by Gene Stiles
“Come with me!” he commanded, his rumbling tone brooking no argument.
The Harbormaster had no choice but to comply. Pleistos bowed only with a nod of his head, following Iapetus out of the offices and to the docks below. A light, wet mist coated the docks, matting his red, shoulder-length curls to his face and dripping down his square shoulders. His mind raced to firm up the story he would give, complete with facts to back him up. Pleistos knew this was a possibility and had prepared for it. To hide a lie, one must speak the truth. He only had to state what he knew of harbor operations, which ships left when, what the manifests said they were carrying, which direction and where the logs stated they were going. If he held to these and nothing more, his involvement would pass undetected.
“Get on the sled behind me,” Iapetus demanded flatly, swinging his leg over the glistening, silver seat. He ignored the dampness that held his loins in a cold embrace, firing up the engine, not waiting for the weight of the Harbormaster behind him. He knew it would come. Iapetus felt strong hands grip his shoulders and slammed the beleaguered vehicle to full power.
Scant moments later, Iapetus and Pleistos were ushered into Cronus’ offices atop the Great Pyramid, the tall, massive wooden doors, embedded with the seal of Atlantis, quickly closed behind them by the two Black Guard stationed in the hallway. The two men froze in stunned, shocked laconism hearing a loose creature in the bedroom, howling, screaming with madness, hammering at the walls inside.
Iapetus bolted toward the bedroom, fearing a feral beast was somehow secreted inside, awaiting its chance to attack Cronus. Skidding to a halt before the chamber, he began to tear open the door, but stopped short with only a crack of light emanating from the other room. His jaw fell, his eyes burned at the sight within.
The raging, horrifying beast inside was Cronus.
“A boy is born this night, Cronus,” Thea had announced to her brother’s back just after Iapetus had cleared the room, her bright, green eyes shining with love and joy. “You have a son, my brother,” she beamed, her gentle voice awash with tenderness. “Rhea has named him Hades. A strong name.”
Thea almost took a step back when Cronus spun to meet her gaze, resisting the urge to gasp. The face she looked upon was far from registering pride. Her brother’s countenance was so very dark it seemed like midnight, his own jade eyes so black there were no pupils. A tumulus thunderstorm brewed there, covering his face with angry clouds. Deep creases cut rivers across his high forehead; his teeth clenched so tightly a tick jerked on the hard muscles of his jaw. The eyes that pinned her where she stood radiated fiery anger. Was that a whisper of quaking fear in Cronus that rippled like a light breeze toward her body?
Cronus wanted nothing more than to smash his sister’s beautiful, smiling face to a bloody pulp, heated by the crush of her bones under his pummeling fists. He yearned to stomp the joy out of Thea’s body beneath the heel of his calf-high boot. His muscles rippled from the top of his red curls to the soles of his black-booted feet. His body tensed for the attack, ready to lunge at its master’s command, like a murcat straining at the end of a leash. With gargantuan effort, Cronus fought the urge, dismissing her with a wave of his hand, never bothering to utter a word. He turned his back to her, stomping quickly toward his private quarters, the granite under him vibrating with the force of him exit.
Thea stood there in stunned silence, all trace of happiness torn from her body, rooted to the spot by the malevolence in her brother’s irascible response. She could not understand the black, horrifying fury she saw etched in deep lines upon his face. Thea was so busy administering Atlantis, spending her long days in the Great Pyramid, that she had not seen Cronus for almost a year. Yes, she had heard of his malicious hatred toward the Izon, but they were mummers whispered in dark corners by faceless people. She gave them no credence. This was her loving, wonderful brother after all.
Then, a week prior to the birth her fourth child, Rhea had called, asking if she could meet with her. Thea suggested a spot, but her friend asked if she could come over to her quarters. Surprised at the fear behind her request and the worry in Rhea’s voice, she quickly acquiesced. When Rhea arrived, well rounded from the closeness of the birth, Thea was shocked at the panic-stricken demeanor, blanched face and tearful eyes she saw. She drew her friend into a warm, comforting embrace even before the door closed behind them. Thea held Rhea softly as heavy sobs racked her body, rivers of tears wetting her shoulder and chest. For long, long moments, the two stood together, wrapped in a combination of love and terror.
