by Gene Stiles
“There is a troubling among the People, Cronus,” Themis stated firmly, standing erect before the council in their new chambers near the top of the Great Pyramid, “as you are no doubt aware.” She bristled when no acknowledgement was forthcoming, her large, green eyes glittering like glass, but continued without allowing her irritation to taint her voice. “Many have come to me with complaints concerning your Aam. They are taking more than their share from the shopkeepers and offering nothing in barter. Some of the People are being forced into labor outside of their assigned tasks. There are even rumors of physical attacks! On the People! What is going on here?”
Cronus stood as still as a statue with his back to the council at one of the four semi-clear, seamless, sun-dampening panes that walled each side of this level of the pyramid, silently gazing down at the growing city below. His hands were clasped behind the long, black robe, interlaced with bands of gold and silver, and ending in wide, loose cuffs at his thick wrists, which was draped across his wide, square shoulders. He watched the scurrying of the People moving along the wide boulevards and narrow side streets with a mixture of pride and impatience. The crews erecting new towers seemed to move far too slowly to his churning mind.
So much to do amid constant distractions and squabbles! Cronus was so very tired, yet he could get no rest. His sleep was restless and filled with forgotten nightmares that tormented his consciousness and ate and the edges of his soul. Added to that was the problem of the Izon. Oh, how he hated them! They seemed to be everywhere in the city on every work crew and now in the homes of some of the People, taken in as one would some exotic pet. It seemed that he was forced to look upon them at every turn and to see their filthy, brutish forms knotted the pit of his stomach. The Book – that vile prophesy of the future – told him these creatures were born of the People, direct descendants of Iaison. It warned him of what could become of his kind and it filled him with a burning rage and a gnawing fear. He would never allow the People to be perverted into such mindless, twisted, misshaped animals! Never! What was he to do with them?
The other members of the Table of Twelve, with the exception of two, waited impatiently for Cronus to answer. He barely heard their conversations and cared about them even less.
Iapetus stood near Cronus as still and solid as the One Tree, trunk-like legs slightly spread, arms crossed over his massively muscled chest with his face as impassive as stone. Their ire washed against him like a small wave hitting a granite cliff. It had no meaning. His dark eyes, as black and flat as the floor length robe he wore, open at the front to reveal the silver Enviro-Suit beneath, surveyed the council with ill-concealed contempt. How could they question the actions or words of him who had saved their very lives and restored Atlan on a new, lush planet? Cronus was to be obeyed, not questioned!
Hyperion leaned far back in his chair with his black-booted feet resting on the table in a manor he knew irritated Cronus, which is why he did it often. His oiled, tight, black curls glistened in the sunlight shining in the room. An impish smile played across his full lips even as he dined on morsels of fresh baked bread spread with crushed red berries picked only this morning from a patch on the edge of the forest. Crumbs dropped down upon his dark blue robe, richly adorned in light blues and greens. He brushed them of as casually as he brushed off the tension building around the table. His green eyes twinkled at some inner, private merriment as if the proceedings around him held a humor only he could grasp.
“Cronus,” Themis demanded, her ire adding a sharp edge to her words, “did you hear what I said?”
“I heard,” he replied curtly, the bite in her voice breaking him from his reverie. He tore his gaze from the city and strode back to his chair, the gold edged robe trailing behind him. Instead of sitting, Cronus stood at the rear of his high-backed chair, his hands gripping the black leather. “It sounds to me like the bickering of children unhappy with their chores. There is much to be done and if a stonemason is needed to help clear trees, so be it. The People cannot be regulated to a single specialty any more than we of the council are.”
“Each of us at this table,” Cronus continued, his tone as terse as the furrowed lines between his thick, red eyebrows, “have multiple responsibilities, many outside of our fields of expertise. So be it. The citizenry will do as they are told on my command.”
Themis bristled at his tenor, her body vibrating where she stood, her long, slender fingers balled into fists at her side. “It is my responsibility to see that all are treated justly and that order is maintained. It is my responsibility to listen to the People see that their issues are addressed not brushed aside like whimsy! There is a disturbing current running through the streets, Cronus. You would do well to hear it.”
“I hear it, Themis, and I see it for what it is,” Cronus retorted brusquely, “the grumblings of a few malcontents and baseless rumor. Bring me a real concern and I will deal with it. Otherwise, deal with it yourself. As you said, it is your job. Do it.”
“Now let us get on with matters of more import,” Cronus stated, seating himself with a rustling of robe and dismissing Themis with a wave of his hand.
Themis remained where she was for long moments, her full, pink lips pursed as tightly as the muscles in her jaw. She was not used to being ignored in such a fashion. Her incredible beauty disarmed most men, but Cronus was immune to her charms. The fury inside her made her want to lash out, but she could tell by the set of his muscular shoulders that the matter was closed. He would breach no further argument. Her body tense and her muscles rippling, she seated herself into her chair, though she would not let this go. Cronus was correct. It was her responsibility. She would get deeper into the bottom of this herself!
