by Gene Stiles
“I am the law,” Cronus responded, his words as sharp as skinning knives.
“No, you are not,” Themis said coldly. “We are. Or have you forgotten?”
“I do not care,” he bit back. “The Aam are mine. The People are mine. My will is Atlantis.”
“What would you do?” she questioned, allowing the antagonism to drain from her voice. “Would you have the Aam attack or imprison us? Would you have us killed or tortured? Do you think the People would not defy you? Do you not remember what happened when the Izon were in danger? Do you want to try that on a larger scale with all of us opposing you? You may be the Lord Father, but you are only one man. Would you divide all of Atlantis and the world you fought so hard to create?”
“My issues with my wife notwithstanding,” he grumbled, slightly deflated, but still belligerent, “the People will still understand what Pettit means to very their existence. They will rally behind me.”
“Shall we put that to the test?” Themis asked curtly. “Shall we tell them what you have done? Or would you rather we resolve this among us?”
Cronus stared at the traitors amassed before him, allowing his eyes to seek out Rhea standing tall behind them. The serpent coiling inside him sought to break free, to spit acidic venom upon their self-righteous faces, but the Aam in him knew the odds were against him. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them, pulling a new chair to the head of the table. Now was not the time. It would come, but not now. He dropped his body into his seat like a stone and glared at the rest as they slowly reseated themselves.
Rhea burned her eyes into his, striding toward the chamber doors. Her hand on the carved wood, she stopped, her back to the room. Hesitating for a moment, she turned back and met his gaze, a wicked, savage smile playing across her full pink lips.
“What you do not know, Lord Father,” she spit at him, “is that you have another son. He survived your murderous hatred and it is he who will crush you into powdered bones. Fear that, monster. Fear the coming of Zeus!”
Leaving the chamber hushed and Cronus quaking in his chair, Rhea slipped between the doors, out of the Great Pyramid and out of Atlantis forever.
Chapter II
Home was a far different place since the attack sixteen years ago. The squad of twenty Aam sent from Atlantis to establish a new outpost along the Planum River stumbled upon the small town of Aracrate about two hundred miles east of the city where a group of people from overcrowded Home went to establish their own community. When the contingent of ex-Black Guard saw the Izon and their children, they saw slaves for Pettit and a hefty bonus from Cronus in their future. What they did not see until too late was the airship bringing supplies that swooped down upon them as they gleefully burned homes and people. The battle did not last long but a couple of the terrified Aam managed to reach their ship before it was sunk off the coast before it could return to Atlantis. Their near escape sent shockwaves through Home and changed the course of the quiet, peaceful city forever.
“They did not have time to contact Atlantis,” Captain Lianas assured the people gathered in the main hall. “With the wreckage left around the Hecatus Islands, Cronus will assume they were lost at sea.”
“But you cannot be sure,” Shuk responded worriedly. The Izon sailor thought of his six small children playing out in the courtyard under the watchful eye of his lovely wife. He remembered well the hatred Cronus had for his kind. He would not subject his beautiful, innocent sons and daughters to the horror he had survived.
“I will not take that chance. I am old and not the warrior I used to be. I would be of no use in a fight,” he said firmly, brushing his long dark hair over his broad shoulders and out of his deep brown eyes. His wide brow ridge made them seem black as a starless night as he gazed at his thick, powerful hands. “I am sorry, but it is time for us to go.”
“Even if Cronus accepts the loss of his scouts,” Jedidiah interjected, agreeing with his friend, “that does not mean he will not send out more. If they find Home, we are all in dire danger. They got too close this time.”
“Thanks to our trade with Nil,” Haleah countered, loath to break up the wonderful, happy society they all worked so hard to establish, “we are not unarmed. Our weapons are a match for anything he could throw against us. Would you give up all we have built without a fight?”
