Colony - Nephilim

by Gene Stiles

  “Thank you, sir,” Isis replied as she shifted away from the area, making her way toward the old pavilion that was now used as the royal palace where Ra awaited them.

  “I do not believe they are for offices,” he continued, catching the mouth-watering aromas of baked goods and brazing meats as they entered the market section of the city. “There are no windows. May I ask their purpose?”

  “Communications,” was all Isis would say, a hint of mischievous mystery coloring her words as she artfully deflected further questions on the subject.

  Eriktis stared out of the windowless transport as they traversed the busy streets of Nil, his wide, tan lips spread in a smile of purest joy. Nearing noontime, the sidewalks were filled with throngs of people hurrying to accomplish their appointed tasks or simply sauntering along in leisurely strolls. The shops and storefronts were canopied with brightly colored awnings that kept the hot sunshine from deterring customers from stopping to gaze into lavish window displays. Patio tables lined the walkways in front of eateries boasting a wide array of aromatic offerings that reminded him of how just how hungry he was.

  “I can hear your stomach rumbling from here,” Loren quipped, her arm wrapped around his sun-burnished, bulging bicep. Her mahogany eyes twinkled from beneath her slightly predominate brow ridge as she grinned up at him, her small, pink lips quirked to one side. “You should wipe the drool from your mouth. It is unsightly.”

  “I cannot help it,” he said, brushing away a few strands of dark brown hair that had escaped her headband and fluttered across her beautiful, rounded oval face. “I am still a growing boy and we have been out for hours.”

  “You are no boy and, thankfully, you stopped growing ages ago,” she said, laughing as she leaned against his broad, heavily muscled chest. “My neck aches every time I look into your azure eyes as it is.”

  “I shall start lifting you up so you are caused no pain, my little one,” he told her playfully.

  “You could, beast,” she replied, her eyes glimmering gaily, “but that would put my foot in a most delicate position for a swift kick.”

  “Ouch! You have made your point,” he chuckled. “I shall refrain.”

  “Is this not a beautiful thing?” Eriktis asked, waving a hand at the people wandering the streets. “The People, the Izon and our own brothers and sisters living as one without strife.”

  “It is as it should be,” Loren said as she watched the people pass by the slowly moving sleds. Most of them stopped to gawk at the parade of vehicles filled with new visitors, many waving happily at the occupants, before continuing on their journeys. “The way the Creator intended it to be.”

  There was an amazing blend of styles and colors in the garb they wore from simple white linen shifts and dresses to dyed cotton breaches and tunics. Gem-encrusted jewelry hung from necks and around the waists of many but was tempered by the plain headbands and belts worn by most. Except for the two and four-man Aam units who calmly patrolled the streets, stopping to chat happily with citizens along the way, there were few arms visible anywhere. That, in itself, said a lot about the temperament of Nillian people.

  “This place reminds me of Olympia,” Eriktis commented with pride. “Of course, we have our problems – people are people – but it is personalities that clash, not races. I do not understand why Atlantis cannot do the same.”

  “Cronus instills fear in his people,” Loren said, her tone taking on a hardness. “It is because so much of it resides in himself. Fear of the Izon at first, then of his children and now of us. He breeds anger and contempt for anyone he deems unworthy or different from the People. He believes himself superior to all others and that Atlanteans are the only true race of man. Unfortunately, his influence is powerful. What he believes must be right and he has instilled his attitudes in the masses as the empire expanded.”

  “A shame,” she said, shaking her head sadly.

  “And so unnecessary,” Eriktis added with a sigh, the light in his brilliant blue eyes dimming for a moment. “We have proven that. Just look. I am perfection personified,” he grinned, thumping his gigantic chest and straightening his back, “and yet I allow one such as you to bask in my glory.”

  “And I am grateful,” Loren replied coyly, an impish look on her high, soft, pink cheeks. “Thankfully, you will not be forced to tolerate me much longer. Anak has asked me to join him for dinner this when we return home. At least he knows how to treat a lady.”

  “He did not,” he said gruffly, playing the jealous lover. “I can take him.”

