by Gene Stiles
Iapetus stared after the repugnant procession, his face an emotionless mask, but fire burned in the pit of his stomach. Even with his mind blazing, he noted how his Aam and their deadly weapons stood completely disregarded. Was it that this Apophis was confident his guards could handle them or was it simply ignorance of what those weapons were capable of? He looked quizzically at Phoebe and Coeus, a question alight in his pitch black eyes.
“We must go,” Phoebe sighed, her trembling voice full of distain. “We must learn where they came from and how they survived this long.”
“I admit that my mind is filled with a million questions,” Coeus agreed, a glee of discovery in each word. “As barbaric these People are, we must get the lay of the land if we are to complete our mission.”
“Ramathus,” Iapetus called out, motioning for the Captain to join them. There was no need to inform him what was happening. Apophus spoke so loudly that everyone heard all that was said. “What do you think? You will be the one in command here when we three return home.”
“I think this Apophus is a pretentious ass,” the Captain replied much to the amusement of the Atlanteans. Quiet, restrained chuckles barely eased the grim tension thick among the small delegation. “Still,” he continued, his anger manifested in each chipped word, “we must see what we are up against should it come to that.”
“Agreed,” Iapetus nodded. Stomping out his fury with each heavily planted step, he followed the palanquin up the granite boulevard, the Aam slipping into step behind him. He heard soft, anxious mutters and murmurs coming from the assembled Izon, noting how they cautiously raised their heads only slightly, afraid to stand until the Atlanteans passed beyond them. It sickened Iapetus to his core, reminding him of the stench of fear and terror that assailed his senses as he lay imprisoned in the pile of bodies within the Black Death. He wanted to spill the acidic contents of his stomach on the smooth stones of the roadway on which he tread, but did not. There would come a time soon, he knew, that harsh lessons were taught to this vain, narcissistic pretender. He sent a silent prayer to the Creator to insure he would be that teacher.
Chapter XIII
Cronus walked assuredly through the dead city, the moans and accusations whispered in the wails of the empty streets berating him with each stride steadfastly ignored. The cold, red orb dimly glowing above the cracked and melted dome over his head was weak and sickly, black patches like poisoned boils disfiguring its surface. A demonic sandstorm howled across the rusted carcass of the world, scouring the last vestiges of life from the blighted and empty landscape. Needles of fine grit stung his naked torso like a thousand hornets, welting his skin like the lashes of a barbed whip. The pack of razor-toothed goblins that accompanied Cronus on his weary trek ripped bloody chunks of flesh from his heels and calves, leaving a crimson trail in the rocky soil behind him. It was no more than he deserved so he paid the pain no heed.
He stumbled on the cracked and broken blocks of the citadel steps, his jade eyes blurred and murky, blinded by the abrasive wind. Cronus crashed to his knees, purple bruises appearing instantly, his blistered hands outstretched to break his fall. He ground his gritted teeth together within his clenched jaw, but offered no grunt of discomfort from his cracked and parched lips. Slowly he rose to his bootless feet, breathing deeply of the lung-scorching air. He straightened his spine with all the iron resolve he could muster and climbed the remaining stairs with carefully measured steps.
After an eternity, Cronus stood before the massive oak doors, the wood split and fractured by age and neglect, which hung on broken and bent hinges at the entrance to the hall. The ornately carved symbol of the One Tree before the Great Pyramid, which once graced the doors, was barely visible, blasted from its surface by wind and sand. Cronus used all of his waning strength to pull one side open with an ear-piercing screech, slipping into the cold, quiet blackness inside. He held himself erect on quivering legs, tall and proud, and waited patiently in stoic silence.
From out of the inky gloom, a milky silver glow glided toward him until it encased him in brilliance. Cronus could not help but weep from the warmth of the love that cocooned him and strengthened his beaten soul. His mother coalesced before him, her soft, tender arms embracing him as if he were a mere child. He gazed up into her beautiful, smiling face, overjoyed to be held in her light once more. Gaia ran her long, slender fingers through the curls of his long, fiery red mane, brushing away the dirt that soiled his matted locks. She said nothing, always the first to arrive.
