by Gene Stiles
The wan smile on his artistically flawless, handsome, chiseled face seemed forced, without the mischievous impishness he usually displayed. He placed his hand over the one she wrapped around his bulging forearm, engulfing it in his massive paw. His perfectly shaped lips were pensive, but serious as he traced the perfect oval of her soft face with his fingertips.
“I have been given orders,” Ra said with a deep sigh, looking back out over the incredible vista surrounding him, “and I am not sure how I feel about them.”
“What kind of orders would cause you such concern?” Raet took the fingers tracing lines upon her cheek and held them close, leaning her face into his hand.
He scanned the area around them carefully before answering. Even when he felt assured they were alone, Ramathus spoke in a quiet whisper.
“I have been ordered to unseat Apophus if he stops any shipments to Atlantis,” he told her softly, “and I am to take control of this land.”
“Are you sure we should be discussing this here, Ra?” Raet glanced around them furtively, startled by his comment. Seeing no one within sight, she continued, leaning her head close to his, speaking in a low voice, “We are not much liked around here and what you say is seditious.”
“We are safe at the moment,” he replied, staring deeply into her alluring eyes, “and we have many more allies among the Nillian People than you may think. Still, I do not intend to speak much of that right now. I just need to get your initial reaction.”
“It is no secret what you think of Apophus.” Raet pondered his words for a moment, touching a fingertip to her pursed lips in that cute little way that always warmed Ra’s heart. Small crinkled lines appeared between her thin, arched eyebrows as she half closed her sparkling hazel eyes. “It is also true that the Izon both savagely hate him and deeply fear him and these People in equal measure. If we have the support of as many of the Nillian People as you believe why are you so concerned?”
“My quandary is thus,” Ramathus said, lifting his eagle eyes to the spectacular green and yellow scenery spread out before him. “Whether I loathe this ‘Lord God’ or not, whether I agree with their treatment of the Izon or not, do we Atlanteans have the right to impose our will and our society on the Nillian People simply because we have greater arms? They have lived their way for thousands of years longer than we have even walked the face of this planet.”
“But what of the good of Atlantis?” Raet stared quizzically into his troubled features. Strangely, though she did not allow her face to show it, her heart burst with pride at his dilemma. Conflicts between duty and justice often tortured him, twisting Ramathus in his sleep on those lovingly passionate nights they lay together, spent in warmth of each other’s arms. His sense of honor and integrity is what made her love him so very much though she would never bind him with such an emotion.
The hot breeze teased around the corners of their shaded enclosure, blowing wisps of sunshine-blond hair across Ramathus’ furrowed forehead. Unconscientiously, he brushed the strands away, his mind far afield. There was no doubt the Atlantean People and, by extension, these Nillian People owed their very lifeblood to Cronus and the hard choices life forced upon him. None would have escaped the destruction of Atlan nor the machinations of Uranus if Cronus did not kill his own father to save them all. The debt owed to the Lord Father was so great as to be unrepayable.
“‘The good of Atlantis’,” he parroted. “I am not sure what that means at times.”
Ramathus turned toward Raet, raising on copper-skinned knee to rest it on the bench between them. He took both of her tiny, slender hands, placed them on his muscular calf and laid his own hand tenderly upon them. He rested a bulging bicep across the back of the iron bench, ran his fingertips absently through her lustrous ebony hair and down her bare cinnamon shoulder. A miniscule smile lifted the corner of his perfect, tan lips, never reaching the disquietude shining in his ocean-blue eyes.
“Was it for the ‘good of Atlantis’ the Izon became enslaved by Cronus in much the same way as they are here? These are the very people who awoke us from our eons-long sleep. Without their devotion to Atlantis, we would be sleeping still. Yet, how did we repay them? We treated them as animals, laborers for tasks we deemed beneath our own hands and when they fought back, we tortured them and killed them for it.”
Raet did not interrupt him nor interject her own thoughts. She knew Ra did not seek an answer. He only needed her to listen as he voiced his own inner turmoil.
