Colony - Seeds of War (Colony - The Saga of Earth's First Civilizaton Book 4)

by Gene Stiles

  “But what of the air ships Cronus commands?” Captain Lianas rose from his chair, tossing his long, twisted tresses of tightly curled black hair over his flat, burly shoulders. His onyx skin almost sparkled in the light of the fire blazing in the double-sided hearth. His wide, flat nostrils flared in his boulder-like head as if he were scenting the smoky air. “Can he not use them to end this uprising?”

  “He could,” Hyperion agreed, “but he has few and it is possible that Apophus could blow them out of the skies. Cronus cannot afford to lose them.”

  “I have a question for you,” Rhea chimed in. “In recent years, the birthrate in Atlantis has fallen drastically. Do you suffer the same fate here?”

  “Now that you mention it,” Captain Kaikinos replied, a quirky grin playing across his full, dark lips, “we do. And here we thought it was only because our women tired of us and no longer found us irresistible now that we have become domesticated.”

  The howling laughter echoing around the room provided a welcome break in the thick fog of tension hanging in the air.

  “There is truth in that.” Captain Thalassa smiled, her full, sensuous, ruby lips parted to show her shining white teeth. She tossed her long braid of golden blond hair over her shoulder and down the back of her laced, cherry-red leathers. “You have become fat and lazy without a ship to command.”

  “Then it is a good thing I am here to save all you ladies from boredom,” Hyperion quipped, his radiant smile beaming in his handsome face, hoping to keep the mood lightened. Still, there was an edge of stress amongst the guffaws, laughter and playful propositions.

  “In all seriousness,” Rhea continued, unabashed, pressing forward. “Is there a problem here as well?”

  “Yes,” Thalassa responded curtly. “We did wonder why fewer children are born each year. There are exceptions though. Morpheus and Haleah do not seem to be affected.” She waited until the raunchy laughter and comments died down before continuing. “And Shuk and his kind still breed like rabbits.”

  “That is because we are more virile than the People,” Shuk replied amid hoots and howl from the Izon.

  “There may be more truth to that than you know,” Rhea stated flatly, dropping a cold, chilling blanket on the merriment.

  “Thank you again for your hospitality,” Hyperion said, loading the last of their belonging onto the sled. He grasped the forearm of Morpheus the pulled the man against him in a firm hug. “You have a wonderful home and family. I envy you.”

  “Thank you, my friend.” Morpheus beamed with pride. “It has been great having you here this past week. Please do not stay away so long. The girls love you.”

  “And I them,” he replied, smiling broadly. “Though they can wear a man out pouncing on him whenever they get the chance. I think my legs have been flattened.”

  “I do understand that,” Morpheus replied with a grin.

  “More than anything,” Hyperion added, a note of seriousness in his voice, his jade eyes glancing over to where Haleah and Rhea stood hugging, “I thank you for that. It is good for her to be here. The lady seems more focused and happy than she has been for many a year. I am glad I brought her here.”

  “I am so glad you came,” Haleah said, releasing Rhea from a warm embrace, but still holding her hands. “I hope you return soon.”

  “I shall and thank you.” Rhea felt more relaxed and centered than she had been in quite a while. “I have someone I think you should meet. Do you mind if I bring a young boy with me next time?”

  “Not at all. Who is he?”

  “His name is Loki,” she answered, seeing the look of shock in Haleah’s blue eyes. She knew what the word meant in the language of the Clan. “There is much to tell you about him and I shall do so next time. I believe spending time here in Home would be of as great a benefit to him as it has been for me. He is something special.”

  On the long journey home, a plan solidified in Rhea’s mind. She knew how to destroy Cronus now. Her revenge would take time, but it would be all the sweeter for it.

  And Loki was the key.

  Chapter XV

  “We lost another one, Lord Father.” Carius trembled uncontrollably standing before Cronus in his private office at the top of the Great Pyramid. Absently, he ran his thick-fingered hand through his wavy, dark brown hair. His chestnut eyes drilled holes into the marbled granite tiles before the massive oak desk, praying he would survive the furious repercussions of his failure. Instead of exploding like an erupting volcano, Cronus spoke low and quiet. That terrified Carius even more.

