by Gene Stiles
Under the watchful eye of black-uniformed Aam, a group of nearly a hundred children walked the grand concourse, shuffling nervously toward the Great Pyramid. Even from this distance, the Twelve could see their heads swiveling around them as they gazed in awe-struck wonder at the crystal spires of the golden city. The People lined the walkways, their numbers growing by the moment as they filled the streets and alleyways, staring at the passing adolescents and following behind them on their course to the city center.
‘This cannot be good,’ Cronus thought harshly just before the main chamber doors split open and two breathless guards burst in.
“Lord Father,” one shouted, his words coming in ragged gasps, the whites of his eyes wide and fearful, “Pettit has fallen.”
“Now we shall see what the People think of your grand experiment,” Hyperion sneered, a wry smile touching the corners of his full, almost-feminine lips. His emerald eyes glinted in the light of the sun shining through the tinted windows, not with humor, but with an almost sadistic glee.
Over the past few decades, since Rhea had been forced to return to Cronus, Hyperion became more and more sullen. Gone was the lighthearted boyishness, the quick wit and playful smiles. The tight curls of his oiled, midnight-black hair seemed to have lost some of their luster, no longer bouncing with each carefree step. Even his garish outfits had disappeared, replaced by more conservative colors and cuts. The only place he seemed somewhat himself was at the Wind Song and even there those who knew him saw his gayety and laughter was forced and unreal. Without Rhea, a part of Hyperion had died.
These days, whenever he was not at his nightclub, Hyperion spent all of his time in the company of old, bent Coeus at the observatory studying the movements of the planets, moons and stars. In their progression through the universe, he found a steadiness, a purpose and a meaning to existence. In the brightness of the stars, he saw the shimmering light that once burned in the eyes of Rhea, his love. In the pitch-black darkness of the vastness of space, he saw the cold, empty heart of Cronus.
“The People understand,” Cronus snapped back, tired of this same old discussion, tired of his methods being questioned. “They know our numbers were dwindling and something had to be done. The Nephilim have been scattered throughout the empire for over a hundred years, welcomed into the homes of childless families. They are loved and cherished as if they are of one blood. There shall be no problems.”
“I would not be so sure of that,” Themis countered, her words as chipped as the sparks in her bright green eyes. Her long, honey-blond hair hung over her right shoulder bound in its usual tight braid and coiled upon her lap as a snake around a warm stone. When at last she raised her head, her beautiful oval face was marred by deep lines of barely contained fury.
“Word of your barbaric compound has spread across the empire faster than a brushfire in a dry grassland.” Themis spit the words at Cronus as venom from a viper. “Comlinks are ablaze with the atrocities you committed there, the horror your put our women through and stories of their broken bodies and shattered minds. I and other of the members of this very table have gone to that monstrous place and seen with our own eyes the vileness you have perpetrated in our name. Holos of the filthy pens and bloodied cells now blanket the airwaves. Do you really think the People will ever forgive you for such a heinous, grotesque crime?”
“How dare you!” Cronus bellowed, coming to his feet, his knuckles balled and white upon the table. His massive chest heaved, every muscle rippling in high relief against his copperish skin. The corded sinew along his bulging forearms tremored as he leaned upon them. “I degreed the valley off limits to everyone! I posted Black Guard at every entrance! Who are you to ignore and repudiate my commands?”
“We are the Twelve,” Themis threw back at him, matching his stance, her fiery rage smashing into the flames glowing within his eyes. “Your Aam have no authority over us. We speak for the People, not for the twisted ideals of one man. Not even you!”
“Guards!” Cronus screamed, rearing to his full height, his golden-red hair swirling around his gargantuan form. The two Aam stationed outside burst through the doors, their sidearms at the ready. “Take her!”
“I would not attempt that,” Oceanus replied icily, slipping the CL pistol from his waistband and laying it upon the table. Hyperion, Tethys, and Themis’ twin sister, Thea all followed suit, laying weapons upon the glossy wood, not pointing them anywhere, but keeping them just within hand’s reach.
