by Gene Stiles
“Ah, lovely Haleah,” Hyperion smiled, turning his eyes upon her, “it is always the greatest of pleasures to gaze upon your beauty.” He took her hand in his, leaned over and kissed it softly, his curls softly caressing her wrist.
Haleah smiled in return, “How is it you would even notice a simple girl like me, Hyperion? You are always accompanied by so many that make me seem insignificant compared to their charms.”
“Like a yellow rose among the red,” he said, still clasping her hand, “though all are beautiful, you stand out with a radiance all your own.”
“Oh, please, Hyperion,” Anaxus gagged, covering his mouth, then laughing, “we have just consumed a wonderful meal! Let us have time to rest our pallets before you pour over-thick honey all over the table!”
Morpheus gave Anaxus a seething glance and rose slowly from the table like a thunderhead rising over the mountains. “What are you saying, Anaxus?” he grumbled darkly. Everyone froze at the tone of his voice. Even Hyperion stopped speaking, stunned to silence. With muscles rippling, Morpheus rounded the table to gaze down with blazing eyes. “Are you suggesting that Haleah is not beautiful, that she could not compete with these other fine ladies?”
Still leaning back in his chair with his head tilted back, Anaxus looked as if his food had turned sour in his mouth. His mouth opened and closed like a fish caught out of water. “I…I…Never…I did not mean…” he stammered.
Morpheus gripped handfuls of hair on either side of the head of Anaxus, locking eyes with him. “I did not think so,” he intoned solemnly…then kissed his friend wetly on the forehead. A wicked, mischievous grin split his lips. “That was for bouncing Haleah back to the city.”
Anaxus sputtered, wiping his brow madly as if to cleanse away the touch, causing himself to lose his balance. Morpheus had to step backward to keep from being crushed by the falling chair. He did manage to cradle his friend’s head so it did not impact on the floor. Everyone around him howled in amusement as Anaxus rose, dusting himself off with great exaggeration. “Well!” he muttered with feigned indignity, “I have never been so misunderstood!” He glanced at Morpheus, who stood well out of reach grinning at him with self-satisfaction, “You did catch me off guard there, my friend.” He wagged his finger in admonishment and smiled, “I now owe you, Morpheus. I assure you my turn will come.” He stepped over, grabbed Morpheus in a bear hug and lifted him from the floor. “My turn will come,” he chortled, “soon!”
Morpheus stepped back from Anaxus and shook his hand. “I did not plan your graceful decent to the floor, however it was a crowning touch,” he beamed. “I think I shall remove myself from your presence for a short while.” Morpheus reached his hand out to the still-shocked Haleah and said, “Would you mind accompanying me to the dance floor to allow Anaxus a moment to regain his composure?”
“Go quickly, Haleah,” Hyperion laughed, pointing at Anaxus. “I shall have a few of these ladies massage this brute’s poor bruised ego. Be off!”
Morpheus led the way out onto the dance floor, losing them quickly from view. He stopped half way to the stage, turned and drew Haleah into his arms. The tune the band played was slow and rich with flowing melody. She melded her body against his, swaying, resting her cheek against the heat of his chest. Even above the music and laughter surrounding them, she could hear the steady beat of his heart. It encased her in warmth and serenity and for a few moments, they were alone in the cosmos, drifting on clouds of sound.
Morpheus rested one hand on the small of her back, gently turning her to the easy rhythm that filled the room. Unconsciously, his other hand slid up and down the curve of her spine, luxuriating in the current of energy that the touch radiated into his body. He breathed deeply, inhaling the clean, fresh, flowery aroma of her hair. Her leg moved between his as they danced, their inner thighs brushing each other. He felt tremors flicker throughout his being, growing with each oscillation of their dance. He signed deeply with pure pleasure and knew deep within his heart that it was time. Still, it took all of his courage, evident in the quivering of his voice, to bend to her ear and whisper, “I do believe I love you, Haleah.”
