by James, Ranay
The boy, only hours old, still pink from the difficult birth, matched her cries piercing the blackness of the Mediterranean night. “You cannot take him from me!” she screamed as they ripped him from her embrace.
“We can. We will. As it is written, so it shall be done.”
The disembodied voices of the masked wizards ran cold through her veins. Melitta knew these figures were more than just flesh and bone; the wizard’s mystique was deeply embedded into the Minoan culture and psyche. They were mystic creatures from Atlantis who were rarely seen and dared only to venture out on extraordinary occasions. Their presence in her chambers confirmed how monumental this birth was to the Brotherhood of the Wizard Warriors.
Melitta wept as she collapsed back on the lush fabric of the pillows. She prayed this day would never come, as she felt the life grow within her. She had spent nine months in denial. She could deny it no more, and all the wealth they possessed would never change the present or the future.
Lysander stroked his beloved’s head, comforting his wife as she clung weakly to the front of his tunic.
He felt deep guilt for his part in his wife’s sorrow. It was all because of him that the boy was now out of their reach.
Helplessly they watched the child, created out of the love they felt for each other, disappear past the curtain of the sleeping chamber, each understanding they would never see their son again.
“Damn you to the bowels of Tartarus!” she yelled after the hooded priestesses, damning them to hell. “May you rot with that bastard Kronos!”
“Not likely,” the self-righteous reply faded into the distance.
They were simply faceless, heartless thieves in her mind, white-clad specters stealing into the night coming for the hearts and souls of the innocent, and all could be justified in the name of keeping mankind safe.
“It is fated, wife. He is my first born.” Lysander knew it was hollow comfort.
The boy would be their only child, making this even more painful. It was doubtful that Lysander would walk again from the injuries he sustained. He was lucky just to be alive from the falling debris that almost killed him during the last earthquake. Those quakes, coming with greater frequency and ferocity, were a warning he gladly would have heeded weeks past if Melitta’s condition had allowed them to travel. Now, he felt his own vigor weakening just as the volcano on Thira was strengthening. He was dying and he knew it. Without the child, Melitta would be alone once he was gone.
Lysander petitioned the Brotherhood to make an exception, allowing the child to remain. The wizard’s Council of Nine sympathized, but was unrelenting, understanding, but unmoving. This child would carry on the destiny meant for the line of the Brotherhood.
The child belonged to the wizards from this point forward. In truth, the boy was theirs from the moment of conception.
“Melitta, the boy is safer with the wizards, away from the sea,” he said with conviction.
The volcano was reawakening, angry at the waste and decadence the Minoans displayed. The vast and superior knowledge bestowed upon them was being squandered for their own decadent, self-indulgent pleasures, going unused for the betterment of all mankind.
This was a condition in the Treaty of the Sidhe Fae, a magic and mystical people. This treaty, mediated by the wizards on behalf of the human race and the Sidhe, was brokered more than a dozen millennium past.
The Sidhe Fae people, led by the Titan Kronos, wanted two things the wizards could give them: First was immortality.
The exchange conditions were very clear.
The Sidhe, in exchange for this long life, granted the Minoan ancestors untold wealth and superior talents, surrendering to them superior knowledge in science and engineering with abilities in music, math, and art greater then the world had never seen before or since.
The wizards, believing great knowledge and wealth demanded great responsibility, required the Minoan ancestors, as part of the bargain, to use the wealth and talents to better the world not just themselves. In exchange for these talents and worldly riches, the wizards granted to the Sidhe and their king long life, almost to the point of immortality.
In spite of the fact the King wanted what was best for his people, they, the Sidhe Fae, wanted something else as well as this long life. They did not ask for an eternal soul, or the ability to feel joy or love as the king encouraged, for they saw no gain in such things.
They wanted magic.
So grave was this request that the wizards had to ponder this point for one thousand years before they finally agreed. However, there were strict conditions levied on the Sidhe, for great talent required great responsibility.
The Sidhe Fae people were never to use this magic in the light of day nor were they to ever harm or mislead a human.
They were never to use it to rob anyone of his free will.
They were never to present themselves in any form other than who they were.