  “How many do we have left?” Cronus rose from his high-backed leather chair and walked slowly to the wide panes of clear crystal, staring out at the sunlit city below. He felt as calm as a glassy lake, smooth and flat. Only the white knuckles of the hands he clenched behind his long, sparkling black robe betrayed the seething in his heart.

  “Eight, Lord Father,” Carius replied, a cold shiver running down his stooped spine. “Apophus destroyed the rest of the aircraft that attacked Nil. His weapon is like none other.”

  “And we do not have fuel for more,” Cronus stated icily. He wanted to grab the quivering man by the throat and choke him until his tongue turned purple and his eyes bulged from his head. A sane portion of his mind told him it was not the fault of Carius that Apophus crushed his third assault. He was not a Captain and it would be unwise to kill his best engineer.

  “No, Lord Father.”

  “Get out of my sight,” Cronus commanded without turning around.

  Carius nearly stumbled over himself making for the carved oak doors, hurrying as fast as decorum allowed. He rushed down the granite hall to the lift, grateful to still be alive. His breath was ragged by the time he made the lobby where he leaned against a cold stone wall to calm his shaky legs. Composing himself as best he could, he smoothed his long white robe with trembling hands and exited the pyramid, mounted his covered sled and powered his way out of Atlantis toward his labs in the desert, his long hair flying out behind him as if a pack of rabid Long-Tooth Cats nipped at his heels.

  “There is only one way to take Nil,” Iapetus grumbled from his spot in a darkened corner of the chamber. “A ground assault. The loss of life would be high and I must ask you, Cronus. Would it be worth it? The Tartarus Mine is almost operational and we will need Nil no longer.”

  “And you would tolerate such insult to Atlantis?” Cronus shouted, spinning on Iapetus, an all too familiar serpentine fire blazing in his jade green eyes. He advanced on his Second, balled fists clutched at his side, his wild red curls slithering around his head like a nest of angry vipers. “You would allow our citizens to rot in captivity as slaves? We outnumber Apophus thousands to one. We can afford to lose far more men than this usurper can. We should flatten his pyramid and all within it!”

  “And if we do reduce it to rubble,” the dark giant said calmly, forcing himself to stand firm, not take the step backward he truly wanted to take, “will that free our brethren or will they die beneath the broken stones?”

  “Better to die a man than live a slave,” Cronus growled in reply, stopping just short of his brother. “A single life of Atlantis is worth all the rest.”

  The sunlight filtering through the windows haloed him in a golden glow making him appear the vengeful God the People thought him to be. The muscles of his powerful chest rippled beneath his crimson tunic as he stared down on Iapetus. The legs bulging beneath his black leather breeches bunched as if to attack, but Iapetus did not flinch. He remained the serene, impregnable granite cliff his brother needed him to be.

  “I do not believe the council nor the People would agree,” the Second stated, hoping to restore the light of reason to his Lord Father’s maddened mind. “Atlantis grows. The People are happy. We learned much from the Nillian People. We harvest our own cotton, shear our own sheep and mill our own textiles. Our citizens remember the lessons of the Black Death. As long as they are content, they will not willingly give up their lives to gain so little
.”

  “They will do as I command,” Cronus replied gruffly, the wind knocked from his sails by the cool arguments.

  “They will,” Iapetus conceded, nodding his bull-like head, his tension eased by the flickering fire in emerald eyes of his commander. He could see he was getting through and pressed onward. “However, back then they were fighting for their own way of life against the Izon - creatures they thought of only as beasts of burden. This time you will be asking them to go up against a clan of the People. The Nillians are direct descendants of Atlan.”

  “In truth, I did not think of that.” Cronus turned slowly on his heel, making his way to his long, black couch. He dropped his bulk heavily onto the thick cushions, a deep sigh seeping from his lungs. He called out to one of the guards stationed outside the chamber doors, ordering tankards of ale for him and Iapetus. “As much as I hate Apophus, he is not worth dividing Atlantis once again. The Captains shall be own their own for the present. I thank you for your wise words, my brother.”

