by Gene Stiles
“Morpheus! Where are you?” Haleah screamed over and over.
Haleah’s limp body hung broken and twisted. Her dislocated shoulders, the muscles stretched and torn beyond repair. Her knees bowed, unable to rise on the balls of her useless feet. Dark brown, dried blood coated the remnants of her dress torn open from the collar down to the jagged strips lying limply against her kneecaps. The knees had been broken, shattered repeatedly by the blows of a heavy metal hammer. How many times had she screamed out her agony at the sickening sound of joints cracking, bones breaking? A thick, ugly pool of her own hot, streaming blood formed at her feet, staining her repeatedly crushed toes. Knives had pierced every inch of her soft skin, tracing tattooed designs conceived by the sick, twisted mind of her tormentor. Large, odd shaped patches of her flesh were ripped away by rough implements with jagged edges and holes being pulled down her twisting, howling body. She wanted only to fall into the darkness of death.
But, the Other would not let her. Not yet. No, not yet.
About The Author
Gene Stiles, a Michigan native, moved to Simi Valley, CA in 1963. His first publication was at age eleven when the Los Angeles Daily News (then the Valley News and Green Sheet) and the L.A. Times wrote articles on a young poet selling his work to buy a Mother’s Day present.
In the 1980’s he opened three Teen Nightclubs in Southern California which affected the lives of so many and are the sources of his novel, ‘Phenomenon – The Xenon West Story.
His interests include mythology, archeology, lost civilizations, and science – which are the sources for these novels. He is also a martial artist and major karaoke junkie.
He lives in Missouri with his Border Collie and best friend, Solo, in the house he and his late wife, Dianne built hand in hand where her love still surrounds him and gives him inspiration.
Colony
Blood Kin
Written By
Gene Stiles
Other Books By Gene Stiles
To Walk The Winding Road – A Story of Abuse and Survival
The Colony Series
Colony – Atlantean
Colony – Neander
Colony – Olympian (Coming Soon)
Brotherhood Of The Bike
Phenomenon – The Xenon West Story
Dedicated to my lovely wife, Dianne, who has given me so much support, who brought me pots and pots of coffee while my head was buried in the computer, believing in me and my goals and who has made all my dreams a reality. I miss you, my love.
A special dedication to my nephew, David and my niece, Burgendee, for giving me ideas, being my sounding board, helping me with artwork and for being my editor.
I love you both.
Thank you.
Copyright © 2016 By Gene Stiles
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the author except where permitted by law.
ISBN Number 978-1-365-83562-9
Cover Art By Gene Stiles, Copyright © 2016
Author’s Forward
What If It’s True?
If you heard the same story from ten different people who did not know each other, would you believe it? How about fifty different people – with no Internet access – from different locations around the world? How about hundreds?
There is a theory that we as the human race or not native to this earth but, rather, are a colony planted here long ago from another world. Not a new concept and scoffed at by most rational adults. But what if there is recorded documentation around the world that proves that such a possibility exists?
There is. Thousands of documents.
There are literally millions of links between ALL religious and mythological writings from ALL around the world. Many events and even specific names mentioned in the Bible, for example, can be found in ancient mythology. There are over Five Hundred stories around the world of survivors of a Great Flood. Hell of Christian religions is also Hel, the underworld ruled by the goddess Hela, in Norse mythology. The Tree, so predominate in the Bible, is also referred to in Norse mythology as Yggdrasil and is found in many other writings and in Great Flood stories as the receptacle of survivors instead of the Ark (also made of wood).
The recent discovery in 1995 of Göbekli Tepe, in Southern Turkey, home to the most ancient temple structures ever discovered, believed to be over 12,000 years old, have set the archeological world on its ear. It has changed the timeline of human civilization by thousands of years. What if there is still more that we have yet to discover? What then is the truth?
Many others have written extensively on these subjects. Some of the best researchers are Erich Von Daniken in his book Chariots of the Gods, which chronicles possible visits by extraterrestrials to the earth in ancient times; Joseph Campbell in his studies of mythologies; Graham Hancock’s studies in lost civilizations and the origins of humanity such as ‘Fingerprints of the Gods’, ‘Magicians of the Gods’ and many more; Michael Cremo, author of ‘Forbidden Archeology, the Hidden History of Mankind’ and many more writers too numerous to mention.
What I have done in the Colony series is not an attempt to duplicate the work of so many great writers. It is instead a fictionalized story from the perspective of the people who may have lived it. It is an attempt to put into words the hows and whys of what happened long ago. In each novel, I will explain reasons for many of the events and symbols in myth and religion as well as historical, archeological and geological occurrences. In the forward of each book, I will lay out what the story will include so you, the reader, can understand how these events tie together. I ask for your patience and indulgence in getting the full story, as the information I’ve gathered over thirty years of research is monumental. For more specific detail, I suggest you read the works of the previously mentioned authors with an open mind.