In addition, the Sidhe had to relinquish their dominion of the upper world where they had reigned supreme for a million years. They took as their own the territory of the uncharted lands west of the Prime Meridian in the lands beyond the Pillars of Hercules, far to the west.
The king agreed on behalf of the Sidhe Fae and retreated into the underworld by day and was rarely seen even at night.
For the Wizard’s part in the treaty negotiations, being singularly unmoved by the martial wealth and knowledge offered by King Kronos, they demanded only a single thing as payment for their efforts: to jealously guard and defend the treaty should the Sidhe Fae ever think to break it.
So out of this treaty with the Sidhe Fae, the Brotherhood of the Wizard Warriors was born. His son would be one of the warriors and no hope or wish would change the destiny or path of his child.
All Brothers were pure in heart, keeping their souls clean abhorring injustice and evil doers. The Protectors were not simply warriors, but the true pinnacle of goodness and heroic standard. In order to have this pure in heart vessel, the child must be trained from birth, free of all distractions. Training was the total focus for these children, and for some it was a higher calling, a destiny going beyond just their birth order.
Even after twenty years of training, Lysander was just a page having never even reached full warrior status before his accident. Of those who would reach full warrior status, only a chosen few would ever transcend to the next level of Protector. Surpassing the status of warrior, they gained an even higher level of perfection in heart, mind, and soul. These chosen few gained the personal favor of the wizards.
It was alleged that any warrior born with the mark of the Protector was anointed with a mantel of magic to keep him safe in times of war and hardship. It gave him the ability to see through the Sidhe magic to level the field. It gave him super human strength to help those in need.
Lysander’s heart swelled with pride even as his eye filled with tears. His son would be one of the elite thrust to the front lines as the first wall of protection and last line of defense. He hoped his son never had to go to war with the beings now ruling and dominant in the lands beyond the Pillars.
There had never been all out war with the Sidhe. The king understood it was not in the Sidhe’s best interest. Nevertheless, the warriors had defended the treaty on seven separate occasions against various rogue bands. Often there was no bloodshed once the Protectors were unleashed. Surrender was usually immediate. Turning the violators over to the king was said to be far worse punishment than any human sentence could offer.
The Protectors were a reminder to the Fae and their king.
That reminder? Never forget.
The Brotherhood is a necessary evil to protect a greater good. He understood. In time Melitta would as well.
This child was not theirs, but the servant of all mankind.
“We knew, Melitta, we knew,” he whispered a second time as if repeating it might ease him.
“And that is to ease my broken heart?” she sobbed wondering how she would ever ge
t past the pain she felt in her heart and the rending pain in her soul.
“You know we must let the boy go, it is custom, and our duty to the Brotherhood. I am one of them, honor bound.”
It sounded hollow even to his ears.
Some brethren are called to it. Some are born to it. Blessed is he who is both.
He saw the mark on his son, acknowledging his destiny for greatness.
His son’s fate was sealed. It was sealed within the very blood which coursed through his veins. The first-born child of the first-born child of each Brother was relinquished to the wizards for training. It had been so for over twelve thousand years. The chain had never been broken and it would not happen this day.
“Men and their damned honor!” Melitta struck him a glancing blow out of guilt and grief. “This is my flesh and blood, my baby. He is gone, and you care not!”
She knew the words were not true even as she clutched his tunic, balling the fine fabric into her manicured hands burying her face into his shoulder for comfort.
“That is not fair, Wife. I love you and we made that child together.”
Lysander paused. He did care about his child. He cared deeply, aching, knowing he had glimpsed his son’s fate, but would never know the man. “I care enough to give him up. It is his destiny, Melitta. The Oracles have spoken.”
“Must we give him up?” The hope in her voice tore a wide hole through his heart as she looked up at him. So much hope was reflected there and he had so little to give.
“You know we must.” He stroked her beautiful face knowing he would love this woman forever and he would lay down his life for her. But as much as he loved her, this was one thing he could never give to her or give to himself. The boy belonged to the world. His destiny was to protect and to serve mankind with his blood and shield.
“Maybe it is not too, late. Maybe they would make an exception,” Melitta begged Lysander to consider asking the Council of Nine one more time before it was, too late. “You are one of them.”