“I am not afraid of a fight,” Captain Thalassa said, her hands, wide for an Atlantean woman, grasped tightly together between her long, muscled legs. “You all know this. Still, I must concur with my First Mate. Home has gotten too big. We have far too many citizens to protect. It will be easier to find if Cronus truly comes looking. Even with all the warriors we have here, we could never match the numbers of Atlantis. I think it is time we consider moving Home somewhere much farther away.”
The discussion lasted for almost a week, but in the end, most of the city decided to leave. No matter how hard they tried, they could not keep the people together. The Izon, ever the nomads, hungered to search the world for a newer, safer place. Some of the People chose to join them. Others split off to establish their own communities in the endless tracts of uninhabited lands around the globe where they could live in peace. Some, missing the lights and wonders of Atlantis, found homes in outlying cities where they would not be recognized or judged. Over the years, most of the people of Home moved on to greener pastures even though scouts from Atlantis were never seen again.
Haleah walked along the edge of the sandy beach that stretched for miles along the shores of shimmering, cold, blue waters of the lake. The sun baked the azure sky, waves of heat radiating from the golden veldt on her other side. The air smelled moist and thick, fragrant with the scent of myriad wildflowers vibrant with color and life. Her long, slender fingertips floated along the sharp-tipped grasses, a small, contented smile gracing her full, bright pink lips. Childish laughter trailed in her wake broadening her grin and filling her heart with joy.
“Grammy! Grammy! Look what I found!” Little Lorianna ran toward her, hands cupped, long blond ringlets bouncing around her round, cherub face. The youngest child of Haleah’s daughter, Reanna, skipped across the shore like a feather, her bare feet barely touching the hot sand. She was almost breathless by the time she stopped before her Grandmother but continued to chatter happily, showing her prize with pride.
“It is a baby turtle,” Lorianna smiled, marveling at the tiny creature in her palms. “I think it was just born. See how soft it is!”
“It is beautiful, to be sure,” Haleah said with a smile, kneeling down to touch the terrified little thing. “Thank you for showing me. I think it is too young to be so far from the nest, however. Maybe you should put it back so its mother can care for it.”
“I will,” the girl replied, a little crestfallen, but still happy. “I just wanted you to see first.”
“And I thank you for that, my dear.” Haleah rumpled her curls, placing a soft hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It is amazing to touch a fresh gift from the Creator. May I walk with you while you take it home? I’d love to see the nest.”
“Oh, yes, yes,” Lorianna laughed, brightening once again. She held the turtle carefully in one hand, using her other to pull Haleah toward the beach. “There are bunches more eggs there. I bet there will be a hundred babies before long! Come see! Come see!”
Haleah allowed herself to be tugged along, grinning at the childish exuberance. Once again, she thought of how blessed she was to see the wonders of the world through the fresh eyes of a child. The most mundane of things, long ignored by adulthood, became new and miraculous through the mind of the young. Simple things like the sensation of soft blades of grass touching pink, wrinkled toes for the first time or the sounds of brightly colored birds singing in the trees seemed astounding. Eyes wide, mouth open, children saw fish swimming in a clear, cold pond or sniffed the blossoms of a fragrant flower. The renewal of wonder was the greatest gift a child could give.
“Are you bothering your Grammy?” Reanna grinned, seeing
the two sitting on the sand staring into a depression near the lapping water. Her sandaled feet, laced up to mid-calf, were wet and caked with moist dirt. The turquoise cotton shift she wore had patches of wet sand and grass stains on the knees anyway so she dropped to the ground next to her daughter.
“Oh, not at all,” Haleah laughed, lightly touching her daughter’s arm.
“We found turtles, momma,” Lorianna grinned joyously, pointing at the eggs that rocked and cracked within the pit.
“I see. Amazing, are they not?”
“Oh, yes!”
“As astounding as they are, do you not think it is time to have some lunch with the rest of us?” Reanna asked, brushing the sand from her knees as she rose to her feet.
“But more are being born right now,” Lorianna said in a hushed tone. “I want to watch to see how many there are!”
“Come.” Haleah smiled warmly. “They will be here later. Let us eat.”
“Alright,” the little girl sighed dejectedly, “but can I come back later?”