“Please forgive my little breakdown,” Rhea said, stepping away and wiping at her eyes. With a weak, exhausted smile, she regained temporary control of her weeping. “May we sit?” She patted her belly, saying, “This little man is very heavy.”
“But, of course, Rhea, please, come relax on the couch,” Thea replied, keeping one arm around her friend’s trembling shoulders. They sat hushed for a little while, holding each other, Rhea’s head laying heavily in the crook of her neck.
“Holy Creator, Rhea! What could be so horribly wrong?” When Thea felt her friend’s breathing slow and her body relax, she pulled back slightly, gazing deeply into Rhea’s glistening blue eyes.
“I’m having a boy.” Rhea bowed her head, sighing softly, her body seeming to crumple upon itself. She took a slow, long breath. “I am so very afraid.”
A son! A son was what Cronus had dreamed of since they were in their teens. It was all he had talked about on Atlan as they sat under the One Tree or under the blankets, quietly whispering so their mother would not catch them awake. What could be so wrong with that?
“That is wonderful!” Thea smiled, her incredibly beautiful face lighting up as if the summer sun beamed down upon her. “I am so, so happy for you!”
“I am not,” Rhea replied flatly. She raised her head, fresh tears welling up, sliding down her flushed cheeks. “I am terrified of what Cronus might do.”
“Cronus?” startled at the dismay she saw written in Rhea’s shimmering, blue eyes. “My brother has wanted nothing more his whole life. Why do you say that?”
“Prior to the escape of the Izon, you and I have spoken little in past years, me with my girls and you with your work, so you know little of what has transpired,” Rhea replied meekly. “I am sorry for that.”
“I am also, my sister,” Thea responded, wiping a wet, honey-colored, strand of hair from Rhea’s damp forehead. “We were so close on Atlan. I still feel the bond we share, but life has separated us for far too long. Please, tell me of your troubles.”
“I barely know where to begin.”
“How about at the beginning,” Thea smiled.
Rhea brushed away tears from her swollen, bloodshot eyes and began. The two women talked for most of the long night, Thea, only interrupting to ask a few poignant questions, listened intently to Rhea with a growing sense of desolate foreboding as bleak as the surface of Atlan. Rhea wept anew telling of the reaction of her beloved husband to the birth of his daughters. She trembled at the tale of Cronus becoming more secluded and oppressively grim as each child came into the world. Thea held her tightly to her bosom until Rhea could gather strength to go on.
Rhea spoke of her increasing alarm, overhearing the vicious orders Cronus commanded concerning the Izon, watching as his hatred grew, creating a thundercloud that poured crimson blood over anyone who dare speak against him. When he formed the Black Guard, his poison of fear swept over the entirety of Atlantis, the People now silently moving through streets filled with the fog of dismay. Rhea had hoped that his three beautiful little daughters would brighten Cronus and bring joy to his dismal heart. Instead, they only fueled his fury and despondency.
“He treats me like a filthy duty that must be performed every month, on the same night, his touch like that of a corpse against my skin. When he finishes planting his seed, he rushes out of bed as if the blankets were splotchy with blood. With no more than a miniscule nod and a muttered, ‘I love you’, my husb
and hurries out of the room as if fiendish spirits were chasing after him. I would not be surprised if he scrubbed himself in a hot shower afterward.”
Thea, barely believing the horrific tale, did her best to comfort Rhea. She assured her that somewhere, buried inside, Cronus did love her with all his heart. He always had. Thea promised she, herself, would attend her when the birthing time came. She pledged she would be the one to inform her brother after his son came into the world. With soothing, soft words, Thea wrapped Rhea in a cocoon of love and warm, serene arms, swearing to Rhea that all would be well. Cronus would be gladdened a son was born whom he could teach, love and raise at his side.
“If only it could be so,” Rhea whispered dejectedly in Thea’s gentle embrace. “If he accepts his son at all, I pray to the Creator in fear of what Cronus might teach the boy.”
Then, when Hades was born, Thea kept her vow, just knowing her brother would shine with joy. When she tasted the bitter fury her announcement roused in Cronus, the black hate he almost spewed upon her skin, so shook and taken aback was she that Thea could think of no heartening words or hopeful inspirations to return to Rhea with. Worse of all and cutting furrows into the marrow of her bones and the furthest recesses of her soul, Thea knew, with absolute certainty, all the evil murmurations she had heard of and dismissed as the babble of discontents…were true.