“What did it do for the ‘good of Atlantis’ for us to allow Cronus to turn on our own brethren who sought only to free the Clan from our ‘rule’? His hatred of the Izon birthed the Black Aam and filled our streets with terror and fear for a long time. And we let it happen.”
“How many died for the ‘good of Atlantis’ as Cronus hunted the Clan and the ‘traitors’ who aided them in their escape through the forests, mountains and across the high seas?” Ramathus seethed. The Izon are gone from our city now and I, for one, believe we are the worse for it.”
“Now that we know the source of his hatred,” Raet dared comment, “maybe it is a good thing that they no longer reside within Atlantis.”
“Possibly,” Ra nodded thoughtfully. “If the People knew the Izon are bloodkin - the direct descendants of Iasion and his People - as do the Twelve and the ship’s Captains and crews, it may be their reactions would not be the most desirable. Mayhap a case could be made for Cronus to keep that information from the People as a whole. However, we do not know for they were not given the chance. I would like to think better of the People. Those of us who do know, do not fear or hate the Clan for their ancestry. We thank them for their fortitude that brought us to life.”
“Would it be ‘for the good of Atlantis’ if we allow this society to continue as is,” he asked, “forcing the Izon to live in poverty and fear as property of the People? Or do we allow Cronus to eradicate them as he did in our lands?”
“I do understand your dilemma, my love.” Raet responded by tracing the lines of his high cheekbones and squared-planed face with the feathery touch of her fingertips. “Still, you worry about a decision that has yet to be made. It would not be in the best interests of Apophus to stop shipments to Atlantis. He enriches himself with every vessel that docks on his shores and if there is one thing we can count on it is his greed.” She smiled up at him and said, “Sometimes you think too much.”
She caressed his face with a small, quick kiss and leaned her head against his rock-hard chest, her long, onyx hair falling softly against his bare skin. The sensation made Ramathus shudder, drawing him away from his inner turmoil for a moment. It was easy to get lost in her ravishing beauty and the heat of her body so close to his, the effortless way Raet could pull him from any pit of anxiety burning in his soul. The depths of compassion within her large hazel orbs made it simple to forget that beneath her gifts from the Creator lay a woman as tough and sinewy as any sailor with a mind as keen and intelligent as his own.
“Maybe,” he replied with a tender smile. Ra sat aside his concerns and cupped her oval chin in his hand. He kissed her waiting, ruby-red lips deeply and passionately, feeling the rise of unadulterated desire exploding within. She returned his caress with an eagerness and intensity of her own, blossoming from the well of her stomach like a blazing torch touched to dry tinder. Now all Ramathus could think about was taking this rapturous murcat back to his quarters as quickly as possible. He lifted her as if she weighed as much as air, smiling in his familiar mischievous way and set her down on the warm grass.
“Shall we go, my sweet?” Ra took her hand and turned to walk hurriedly to his bedchambers, but he never got the chance.
“Sir!” a breathless voice called out before him. A red-faced runner stopped just shy of the shaded alcove. “The Lord God requests your attendance at once. Please meet him in the pavilion and bring your First Mate.”
Before Ramathus could respond, the runner was off and gone from view.
“Well,” he s
aid with a wry grin, “that is a mood breaker.”
“Do not concern yourself,” Raet replied, her almond eyes glistening with lasciviousness. “We shall pick up where we left off right after our audience.”
“Such a promise!” Ra laughed in his infectious way, taking her hand and striding toward the marble edifice at the center of the plateau. “Let us end this meeting quickly!”