“We shall see,” her mother replied softly, her full pink lips curled in a small smile. She reached out her hand to take the little fingers and drew her daughter to her, hugging her tightly before turning back along the beach. “We shall see.”
Lelantos lifted the cooled, curved metal from the mold, grabbing each end in his huge, powerful hands and arced them toward him. He nodded to himself, immensely satisfied with the tensile strength of his newest design. The flattened metal was thick at the center where thin layers of borithium were welded together in overlapping tiles that stopped a third of the way from center to end. The casted shape had a width of about five inches in the center but tapered to a single inch at the tips. It was six inches thick in the middle and thinned to only an inch after the tiling. The design bowed slightly inward from the halfway point but curved in the opposite direction at the tips.
Lelantos placed the still warm, golden object on his counter and sucked hot, humid air through his flared nostrils. He wiped away curled locks of auburn hair that matted his strong cheeks and high forehead, untying the wide leather band that was supposed to keep it from his eyes as he worked. He ran his fingers down the smooth edges of his project as a lover would caress their mate, smiling thinly with pride.
He waited until it cooled completely then went to work on the finish. When completed, the metal was polished and burnished to a bright, golden hue. It was about six foot from end to end, the curve kept in place by a thin, taunt twist of metal wire. It tapered from tip to tip, thicker in the center where the tiles overlapped, which was wrapped with thin strips of leather that was bound together to form a handgrip. Above the grip, the metal was notched and smoothed flat on one side. Lelantos lifted four shafts of borithium nearly four-foot long and tipped on one end with sharpened, slightly spiraled pyramids almost half the size of a hand of an Izon. Three feathers, spaced apart, were near the notch that tipped the other end.
Lelantos drew the feathered end of the shaft backward until the nock slipped over the string at its exact center. He lifted the weapon, holding it straight out before him with his left arm until the shaft aimed directly at a small oak about three hundred yards away. His raptor-sharp, hazel eyes picked a spot in the center of the tree trunk about halfway between the ground and the first layer of heavily leafed branches. The muscles of his right arm bunched and rippled, the thick tendons standing out like corded rope as he pulled the thin metal string all the way back to his high cheekbone. With a sharp twang and the snapping of metal springs, Lelantos let go of the twisted strand.
Faster than any eye could follow, the shaft ripped through the warm afternoon breeze. A crack like a bolt of lightning filled the air and an explosion of oaken splinters erupted from the tree. The top half, laden with branches of wide green leaves, twisted to one side and toppled over with a snap of tortured wood. The sound made the Lelantos jump as if a hungry predator had pounced right behind him. Smiling at his own reaction, he headed toward the tree.
When he reached the base of the oak, he saw the shaft had split the tree in two, passing through three more trees and beyond to penetrate a larger tree up to the feathered end. Lelantos grabbed the feathered end protruding from the tree and pulled. His shining hazel eyes widened as he realized it took much of his prodigious strength to extract the shaft from its wooden prison.
‘Perfect’, he thought, an impish grin upon his finely chiseled features, more than satisfied with his creation. He noted the sharp tip was torn off the shaft and remained embedded in the massive tree. The feathers were flattened and wet from the lifeblood of the smaller oaks. Other than that, his ‘aero’ was unharmed by the impact. Leaving his newest invention in his shop, Lelantos mounted his sled and headed for the gathering at his friend’s home. ‘Morpheus will be impressed,’ he thought happily as the wind whipped his long auburn hair. ‘Very impressed.’
Morpheus sat in a padded oak chair on the long, covered porch that fronted the family lodge facing the lake, his booted feet resting on a matching footstool. The gentle, warm breeze coming in from the water rustled his long, wavy, black hair that hung loose over his broad, flat shoulders. The heat of the day felt good on the skin exposed around his black leather vest and between the laces that lay loose against his muscled chest. Pure contentment beamed over his handsome, sharply planed face as he gazed out at his girls and grandchildren bustling around the two long tables laying out plates and a wide array of aromatic brazed meats and steamed vegetables. Laughter tickled the air along with the scent of fresh, hot bread rolls as his neighbors gathered around fire pit ovens or played with their little ones along the sandy shoreline. Nothing could break the joyousness of such a perfect day.
