by Gene Stiles
Cronus stood at the wall of clear crystal overlooking the colorful, sparkling city spread out before him, his hands clasped behind his scarlet, silver-edged, brocade robe, his back to the fury that exploded through his chamber doors. A contented, serene smile tickled the corners of his light pink lips. His mane of curly, golden-red hair swayed slightly in the cool current of air that whispered around him. His hawk-like, shimmering jade eyes were clear and calm for the first time in many, many years, his handsome, square-jawed face relaxed, rested from a night of dreamless, peaceful slumber.
“I am talking to you! Face me!” Rhea grabbed the cloth draping his broad, flat shoulders, attempting to force him to meet her burning eyes. It was like trying to move a mountain. She pounded her balled fists into his back, hammering against his hardened muscles. “Where are my children?” she shouted, frustration, fear and pure, unadulterated ferocity steaming the air around them.
Cronus ignored her rants and blows for soundless moments as if she simply did not exist. When at last he languidly turned to gaze into her seething stare, his face glowed with tranquility and joy. Rhea stared at him open-mouthed and speechless, the words of recrimination torn from her raspy throat by the beauty gleaming from his shining, green eyes. His narrow, straight nose, high, smooth cheeks, arched, golden eyebrows and curved face radiated with the warmth and love she saw inside of him the very first time they met. She did not know how to equate such a countenance with the hatred and self-loathing marring his visage for so long now.
“Cronus, my love,” she whispered, placing a slender-fingered hand upon his cheek, letting her torment slip away in hopes she could reach him another way, “what have you done with our babies?”
“I have swallowed them up,” he replied tranquilly, smiling lovingly and stroking her tear-streaked face with his gentle caress. “I have drawn them into the warmth and safety of my stomach where they shall reside forever. We are safe. I am safe.”
“Cronus, what do you mean? Do our children still live?” It was all Rhea could do to keep from recoiling at his acidic touch, but she had to know. She must know.
“Of course they live,” he replied with a boyish wrinkle of his brow, appalled she would think thus. “They are blood of our blood. I would never harm them.”
“Then where are they?”
“It is as I said,” he replied quizzically. “Did you not hear me? I have swallowed them up. My father’s prophesy will never come true now. We are safe. We can be happy once again. We can love once again.”
Cronus smiled beatifically once more and then turned his back on Rhea to gaze out at his magnificent city. All she could do was stare at the unmoving wall of his flesh, unsure if she should try to reach him again. Finally, she spun around and stomped out of the room. Someone knew what had befallen her children. She would not rest until she found them. Then she would make Cronus pay. She would make them all pay and pay dearly.
Chapter XIV
The acropolis atop the Pyramid of Nil was massive. The columns holding the porch roof rose over forty feet above the plateau of the top stones, each carved from a single pillar of red-tinged marble and inlaid with reliefs of strange symbols and unknown animals. Prodigious granite blocks weighing upward of ten tons, made up walls precisely cut and smoothed into a patchwork of interlocking patterns. On the long sides of the structure, three arched porticos large enough to drive a freight sled through gave ingress to the inner chambers. Huge bowls hung on chains every twenty feet, filled with a scented liquid. It burned with a smokeless, blue-white fire and lit the area as brightly as a noonday sun. Immense windows paned in an unknown, clear material were inlaid into the stone bringing a soft ambient light into the opulent palace.
Most of the rooms inside hid behind closed, artistically rendered, dark-stained, wooden doors, but those open to the Atlanteans showed storerooms, offices and libraries filled with books and scrolls old and dusty. Mouth-watering aromas wafted from colossal kitchens where a small army of white-robed, hairless Izon hurried to prepare a proper repast for the guests of their Lord God. Phoebe and Coeus were quick to notice the armed, whip-carrying guards stationed wherever a group of the Clan gathered. The two shared their silent assessment between them with only a glance and a slight shaking of their heads.