A giant materialized in the center of the Great Hall, a fiery golden aura surrounding him that lit the chamber with the glow of a rising sun. With each step, his light exposed the decrepitude and corruption within the once opulent hall. Dusty tapestries of ancient battle scenes hung in rotting tatters on marble walls cracked and broken. Pillars of sculptured granite spider-webbed with fractures, piles of rubble at their bases, held up a high, vaulted ceiling once covered with murals of a primordial past, now open to the melted dome of the haunted city. The thick layer of dirt, dust and debris coating the shattered stones of the patterned granite floor lay undisturbed by the man’s passing.
The golden giant stopped just short of Cronus, his hands held out in welcome, a radiant smile upon his square-jawed, painfully handsome face. His mane of silver-white hair sparkled like a star-filled sky, swirling gently in the soft breeze rippling through the chamber. A robe of midnight black hung from his wide, flat shoulders, covered in constellations of every shifting stars. Armor of polished gold encased the man like a second skin, highlighting his massive, heavily muscled chest, narrow waist, wide hips and long, powerful, sinewy legs. Arms as thick as a main branch of the One Tree drew Cronus into a strong, proud embrace, cocooning him in glorious, incandescent heat.
Enshrouded in a brilliant blend of silver and gold light, Cronus wept like a child, comforted by the loving touch of his mother and father. Neither spoke nor gazed at him in harsh judgement for his weakness, but simply waited until his troubled mind exhausted itself of his tormented tears. It took an act of pure strength and willpower to remove himself from their loving arms and to draw himself up into a straight-backed stance. Cronus squared his shoulders, shaking off the last vestiges of fatigue and emotion that coursed through his fiery veins and looked up into the wise and caring eyes of his mother and father.
“We are glad you came,” Uranus said, his rich baritone voice echoing throughout the hall. “It has been some time.”
“I have missed you sorely,” Cronus nodded, “but the demands of the People have weighed heavily upon me.” He countenance darkened, his jade-green eyes glittering like polished glass. “But I have need of your wisdom and council. My dreams are filled with terror and monsters without names that skin the flesh from my bones. I am attacked from all sides in a mist so gloomy that all I can see are sinister orbs of blood-red bobbing in the blackness. I know there is a meaning in those dreams I cannot comprehend so I come to you for your aid.”
“We have watched you, my son,” Gaia seemed to whisper softly, yet each word reached him clearly. “We are very proud of all you have accomplished, your courage and strength, your unwavering commitment to the People. You have grown into the finest man we could ever have wished for.”
“Still,” his father intoned, “you have not succeeded in the one critical task that will destroy you if you do not accomplish it soon. Your time is growing short.”
“The children,” Cronus replied, dropping his head to stare at the cracked granite at his feet, his shoulders slumping.
“Yes,” Uranus continued, his voice becoming harsh and demanding. “If you wish to avoid the prophesy of your destruction, you know what you must do.”
“They are the demons that come to you in your sleep,” Gaia said, placing a gentle hand upon the shoulder of her son. “You can see it in their eyes when they gaze upon you. You can see their hatred and loathing, their conspiring in muted whispers. They only await until they are old enough, strong enough to drag you
from your room by your feet.”
“It is Hades that despises you most,” Uranus intoned darkly, placing a firm hand upon his son’s other shoulder. “You can hear it in his silent appraisal. You can see it in his cold, onyx eyes. You know he is the son foretold to usurp you. You must act or you will surely die, killed by your son as you killed me.”
“But they are my children.” Cronus looked away, his dampened eyes staring at the crumbled decay around him. “They are flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. How can I murder these gifts of the Creator?”
“You do not have to kill them,” Gaia smiled sweetly. “Just rid them from your life.”
“And how would I do that?” Cronus questioned dejectedly. “How can I purge them from my life without leaving their little corpses at my feet?”
“Swallow them up,” Uranus responded, his booming voice disturbing the dust coating the room in a blanket of despair. “Swallow them up into the earth and send them into the same darkness and despondency with which they have plagued you.”
“Swallow them up,” his parents said in unison, fading away into the gloom. “Swallow them up. Swallow them up.”