“You brought arms into this sacred chamber?” Iapetus asked coldly, his black eyes narrowed, thick arms crossed over his broad, rock-like chest. His quick mind calculated the odds of neutralizing the threat without an all-out battle and loss of life. The chances were not good.
“We anticipated such a reaction,” Oceanus replied softly, his dark mahogany eyes as flat as a sheet of polished crystal.
The guards hesitated, their eyes wide, the barrels of the guns aimed at the floor. They glanced apprehensively around the table, their bewildered gazes flitting from Cronus to the rest of the council. They were loyal to the Lord Father, but also to the Twelve and the People of Atlantis. Never had they been placed in a situation requiring them to choose between one of the three.
“Leave us,” Iapetus ordered calmly as the men faltered, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Grateful for the reprieve, they hurried from the room, quickly closing the great doors behind them. Cronus glared at him but said nothing.
Mnemosyne rose slowly, her shimmering auburn hair flowing around her shoulders as she moved. She stood with careful deliberation, her melodic voice tranquil and serene, washing over the crackling tension like a gentle summer breeze. She prayed her words could soothe and pacify, alleviating the passions before things turned violent.
“What is done is done,” Mnemosyne whispered just low enough that everyone’s attention would be turned toward her instead of each other. “Despite our opinions on his methods, Cronus has done what he thought best for the continuation of our species.” She raised her hand to stop the rising babble before it could get out of hand. “Now we must deal with the aftermath. We can only do that as one. Or would you rather see all of Atlantis as divided as those of us in this room? We must work together or all we have accomplished in this world will be destroyed.”
“It may be too late,” Thea scowled, slipping her pistol back beneath the folds of her robe. “Atlantis is already splintering. Families with Nephilim children are being harassed and attacked. The children of Pettit are outcasts with nowhere to go. They are afraid and lost. What is to be done with them?”
“Why would they be shunned?” Cronus bit sharply. “They are Atlanteans, perfect in every way. They are the equal of any of us.”
“Are they?” Mnemosyne responded a little too casually. Her cinnamon eyes sweeping over the faces gathered around her. “No matter what I may think personally, you have taught the People to hate the Izon. You have portrayed them as bestial creatures, cunning and vicious. Your treatment of them shows that you think less of them than the dirt beneath your boots. Your actions against them displays to all your utter contempt for the Clan. You killed them, drove them from Atlantis, enslaved them and have harassed and butchered them wherever they have been found.”
“Now,” Mnemosyne continued in the shocked silence of the room, “you tell the People to accept these children as not only as pure Atlanteans but as the saviors of our race. You want them to forget these are the scions of what you, yourself, called savage abominations of the true species of People born through the forced rape of our women. You are indeed foolish if you think the People will see them in any way other than what you have taught them to.”
“Then there are those you call ‘Mags’,” she added, her voice steady and logical, devoid of the passions burning deeply in her troubled soul. “What place do these half-breeds have in this world? How will either the Izon or the People react to them once their heritage is known?”
Mnemosyne let her words sink in for a few
moments, noting that even Cronus said nothing, his brain whirling with the truth and implications of her comments. The set of his lips and the furrows in his wide forehead told her these were aspects he had never considered.
“The hard truth is that we need these children,” Mnemosyne continued, seeing the confusion upon the faces of her brothers and sisters at her sudden change of tact. “No pure Atlantean child has been born in over a hundred years. The Nephilim truly are the salvation of our race. They must be protected, cherished and loved, for, I promise you, if they are not, they will learn a hatred of their own and it will not be directed at the Izon. It will be directed at us.”