The sixty-foot center of the compound basked in the warmth of the cloudless blue sky above them, the blazing fire of the sun filtered through tinted skylights of the same, non-crystal material that made up the windows. Pillars of white marble, covered in the same type of odd symbols and unusual animals as the outer columns, held up smooth, thin sheets of granite that roofed a wide, open hallway that completely surrounded the central space. Rich tapestries depicting benevolent-looking giants floating in the air and gazing lovingly down upon kneeling Izon hung from the seamless rock walls. Other scenes depicted crops of wheat and corn spread out in neat rows across mountain-backed fields, hordes of vicious-looking animals besieging cowering masses and a pictorial record of the construction of the Central Pyramid - always overseen by a magnanimous, hovering Lord God.
A thirty-foot, glistening cedar table took up the majority of the chamber covered with settings of blue clay plates edged in swirls of gold and utensils of shimmering silver. Crystal goblets half filled with a blood-red liquid sat before each placement along with huge platters covered in domes of silver and gold that emanated sweet and spicy aromas. Along one wall, a row of white-robed, shaved Izon stood at stiff attention between bookends of watchful, ever-present guards, awaiting their chance to serve.
Twenty of the People of Nil awaited the procession standing behind ornately carved, high-backed, thickly padded chairs dressed in gossamer white robes over light tan skirts edged in gold lace. Necklaces of gold and colorful jewels hung around their necks and each wore the same cylindrical, pointed headdress as their leader. They smiled broadly when the envoy of Atlantis entered and welcomed them with kind words as they passed as if meeting family they did not know existed. They waited until Apophus seated himself with a flourish upon the oversized, gold-encrusted throne at the head of the table, his serpent staff slipped into a padded holder at his side. At a nod from their leader, they slipped into chairs intermingled with the Captains and First Mates. The Aam sat at a separate, benched table just behind the council members, their eyes alert and cautious, carefully observing their host’s bodyguards as they settled at an arced table behind Apophus.
Ramathus sat near the head of the table to the right of Apophus, next to Iapetus, listening to the endless blather falling from the man’s thin, red-stained lips. He was not sure what disgusted him most about the arrogant buffoon. Was it the girlish laughter directed at the Atlanteans, dripping with sarcastic disbelief as they told their story or the way he looked down upon them as if they were fanciful children? Was it the way cowering Izon servants rushed to wipe away bits of food or drips of drink that had the audacity to fall upon the wide, gold necklace draped over his shoulders and around his sinewy neck? Or was it simply the naked desire burning in his limpid eyes whenever his gaze touched upon Phoebe? So many reasons to hate the man…and they had only just met.
“I caution you to watch your tone,” Iapetus growled dangerously, rising to his feet, finally infuriated by the flagrant disrespect shown by their host. “We will not be treated in such a foul manner.”
The table of guards seated behind Apophus began to stand, alerted to the animosity brewing around their Lord’s table. As one, their hands fell to the golden hilts of the short swords belted to their hips. In response, the Aam nonchalantly reached for the rifles leaning against the bench on which they sat.
“I would not try that,” Iapetus said, darkly staring at the small table at Apophus’ back, noting the guards’ sudden movement. “It did not work out so well for your brother.”
Apophus laughed, stilling the guards with a casual wave of his hand. “Forgive me,” he grinned, raising both hands into the air as if warding off an impending attack. “I meant no disrespect. Your tale is so
fantastic! I simply have a hard time believing it. If it is true, you have no idea what it means to us. You do not know it, but you are the meaning of our existence.”
“It is true,” Phoebe replied before Iapetus could react to the implied slander. Her alabaster skin crawled as if covered by a million biting ants when the man gazed upon her, licking his lips in naked desire. With incredible willpower, she kept her revulsion out of her pale-blue eyes, grateful for the touch of her husband upon her slender fingers.
“What do you mean that you live because of us?” Coeus interjected, hoping to alleviate some of the tension hanging like a morning fog over the entire room.
“We shall speak no more of it until after our fine meal,” Apophis said, dismissing the Atlantean curtly, never taking his eyes off Phoebe. “There is much to discuss and much I have to show you. As for now, let us nourish our bodies and restore our souls. Please,” he continued, shifting his gaze toward his other guests gathered around the table, “enjoy the foods provided by Sirius! Musicians!”