Cronus awoke, his bedclothes drenched in salty sweat. The crimson sheets lay twisted in knotted piles on the tiled floor next to him. His damp, naked body shivered either from the remnants of his dreams or from the cold morning wind seeping through his open window. His wrinkled pillows were misshapen and wet from his delirious fever, tossed haphazardly around the huge, four-poster bed. He pulled himself up against the smooth, cool, stained oak wall clutching a pillow to his heaving chest as if to crush the life out of it. His jade eyes darted around the sparsely furnished room catching skittering movement that seared his waking mind.
Shifting shadows filled every corner, clawed hands reaching for him like the impish demons of his dreams, knowing the dim rays of the rising sun would soon banish them back into the darkness of his soul. They called to Cronus in the chilling voices of tiny children, beckoning him to return to their bloody embrace. He shook his hair-matted head as much to clear the last vestiges of foggy delirium from his thoughts as to silently scream his repudiation of their demands.
Cronus slid his legs over the edge of the feather-stuffed mattress, his bare feet luxuriating in the coldness of the polished granite floor. Shivers coursed up his knotted muscles wiping away the stinging heat that flowed through his pulsing veins. He bowed his head, resting his weight on his corded arms, letting the chill strength of the stone invigorate his troubled mind. He knew what had to be done, yet how could he steal the children away from Rhea’s vigilant guardians? Cronus stepped into his fur-lined slippers, tossing a long, black robe over his wide, square shoulders. His green eyes hardened, his mind consumed with the unsavory task before him. It would be done…and soon.
“Should he not be talking by now?” Themis queried, idly twisting long blades of bright green grass between her slender, delicate fingers. She lay on a large, square blanket, her shimmering gold hair pulled in a tight braid across her smooth, soft shoulder, basking in the warmth of the rising sun.
She watched as Hades knelt in the shadow of a towering oak, his hand caressing the soft blanket of lush moss covering exposed roots at the trunk of the tree. His obsidian eyes stared intently at a giant blue caterpillar worming its way around his fingers, undeterred in its chosen path by his intrusion. Hades touched the little creature, intrigued by the way it curled into a protective ball with his contact. The quiet little boy always seemed to be drawn to the darkness and the life that thrived there.
“He speaks,” Rhea replied, her gaze shifting between Hades and the girls frolicking with the other children in the tall, yellow flowers filling the grassy meadow, “but only when he has something to say. He prefers to listen and learn from others.”
“I do admit,” Rhea added, the smile slipping from her full, pink lips, “his intensity sometimes troubles me. His black eyes seem to reach inside of you, drawing from you your deepest secrets and the truth behind your words. It is a strange feeling from one so young.”
“It is also a good thing,” Themis reassuring her friend with a gentle smile. She put a comforting arm around the woman’s shoulder and hugged her briefly. “He is an observer. It means Hades will be wise and perceptive, not beguiled by the machinations of others. He shall be a great man one day. Mark my words.”
Rhea stood and stretched her shapely body, shaking off the stiffness of laying too long in the welcomed sunshine. She brushed blades of grass from her sky-blue, knee-length summer dress and tightened the wide, silver belt that encircled her narrow waist. The silky material caressed her skin like a lover’s touch, clinging to every curve of her sensuous body, enhancing but not restricting her movement. She let her mane of honey-blond hair hang free in the light, whispering breeze, brushing it occasionally away from the high, pinkly blushed cheeks of her thin, gently curved face and bare arms. Her sparkling blue eyes continually scanned the area, keeping a mother’s alert heedfulness on the sweet children she loved so very much.
‘What a gift they are’, Rhea thought contently, sending a quiet prayer of thanks to the Creator for his many blessings.
Hestia perched on the flat top of a jumble of sandy-colored stones, long legs crossed before her, leaning back on her suntanned arms. Her wavy auburn hair lay in a pile on the rock, her face raised to the warmth of the sun. A small smile played across her ruby lips as she closed her bright green eyes to the blinding light. The thin, willow-green shift she wore glittered with interwoven strands of silver that moved with the stirring of the wind swirling softly around her. The heated stone felt good on her sandaled feet where her skin rested against the rough surface and she sighed happily.