His heart stopped beating. Haleah froze in place, keeping her face buried against him. She spoke not a word, but Morpheus felt a growing wetness moistening his tunic. Had he made a terrible, terrible mistake? He trembled, fearing he driven a wedge deep into their friendship. Was that all it was? Friendship? Would he now lose even that by being so bold? Morpheus released his hold upon her to step away.
Haleah would not let him go. Her arms wrapped around him, crushing him to her. For an eternity, she kept her face averted, fighting to control the wobbling of her shaking legs. Morpheus did not know what to do, so he waited patiently, his hands hanging limply at his sides. When, at last, she looked up into his face, he was unsure of what he saw. Her skin was blushed a bright red, splotchy where tears streamed down her cheeks, causing strands of soft blond hair to stick to her in mats. ‘What have I done?’ Morpheus wondered. ‘What have I done?’
His answer came less than a heartbeat later. A smile brighter than the sun at noontime broke across Haleah’s face. It bathed Morpheus in a shimmering golden glow that cascaded through his veins and burst through his muscles. Haleah reached up and cupped his jaw between her warm hands. Rising up on tiptoe, she kissed him solidly on the mouth, her breath hot upon his flesh. “Oh, Morpheus,” she whispered, “I have loved you for so very long. I feared you would not love me back. Thank you. Thank you.”
She kissed every single inch of his face, forehead to chin, giggling and crying. Morpheus stood dazed at first then laughed aloud, lifting her above his head, pulling her back into his arms, returning her caresses with many of his own and spinning her in a circle on the dance floor.
The music rose in pitch and rhythm like the joy filling their hearts. They moved with it, rode the waves of harmony like driftwood upon a swelling sea. There was no need to exchange more words at present. All that needed to be said was visible in the sparkles reflecting like the heavens in their locked eyes, the rapture encasing them in a cocoon of warmth, the desire evident in the touch of hands and bodies. In the arms of Morpheus, Haleah felt truly at home for the first time in her long, long life.
Unlike the People, Haleah did not have to wear a Polaris-Belt woven into a belt or hidden beneath a sash. Her weight was her own, her muscles used to the heavy gravity. There was a down side to that, though. The People dancing around them were light of foot and tireless, almost floating with the melodic notes of the band. She, however, tired even filled with the exuberance that buoyed her soul. Bathed in a soft sheen of perspiration, she finally released Morpheus, took his hand and pulled him toward the edge of the dance floor.
“Be so kind as to get me something to drink,” she smiled, “before I pass out from your touch.”
Morpheus beamed at her and kissed her damp brow. He brushed the hair from her eyes and squeezed her hand. “Anything for you, my love.” He left her standing on the edge of the dance floor and wound his way to the bar.
Haleah gazed blissfully upon the swirling crowd, lost in her thoughts, immersed in the ebb and flow of movement and sound. When she felt the hand grasp her shoulder, she reached up to touch it, her lips almost caressing the fingers. She knew it was not Morpheus the moment she felt the coarseness of the hand. Taken aback, Haleah turned to face a burly, bearded man, wide-shouldered, a head taller than her, dressed in a dark brown tunic and pants. Arrayed around him were three others of the same ilk, each leering at her with undisguised lust, their eyes filled with a wicked cruelty.
“How may I help you?” she asked, putting a small distance between her and the man who had touched her. Without thought, she slid into a nearly imperceptible fighting stance.
“What is such an exotic thing as you doing all alone?” the man grinned malignantly.
“I am not alone,” she countered. “I am with friends. Please state your business or leave me be.”
“Friends?” th
e man snickered. “You are not even one of the People. You do not have friends here. I am Bodin of the Aam. You will come with us.” He gripped her wrist and turned to drag her toward the door.
“I think not,” she replied, twisting her arm, spinning on her heel and driving her other palm into his shoulder. The man stumbled forward with the blow, nearly falling face first on the ground. “Do not touch me again,” Haleah warned.