  “Doubtful,” she said with a huff, her eyes filled with a million stars. “And the only reason he has not asked me is that he does not know I am available. Keep opening your mouth and he will very soon.”

  Eriktis made a show of clamping his jaw shut with a hard click. As the procession slowed to a stop, he leaned down and softly caressed her upraised face, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her close to him.

  “Now keep it closed if you know what is good for you,” Loren said with a laugh as they exited the sled. “Then maybe, just maybe, I might allow you to accompany me to dinner tonight.”

  He responded with a nod, keeping his lips firmly pressed together to keep from smiling. Merrily, he kept silent as they were ushered toward their quarters in the palace to refresh themselves and have a light lunch before preparing for the evening festivities. Once inside, Loren reminded him lovingly as to why it was in his best interest to keep quiet.

  “Are the Watchers in place?” Cronus asked Iapetus as he buckled a wide, crimson-edged, gold belt over his thigh-length, purple tunic. The belt was embedded with ancient, intertwined runes, each trimmed in black with precious gems at their centers. His sleeveless, linen tunic had a high, stiff collar and was cut in a deep V that ended mid-chest. The purple fabric was richly embroidered with silver and gold patterns that highlighted his heavily muscled torso.

  “Yes,” Iapetus replied, standing near the windows overlooking the city. His ebony eyes were locked on to the Great Pyramid being erected a few miles away. It was truly awe-inspiring. Despite the formal manner of tonight’s dinner, he was dressed in his usual plain black breeches, dark blue, billowy-sleeved blouse, black leather vest, laced up the sides, and calf-high boots.

  “We may not be able to do anything here,” Cronus muttered, touching his hip where a sword or sidearm should have been, “but if we know which direction they go in when they leave, we should be able to track them to their home base.”

  “Do you think that wise?” Iapetus turned from the window and walked slowly toward his brother, his turbulent thoughts confined behind an impassive mask that covered his hard-planed, square-jawed face. He was deeply concerned that an unprovoked attack on another city might tip the empire into total chaos.

  “That is the only reason I agreed to this farce,” Cronus said, his voice bitter and harsh. His jade eyes glinted with red flecks as he looked into the mirror. His full, tan lips were pulled tightly across his handsomely sculpted features as he slipped the golden crown of Atlantis over his curly mane of fire-red hair.

  “Should Ra realize you are using this meeting to hunt your children, he will not take kindly to it,” his brother reminded him.

  “Ra will not care as long as we do nothing upon his precious soil,” the Lord Father replied with a snarl. “He prides himself on staying out of our affairs. The fool thinks he is above us all just because he found advanced tech here.”

  “There will come a day soon,” Cronus said tersely, finally satisfied with his appearance, “when his advantage will be negated. Then I shall personally wipe that smug, insulting smile off his face.”

  The two men met their escort just outside of their lushly appointed quarters. The tall, blond-haired man was polite and courteous as he led them to the courtyard, but much to the chagrin of Cronus, he did not seem particularly impressed with nor cowed by his charges. Cronus bit back his annoyance as he burrowed holes in the man’s skull as he walked before them. He had planned
it carefully to be the last of the guests to arrive at the feast, but if this man was man’s attitude was any indication, his grand entrance may just flop.

  What Cronus did not anticipate was the soul-wracking fear that almost overwhelmed him as he stepped into the open courtyard. He barely heard his escort announce, “Cronus, Lord Father of Atlantis, and his Second, Iapetus, one of The Twelve.” His feet felt rooted to the polished granite floor as if terrified to leave the ground to walk forward. He held his body rigid, back straight, to hide the tremors rolling through his veins causing his legs to tremble.

  It was not the Trinity of Nil – Ra, Isis and Astraeus - that froze him in place. He remembered them from their time under his command. It was not the impressive setting of the courtyard with its carved pillars wound with flowering vines, hidden soft lighting and the curved glass dome above that had been partially retracted to allow the stars to shine down upon them nor the melodic music that played quietly in the background. It was Zeus.