Silently, he shook his head. “All the more reason they cannot.”
Melitta cried harder as she leaned over the balcony begging Poseidon to raise the Aegean Sea to swallow her whole along with her grief.
“Careful what you wish for, Melitta. Fate is a fickle force that one should never trifle with, not even in grief.” He felt the prick of fear surge through his veins. She hit very close to home wishing for the very thing he feared was going to come to pass.
“He is my child, Lysander. How can you expect me to just let him go?”
“We must trust the wizards. They know what they are doing.”
She stayed at the balcony praying for one final glimpse of the trio before they boarded the boat. The act was totally in vain. Her child was gone, but would never be forgotten. Forbidden or not, she had given her child a name and sealed it into the mosaic family tree. Disguised as a symbol, they would never know she had committed the forbidden sin.
Her azure blue eyes bright as the sea itself filled with tears. She did not bother to stop them. Resigned, they watched the boat disappear into the column of steam and ash rising from the island of Thira just seventy miles away to the north. It was eerie, yet beautiful, in the light of the full moon.
He was still in contact with a few Brothers within the sect. According to his sources the wizard’s plan was to abandon Thira and Crete forever. The Council of Nine had gathered the whole of the Brotherhood in Knossos from all four corners of the known world to discuss their plans for a new beginning.
He prayed they left soon following the wizard’s lead. To be gathered all at once was a serious risk to take and he wondered about the wisdom of the Council of Nine to make such a grave tactical maneuver. The rumbling of the earth just solidified his belief. Surely the wizards knew the island was not safe or maybe they just did not care.
The next morning at dawn he awoke to see more ships leaving with the tide. He counted one hundred and fifty ships still at anchor. By his calculations that meant eighty-eight percent of the Brotherhood were still there.
“Fools!” His fear escalating as he watched provisions being carried to each ship at a pace even he could have managed. “Can’t you see?” he spoke to the wind. “You must hurry! Leave this place of the damned before it is too late.”
Even the locals had taken to the sea, evacuating days ago and in some cases weeks past. The island was almost empty of inhabitants.
Was the Brotherhood and Council of Nine so smug as to think they were immune to the dangers even simple fisher folk could see?
Turning back and away from the sea, he faced his wife. “Melitta, it is time. The servants are waiting for you at the dock.”
“I will have the men come help lift your litter and take us to the ship,” she said turning to leave their quarters.
He grabbed her wrist keeping her from leaving. “No, Wife.” He shook his head resolute in his decision. “I am staying until the last Brother has left us. I may be broken in body, but in mind and soul I am still one of them.”
Melitta understood what he was saying. To stay at this point could be suicide. She lifted her chin in defiance of the sea and angry volcano. She loved him and she would face this by his side.
“If you stay then I stay,” she said calmly, oddly feeling at peace with her decision.
“Are you insane? No, I forbid it! Argyros!” he yelled for his faithful manservant. He would have her removed by force if that was what it took to save her. He had been a fool not to see this coming. He should have seen her to the ship and safely aboard before he revealed his plans to remain behind. With him gone she would be a wealthy widow. She could seek another husband. He hated the idea, but wanted her to have a life he could no longer give her. He was dying.
“No, Lysander.” She came to sit on the edge of his litter, softly stroking his beautiful, rich ebony hair. “I am staying. We will either survive this together or we will die together. Without you I am dead anyway.”
Lysander freed his household giving each enough to start a fresh life wherever the tides took them. Six chose to stay. Seventeen chose to go. Stowed aboard the Wizard’s ship, one followed the child at Melitta’s command.
And on the morning of the second day standing on the balcony supported by his wife, Lysander held Melitta tightly as Thira erupted in a manifestation of power and enormity no man living or dead has ever seen before or since. They knew there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. The wine cellar was the best they could manage.
The collapse of the caldera produced a tsunami three hundred feet high reaching them in less than seven minutes wiping the lingering fleet of Atlantis and the Minoan civilization of Crete totally from the face of the earth.
It would be another thirty-five hundred years before Lysander and Melitta’s story would come to light.
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