The air in the open courtyard was as thick and dark as a rumbling thunderstorm. Ramathus felt the hair at the nape of his neck stand up, the tense fury filling the area bringing his Aam senses into full alert. Apophus sat upon the blood-red cushions of his golden throne leaning on one elbow, his massive fist so tightly wrapped around his sapphire-tipped gold staff that his knuckles were stark white against his copper skin. His pitch-black, over-sized eyes were mere slits across his boulder-like face, his rose-colored lips stretched terse and angry. The jade eyes of the serpents in the twisted-braid, golden crown encircling his onyx headdress seemed to burn with emerald fire as they stared out at the gathered Atlanteans. The throne and dais were moved back from the long cedar table, leaving a twenty-foot area where a raised podium was placed. With the guard table removed to make the space, his men stood at stiff attention in an arc behind Apophus, long, metal-tipped spears in their hands, swords and whips attached to their gold-studded belts. A throng of about sixty of the Nillian People milled about the courtyard not dressed in their usual finery. They looked confused and nervous as if they were pulled from their duties just to fill this room. Ramathus took it all in with a quick scan of the crowd, not liking what he saw and felt.
Julius stood in front of the long oak table near the north wall reserved for the Atlantean Aam, his sky-blue eyes slitted, his bulging muscles rippling, trying to calm the churning of his stomach. The five other black leather clad men with him sensed the anxiousness and anger surging around the patio like the white-capped waves of a violent storm as well, standing rigidly behind him, their eyes sharp, looking for the particular source of their discomfort. Julius ordered his Aam to the far end of the main table to block any who might try to come around it. They fanned out immediately, forming a near-solid wall with their bodies to protect the envoy behind them.
Julius felt naked, their Atlantean weapons banned from such meetings years ago because there was no need for them. No one dare interrupt Apophus, of course, or cause any kind of trouble at one of the monthly assemblages. The penalty would be swift and permanent. Yes, the sessions became loud and argumentative at times when tempers frayed and debates became heated, but never to the point of danger so the Aam traded in their sidearms and rifles for the swords and long knives worn by the Nillian guards. With the crush of bodies in the room nearly suffocating him and an angry tempest brewing in the air, Julius truly missed his firearms, his hand dropping, gently caressing the hilt of the viciously sharp blade at his hip.
The Aam commander reached the high-backed chair where Raet sat, using his rock-hard, stocky body as a shield for the First Mate and Captain Ramathus. He stood behind his charges, his indigo stare sliding over the crowd on the other side of the great table in deadly warning. Julius placed his fists on his hips, intentionally bulging the muscles on his bare, copper-skinned arms. The sinewy display and grim set of his square jaw gave pause to any who might wish harm upon his Captains.
Apophus raised his hand, stopping all conversation with the suddenness of a heavy curtain pulled across a sunlit window. Not a single murmur whispered through the assemblage, stilling even the shuffling of feet on the granite floor. The quiet rustle of cloth against cloth as bodies shifted was all Julius could hear along with his own slow, rhythmic breathing.
Seshat arose from her chair with feline grace, the long train of her cerulean linen gown swishing loudly across the floor in the stillness of the chamber. Brooches of curled gold pinned her dress across each of her softly sloping, tan shoulders. The sapphire beads of a heavy necklace hung from her slender neck, a large, turquois gem hanging between the fullness of her cleavage. Her tight curls of midnight hair hid beneath the gem-studded, dark blue headdress she wore. Bands of gold edged in red encircled her slender arms above her biceps, above and below her elbows and around her thin wrists. Along with the wide, turquois and silver beaded belt that wrapped her narrow waist, fanning out from her navel to half way to her knees, the overall effect was stunning.
Seshat stopped just to the right of Apophus, facing the silent masses, her delicate hands clasped before her. Her stance was ridged, her back straight with a terse look upon her oval face. The chips of green in her rich, hazel eyes caught the light just right, reflecting it back like cold, sparkling jewels. She turned to glance at Apophus. He responded with a small, curt nod. Seshat returned her attention to the room and took a deep, heavy breath.
“Atlantis thinks themselves superior to us,” she began angrily. “They rip the ore from our lands to increase their power while putting a booted heel upon our throats. They say they are our friends, yet they come carrying weapons that can cut a man in two without even having to come close to him. Their black clad men display their deadly arms on our city streets and in our halls. They even carried them in this very chamber before the Lord God, only leaving them behind once they were assured we are no threat to them.”
