Colony - Blood Kin (Colony Series Book 3)

by Gene Stiles

  Ahead of him loomed a monstrous staircase. The steps were made of giant blocks of cracked stone, near-black sand trickling down like miniature waterfalls, a fine spray carried in the swirling air. The sand-mist pelted Cronus with a sting like a thousand insects and stuck to his damp, clammy skin. He brushed it from his flesh, feeling fresh blood left behind from the abrasions. Step after cautious step, he made his way up that staircase toward the huge, wooden doors that hung lopsided on bent and rusted hinges.

  From within the gaping, black maw of those doors, voices called out to him, spurring him to hurry forward. The words were as undistinguishable as the white, ghostly forms that drifted just within the room beyond. Cronus stood at the threshold, squinting into the gloom, his quaking legs hesitating to take him forward. He knew he had to speak to those inside. He knew they called to him to remind him of something long forgotten, something of vital import. Yet he feared with a fear that glued his feet to the cold, lifeless stone, a fear that gripped his heart like the fist of the Creator. It thickened the fluid in his arteries to the consistency of mud and rooted him at that dark archway.

  Out of the shadows, a tall, slender form took shape. Draped in a gown of pink, sparkling light, it floated toward him, hand outstretched in welcome. The face radiated with a love that banished the dark as the sun would chase away the morning mists. Tresses of golden-red hair draped over pale white shoulders drifted around her head like a living thing. Her features glowed so brightly as to make Cronus lower his head to keep his eyes from burning.

  She stopped before him and placed her fingertips under his chin, raising his face as a mother would a small child. Tears streaked the dirt caked onto his cheeks at the sight of her. “Have no fear here, my son.”

  Cronus trembled and sank to his knees and she crouched in front of him, her hand never leaving his face. He felt a lightness cascade from his head to his toes, releasing him from the terror that tried to crush in heart.

  “We are only here to guide you, to remind you of that which you have forgotten,” she crooned.

  “We?”

  “Yes,” she smiled. Another form coalesced in the shadows. A man wide of shoulders, tall and muscular, dressed in a robe the blue of a clear mountain stream glided to her side, waves of sparkling, silver hair haloed around his head. He rested a wide, powerful hand on the silky shoulder of the woman and bathed Cronus in the glow of his smile. “It is good to see you, my son.”

  “Father, Mother, why have you summoned me?” Cronus wept.

  The two figures glanced at each other before answering, their smiles becoming sad and filling his heart with sorrow. “We have come to advise you as we need and to remind you of what has gone before.” They spoke together, their voices combining into the sweetest of melodies. “We have but one thing to tell you at present, but we will be here whenever you need us.”

  “Why only one thing?” Cronus asked. “There is so very much I need council on. There is much going on with the People that I do not understand.”

  “In time,” they replied. “For now our time is limited.”

  “But why limited?” he begged.

  The man gazed at him with eyes of blue ice, the upturn of his lips seemed at once forced and loving. “You have not been open to us,” he admonished. “We have always been here and will always remain. You are filled with confusion and fear and, thus, refused to listen to our voices.”

  “Even now,” he continued, “you quake at the path you must take to reach us. The easier that road becomes, the more we will be able to share.”

  Cronus nodded his head, understanding seeping into him like the first rays of dawn over the tops of snow covered mountains.

  “You are weary.” Her velvet voice drifted against his ears. “We will come another time.” She pulled her palm away from his chin finally, standing alongside the man. “Sleep in peace, our son.”

  They began to fade into the background then suddenly stopped. The man moved forward and gazed down on Cronus’ kneeling form. “Remember what I told you,” he warned. “Beware your children. They shall band against you and murder you in your sleep.”

  Darkness enshrouded Cronus. The city around him began to melt into pools of molten stone. “What shall I do?” he cried after them.

  “Send them away,” the voices whispered. “Far, far away. Let the very earth swallow them up.”