  The brief moments he stood at the entrance stretched out into an eternity as he gazed upon them. Seeing the son he thought dead at birth sent a chill through his body so cold that his blood congealed into thick syrup in his veins. His heart hammered in his chest, threatening to explode into a million pieces and the air in his lungs felt filled with icicles that cut into his flesh. Here was the demons incarnate that tortured his nightmares and flayed the hide from his bones. He was the Prophesy come to life, sent by his father to destroy him.

  Zeus, the son spirited away at birth, stood on the far side of the table behind a high-backed chair at the corner of the T closest to the Trinity. A crown of unworked gold banded his corona of wavy red hair away from his strong, chiseled features and full, well-trimmed beard while allowing it to cascade down his broad shoulders. Even from here, Cronus could see his strange golden eyes, so full of anger and intelligence, yet calm and compassionate.

  Catching his breath, he forced his feet forward using pure iron will to keep his stride measured and strong. So focused was he on this that he almost missed Oceanus and Tethys sitting alongside Zeus. His fiery stare blazed into the traitors but he kept his acidic words to himself. A time would come for them, he promised himself coldly. A time would come.

  Cronus stopped behind his chair placed near the head of the table directly across from Zeus. As pain, fear and rage burned inside of him, but he pushed the raw emotions down, stuffing them inside his private pyramid and locking them away. He kept his face impassive and calm despite his anger. Cronus simply nodded to Ra and waited.

  Ra stood in front of an intricately carved, oak chair heavily padded with dark red cushions in the center of the short T at the head of the long, main table. An ornate crown of gold encircled his long blond hair and out of his sparkling, sky-blue eyes. From the center rose a pair of uplifting horns holding a yellow disk. A skirt of gold-stranded linen wrapped his powerful hips, held around his narrow waist by a belt of blood-red edged in gold. It spread downward in a wedged swath of tiles almost to the pointed top of his high-laced sandals. He wore a girdle of gold around his muscled torso made up of interlocking plates, each edged in dark crimson, which stopped just below his sinewy pectorals. A heavy, matching necklace was draped over his wide shoulders from his arms to this throat. In the center, beneath his dimpled chin, was a brilliant yellow orb nestled between to upraised horns. The globe seemed to swirl and twist like a living thing against his slightly reddish skin. It made Cronus a little nauseous to look upon so he averted his gaze to look upon Ra’s companions.

  To the right of Ra stood the Lady Isis dressed in a body-molding, sparkling maroon gown that dropped in a deep V between her abundant breasts. She wore a silver crown similar in design to that of Ra over the luxurious, shining, auburn hair that fell down the back of her gently sloping shoulders. Her emerald eyes twinkled like diamond in her stunningly beautiful face, her full, ruby-red lips raised in a lopsided smile. Around her suntanned biceps and forearms, she wore bands of crimson trimmed in dark red inlaid with strangely shaped glyphs.

  To his left, the onyx-skinned Captain Astraeus wore a girdle of gold-trimmed, small ebony plates around his muscle-defined torso. A wide necklace of the same design fanned out to midway along his flat, corded shoulders. Bands of solid gold, engraved and black-edged wrapped his bulging biceps and thick wrists up to his forearm. A plain, white linen skirt encircled his hips, terminating mid-thigh above high-laced sandals and held in place by a belt of bejeweled gold. Unlike his companions, he wore no crown over the long, twisted locks of midnight hair that fell like a nest of serpents down his broad, almost over-muscled back. His black eyes shone with an inner light above his neatly cut, curly, black beard as he gazed solemnly at Cronus, acknowledging the leader of Atlantis with a curt nod.

  “I welcome Lord Cronus of Atlantis and the Twelve to my table. I am also honored to have Lord Zeus and those of Olympia in my city. Thank you all for being here,” Ra said, his rich, baritone voice rolling over his guests. “I hope you enjoyed the tour of our magnificent city. We have much to discuss, but for tonight, let us share a meal, relax and get to know each other a little better. Please, be seated.”

