertainment. Some of the plasma rifles and stunners had been gathered from piles designated worthless. With some effort, each of these were repaired and tested in the deep woods.
Lianas remained on the dock a bit longer, waiting to see two huge containers swing above the main hatch and lower carefully below. Inside the bulky crates, marked Building Equipment, sat two plasma-cannons. Morpheus had procured four of them, tossed aside with their power drained away. Through some miracle of which Morpheus would not speak, they were now powered up and ready for use. The two eased into the Wind Star were shoved well away from the other boxes, their positions specifically chosen, placing them directly in front of well-concealed ports on either side of the vessel. Once far from the harbor, the ports would slide away so those deadly muzzles could have clear firing. The Northern Star had the other two in similar positions. Between the twin silver levers that controlled the two powerful, ocean-jet engines below and the wheel, a raised, red button sat at the ready. His ample lips parted in a wan grimace. ‘My secret weapon,’ he thought with a sigh. Lianas prayed to the Creator that his weapons were never needed.
Captain Simoeis stood on t
he afterdeck of the Ocean Star, gazing at the lights of Atlantis. He wondered if he would miss then for not only was Atlantis the greatest city on the planet, it was the only one. He smiled weakly at his own little joke. The city was not his home, though. He only felt alive while on the deep, blue, ocean with only his crew for company and the skies glistening with stars. The planks beneath his booted feet vibrated softly with the hum of the engines below. His long, well-muscled legs luxuriated with the heartbeat of his ship. The Captain’s narrow waist gave way to a wide, barrel chest topped with a high-browed forehead. His long, blond tresses were braided down to the middle of his back. His wide lips cocked to one side in the slightest of smiles. ‘I love this ship.’
The Ocean Star had a full belly so most of the deck crew had little to do. No matter how their souls twisted, false happiness shown on their faces. They leaned on the starboard side, laughed, shouted and waved goodbye to friends they would never see again. The men let their eyes roam over the city committing to memory every spire, dome and pyramid. Atlantis sparkled with her lights and the Proto-Suns scattered across the skyline. The dim glow of the docks hid many tears etching lines down the cheeks of most of the sailors. Captain Simoeis looked upon them and whispered, “These are the greatest of men.”
Neilos, his First Mate, climbed up the ladder and greeted the captain. Nearly as tall as Simoeis, the First Mate was just under seven foot. His long, brown tresses banded away from his deep green eyes by a wide, crimson scarf tossed over his square, muscled shoulder. It trailed down his back and tucked loosely into his silver Polaris-Belt. His garb consisted of a loose, ebony shirt with billowy sleeves secured at the wrist, V-cut from neck to sternum and baggy, jet-black pants tucked firmly into matching, calf-high boots. In a booming voice, he said, “Sir! We are ready. All cargo and sails secured. At your command.”