A half dozen of the Nillian People gathered in the courtyard carrying odd instruments of reed pipes, hide-covered, over-sized drums and stringed bowls with long necks. The melodies they played were light and lively, filling the room with a pleasant, happy resonance in perfect accompaniment to the exotic meal laid out before them. Fishes with sweet white meat seasoned with fresh herbs and cracked pepper laid on beds of big-leafed lettuce. Venison medallions swam in a spicy brown sauce, served over steamed brown rice. Warm, hard-crusted bread, sliced thick and spread with golden honey, titillated the taste buds, taking the sting out of hot brown mustards served with thick pork slices. The heady red wine washed it all down, leaving a satisfying heat in the pit of overfull tummies.
After each course was completed, Izon servants rushed to clear the dirty dishes and replace them with clean ones. Should a glass drop below a quarter full, hurrying, silent Clansman quickly refilled them from large silver pitchers. Ramathus tried to engage one or two in simple conversation, watching as their fearful eyes went wide and their lips tightened when he spoke their language. Their anxious glances darted around the room in panic, hoping the words had not been heard before they rushed quickly away. It sent a tremor of rage down his muscled frame, but he said nothing, giving up his attempts to speak to them. Once the meal was finished, the table was cleared save for the goblets and crystal decanters of fresh red wine. The Izon hurriedly laid out platters of sweet cakes and berry muffins before vanishing from the room as quietly as phantoms in the still of the night.
Even though the blazing sun now sat directly above them in the clear azure sky, its brilliance dimmed only slightly by the tinted skylight, the room remained comfortable due to a soft, cool breeze that swept the room from unseen sources. All but four of the People of Nil vacated the room along with the musicians and servants though the guards remained. Those that stayed changed the seating arrangements so they sat on the right hand of Apophus across the red-grained, cedar table from the Atlanteans. At a nod from Apophus, three more of his people, two women and a man, entered the courtyard, each carrying a large, hide-bound book in their hands. They laid them reverently upon the smooth wood before seating themselves next to their brethren. Iapetus could not help but feel a similarity between those volumes and the Book of the Izon.
“So many questions!” Apophus smiled childishly, clapping his massive hands together, his black, almond-shaped eyes alight with excitement. “Where to begin? I am so glad you are here, but I must ask, if you have been here all this time, why did you not come to us sooner and why now?”
“We did not know you were here,” Coeus quickly answered, his own curiosity evident in the shine of his hazel eyes and the bounce of his unruly cinnamon hair. “So far as we knew, the People of Atlantis were the only Terrain survivors of Atlan. How you came to be here is a mystery beyond comprehension.”
“As for why now,” Ramathus interjected with an inward smile before Coeus could get lost in his inquisitiveness, “we are in search of an ore we call uridium. Our Sentinel scans show a large deposit just to the west of here scattered on the open plains.”
“Sentinel? Scans? What means this?”
For the first time, someone other than Apophus spoke. She rose from her seat at the end of the table with fluid, feline grace where she sat with one of the precious Books before her. She was a tall, slender woman of incredible beauty with shimmering, hazel eyes, flecked with chips of green, almond-shaped and over large as with the rest of her People. They sat in a long, oval face with high, light pink cheeks on either side of a straight, narrow nose that ended above pouty, thin lips and a sharply pointed chin. She wore a tightly wrapped, sleeveless dress of light blue linen edged in turquois lace that flowed down her gently curved body to her sandaled feet. It was strapped over her softly sloped shoulders with the same lace and pulled around her tiny waist by a beaded, ocean-blue and silver belt that fanned out as it fell to just above her knees. Tight curls of shiny, blue-black hair spilled from the back of her short, tubular, red headdress, down to the small of her back and over her copper-skinned shoulders. Small wings of white and turquoise, tipped in gold, fanned along her slender bronzed arms, held in place by bands of polished, deep blue metal, edged in red, at her biceps, elbows, forearms and wrists.
“Forgive me,” the Lord interrupted with a small chuckle. “Allow me to introduce the Trinity - Lady Seshat, Guardian of the Library and High Priestess of the Knowledge of Nil. She and her Sister, Lady Wadjet, and her Brother, Seeker,” nodding at the other two Book bearers, “are the custodians of our history, culture and sciences. Her passion sometimes gets the best of her.”
Seshat glared at him as if he were an annoying insect, unimpressed with his place upon the golden throne. Ramathus liked her immediately, keeping his sly grin to himself.
“Again, I ask, what is a Sentinel and a Scan?”