Bodin roared, firing a rock-sized fist at her face. She danced away, kicking out, attempting to buckle the man at the knee. He countered by raising his leg so her foot bounced off the hardened muscle of his calf. Haleah shifted to block his next blow and felt a knife-like stabbing in her side that whooshed the air from her lungs. Her vision filled with black spots, pure instinct whipping her leg backward as she rolled to the ground. She connected with the knee of the accomplice who had struck her from behind, mashing into the bone. Before she could regain her footing, Bodin yanked her head back by the hair, wrapping his tree-branch like forearm around her exposed throat. Bright sparks joined the dark blotches behind her eyes, her mouth struggling to suck in precious air. Haleah grabbed at the arm, using it to leverage herself up, curling into a ball, and then raking her heels down her attacker’s shins. He bellowed in rage, dropping her to the floor where she lay choking, holding her bruised neck.
“You shall pay for that, anima…” he began. The rest never passed through his lips. Morpheus dropped like some great bird of war from the very air above the packed crowd gathered around them, hair swirling around him like black flame, and landed on bended knees. He exploded upward from the crouch, his balled fist rocketing in an uppercut that caught Haleah’s attacker under the jaw. The power of the impact was so great that the massive man was catapulted up and into the bodies of his cohorts, sending them sprawling in a crumpled heap.
“How dare you touch a woman of the People?” Morpheus roared above the music, which suddenly stopped, leaving the room in utter quiet. He stood like a god of vengeance, an aura of dark, boiling fury emanating from him and driving back the onlookers. His eyes blazed with each beat of his heart and every muscle on his body bulged and rippled. Without taking his gaze from the men rising before him, Morpheus reached behind him and took Haleah’s arm, helping her to her feet. “Are you all right?” he rumbled.
Haleah rubbed her sore neck, the pain from the punch to the kidney fading away. “I am well.” She watched the four Aam fan out before them, one grimacing as he rubbed his kneecap. She moved to plant herself next to Morpheus, glaring at her assailants.
“I shall ask you one more time,” Morpheus asked, acid dripping from his words, “how dare you touch a woman of the People?”
“She is not of the People,” Bodin glared, a deep purple bruise coloring his jaw. “She is little more than the beasts she came with.” He and his pack closed the gap between them, shifting to try to encircle them. In the silent pall which now bathed the nightclub, his words bit loudly into the air. “We are Aam. We have orders to take her to Cronus.”
“Since when would Cronus demand an audience at this time of night?” another voice boomed. Anaxus shoved his way to the fore, followed closely by Navis and Nuvan. The twins moved to position Haleah between the four of them.
The Aam behind Bodin began to back up, glancing nervously at each other and the thick packed throng of People now surrounding them. Bodin noted the movement but held his ground. “We were told to pick her up whenever we saw her. We saw her now,” he growled. “Now step back and let us do our duty.”
Morpheus glared at him as if he were a bug to be squashed beneath the heel of his boot. “We are also of the Aam. We heard no such order. Now apologize to the lady and back away.”
Bodin moved to stand chest to chest with Morpheus, punching his forefinger into his chest. “I do not answer to you and I do not apologize to those not of the People.”
Morpheus grabbed the hand that touched him, turned slightly and twisted. Bodin bent over, his knees dropping to the floor, his arm twisted behind him. His men bristled, starting to come to his aid. Anaxus raised his hand, wagging his finger at them. “I would not do that,” he said calmly.
“I see we have a slight problem interrupting my night of pleasure.” Hyperion stepped regally through the crowd and into the open space between the men, a lovely woman on each arm. His face was lit with a small smile as he glanced at Bodin kneeling, one hand on the floor, the other in the grip of Morpheus, a grimace of pain upon his face. “As a Council member, I suggest strongly that you tell the Lady Haleah that you are sorry, Bodin. That way, I can get back to the truly important matter of bathing my friends here in my wit and charm.”