  Iapetus sank into the huge, red and gold brocade chair across from Cronus and sipped his cold, tangy ale, sending thanks to the Creator Cronus chose to listen this time. The switch controlling his moods clicked over to the side of sanity at just the right moment. It would not always be so.

  Ramathus hung limp in the chains that bound his wrists to the granite pillars on either side of him, dark red blood pouring from the striped lacerations crisscrossing his naked back. His buckled knees did not reach the dry black puddles staining the hot stone beneath his feet, forcing the torn muscles of his sinewy arms to bear his full weight. A swirling fog blurred his sea-blue eyes, making vision impossible. His unkempt, long blond hair fell from his bowed head, matted with blood and sweat. Salty red spittle dripped from his split lips, his breath coming in ragged gulps. By the next morning, his tortured body would Heal, the deep cuts ripped into his flesh by the barb-tipped whip gone from his sun-bronzed skin, providing a fresh canvas for his cursed tormentors and his agony would begin again.

  Ramathus lost track of the days, his nights spent in exhausted, restless slumber, plagued by demonic dreams and anguished anticipation. Each day would be the same. Two guards retrieved him from his tiny, bare-walled stone cell, taking him to the courtyard in front of the Central Pyramid and manacling his wrists to the bloodstained chains embedded high above him on white granite pillars. He would stand beneath the rising sun as Captain Astraeus was likewise chained between him and another column. Lastly, Captain Isis would join the men, secured between Astraeus and the last of the four giant pillars. He grieved the most for her. All three were stripped to the waist, their loins wrapped only in harsh, white linen. They remained there in the blazing sunlight until Apophus appeared on his golden throne to watch their torture, licking his fat, painted lips, his hand upon his crotch. Three guards took up positions behind them, uncurling their long, braided, barbed whips. Once the populace, including the Izon, filled the area, the floggings began.

  The Atlanteans stood tall and proud, teeth clenched and silent as the metal thorns scored their backs and legs with deep rivers of sheer, unquenchable pain, but soon the horror became more than even they could withstand. The Izon cheered and shouted, spurred on by the watchful armed guards surrounding them. Should they not roar loud enough, the Clan, too, felt the bite of barbed encouragement.

  Ramathus kept his feet as long as he could, his body quivering with each flesh-shredding lash until his shivering legs betrayed him and crumbled like shattered stone. Fire seared his exposed nerve endings, filling his veins with molten lava. His muscled convulsed uncontrollably, sickly white bone exposed to the light of day. His mind shut down, retreating from the savage fiend ravenously clawing his body with razor talons.

  The Atlanteans might sag or pass out under the barbarous atrocities heaped upon their bodies, but they refused by strength of will to give Apophus what he wanted most. They shuddered. They might hang like dancing dolls from their chains as the demonic monsters slashed into them time and time again, the crack of the whips rending the air and their flesh. But the one thing they would not do was scream.

  At first, many of the Nillian People applauded the ruthless abominations visited upon the Captains, proving their superiority over the Atlanteans, especially after the first air attacks were thwarted so easily by the Lord God. However, the strength, endurance, unbreakable pride and silent courage of these three soon touched them deep in their hearts. Their voices quieted into mutters instead of shouts and cheers. They averted their eyes as the lashes struck with deadly consequence, dropping their heads in cheek-blushed shame. Many quit coming to these villainous displays all together, defying the commands of Apophus, the Lord God, Himself. Apophus took no notice for he quit attending months ago, no longer aroused by the agony inflicted upon the silent Atlanteans. Only the Izon continued with their enforced applause, but even that was muted and apologetic.

  Today Ramathus heard almost no sounds at all except for the crack of the whip and the tearing of flesh. He felt his chaffed, bloody wrists unshackled, his useless arms numb and unresponsive and his legs without the strength to stand. His two guards wrapped his arms around their burly shoulders, lifting him almost gently before his knees could touch the ground. They carried him back to his cold stone cell, laying him out carefully face down upon his hard, thinly padded bed. Normally they would assault him with insults and jeers, but this day they remained completely, utterly soundless.