Haleah spent the next few moons biting her tongue and pretending to be as all the rest. She limited her forays to the Izon to only when she had news or supplies. She attended all the functions of the People, celebrated their holidays, smiled and joked with newfound friends. And she learned. Always, she learned. She studied the science of the People late into the nights until her head hurt from all she stuffed into it. She learned how to operate their machines…and their weapons.
She watched as the city grew around her; massive boulders sliced into odd, interlocking shapes then stacked one upon another to form crackless walls. Some of the ‘buildings’ were tall and wide with many levels of rooms and ‘windows’. Others were rounded like the huts the Clan used when they had traveled the trails of the world.
The Great Pyramid was by far the most massive. It rose from the center of the city reaching up to touch the very sky, higher than even the ships of the Ancestors. Made of gigantic, dark red stone blocks, each three times taller than a man, it rose in steps to a wide, flat top. Upon this pedestal was a building with towering columns and wide arches, crowned with two arched spires that looked to Haleah like a pair of outspread, praying hands. Within those hands was a golden globe that pulsed and swirled with moving, living fire. It shifted through shades of red and blue that burned into the mind if one was to gaze upon it for too long. On each of the four sides, there were enormous doors of wood, banded by the same type of substance that the ships were made of – the metal the People called ‘borithium”. The ships arched around the Pyramid like the shining crescent of a moon, guardians of the incredible structure, their silver skin reflecting back the twisting, turning hues of the globe.
Spiking out from the pyramid in straight lines were granite-covered trails the People called ‘streets’ and ‘boulevards’. On either side of these, buildings arose to house them and their devices. Stains made from berries, plants and things Haleah could not imagine buried the bleak stone beneath every color of the rainbow. In front of most, soil, transported from the valley beyond, covered the harsh land to create gardens of transplanted flowers and trees.
At the northernmost end of the city, majestic mountains had once opened a dark maw to drink in the deep flowing river that traversed the breath of the valley. Cronus found their placement bothe
rsome and inconsistent with his plans. He used the wondrous technology of the People - and the strong, hard backs of the Izon – to slice a wide swath through the rock, earth and stone, freeing the river to feel the fresh air and sunlight. Next to the waters was a broad boulevard on either side that cut through the manmade defile, paved with thin, flattened, smooth tiles of rock. It wound through the low-laying hills following the course of the wide river out to the very edge of the great ocean beyond.
Along the waterfront, docks floated in an alcove dug to give a quiet respite from the fast moving river. A curving break wall curved to the south, built from the remnants of the hills that dared to get in the way of the People, keeping the waters peaceful and serene in the harbor. Boats, many times larger than the ones the Clan had used, were tied up at the docks or plied the river, running errands for the city.
Haleah spent many hours each day near the docks. Vitality imbued the men and women working here that was far different from those who kept to the inner city. Where many of the People still huddled in their buildings, the dockworkers luxuriated in the glow of the bright sunlight. Where the city dwellers preferred the perfumed scents of their rooms, these hardy souls savored the rich aromas of trees, grass and clean, free-flowing waters. The difference manifested itself in the faces and mindset of the outdoorsmen. They were quicker to laugh, faster to scuffle, physically tougher, more open to new ideas.
And most of them liked the Izon. Even if they could not speak the same language, the dockworkers appreciated the strength and endurance the Clan possessed. There was a brotherhood built from shared hard labor. They taught the Izon skills like operating a powerboat. The Izon taught them how to fish and tie knots that would not slip or unravel. They showed the Clan how to use winches and pulleys. The Izon taught them about wind and sails.
Haleah found herself most useful here. She acted as translator most often, passing ideas and explaining jobs. In doing so, she knew that the People were coming to realize just how ‘human’ the Clan was. It was never said aloud, but she saw the attitude changes growing every day. At first, when she was asked to relay job instructions to a group of Izon, she saw surprise on the face of the Atlantean supervisor when the men nodded and did the task exactly as explained. It did not take long before the dockworkers knew that the Clansmen were not stupid animals but just a different form of man.
Haleah played on this constantly. She offered to teach the language of the Izon to anyone interested and was pleasantly surprised to find a couple of students grow to a class of twenty. Women of the Clan taught the women of the People to cook fish and to use natural herbs and seasonings to bring out full, rich flavors. Where once there was indifference, mistrust and even hatred, there was now growing mutual respect and admiration. She could use this.
Morpheus found Haleah sitting on a boulder overlooking the hustle and bustle of a busy afternoon. Her gaze was far away, lost in the constant movement of men and the ripple of the dark, blue waters beyond. Her streaming blond hair sparkled in the bright sunlight, whispering around her neck in rhythm with the gently flowing breeze. She had her arms wrapped around her pulled up knees, resting her head upon them, a contented smile playing along her lips.
“Ah,” he said, “I see you are working hard as always.”
Haleah turned at the sound of his voice to find that he was not alone. Behind him were two women leading a sled on which were stacked bundles of clothing. “What have we here?” she asked, dropping to the ground.