Cronus pounded the polished granite of the wall, howling like a raging animal as bruised and broken knuckles hemorrhaged crimson blood on the shiny wooden floor. His fury exploded out of him like eruptions on a fiery sun. Madness pulled him into a pit of twisting vipers, red, glowing eyes and venom glistening in their wide-open, hungry maws. Words and sane thoughts, shattered by his demonic frenzy into storm-blown fragments, were lost, changed into incomprehensible, savage bellows of rabidity and terror-saturated despair.
The furious tempest slowly abated. Cronus trembled while adrenalin seeped down his form, joining with the wet, sanguinary pool at his feet. His chest heaved, his breath flaring his narrow nostrils like a panting, wild beast. He could not form coherent thought, overtaken by pain and horror, desperately clawing his way from the serpent-filled pit to some type of clarity. His ears roared with a violent, turbulent wind, unable to hear the slightest trace of sound around him.
It seemed like hours before Cronus could push the darkness back into the back of his tortured mind. It took the last of his waning strength to lift the curtain of redness from his vision, to hear the sound of his own racing heart. He shook his fevered head, gazing down at the wreckage of his damaged hands. With labored steps, Cronus moved across the floor, hitting his bed like a giant stone dropped from the sky above. He tried desperately to keep from passing out, waves of pain and nausea rolling him. He centered on a single thought – Rhea’s beautiful, radiant smile, her golden hair flowing down her back, her loving arms outstretched to welcome him in her warm embrace. He bathed in the glow of long-passed memories, the heat of Healing rippling down his sweat-covered body, slowing his hammering heart and wiping the thick fog of red-tinged frenzy from his mind.
Somewhere in the distance, Cronus heard a gentle tap upon his door. He carefully rose up from his damp bed, sliding to the floor, taking hesitant steps that grew stronger the more he moved. By the time he reached the door, he was fully Healed, ready to take on whatever dire matters dared interrupt him from his time alone. His fury fought its chains, yearning to break free, searching for someone or something to tear asunder.
“What is it?” Cronus demanded, almost ripping the heavy, oaken door off its hinges. It crashed against the granite wall and would have knocked Iapetus to the floor had he not moved quickly. “How dare you intrude upon me?”
“Forgive me, Cronus, but I do believe you want to hear this.” Iapetus slid away from Cronus, fighting to keep from running out of these dispiriting chambers, giving him room to pass. Once free of that dark wind, he took his place next to the Harbormaster, crossing his giant arms over his muscled chest. Iapetus calmed himself, diligent to leave no traces of the turmoil curling in his bosom and knotting his stomach into a hard-packed ball. He stood silent, waiting for Cronus to command him.
Cronus stomped his way to the high-backed, black leather chair behind his desk, dropping down, slamming his elbows onto the surface. The illumination in the room was intentionally dim and dusky, the only bright light aimed precisely at the spot where the two men stood.
The Harbormaster shivered where he was told to stand, a few feet back from the massive, ebony, wooded desk in the back of the room, quaking inside, his rigid composure cracking for the first time. The rabid, slathering beast he heard in the bedroom chambers sent cold, deathly palpitations along his spine and tore black holes in his soul. Pleistos summoned all of his iron will to keep his back mainmast straight and his body still. He prayed to the Creator his dread would not show in his eyes.
“Well?” Cronus growled, his mane of red curls swirling around his head like a coil of deadly, writhing snakes. His glowing green eyes fired bolts of icy, cold lightning, stabbing the two men with frigid shockwaves. “What is of such great import?”
“This is Pleistos, the Harbormaster. He has the information you seek.” Iapetus stepped forward and laid the shining pyramid on his desk then silently glided back to his place.
Cronus leaned back in his chair, crossing his large, borithium-corded forearms over a chest almost as gigantic as that of Iapetus. He hid in the gloomy light, barely visible in the dimness. Yet, those eyes! Those eyes of burning jade glowed fiercely in the dark as if to melt Pleistos into a slimy puddle on the floor. In long, eerie silence, Cronus regarded the Harbormaster, taking his measure as if he were a bug about to be squashed under a booted foot. Finally, he pushed himself off the chair, slipped around the desk, seating himself at the front edge, oaken arms locking him in place, merely a foot away from Pleistos.
