by Gene Stiles
Nuvan found an empty space away from the shuttered windows and paced the length of the room. “The first thing we need to do is send someone to supply Guel and the Izon awaiting our return and explain to them what we intend. Without doubt, it must be my brother or me. I fear anyone else may be killed before they have a chance to explain themselves.”
“True,” Navis nodded, “and in our case, the Clan will not know which brother approaches them until they are informed.” Continuing for his brother, he said, “The second thing to think about is once we free the Izon, how will they reach their Clan with the pass closed?”
“I may be able to help,” replied a voice from the corner.
Morpheus did not know the man who stepped forth. He was not of the Aam for sure. The man was tall, but built like a block of granite. His skin was near black from exposure to the burning sun and heavily lined with hard work. The tight, dark curls that crowned his head was cut short and highlighted deep brown eyes. Though not smiling now, his full lips were surrounded by lines of joy and laughter.
“I am Lianas, captain of the Wind Star, the fastest sailing vessel in the fleet,” he said, not being able to hide his pride. “Haleah and the Izon are our friends. We have learned so very much from them. We on the docks know, first hand, that the Clan are not dumb brutes, but people that earned our respected. We work with them every day.” Lianas dropped his head, shame darkening his visage. “We were appalled to learn of their plight. We’ve known for some time and have taken quiet steps.”
“We had to move cautiously, but all on the docks have been stockpiling caches of supplies and weapons, waiting for our own chance to free the Izon.” Lianas smiled grimly. “We are ready.”
“Thank you,” Morpheus replied solemnly, his mind far, far away.
“We will need a considerable diversion to empty the Great Pyramid of so many guards,” Rhea said. “I tell you truly, Morpheus, you will not even reach the lower levels if you do not remove that obstacle first.”
“I do have an idea,” Morpheus replied. “It will also accomplish much more than a simple distraction. Let us free the last of the Izon.”
Anaxus shook his head fiercely. “We cannot! To do so would pit us against the Black Guard and we do not have equal weaponry. We would all be slaughtered!”
Rhea adamantly agreed. “This would also mean that Aam would have to fight Aam. I am not sure how such a confrontation would be received.”
“You are both right and wrong,” Morpheus said. “We would be forcing brother against brother. We would be countering lethal weapons with non-lethal. I do not think it will result in slaughter though.”
Nuvan laughed bitterly. “Do you dream that the Black Guard would not fire upon the rest of the Aam? If so, I fear you sorely misjudge the scum in those units.”
Morpheus smiled back, but his grin was not harsh at all. “Do you think they would still dare to attack if Council members and a field full of the People were in attendance?”
A cautious, quite word spread quickly through the Aam and they readied themselves anxiously for the order to move. Rhea used the very debate going on in the Council to their advantage. Privately, she convinced a select few of them that they could not make an informed decision until they met with the Clan or, at the very least, viewed the nature of their containment. She managed to impress upon them that they should make this foray without the knowledge of Cronus so as not to give him the opportunity to set a stage for them. Getting the People to gather near the Izon was the most difficult part of their plan. Finally, it was decided that each man would contact as many of their friends as possible and invite them to a picnic under the One Tree. It was a weak ploy and would arouse suspicion if so many gathered on the same day, but time was short and if only a small group of the People were there to witness, that would have to do.
Under the cover of darkness, Navis and two others loaded packs with supplies and stunners. They separated and took different paths to where the sled waited to take them to the Izon camp. They prayed Guel would listen and take his band across the valley to meet with the escaping Clan members.
By late in the afternoon on the following day, the Aam began to move. Only a direct, bold move would draw the attention they wanted, even though it increased the risks of harm.
Tronis leaned over the knotty, unfinished wood railing and stared down into the black depths of the chasm beneath the bridge. As always, a white, swirling mist rose from the pit and spilled out for a short distance onto the land on either side. When the weather was cold, the mist was as thick as fog, blocking any sight of what lay below. However, last night had been warm, the last remnants of the storm having sulked away to the north with yesterday’s heat. In the first rays of today’s morning sun, the mist was thin and slithered with a languid, lazy movement over the land. Tronis enjoyed this kind of morning because he could glimpse traces of red sparkling far below like the eyes of a great beast. His vivid imagination created packs of surly creatures hiding down there, wishing they could climb the sheer walls to the surface. In his mind, he was the guardian the held them back, protecting the People from those slathering jaws of death. He dropped a stone from his long-fingered hand knowing he would never hear the gratifying thunk when it finally smashed into the head of one of those vicious animals.