“My friends, Justine and Asteria, have brought you a gift.” Morpheus put his hand under her chin and kissed her upturned face. His smile blazed across his handsome face and heated Haleah far more than the golden orb above. He waved at the women who untied a bundle and pulled a couple of articles for her inspection. “I do not know if these will be acceptable to the Clan, but I do hope you will convince them to try.”
Haleah saw that Justine and Asteria held a pair of pants made from tanned deer hide and a tunic not unlike the ones that Morpheus favored. Neither item was dyed, retaining the natural, mottled color of the animals from which they were made. Asteria handed the pants to Haleah and pointed out the woven strips of leather lacing the outside of each leg.
“We designed these for the Clan,” she smiled, obviously pleased. “We only guessed at the sizes but made these laces so they could tighten them or let them out as needed to fit the individual.”
Justine held up the tunic and pointed to similar openings at each side. “We did the same with these. What do you think?”
“I think you did a wonderful job,” Haleah said, taking the pants and looking them over. The women beamed at the compliment, nodding to each other with satisfaction. “That was kind and thoughtful of you. I do appreciate your work. Sadly, I do not think the Izon would wear them. They prefer to wear what they have always worn.”
The women looked crestfallen when she handed the pants back to them. Morpheus nodded in understanding. “I think you should persuade them otherwise, Haleah. I believe this is very important.”
Haleah looked up at him and saw the seriousness creasing his brow. “Why would it be important?”
Morpheus looked out at the docks, watching the intermingling of men and women, Izon and Atlantean. “You have worked hard to get these people to accept each other, benefit from each other, learn from each other and you have done well. Still, many look at the Clan as uncivilized beasts. They dress in ragged furs that stink, tied together with pieces of hide. They look not much different than the forest animals.” He raised his hands to ward off her tort reply. “This is not my belief, but the perception I have heard often. I and my friends here feel that by changing the mode of dress of the Izon we can help change that ridiculous point of view.”
Haleah was amazed at how right he was. She was even more stunned to find that most of the Clan found the clothing incredible and quickly added their own touches of style. The vast gap between the Izon and the People closed a just little more.
Chapter V
The night was perfect. No moon touched the sky with soft radiance. High, thick clouds filled the valley and blocked even the twinkling of the heavens. A warm, summer wind swayed the trees, rustling the leaves and making the mountains moan. The sound would mask the echo of many moving feet.
The Izon hunted once more. This was by far the most dangerous hunt they had ever attempted. It was more hazardous than trapping and killing one of the hairy, long-nosed beasts that trumped and tried to gore the Clan with their long, sharp tusks, more perilous than facing giant fanged cats or clashing with tribes of human-eating man-things. It was also the most important hunt they had ever faced.
For this was the hunt for freedom.
Haleah stood at the gate of the compound, waiting while the second group passed through the perimeter wards and made their way toward the east end of the valley. Once they passed, she turned the crystals back on. She hoped that no one who happened to be looking in this direction from the city beyond would notice the few moments at a time that the field was off. The plan was to move out smaller groups, each led by one of the scouts who had been making their home in the cavern. The parties headed in different directions, taking deviating trails that would converge at the cavern beyond the pass. Rightly, they decided not to bunch the Clan in one group the better to escape capture should an alarm be raised. The Izon knew well the art of hiding their passing. Like ghosts, they blended silently into the night, darkness enfolding them with invisibility.
She thought back on her heated conversation with Morpheus hours before.
“I do not like this at all, Haleah,” he ranted. “I should be going with you and you know it!”
She could see the trembling of his body even in the flickering candlelight. His fists balled on his narrow hips and his legs were wide spread and planted. His black eyes glinted like polished onyx, his voice rolling as thunder across the mountaintops. “You promised that the Izon would know of me!”
Haleah stood just as firmly before t
he gale of his words. “And I shall keep that promise when the time is right. You know as well as I that my every movement has been monitored. Cronus knows of every time I have visited the Clan. To have him know that you joined me on my trips would only have put our plan and all of us in peril. I, at least, have cause to talk to those I have spent a lifetime leading. He even thinks I help in keeping them docile. If you were to be seen with the Izon would only have drawn more attention and suspicion.”
“And if anything goes wrong?” he grumbled.
“We shall have to do our best to see that nothing does,” she replied. Haleah wrapped her arms around Morpheus and held him tightly to her breast. She whispered into his chest, “I need you here, Morpheus. I need you to watch our backs and to warn us if there is pursuit. Please. I have given you a map to where we will be and I promise to get word to you to let you know all are safe. Please be there for me.”
He felt the warmth of this exceptional woman against him and knew this battle was lost. It did naught to ease his troubled mind though. “I shall do as you wish, Haleah.” With a deep sense of foreboding he added, “I do hope we have not made a wrong and dangerous decision.” With that, he slipped into the darkness like a ghostly wraith.
“All goes well,” Guel whispered, breaking through her reverie and bringing her back to the present. It was unlikely that he would be heard, but he was loath to add to the limited sounds of the night. “Only two more groups and we shall be away.”
“You still should have gone with the first,” Haleah admonished.
“We went over this many a time, Keeper. I will not leave until I know that all are away.”