“Threat!” Seshat spit upon the floor, her words as bitter as the tartest of fruits. “It is they who threaten us! They call themselves friends, but still lord it over us with the implied threat that they could take what they want at any time, enslaving us with their power!” She raised her arms, her white and turquois, gold-tipped wings fanning out like a bird of prey. “Then, when we ask these Atlanteans to supply us with the same weapons, they insult us and the Lord God, himself, by telling us we are as children and cannot be trusted with their arms! How dare they?”
With each scathing word, each time she repeated ‘threat’, the crowd became more agitated, their voices grumbling in agreement and anger. They pressed together, attempting to come around the table. At a barked command from Julius, the Aam drew their swords and laid them across their raised forearms, creating a deadly silver fence. Their actions only incensed the mob, proving to them that the Atlanteans indeed posed a danger. Julius growled deep in his throat and glared across the table, his hand pulling his sword half way out of its scabbard in warning, glancing continuously at his men to insure they held their line.
Apophus waited until the rumbles became shouts and curses, a small smile touching the corners of his thin, red-painted lips. He enjoyed watching the Atlanteans squirm in their seats at the table, seeing them glance nervously over their shoulders at the guards that protected them. The anger burning in their eyes guaranteed they would respond soon no matter how outnumbered they were. The sight tossed fuel upon the fire in his soul, building it up to a blazing bonfire. A sadistic wave of pleasure swept over him, knowing an explosion of pain and suffering would soon engulf the chamber.
One Atlantean was not nervous at all. He was calmly furious.
Ramathus rose from his chair slowly, ignoring the snarling uproar building around him. He sensed the mob pushing hard against his Aam, but he did not flitch or turn to glance in their direction. His cold blue eyes bore into Apophus like icy daggers, unwavering as he almost glided to the clear spot in front of the gaudy throne. His wavy blond hair hung down his broad back like a golden cloak, stirred by the currents of turmoil building all around him. He planted himself like a mighty oak, tree-trunk legs slightly spread, hammer-like fists resting on his wide hips, staring up into the glittering black eyes of his adversary. He stood unspeaking, silently appraising the Trinity then the Lord God with the cool, deadly eyes of a Dire Wolf assessing a method of attack. The calm, crackling energy emanating from the man rolled over the room, quieting the crowd, replacing the noise with expectant intensity. When at last he spoke, the frigid tone of his words caused wintery vapors to form before the lips of those within the chamber with every breath they took.
“You would allow your pet
bitch to speak to us this way?” Ramathus questioned, his voice so soft and menacing that all ears had to strain to hear him. A loud gasp echoed off the stone walls at such an insult. “We who came to you in peace? We who have brought a new prosperity to your People? We who offer trade and technology, science and industry? We who welcome you to the city of Atlantis? We who have only treated you with respect?”
“How dare you!” Ra boiled inside, fighting hard to keep his outward composure and his voice calm. “You forget who we are! Your ancestors came looking for us! We are your ancestor’s ancestor’s ancestor’s! We are the root of all that you are! You would be well advised to treat us with the respect we are due.”
“Is that another threat?” Apophus rose from his gilded throne, a predatory grin upon his thin lips, his hand gripping his sapphire-tipped staff, knowing he had pushed the Atlantean exactly where he wanted him. The blue jewel began to swirl like a pit of vipers as his knuckles whitened around the golden rod.
“Without a doubt,” Ramathus responded coldly. “If you continue to incite these People,” he said, sweeping his hand behind him, “know this. I will take you out first.”
Seeker moved as fast as a striking viper, kicking back his chair and lashing out far quicker than expected of a man so large. If not for the high alert of his Aam-trained senses, the boulder-sized fist would have crushed Ra’s chest to powder. Even at that, he caught a glancing blow across his pecs as he twisted away, rocking him backward against the table. His breath stuck in his lungs, Ra spun away from the hard wood, putting a small distance between him and the enraged behemoth.