Ulin slapped the young man on the shoulder. “Did you kill another one?” he laughed good-naturedly. He was only a few years older than his friend was but outweighed Tronis by a good hundred pounds. Where he was wide of shoulder with heavy bands of muscle cording his tall frame, Tronis was gangly, with a sharp, angular almost childish face. Ulin kept his boulder-like head shaved but let a black, wiry beard cover his square jaw, hiding the laugh lines radiating from his full lips. Tronis had long, golden curls that draped over his narrow shoulders and hid a bird-like neck and it was doubtful that fuzz would even grow on the baby smooth skin that stretched over his face.
“I think so,” Tronis replied with a mischievous grin, his light green eyes sparkling with merriment. “Never fear. You can rest in safety for yet another night!”
“Oh, thank you, my savior!” Ulin laughed. “I live by your grace alone!”
“Are the golems attacking again?” Ufradees called out.
Ulin turned to retort, but pulled himself up short, his black eyes narrowing. Ufradees stepped onto the bridge, a large pack strapped across his shoulders. A group of about fifteen men and women, each with their own backpacks, accompanied him. They moved with an easy, smiling gait, chatting amongst themselves, seemingly unconcerned with the two Aam stationed on the bridge. Their manner was casual, but to Ulin, there was a tense undercurrent he could not quite place his finger on.
“Good morning,” Ulin said, his hand surreptitiously seeking the butt of his sidearm. “Where are all of you good people off to so early?” Unconsciously, he moved away from Tronis toward the other side of the bridge. Separating the distance between them forced potential enemies to divide their attention.
Ulin knew the man well. As a commander of the Aam, Ufradees would easily recognize the maneuver. If anything was out of place, though, the commander displayed no reaction other that a faint smile that creased his lips.
“We were sick of being housebound by the storm. Now that it is gone, we are going to scout the valley for the perfect picnic spot,” Ufradees replied with a wave. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Ulin visibly relaxed, noting that Tronis had not paid the slightest heed to the situation. Instead, he just turned around and rested his back against the rail, his arms crossed over his thin chest, listening casually to the exchange and smiling at a lovely blond woman in the group. “I do not go much beyond the One Tree, but I know there is a small stream just a little past it and to the south.” He gazed up at the brightening sky and felt a soft breeze touch his skin. “It looks like is shall be a perfect day.”
“So it does,” Ufradees nodded. “You should join us when your shift is over. We shall take your advice and leave a trail f
or you to follow.”
“Now that does sound good,” Ulin said, stepping aside so the group could pass. “We both may take you up on that.”
“Hope to see you later then,” Ufradees said with a smile. The troop called out their goodbyes as they passed, the pretty blond blowing a kiss to Tronis as she left.
Ulin watched them go, a disquieting itch crawling up his spine. ‘Something is not quite right,’ he thought to himself. ‘I just cannot put a name to it.’ When the second such group, spouting a similar story passed by him within the hour, he turned to Tronis, a sense of foreboding filling his heart. “We must inform Iapetus. Something is very, very wrong here.”
Cronus stared out at the awakening city streets far below him. Sleds piled with goods and building materials wound their way between the People streaming past and beginning their daily errands. Spires glistened wetly, shimmered by the storm residue evaporating in the growing sunshine. The wide boulevard stretching outward from Atlantis to the coastal outposts was filling with normal traffic. Nothing seemed out of place or different from any other day. Then why did he sense a rising storm of another kind?
He turned around and seated himself in the high-backed, black leather chair behind his long, wide, highly polished, ebony, wooden desk. Cronus pushed aside a pile of papers and stared blankly at the information cascading across his computer terminal. After a few moments, he looked up at Iapetus standing silently like a stone statue before him. “Well, what do you think?”
Iapetus crossed his massive arms over his barrel-like chest and spoke slowly. His deep bass voice rumbled through his wide lips as if thunder accompanied his every word. “I do believe some kind of trouble is brewing though I have no direct knowledge of it.” Eyes, as black as a moonless, starless night, glimmered through his narrowed lids. His straight, midnight-colored hair hung just past the upturned collar of the black uniform which struggled to contain his powerful body. “I think we should replace the Aam at the bridge with Black Guard and restrict further ‘picnics’.”
Cronus concurred. “Place your men on high alert and report any incidents of any kind to me at once. Send out a contingent to find our ‘picnickers’ and see what they are truly up to. Search out every rumor concerning any kind of unrest and bring the source of that rumor to me.”
Iapetus grunted in acknowledgement and turned to leave. Cronus stopped him at the door with a word. “Iapetus, on your way out, send him in.”