“A Sentinel is a computer drone we send into the sky.” Coeus responded, running his long fingers through the flighty curls of his copperish hair, “to survey the land. We tell it what we are looking for and it Scans - or searches - the ground below. When it finds what we want, it tells us.”
“You use words I do not understand.” Seshat stared at the older man, her high brow furrowed in bewilderment. Those greenish-hazel orbs tugged at him, entrancing him with their perplexity and intelligence. Coeus recognized a kindred spirit in the lovely woman, a fellow adventurer down the endless road of knowledge.
“Put another way,” Phoebe added, a gentle, knowing smile upon her full, ruby lips as she placed a tender hand upon her husband, breaking the spell, “it is like a bird we send into the sky that tells us what it sees below.” She was grateful to be looking in any direction other than toward Apophus, glad Coeus placed himself between her and the Lord when the seating was changed. The man made her skin crawl.
“Ah,” Seshat nodded understandingly, unconsciously dropping a long-fingered hand on the black cover of her Book. “You refer to the legendary Ravens of our ancestors. They were mechanical birds that spoke to the People of our home world in much the same manner.”
“Home world?” Ramathus asked, his ocean-blue eyes alight with interest. “Is Atlan not your home world?”
“Yes…in myth,” Seshat replied, a small smile tickling her lips. “In reality,” she continued, her gaze never leaving his chiseled features, “we came here from Cydonia, a golden world of majestic mountains and vast green seas, of life so boundless as to be incapable of measurement. Our home rotates around the yellow star Sirius, given to us by the Creator, Sirius, and lifetimes away from this new world.”
“Again,” Apophus interjected, an impish grin spreading across his face, “In myth. None of us here have ever laid foot upon her silver sands. Nor did our fathers or their father’s fathers. I am not one to dwell on theology. I deal with the here and now.”
“It is not ‘theology’, brother,” Seshat snapped, her eyes flashing green lightning. “It is history.” Her gaze lingered
for a moment on each of the Atlanteans, stopping as they touched the onyx orbs of Iapetus, the obvious leader of the envoys. “And now that we have found you, we can all return to our home and you can be reunited with your brethren.”
“Found us?” Iapetus rumbled. “It is we who found you. And what do you mean we can be ‘reunited with our brethren’?”
The references this woman made were not unnoticed by the Second. He had sat at the side of Cronus when the decision was made to leave their dying world. He knew their plan was to fly to a foreign star. He watched the first of the silver ships lift from the windswept, rusty plains of Atlan. He had fought through the dusty, lifeless streets of Cydonia on Atlan along with Cronus as they battled the minions of Mars. His heart ached at the memories flooding his mind, at the pain the People - especially Cronus - suffered at the hands of the once Lord Father. His face remained impassive, but the agonizing turmoil in his soul kept him from asking the question echoing in his mind. He need not worry. His answer came soon after.
“I shall let our chief historian, the Priest, Seeker, my brother, answer your questions.” Seshat motioned to the man at her side then eased herself to her chair to give him the floor.
Seeker did not look like a Priest. He looked like a mountain on pillars of granite. The massive, dark-bronze giant dwarfed even the nine-foot-four Ramathus, topping him by a full foot. A shiny white skirt, edged in a wide band of gold, wrapped the behemoth from his tree-trunk waist half way down to his boulder-like knees above bulging calves the size of the arms of Iapetus. A thick, silver, gold and black beaded belt encircled a waist that seemed narrow in comparison to the immense, heavily muscled shoulders of the man. The belt fanned out in the front forming a triangle of strange symbols and patterns. A girdle of crimson tiles covered his V-shaped abdomen to just below his bare, veined pectorals that glistened with raw, unbridled power. Wide sheaths of crimson metal edged in gold wrapped around his enormous biceps and covered his monstrous wrists almost to the elbow. Seeker wore a white, gold-trimmed headdress, pointed in the front, with the stylized eyes of a hawk set in amber jewels near the top. Ringlets of oiled, black hair fell from beneath the covering, down his neckless head to the middle of his broad back. Bushy black eyebrows curved upward above melanoid, near-pupiless, oval eyes bordering a thick, large-nostril nose that sat above dark, over-ample lips. When he spoke, his clear and concise baritone voice filled the chamber, echoing like restrained thunder around the room.