  No once came to claim him a few hours later to take him out to clean lavatories, chop wood until his arms could no longer raise the ax or shove him to the ground to polish the granite steps of the pyramid. Instead, a hot meal of braised meat in rich brown gravy, boiled potatoes and steamed vegetables was placed on his floor along with a tankard of strong dark ale and a small round of hard-crusted bread. Once Ramathus could move, he virtually inhaled the delicious, savory meal, shoving the food into his mouth with his fingers. The ale, so strong and intoxicating, made his head swoon and pain fade far into the background. He passed out then, lying on the cold granite floor and slept until a soft hand upon his shoulder awoke him from his dreamless slumber.

  Wadjet glided silently down the quiet, little-used back hallways of the Central Pyramid, a long, gray, hooded robe hiding her trouble features. She failed once again to convince Apophus, her Brother and her Sister to send Ra and his companions back to Atlantis or, at the very least, allow them freedom from their enslavement. It was a miracle they still granted her unlimited access to the prisoners. It broke her heart to see these kind and generous people crammed into tiny cells by night and paraded around in chains by day, forced to do the worse and most menial labors.

  She was gladdened the Lord God finally ended the public physical torture heaped upon the Atlanteans daily for these last six months. She wished she could take credit for that, but it was not the case. The effect Apophus hoped to engender among the Nillian People with the painful humiliation of the Captains backfired upon him, causing empathy for his captives instead of proving the greatness of the Nil over Atlantis.

  Wadjet stopped before the cell door that contained Captain Ramathus, peering in the thick-paned glass window and saw him curled like a newborn on the stone floor. The gold glow of Healing cocooned his near-naked form, shimmering brightly in the dim confines of the room. She removed the big steel key from her robe pocket and unlocked the heavy oak door. Wadjet stepped quietly inside, leaving the door open behind her, and slid to the floor, her back against the wall simply watched the sleeping giant.

  She opened her robe and threw back her hood, her long black hair cascading over her smooth shoulders and down her ample breasts to the white, gold-edged sash encircling her narrow waist. For the first time in front of non-Nillians, Wadjet did not wear her conical headdress. She chose to allow her slightly oblong skull to be visible to Ramathus when he finally awoke.

  Her large, almond-shaped, gold-flecked, emerald eyes gazed at the Atlantean with a sense of awe and wonder, mixed with a strong t
inge of hopeless desire. She cocked her head to one side, her sensuous, ruby-red lips pursed together on her stunningly beautiful face. Ra touched her as no other man ever had, not with his powerful hands or once-smiling lips, but with the kindness he showed her in the past. Yes, his chiseled, perfect features and sculpted, rock-hard body entranced her, filling her nights with erotic dreams of his heated embrace, but it was his sharp intellect, self-assurance and joy of life, which drew her to him with magnetic force. He commanded others not with abuse, but with mutual respect and loyalty. Ramathus was quick to admit his mistakes and apologize for them. He listened to others and scrapped his own plans if theirs were better. His laughter infected everyone around him with smiles and good nature. He simply astounded Wadjet and she prayed to Sirius that he would forgive her for the cruelties he endured at the hands of her people.

  She arose from the floor and squatted next to his glowing face, loath to wake him, but having little time. She brushed his blond waves away from his face, caressing his visage with her long fingertips. He did not flinch, so she dared place a soft kiss upon his cheek before shaking his shoulder slightly until he stirred and opened his ocean-blue eyes. She rocked back on her heels, seating herself a short distance from him and waited.

  Ramathus opened his eyes slowly, his lids slightly crusted from his deep Healing sleep. His vision blurred at first then sharpened with crystal clarity. Wadjet sat before him, a small concerned smile upon her ruby red lips. Something was off about her, but he could not quite place it. He stretched languidly, his muscles and tendons tight and sore, but stronger and less painful. The rich meal still filled his stomach, providing him with much needed energy. Ra sat up and brushed his long blond hair back over his broad, flat shoulders, crossing his legs beneath him.