  Hestia knelt in the fresh-turned soil. Her fingernails were black from the rich loam that trickled between her long, tiny fingers. She felt the slimy skin of the worm as it wiggled across the palm of her hand. Her twisting curls of wispy auburn hair swayed like waves in the light afternoon breeze around her delicate neck. Her light green eyes peered at the worm as if wondering how it moved and where it might be going. Hestia pursed her thin, pink lips in thought and trailed her fingernail along the back of the worm, watching as it twisted at her touch.

  Demeter simply squealed with delight, clapping her delicate hands. She dug her hands deep into the damp earth searching for her own little creature to play with. The spun gold hair that poured over her bowed head like a sparkling waterfall dipped into the soil, the tips darkened by the dirt. She cared not, raising a handful of loam to her straight little nose to suck in the aroma of life it carried.

  Rhea sat cross-legged upon the thick carpet of green grass, idly running her fingers through the coarse blades. The warm, gentle breeze tickled its way around her gently curved face making strands of honey blond hair curl and twist like a living thing. Her other hand rested on the light pink blanket securely wrapped around the infant Hera who slept at her side. Though her vivid blue eyes never left her children, her mind was lost far away.

  “They are beautiful, are they not?” Hyperion gazed down at Rhea, bathing her in the radiance of his full, red lips. His emerald eyes sparkled in the bright morning sun. With the grace of a cat, he curled down into the grass beside her. “You have done well, Rhea.”

  She could not help but smile, yet a tinge of sadness glistened in her beautiful face. “Thank you, Hyperion.” Her long-fingered hand brushed back the hair from her eyes. Rhea raised her gaze to encompass the meadow where countless children tumbled and ran. Giggles and laughter filled the air with the sweetest sound Rhea had heard in all her long life. Over rocks and around the few sparse, green-leaved trees, small bodies bounded in the unnamed games of children. Women gathered in groups with food spread out on blankets, chatting and smiling, keeping a constant vigilance on their wards.

  “I never thought,” Rhea sighed wistfully, “that I would live to see such a day when there would be so many of these little ones.”

  Hyperion rested his delicate hand upon her shoulder, studying the curve of her face. He could not help but remember when, in times long past, that beautiful face had gazed into his with a deep, abiding love that filled his soul with a completeness as no other ever could. “It is a wondrous thing to be sure,” he nodded. “Then why do you seem so troubled?”

  He could see that tears moistened her visage and the lines told him many more had dried in the warmth of the yellow sun. He yearned to pull her to him and caress her tears away, but instead he leaned back on his arms, pulled up a long blade of grass and chewed on the end. “Please tell me what bothers you so. I am always here for you.”

  “Thank you, Hyperion, but dare I speak of it?” she replied. “It seems to me that should I put my nameless fears into words, I will only give credence to foolish thoughts.” Her face disappeared behind her long, straight hair as she bowed her head. “I’m sure it is nothing really. Just the unstable emotions of a woman who gave birth to two children in half the time it would have taken for one on Atlan only to bare another a short time thereafter.”

  “To leave fears nameless is to feed them,” Hyperion responded softly. “Only by recognizing our concerns for what they are can we dispel their power. Look at me,” he smiled, “I have not a care in the world so I would be happy to share yours.” He took her hand in his. “Come now. Tell me your thoughts so we
can banish the black ones and grow the light ones.”

  Rhea let the breath seep completely out of her then took in a fresh lungful of the clean, aromatic air. “Something is very wrong with Cronus,” she almost whispered, as if the very wind itself would send the words flying to unwanted listeners. “I fear for the children.”

  Hyperion laughed aloud then and hugged her to his chest. “Oh, Rhea! Forgive me for that. Cronus loves you more than the sun and the girls are the worlds that rotate around you. How could you contemplate such a thought?”