“Tell me,” Cronus commanded in a malignantly soft voice.
“Sir!” the Harbormaster replied a little too quickly. “Five vessels left the port this night. Two headed east to supply the new outpost with supplies and men. Three headed west to bring Aam and provisions to both the western outpost and the new settlement under construction to the north. Their manifest details are in the files I provided.”
“The names of the ships,” Cronus ordered, his voice dripping lethal quietude. He looked not at the files, just studied the man so rigid before him. He noted the rock-straight stance, bulging muscles so tight they might snap like an over-taunt rope, coils of red curls, not unlike his own, cut short at the shoulders and glistening ocean-green eyes. Cronus sensed the stink of fear just beneath that solid continence, but fought back his growing fury.
“The Night Star and the Ocean Star headed upriver. The Wind Star, Midnight Star and the Northern Star went downriver,” Pleistos answered almost mechanically.
Cronus kept his questions short, the better to gauge the Harbormaster’s responses. His answers were factual and confident, delivered in a tone flat yet firm. However, something gnawed at the back of Cronus’ knife-sharp mind. Pleistos stood as if planted in the hard, wood floor beneath his feet. He remained calm and reserved, only betrayed by small beads of sweat sparkling on his wide brow and a tick at the edge of his jaw under his ear.
“And their Captains?”
“The Night Star is commanded by Captain Azerac, the Ocean Star by Captain Simoeis, the Wind Star by Captain Lianas, the Northern Star by Captain Kaikinos and, lastly, the Midnight Star by Captain Thalassa. All great Captains.” Pleistos did not miss the rising, storm-tossed, deadly tide churning inside Cronus. It was evident in every terse interrogation, in the quiet voice, so like the whispers of a salty breeze heralding a coming gale, in the jade eyes that darkened and flamed with each answer the Harbormaster gave.
“Last question,” Cronus almost whispered, “which ships have nearly half Izon in their crews?”
Pleistos felt his composure cracking under that intense, vehement scrutiny. The inquiry spit upon his ches
t burned more than the most virulent venom. The Harbormaster almost felt his skin melting from his bones beneath his damp clothing. He labored with all of his considerable strength to keep his voice from quaking. He hoped beyond hope his momentary hesitation would go unnoticed.
“All but the Night Star, Lord Father.”
Pleistos felt the jaws of a monstrous serpent lock around his throat, fangs tearing at his skin, blood rivulets oozing down his thick neck. His mouth gaped open, trying desperately, vainly, to suck in some tiny semblance of breath. Rope-callused hands clawed hysterically at the giant, borithium-hard, neck of the beast, seeking to rip free of its deathly grip. He struggled for naught, even his awesome strength useless, no match for the hellish nightmare slowly sucking life from his body. The Harbormaster saw twinkling stars and flashes of miniature lightening burning amid his clouding vision. His struggles quieted as his form went limp, knowing he was about to die.
Somewhere, in that shadowy wasteland between life and death, Pleistos felt himself flying through the air, his listless body crashing down upon the flat, empty plains of Purgatory. The impact jarred his consciousness, mighty chest heaving involuntarily drawing beloved air through his tortured lungs. Despite the agonizing pain the cool air caused his nearly crushed windpipe, he sucked greedily like a newborn at her mother’s breast. Gradually, his feeble mind registered to his awareness that he was not dead, only wishing he were. Pleistos felt his bleary vision begin to clear, the stars and lightening fading, revealing a dusky dawn.
“Get up!” a faint, baritone voice commanded. “Raise yourself before the Lord Father!” roared the growling voice.
Pleistos rose slowly on shaky limbs, nausea curdling his insides, threating to overspill the confines of his mouth. He steadied himself against the hard, cool granite at his back, shaking his foggy head to sharpen his eyes. Strength oozed like thick oil down his screaming muscles, his breath coming in torturous gasps. To his horror, he saw Cronus wiping dark, red blood from his fingertips as casually as one would brush dirt from their hands.