Colony – Bloodkin is the third book in the Colony series. In Colony – Atlantean, I took on the question of where our ancestors may have come from, why and when. I also gave physical descriptions of the race compiled from worldwide mythologies and religions. I looked at the characteristics of the gods such as long life and healing abilities. I also traced the events laid out in religion, myth and science such as the First War Of The Gods, destruction of the dinosaurs and other events.
In Colony – Neander, I took on questions like why there was such a gap between dinosaurs and the rise of true mankind. I talk about what may have caused a devolution of the human body and left vestal organs in current mankind.
Were modern humans present before the Neanderthals? Neanderthal body type is accepted to have evolved around 200,000 years ago, modern humans about 40,000 years ago. Yet anatomically modern human remains were found that are over 300,000 years old, placing modern human before the Neanderthals.
In Colony – Bloodkin, I discuss what would happen when two disparate cultures collide - linked by blood, but separated by millions of years of evolution. What could create such an incredibly deep division among a technologically advanced, physically superior and socially advanced race that their own civilization could be at great risk?
Mythological, I take on the reasons behind the madness that was to take over Cronus, the leader of the Titans, and lead to the splitting of the Twelve Titans, pitting them against each other in the incredible conflict that was to come.
I lay down the foundation of the Atlantean city and culture. How it arose, where it is located and why it spread out around the globe leaving remnants that may have been found and those that may yet be found.
Lastly, I set up the groundwork for the Second War of the Gods – an event chronicled in mythologies and religions aro
und the world and backed by hard, scientific evidence.
You’ll also find a few other little ‘inferences’ tossed into the mix for good measure, some fact and some whimsical.
The truly scary part is that things are happening today, right now, that show the events of the past are repeating themselves. From global warming and worldwide changes in weather, tectonic activity and even war and terrorism. Events in politics worldwide here in 2016 seem to be setting the stage for another global war.
The Mayans predicted the next destruction of civilization as occurring in 2012. We know this did not happen, but keep this in mind. Our modern forecasters have a difficult time predicting what the weather will be tomorrow. Could the Mayans, predicting 5,000 years in advance, have been off a decade or two? Are there events of today leading to this very conclusion?
Read on and decide for yourself.
And be prepared.
Prologue
It is almost time for me to leave this life. The golden luster of my once long hair has faded to a pale white. It hangs just over my shoulders like thin wisps of fog, blown to and fro with the slightest breeze. The sun-darkened skin that used to flow smoothly and softly over the travel-hardened muscles of my six-foot-four frame now hangs wrinkled and limp as a rain-soddened leaf on bones that creak and moan in protest with each movement. Blue eyes that could pierce the darkest of nights to spot the flight of a speckled hawk now have trouble reading the writing of my own trembling hands.
I am so old; so tired. I am ready for this life to end.
This life. Ha! It has not turned out anything like my wildest dreams – worse than my deepest nightmares. Nothing happened as I imagined it would. It did not happen as it was supposed to happen. It did not happen in the way I trained for it to happen. It all went wrong. Yet good did come of it.
I am Haleah. For the last nine hundred and forty years, I have been Keeper of the Izon Clan.
Keeper. It used to mean such a different thing than it does now. For time untold – I still cannot think in terms of millions of years. It is beyond my feeble comprehension – the Keepers of the Izon have led them through this frightening, dangerous world. Keepers read the lines etched on the Box to bring them to the place not far from where I now sit. A Keeper’s sole purpose had always been to help the Izon fulfill the Need.
The Need. What a horrible joke upon us that turned out to be. We Keepers followed the Need blindly, keeping the Izon from lying down in green valleys ripe with fruit and game. Keepers pushed the Clan onward, into danger and death, plague and famine. We Keepers thought the Need would free the Clan from hardship. We were taught that fulfilling the Need would lead our people to a life filled with happiness, with food, with comfort. It would be a life filled with change and freedom.
Oh, how it changed! However, there was to be no freedom.
Yet, to our credit – and our sorrow – how could we ever have known? It should have been as we thought.
After all, fulfilling the Need meant awakening the Gods.
Now they are awake – and all is not as it should have been.
Yet I am a Keeper still. My daughters will be the Keepers after I am gone, then their daughters, then theirs as it always has been. However, the role of the Keeper is so different now. We no longer guide the Izon Clan on a foolish quest. We protect them from the Gods. We teach them the things that will one day make them the Gods equals.
Now we have a new Need. We use our skills, our knowledge and yes, even our bodies to learn from the Gods. We steal their teachings and their science, their tools and weapons of war. We pass this on to the Izon and, one day, we will lead them against the very Gods we foolishly awoke.
There is, however, one thing we as Keepers can be thankful to the Gods for. Throughout the history of the Clan, there has only been one Keeper born of the Izon at a time. Each Keeper bore only one girl child in her long lifetime then trained that one to take her place when the time came. I am the first to break that cycle. I have five lovely daughters who look nearly identical to what I used to and my line has grown beyond my meager mind’s ability to comprehend. My family now includes fifteen granddaughters, twenty-five great granddaughters, sixty-two great, great granddaughters and so many more my old brain can no longer keep track. We have become our own Clan with our own Need and our own duty to the Izon. I do thank the Gods for, at least, our proliferation – or at least one of them.