Chapter VI
Life in Atlantis was not going the way sixteen-year-old Anak had been taught it would and he knew not why. He more than surpassed all of the standards for a Nephilim from his muscular, well-defined, seven-foot-six-inch body and majestically handsome face to his sharp, quick and intelligent mind. His amber hued eyes glistened with the same inner light that infused his perfectly shaped, tawny-colored lips with a warm, impish smile. His lightly curled, luminescent sorrel locks were trimmed just enough to flow over his flat, broad shoulders to just between his shoulder blades. His smooth, burnished bronze skin was lightly covered with a thin blanket of almost golden hair like the fur of a mountain cat. Anak moved with a feline grace that drew many an admiring glance as he walked the crowded streets and boulevards of the city of lights. All should be perfect. So why did he feel so edgy?
Alcmene and Collosto walked a little ahead of him gawking at the storefronts, the multitudes of wares and the vast variety of clothing styles rendered in colorful patterns and exotic materials. They seemed impervious to the whispers from hand-covered mouths, the disgusted glances cast in their direction or even the piteous sadness in many faces that passed them by. Bubbling, childish laughter and awe-struck mutterings burst from their lips and swirled in the bright, warm, sunny air around them, their eyes twinkling with excitement at each new wondrous discovery.
Anak noticed the stir and reactions their foray among the Atlanteans was causing and they distressed him greatly. Even though for the first time in his young life, no armed Black Guard nor stern-faced women accompanied them wherever they went, he still felt like a frightened animal caged for the observation and study of a curious populace.
The children of Pettit had resided in Atlantis for over a month now and still remained in a group home near the Great Pyramid, the families with whom they were supposed to reside hesitant to take in the products of that repugnant, depraved valley. Having been forbidden to enter the end of the compound that held the breeding pens, they had been shielded from the atrocities committed there. They heard only rumors which were quickly squashed and discounted by the Mothers who raised them. Yet, here among the People, it seemed they were judged by actions of which they had no knowledge.
Not that they were ill-treated or abused here. On the contrary, the men and women that interacted with them at the home were kind, gentle and loving. The children wanted for nothing, given the best of food, clothing and entertainment. Their teachers were impressed with their breadth of knowledge and praised them constantly while imparting new information on everything from science to society, history to technology. Anak and his brothers and sisters were free to choose what they wanted to learn, when they wanted to learn it and where they wanted to go. Doors to schooling or their rooms were never locked. Nowhere except the upper floors of the Great Pyramid was off limits to them.
Still, Anak felt trapped and afraid. His sharp hearing picked up the murmured words ‘aberrations’, ‘abominations’, ‘beasties’ and ‘monstrosities’ thrown at their backs whenever they were outside. Fights had broken out between some of his brethren and people on the streets that did not end well for either side. By order of the Lord Father, the Nephilim were not to be assaulted verbally nor physically under penalty of severe punishment. That did not endear them to the citizens of the city, but only added to the silent hostility and antagonism aimed their way. Then there was the man who freed them. Though for some strange reason, his name never said aloud, something about him sent chills through every single citizen of Atlantis and Anak did not understand why.
‘Maybe Eriktis was right,’ Anak thought glumly, keeping one careful eye upon Alcmene and Collosto and the other wary eye on the people shifting around them. ‘Maybe, like so many others, we should have gone with Zeus.’
Eriktis never knew such pure, unadulterated happiness was even possible. He stood at the top of the Pyramid of Nil surrounded by rich and colorful gardens of flower-covered vines intricately woven through arches of latticed white-painted wood and winding, pebbled paths. Nature’s rich perfume of carefully tended wildflowers filled the warm, breezy air around him and seemed to seep into his bronzed skin, pleasantly staining it with sweet smelling aromas.
A brilliant, yellow-red sun rose high in a turquoise sky banded with wispy streaks of high-level clouds of the thinnest gossamer. Off in the distance, a range of tall, snowcapped mountains glistened like scattered diamonds in the bright, golden rays. To the west, a vast patchwork of well-tended farmlands lay like a soothing blanket of color designed by a master weaver, dotted with beautiful homes and small groves of dark green trees.