  Rhea did not return his smile. She lifted her face from her chest and turned her head away, silently watching the children at play. For a long moment, she said nothing. When, at last, she turned her head back to face him, he was abashed to see the lines of fresh tears scarring her cheeks.

  “That is the very thought that has me so confused,” Rhea said. “I know he loves me. I know he has always wanted children. On Atlan, Cronus would spend countless hours dreaming aloud of the family we would create together; the love we would heap upon them. When we had to make the decision to leave Atlan, the main drive he had was to provide for our future children and the future generations of all of the People.”

  “When Hestia was born,” she continued, “it was if this new home had graced us both. Cronus was happier than I have ever seen him. All the pain he has suffered for the People seemed washed away from the moment of her birth. He held her as if she were the very essence of life. Cronus smiled at me like the first sunrise after a month of storms. I thought all was as perfect as life could ever get.”

  “What changed then?” Hyperion asked.

  “I wish I knew.” Rhea brushed a stray lock of hair, dampened by the moisture of her tears, from her face. “I thought he would be at least as happy when Demeter came into the world, but he barely held her at all. He held her for the briefest of moments then nearly ran from the room. He began to spend more and more time away from home.”

  “Could that not be because if the growth of the city?” Hyperion questioned. “The more Atlantis grows, the more matters there are for Cronus to attend to.”

  “I, too, thought of that,” Rhea nodded. “That is why I discounted my concerns so quickly.” She patted the small sleeping bundle at her side and rubbed her hand against the fresh, pink skin. “Yet, when my sweet Hera graced us with her arrival, Cronus would not even look at her. He has never touched her flesh, never held her, and never kissed her. He looks at her if she is some kind of beast just waiting to tear at his flesh.” Rhea took the hand of Hyperion and held it tightly. The look in her eyes cut into his heart, wiping any trace of a smile from his face.

  “He is terrified of her, Hyperion, and for the love of the Creator, I cannot begin to imagine why.” Salty rivers flowed down gentle curves of her cheek and her face flushed bright red. “His fright is so great that Cronus will not even look at any of the children now. Not one of them. As for me, he seldom touches me and, when he does, it is like he is fulfilling some distasteful obligation.”

  Hyperion was so deeply shocked that he could think of nothing to say that might ease her troubled mind. He held her hand and waited. He could tell there was more she needed to share but he would not push her.

  “Oh, Hyperion, I am so frightened!” Rhea buried her face against him, her chest heaving, her breath torn by anguished sobs. “And now it is going to get much, much worse.”

  “Worse?” Hyperion stroked her golden hair, rocking slightly, wondering what he could do to ally her suffering. “Why do you think it will get worse?”

  Rhea looked up at him as if death spread a pallor of doom over her. “I am with child again, Hyperion. I am with child. Oh, Creator, what am I to do?”

  Chapter IV

  Haleah’s entire body trembled, her fists clenched tightly at her side. The warrior part of her wanted nothing more than to smash the condescending look off Cronus’ face. The icy coldness of her eyes bored into him with no discernable effect. He just smiled at her as a parent would a small child.

  She should never have let herself be separated from the Clan for these last five years. It had been so very easy to be seduced into the arms of the People. Her heart yearned to be welcomed by the Ancestors, to find herself among others more like her kin. Even at her height, she was almost short compared to them. Like her, the Ancestors were giants compared to the Izon, with unblemished skin, corded muscle, a feline graced to each movement. Though there were an incredible variety of looks, many were as light-skinned, fair-haired and blue eyed as she.

  Haleah had learned so much! The Ancestors were wise beyond measure...even though they knew little about healing herbs or roots. She had been so enthralled! They had sucked her in with their seeming caring and thoughtfulness.

  She had assumed the Clan was well and happy and, to her undying shame, had given them little thought.

  Until now. How could she have been so blind?

  “The Izon are not slaves!” The terseness of her tone rolled off Cronus like oil on rock. “You know better than the rest! You have read the Book! They are not animals. They are bloodkin!”