His face livid, Bodin lowered his eyes and grumbled, “I am sorry for my actions.”
“Haleah,” Morpheus added, punctuating his word by applying more pressure to the man’s wrist.
“I am sorry…Haleah,” Bodin muttered blackly.
“Accepted,” Haleah said, adding, “Should you wish to dance with me again, try doing so without your friends.” She turned on her heel and started to walk away, stopping just before entering the throng of onlookers. “Then we shall see how well you fare alone against an ‘animal’.”
Morpheus released Bodin, shoving him away with a smirk of disgust, and guided Haleah back to their table.
“Well,” Hyperion said, clapping his hands together, “Let us get back to dancing. Music! I need music!”
Chapter III
It should have been the happiest of times. But it was not. It should have brought love and excitement. However, it brought fear and dread. It should have filled him with life and energy. It exhausted him with nightmare-filled slumber and hammering headaches. Moreover, something in his heart told him it would only get worse.
His third child was about to be born.
Cronus paced the hallways in front of his bedroom, listening to the sounds of the birthing. Crying and whimpering filtered under the door like a thick fog. The cooing of midwives, gently giving direction and support whispered in the background. Rhea’s breath came in heavy pants, often followed by hisses of pain.
The pain was one of the many things that gnawed at Cronus. Birthing among the People was usually quick with little discomfort; the Lending of the midwives taking away the agony that was constant now. The last three moons of the two years a woman carried a child brought little difficulty.
Now, however, things were much different. At first, it was wonderful. An incredible excitement had filled the People as woman after woman was granted the seed of new life. It seemed that the Creator, himself, had blessed the People with the joy of rebuilding their population. It was as if this new world, so filled with life of its own, saturated the People with its procreation. Within a few moons, nearly every woman of child baring age would be giving birth.
But, too soon. The two-year Atlan gestation period for women should have been a four-year period on this world. Instead, the time quartered to only one year. Even that seemed wondrous at first, but each birthing was suddenly a labor filled with torturous agony. Screams echoed through the halls, out of windows and into the streets. Rarely a night went by that first year when the night was quiet. Sleep was difficult and fear reverberated in each woman as she watched and heard her sisters bear daughters and sons. Each began to dread their own time.
After that initial first year boom, the city still had no rest. The days and nights were filled with a new and terrifying sound. The cries of the newborn replaced those of the mothers. The weight of this world crushed down on the tiny bodies and the thickness of the air made breathing difficult. Every available resource was pressed to task to manufacture miniature rebreathers and Polaris-Belts to ease the suffering of the young. By the time enough had been created to supply each new born, nerves were frayed and tempers flared on every street corner and in every bedroom.
It was with immense relief that the births slowed down and the factories could finally keep pace. The entire city sighed a collective breath and quiet ret
urned. Soon each parent could feel the belated joy that the suffering had held back. Mothers and fathers cuddled and cooed, laughed at each new movement and sound. All was as it should be.
Except for Cronus. He, too, was proud when Rhea announced he was to be a father. He, too, crowed to anyone available on the upcoming event. He, too, took the handshakes and back patting of his friends with the proper smiles and laughs. However, almost immediately after Rhea made her announcement, the headaches began. They started as small things that quickly left. Then the muscles of his neck would tighten like a creeper vine choking the life out of a small rodent. By the time his first child was only a moon month away, his head pounded near constantly. Cronus would awake in the night, bathed in sweat from unremembered nightmares, voices whispering in the back of his mind with words unintelligible. His back and shoulders were as solid as the stones that made up the Great Pyramid in the city square. Constant pain was new. Meditation slowed the throbbing for a while. The occasional Lending – he told his friends it was for fatigue – held off his suffering for days, only to have his demon attack with a vengeance upon its return.
Like the rest of the People, Cronus suffered those first few moon months when most of the newborns came. Unlike the rest, his pain slammed down like an avalanche on his already beaten soul. When the others rejoiced in the quieting of the children, he felt barely a difference.