Around the base of the pyramid, a beautiful city arose from the landscape, spread out in a series of concentric squares, straight line spokes of smooth-stoned streets and boulevards fanning out in every direction. Tall spires of glass and steel lifted like fingers toward the heavens as if reaching for the Creator’s blessing. Interspersed among them, buildings of elegantly carved stone and beautifully stained wood lined the roadways, designed by a master architect. Within the outer squares, quaint homes and huge mansions of painted wood and polished marble mingled together in a vast variety of styles that complimented each other without conflict, much like the astounding people who lived here. The overall effect was glorious and beautiful without equal except when compared to the young woman at his side.
“Did you ever dream that such a place could exist anywhere in this world?” she asked, her tinkling voice filled with awe-struck wonder.
Loren leaned her head against his brawny chest, the dark waves of her mahogany hair soft upon his exposed flesh. She cuddled beneath the strong embrace of his muscular arm, her own arms wrapped around his narrow waist.
“No, I did not,” Eriktis smiled, looking down into her beautiful, oval, upraised face. He brushed wind-blown strands from her sparkling, dark hazel eyes with the tips of his fingers and kissed her wide forehead softly. “But the best part is that I can be with you always.”
“There you go just thinking of your own desires,” she chided playfully, patting him upon his chiseled bosom. Her childish laughter wafted across his ears like the sweetest of birdsongs, a quirky little grin upon her small pink lips.
“And yours as well, I hope,” Eriktis replied happily. “Or would you rather I had gone to Atlantis with the others and left you to your many other suitors?”
“And there are so many,” Loren giggled. “You should be grateful I chose to stay with such an overgrown lug like you.”
“Oh, I am, dear one,” he said, nodding his head sagely, his azure eyes glistening in the sunshine. “I thank you so much for picking such an ugly brute to spend your time with.”
“You are not all that bad,” Loren conceded, stepping back to survey his tall, sinew-sculpted body, the long, gold-streaked, wavy locks that cascaded down his square-shouldered back and his incredibly handsome, artistically rendered face.
Eriktis placed his massive fists upon his wide hips and puffed up his chest, looking sternly into the distance. His legs, as thick as the trunks of a young oak, were spread slightly, the suntanned skin glimmering beneath the beige skirt he wore that fell to mid-thigh. He wore a collarless, sleeveless russet tunic that opened in a wide V down to the ripples of his carved abdomen. The laces of his thick-soled sandals wrapped like spider webs up his bulging calves to just beneath his kne
es.
Loren walked around him, her slightly pointed chin cupped in her hand, her eyes narrowed as if she were assessing his worth. The occasional hum came through her parted lips as she made unspoken judgments upon his form. Finally, she looked up into his sharply planned features and smiled mischievously.
“You will do,” she said flatly. “I could do better, but you will do.”
“Vixen,” he responded, picking her up and twirling her around in a circle, “you could never do better than me!”
“Put me down, beast,” she squealed delightedly. “Put me down!”
“Put her down,” a mocking voice said from behind them. “Put her down before you break her. She is far too tiny to be treated thus.”
Loren turned her head as Eriktis gently sat her on the manicured grass. Xavier walked toward them upon the white stone path, his night-black eyes flickering with good humor. His tall, sinewed body was wrapped in light brown breeches tucked beneath calf-high, brown boots and a deeply cut tunic that fought to contain he ebony-skinned muscles. Tightly curled, black ringlets surrounded his square-shaped head, trimmed around his face and cut just below his almost non-existent neck. A simple band of onyx leather kept it away from his wide, slightly sloped forehead and thick, bushy eyebrows.
“I am not as fragile as you might think,” Loren said, her voice warm and friendly. “What brings you to these lofty heights,” she asked Xavier, “when you could have your fat fingers buried in loamy soil?”
“Fat? There is no fat on this body,” he grinned, flexing his powerful forearms. “Besides, I was requested to bring you to an assemblage in the great house the Lord Ra built for us.” In a more serious tone, Xavier added, “I believe it is time to decide where we shall go from here.”