“If your grin gets any bigger, your face will split in two,” Lelantos laughed, stepping up onto the porch and plopping his eight-foot-four frame into a paddy rocker next to Morpheus. The golden flecks in his rich, hazel eyes caught the sunlight, sparkling with good humor. Waves of shiny auburn hair cascaded down Lelantos’ wide, square shoulders and down to his narrow waist. The cords of muscled rippling along his darkly tanned body glistened with a light sheen of sweat having stood so close to the brazing venison sizzling on the cooking grill.
“How could life be better than this?” Morpheus queried, gratefully taking the offered tankard of dark ale his friend handed him. “A perfect day. A perfect family. Perfect friends…present company excluded, of course,” he said, glancing at Lelantos.
“And I thank you for that,” his friend replied gaily, sipping the enticingly bitter, heady ale in his big maw. “If I were as perfect as you, your daughter would never be able to stand me. I do not know how Haleah puts up with your greatness,” he said with a sigh and a sad shake of his head.
“It is a great burden,” Haleah quipped, coming up behind the men, stopping to kiss Lelantos on his damp forehead. “It took me years to overcome. If not for my daughters, well who knows.”
“Speaking of daughters,” she added, seating herself on the other side of Morpheus, “how is Celessa doing? I have not seen much of her this last week.”
“She has her hands full with the boys,” Lelantos laughed loudly. “They always seem to be getting into one kind of trouble or another or getting hurt tumbling through the woods. They live on curiosity but sometimes put their heads where they do not belong.”
“Sounds just like their father,” Haleah grinned. “How is your newest invention coming?”
“Very well,” he beamed. “You shall all be truly and appropriately impressed. I am just that good.”
“But of course,” Morpheus replied, shaking his head. “How could we not?”
After the late afternoon repast, once things were cleaned and remainders put away to snack on later, the community gathered in leisurely groups, happily relaxing with good conversation and good friends. Many of the younger children, exhausted from the day, napped upon thick blankets spread upon the thick, trimmed, green grass.
“We have achieved paradis
e,” Captain Kaikinos rumbled, contentedly patting his rounded, overstuffed belly. His billow-sleeved, deep V blouse was covered with juice stains that dripped from his thick, curly black beard. Kaikinos brushed crumbs of bread from his massive, dark-skinned chest and the nest of tight black curls that matted it.
“This is truly Home,” Haleah agreed readily, brushing her golden-blond hair from her face. “That is why I could not leave during the exodus. I am glad so many decided to stay. We live in peace, untouched by the atrocities we hear of throughout the world. We have the best of neighbors and all the good things the Creator can provide. I would live in no other place.”
“Still,” Captain Simoeis added, brushing back his long, red-tinted, brown locks, “I do miss our Izon brethren. I am saddened most of them decided to leave. I believe we are the poorer for it.”
“And the rest reside at the Retreat over fifty miles from here,” Neilos interjected, squatting near the fire, the flames dancing in his jade-flecked, blue eyes. He used a long branch to stir the embers in the pit sending yellow and red sparks crackling into the evening air.
Neilos stood up, stretching his seven-foot frame, spreading his arms and absently flexed his muscle-defined arms. His lips were quirked in a lopsided, slightly sad smile as he gazed toward the Merilic Mountains far to the northeast. The warm evening breeze rippled his burgundy, billowy-sleeved blouse, the laces of the deep V hanging loose and untied. He dusted the sand off his black leather breeches, wiping the dirt from his feet before pulling on his calf-high, black boots. With a deep sigh, he found a spot on a gnarled log and stared out at the small, gentle waves kissing the shoreline.
“I have to admit,” he continued wistfully, “I grew quite fond of the Clan after our escape from Atlantis. So much I have learned from them!”