Morpheus is unlike the rest. Not that all of them are evil. Even among that wretched group, there are those who are kind and loving. Nevertheless, how would they react if they knew the whole truth as he does? Would they love us more? Would they hate us for what we have become or would they fears us and seek to destroy what they may also become?
Yet, I am becoming scattered in my senility. For you to understand all that has befallen us, I should take you back to the Awakening and the horror it brought upon the Keepers and the Clan.
How well I remember the day long ago when Guel, Sheel, and I stood at the edge of the chasm beneath the shadow of the One Tree. With pride and awe, we stared at the mountain that had entombed the Ancestors; that cavern we had opened with our own hands at the turning of the Key. I felt my legs trembling when I watched the silver clad people enlarge the cave opening with seeming magic and burn a immense swathe through solid rock. They created a wide path right up to the edge of the crevasse surrounding the One Tree.
When they saw us waiting on the other side, there was great excitement among them. Two of them stepped upon a silver disk and glided across the gap to come and stand before me. I wanted nothing more than to run at that moment – and now know I should have – but the Ancestors called out our name. “Iasion! Iasion!” they shouted and we in our ignorance thought they were welcoming us. Behind me the Clan responded, chanting, “Izon! Izon! Izon!”
We were jubilant!
Tragedy overtook us in less than a heartbeat.
Two men of the Clan rushed forward simply to touch the Ancestors, yelling with joy. What they got was instant death. Reacting with a speed impossible to measure, the Ancestor I now know as Cronus saw the movement as a threat and fired a killing beam of red light. It sliced the two men in half as easily as a blade passes through a morning mist.
In hindsight, we should have realized that this was but a simple precursor of things to come.
Chapter I
Cronus felt blue fire surrounding him like a bath of molten metal. It seared into his tortured body. Muscles cramped uncontrollably while lightning coursed along each burning nerve ending. The sockets of his shoulders screamed in protest while they bent impossibly behind his kneeling body. The giant golden man laughed manically as he sent surge after surge of flame into the shattered remains of Cronus’ dying body. He felt the skin blacken and boil. His hair burst into flame, blistering his skull. He screamed, the sound echoing through the confines of the domed city as the building exploded and collapsed around him.
Mars cackled above the racket. “I have seen, Cronus! One day your son will betray you as you betrayed me! Beware that day! Beware that day! Beware that day…”
Cronus screamed and screamed and screamed…
He hurt. Every muscle seemed frozen in place. Frozen, yet burning with a searing fire that traveled the pathway provided by every nerve. Cronus tried to groan, but his throat would not respond. Dust blew like the windstorms of Atlan around his lips and through his nostrils. He tried to cough, but could barely get enough air into his lungs to make a sickly wheeze. His curly, red hair stuck in wet ringlets against his skull. He forced his body to turn on his side, instantly regretting the decision. The Creator slammed him between the eyes with a sledgehammer blow. He twisted more to puke out the contents of his empty stomach…and fell for an eternity. He hit cold steel with force enough to drive those few, hard-earned breaths of air from his lungs. Darkness descended on him like the flick of a switch.
When he awoke, it was to the sound of moans and whimpers. His body felt incredibly heavy and hard to move. His
chest felt crushed and merely breathing was an excruciating labor. Shaking with the strain, Cronus dragged himself to the nearest corner. He had just enough strength left to push himself up into a seated position, resting his back against the cold metal plating. Working hard to control his breathing, he slowed his racing heart and waited until the fog lifted from his eyes. Eons passed until he quieted the pain of his body to the point that he could force open dust-encrusted eyelids.
Dim lights shimmered into view, casting wild shadows around the bridge of the ship. Here and there, a puddle of darkness stirred and retched up a pile of dirty bile. Coughs burned from parched throats as a faint mist twisted tendrils of smoke up toward the ceiling. Multicolored lights flickered on consoles before empty, padded chairs. More appeared to dance with each passing moment. The mist stopped curling up and started to fall back down as a moist wetness that touched the lips and face like the sweetest of nectars. Cronus managed to push his tongue between the hard slit of his mouth, the skin cracking and bleeding from that smallest of efforts. The joy of it was so intense that he turned his head to capture more, only to crumple onto his side. He laid there, lips slightly parted, unable to move.
The dampness continued to bath him with its soft caress, each touch inching life back into every tissue of his love-starved body. With aching slowness, the heat in his sinews cooled and a very limited strength seeped into his limbs. Taking care to keep from blacking out again, Cronus used the corners of the wall to force himself to his feet. He kept his back wedged into the corner, spreading his quivering legs to brace. The light in the room rose to the level of twilight, yet it still burned his watering eyes.