  Cronus stood relaxed, his gaze scanning the green grass swaying in the breeze of the warm afternoon air. The meadow was vast, with small groves of wide-leafed trees scattered sparsely near the base of the mountains to the east. A wide swath cut through the plain, glistening like polished ebony. The flat, interlocking blocks of the great boulevard would soon lead all the way to the outpost on the northern coast. He turned to Haleah and sighed, placing his hand upon her shoulder. It burned her like cold fire. “I do not treat them like animals. They are well housed, fed better than they have ever been, taken care of.”

  Haleah recoiled from his touch. “Yet you do not allow them honor. You do not allow them freedom. They are hunters but you do not allow them to hunt. They are not stupid but you do not allow them to learn. You do not allow them to mingle with the People. You keep them separated as if they were a plague. You only use them for laborers to do what you consider beneath the rest. But they are bloodkin!”

  A slow darkness filled Cronus’ eyes at her words. “The Clan are not kin. They are the sorry result of an ancient accident. They show me what would happen to my people if we were left without our knowledge and our science.”

  Cronus stepped back from Haleah and turned to gaze at the growing city. “Animals, no, but little more. The stresses of this world placed too quickly upon their bodies created a new race - a different race. They have lost language and only grunt like creatures of the woods.”

  “But you could help them regain their heritage. They have their own language. They are not dumb. You could teach them your language.”

  He kept his back to her, but Haleah could see the muscles tighten across his shoulders. “That will never happen.”

  “Why, Cronus?” she snapped. “What is it you fear?”

  “Fear?” He pressed his fingers against his temples, circling them in hopes of easing the pain in his head. Never had he felt such torture. It felt as if swarms of hornets made nest in his skull, stinging and buzzing about. “What do you think the People would do if they knew that your Clan were the direct descendants of Iasion and our race? What do you think they would do if they thought that this world could change them, change their children, their children’s children into short, hairy, stupid beasts?”

  “But…” Haleah began.

  “Do you truly think the People would take your Clan in open arms like a long lost child?” Cronus interrupted, his tone biting into her like the icy storms of winter. “They would not. They would drive them into the wild. They would kill them. They would not want a constant reminder of what they might become!”

  Haleah bristled at the sharpness of his words. “You have little faith in your own kin,” she growled in reply. “Many I have met who would not respond as you. They would try to raise the Clan up. They would not treat them with the scorn you have promoted and cultivated.”

  “You know so little,” Cronus resp
onded quietly.

  “Then I shall tell them and let them decide for themselves.”

  Cronus spun like a striking cobra. Haleah had no chance to move before his powerful hands crushed into her biceps. With little effort, he pushed her down to her knees in the wet grass. He bent over her as if to plant her into the very ground, his mammoth shadow blocking the sun. “You will not,” whispered into her ear. His breath was hot on her neck, his grip tightened. She could feel his fingertips brushing her bones. “You will bury even that thought in the deepest part of your mind as I have buried your precious Book. If you do not, Haleah, I swear I will wipe your Clan from the face of the earth until the very memory of them ceases to exist.”

  Cronus shoved her away with a sneer of contempt. Haleah landed roughly on her side, her arms immobile with pain and blood loss. He looked down upon her, wide stance, fists dug into his hips, muscles rippling beneath the silver of his suit. “Do I make myself clear?” he asked quietly.

  Haleah forced herself to her feet, brushing grass and soil from her clothing. She stood tall and straight before him and waited until the pain subsided enough to keep the quiver from her voice. Volcanic heat blazed in her eyes, but she spoke with flat tones. “I understand completely.” She took a small pleasure from showing Cronus her back when she spun and walked away without another word.

  Morpheus found her huddled beneath the spreading branches of the One Tree, only visible in that eternal twilight because of the glitter of the gold filigree entwined in her black gown. It sparkled in the dim glow of his light caster when he came around the trunk of the ancient monolith.