Demeter’s bubbling laughter echoed through the branches of a tall oak as she raced a group of boys through the wide limbs and thick foliage, heedless of the scrapes on her hands from the course bark and sharp leaves. The supple, tan leather vest and breeches she wore protected the majority of her tender skin from her boyish play, but her uncovered arms were red from the lashes of her rapid passing. Her long, braided, blond hair, as fair as ripened grain, sometimes caught on twigs and leaves, but she cared not at all. Her sparkling blue eyes shone with pure childish glee as her thin-soled boots leapt from one sagging branch to another, running through the tree as free as any forest animal.
A group of young children giggled and splashed in the cold water of a shallow, gently rolling creek that wound through the meadow under the watchful eyes of their parents a short distance away. Little Hera shook the wetness from her curled mane of yellowish-red hair, shivering from the icy bath, bumps raised all over her tiny, nude body. She wiped the dampness from her jade-green eyes, a happy smile spread across her beautiful, angular face, and picked up the short, turquois dress she left on a dry rock near the shore. She wrapped the sleeveless shift around her, tying the strings around her narrow waist. Lacing her toeless sandals up to her calves, Hera made her way toward her mother and stretched out on their blanket to dry herself in the golden sun.
“Did you enjoy your swim?” Rhea smiled, sitting down next to Hera and tousling her daughter’s still-wet hair.
“It was cold,” Hera replied impishly, brushing the damp curls back out of her face. “You should try it, Mother.”
“I think I shall wait until the sun is a bit higher,” Rhea laughed. “Now go get your brother and sisters so we may share a meal with your Aunt Themis before we return home.” She patted Hera on the rump as the little girl rose. “And see that Hades washes his hands before he eats.”
“You are truly blessed,” Themis mused, watching the child run away, echoing Rhea’s earlier thought.
“That I am,” Rhea agreed, a strange, prophetic chill shivering up her spine. “I do not know what I would do without them.”
Hyperion stood in the brushless clearing deep in the western forest far from the city of Atlantis near the fork where Thunder River and Miley Stream met on their long road to the mighty Gaia. A
stiff, cool wind blew from the north, down the snowcapped Western Mountains and across a lushly grassed meadow before shattering against the wall of heavy timber surrounding him. The remnants swirled the tight, oiled curls of his shoulder-length hair making it appear to seethe and writhe with a life all its own. A richly tooled, bright blue headband kept the mass from invading his glittering jade eyes and finely chiseled, radiantly handsome features. The mischievous grin that normally teased the corners of his full, sensuous lips was sadly missing on this strange and mournful day, hiding as the noontime sun hid behind the billowing white clouds that churned the azure sky above.
“Are you sure this is where you wish to be?” Hyperion placed a gentle, slender hand on the shoulder of the young woman at his side, deeply aggrieved at how she flinched away from his light, caring touch. He let his arm hang limply down the simple, dark green robe he wore over his turquois leathers and white, puffy-sleeved blouse, dismayed that he could bring her no comfort.
“Yes,” Amelia nodded, her once-beauty distorted by hidden horrors and torturous memories that plagued her every breathing moment. She bowed her head, the pain cutting wet channels down her high, sunken cheekbones hidden by the almond-brown cowl pulled down over her face. She drew her plain, rough cloak tightly around her stooped shoulders more to hide the disgusting swell of her stomach than to keep any semblance of cold away from her plumping body.
“You do not have to hide away,” Rhea said tenderly, her ocean-blue eyes damp with worry, lightly embracing Amelia and hoping the Creator would forgive the falsehood she was about to speak. “The People will not judge you for what you could not control. The attack was not your fault.”
“I appreciate your kindness, Lady Rhea,” the girl whispered harshly, shrinking deeper into the confines of her robe, “but you know this is not true. You have seen the darting glances and heard the murmured rumors. They do judge me. They wonder how I could possibly have conceived with an Izon. It is as if I carried the child of a Dire Wolf. Impossible. What kind of creature does that make me?”