  Cronus felt his ire grown as the food was served. No matter how exotic and incredible the meal tasted, it soured upon his tongue and he had to fight to swallow. It did not escape his notice that this upstart, Ra, had not used his title of Lord Father and had granted Zeus an equal rank. It was very political of the Nillian ruler to say the Twelve while not mentioning that two of them sat with Zeus, but it gnawed at Cronus, especially since he had to sit directly across from them. He kept his words curt and limited, doing his best to keep from engaging with anyone other than Iapetus. He steadfastly ignored the repeated attempts at conversation coming from the other side of the table.

  By the time the feast was over, Cronus felt as if he would explode. Every nightmare, every fear, every hatred and every raw emotion surged inside of him, threatening to rip him asunder. The walls of his pyramid bulged outward as the savage serpents coiling inside struggled to escape and wreak havoc upon their enemies. He rose from the table as quickly as he could, excusing himself, barely managing to restrain himself from racing out of the courtyard as if a thousand ravenous Dire Wolves chomped at his heels.

  ‘Hold it together,’ he begged himself as he hurried down the granite-lined hallway. Beads of sweat peppered his furrowed brow and his trembling legs fought to keep him upright. He was thankful he refused an escort and that the festivities kept his path free of people. Cronus did not wish to have anyone see him in this bedraggled state.

  He leaned heavily against a beautifully woven tapestry next to the doorway of his quarters, leaving a damp imprint of his hand upon the colorful landscape scene. The bronze handle turned easily in his shaky hand and he slipped inside, slamming the oaken door behind him. Once safely inside, he leaned wearily upon the carved wood trying to catch his ragged breath and slow the hammering of his pounding heart. He threw himself upon the overstuffed featherbed, not bothering to remove his shirt or boots. Cronus buried his twisted face into the plush pillows, the agonized howl that escaped his lips muffled by the thick material. He curled into a tight ball, drawing his knees up to his heaving chest and let the shudders run their course.

  He slipped into an almost comatose sleep, mewling like a wounded animal. In his fevered dreams, Cronus was trapped in the golden pyramid of his soul, pursued not by foggy demonic creatures, but by the furious features of his own gold-armored son. He danced around him, slashing at his squirming, wailing body with a blood-slicked, steel blade that hacked the flesh from his bones.

  He managed to lift his battered skull for a moment, gazing up at a small, grassy hillock a few feet from where he lay. On top of the slope stood the rest of his children glaring down at his beaten body. Zeus looked down on the dying corpse, crimson steel raised above his head, his uniquely golden eyes blazing down upon his father, unadulterated hatred shimmering within. A vicious, beastly smile played across his ful
l, darkly tanned lips forming whispered words.

  “I am vengeance,” he said grimly. “I am retribution. I am the Prophesy. Now it is your turn to die.”

  And the bloody sword plummeted downward.

  Cronus’ quick exit did not go unnoticed by those gathered around the table, but other than questioning glances, no one spoke of it. Iapetus almost excused himself to follow but thought it best to stay to keep an eye on any discussions that might take place in his absence. He carefully surveyed the faces of those at the table as their plates were cleared, replaced by goblets of tea and wine. He saw concern written within the eyes of most of the Atlantean council members that still stood with the Lord Father.

  Thea and Themis shared a sidelong glance at each other, their bright green eyes tense with unspoken uneasiness. Thea raised one yellow-blond eyebrow at her twin sister, her rose-red lips pursed with an unvoiced question. Themis answered with a slight shake of her head, leaning forward to see how the others were reacting.

  Mnemosyne sat near the head of the table next to Iapetus sipping on a crystal goblet of red wine. She turned her head when Cronus left and followed his exit from the room. Now she looked up at Iapetus, her jade-flecked brown eyes more curious than worried. She pushed her shiny auburn hair back over her right shoulder and met his ebony stare, her ruby lips forming a question.

  “Not now,” Iapetus rumbled quietly before she could speak.

  She acknowledged his words with a nod and returned her attention to Crius sitting on her left. The young man stared hard across the table Zeus, his ringlets of night-black hair coiled tightly around his head. His dark brown eyes blazed daggers at the man as if he could kill the Lord that infested Cronus with such angst with only the glare in his eyes.