Before the door could fully close, a thin and wiry man entered. He glided along the floor as if his feet never touched the smooth surface. The handsome features, framed by long, brown hair, would have won him the hand of many a maiden. However, if a woman ever got close enough, she would see the evil that burned in the soulless pits of his black eyes. She would shudder involuntarily at the utter coldness of his thin smile and, if she had any sense at all, she would hurry away. Far, far away.
The man eased to a stop in front of Cronus and waited wordlessly.
“We have learned all from the woman that she has to offer,” Cronus said after but a moments delay. “She is of no further use to us and could become a dangerous liability.” He looked up from his steepled fingers at the little man before him. He noted without emotion the lust and anticipation in those empty eyes. The man served his purposes well. It mattered not to Cronus if he obviously took extreme delight in his tasks. Reward those who produced results. And this man always got results. Still, Cronus thought with a shiver, some methods were best unseen and unknown.
The man nodded, beads of sweat forming on the furrowed brow of his high forehead. His wiry body quivered with anticipation. “She is mine then?”
Cronus nodded. “She is.” The Other turned toward the door, but Cronus delayed him with one last word. “Leave not a trace.”
The Other glanced back over his shoulder, continuing his exit. “Not a trace to be sure.” With that, he was gone.
The rising sun had yet to mark the passing of another single hour before the first grains of disquiet trickled down the streets of Atlantis. No one – not Cronus, not the Council, not the Aam, not even Morpheus, himself, could have predicted that his desire to save his beloved Haleah would result in a change that would forever alter the very course of history. It would not do so as the result of a glorious battle on the fields of a war. It was not the consequence of a superlative speech from a preeminent orator. It was not as overwhelming as the aftermath of the destruction of their home world. Nothing so grandiose, it was caused by a small, simple thing.
It began unobtrusively with the denial of a single, tiny freedom.
“What do you mean we cannot cross?” Seth stammered. He could not believe what he was hearing. He stood dumbfounded, staring at the Aam blocking his passage across the bridge as if the man was utterly mad. His wife, Loraine, stood just behind him and bounced her baby boy upon her hip, her eyes glittering with irritation. She had been up since the crack of dawn preparing a lovely picnic lunch for them and their friends and had no intention of returning home to partake of it.
“We are under orders to close the bridge,” the ill-mannered, bullish guard replied. “No one is to pass.” At his back, four more Aam stretched across the width of the bridge, their rifles unslung and held at the ready.
Loraine huffed at the guard. “Who would give such a foolish order? No one has the right to restrict the movement of the People.”
“Cronus, himself.” The man looked her as if she were a bug to be squashed underfoot. He raised his voice to make sure the twenty or so people, dressed in casual finery, clustered in groups behind Seth and his party, heard him. “Now turn around and return to your homes and duties at once!” he bellowed.
The crowd of picnickers bristled at his tone, angry muttering rumbling through the air. From the buildings, homes and streets near the bridge, people came, drawn by the commotion and raised voices. They swelled the ranks of the gathering, their murmured questions adding volume to the outraged buzzing singing the morning breeze. Soon, milling bodies packed the area.
Unsure of what to do and pressed forward by those behind him, Seth held his ground. “Neither you nor anyone else, not even the council, has the ability to tell us where we can and cannot go.”
“Cronus has any rights he deems necessary,” the guard retorted. He was very cognizant of the shuffling of nervous feet behind him. His men were tough, but the odds were getting worse with each breath. “These,” he said, patting the plasma rifle in his hands, “give us the ability to enforce his orders. Now move back!” He fired a burst of white light into the air to punctuate his words.
Screams and furious shouts rent the air like a rolling clap of thunder. The crowd shifted back and forth, so tightly jammed that no one could move easily in any direction. An explosion was eminent.
Two men and a woman, each dressed in long, flowing robes forced their way to the fore of the crowd and planted themselves between the Aam and the People. The woman lifted her hand high into the air. In her palm was circle of gold that amplified her words above the babble of the antagonized crowd.
“Hold!” she commanded, waiting until all in attendance simmered into sullen silence. She turned first to face the ocean of People swaying before her. Silky, golden hair flowed down to the back of her knees, drifting around her like a halo of mist in the gentle morning breeze. Her large, brilliant green eyes encompassed each person and drew them in with her incredible beauty. Her full, red lips parted into a smile that swept over the crowd like a soothing salve. When assured she had the attention of everyone, the woman spoke in a strong yet soothing voice.
“I do beg your forgiveness for shouting, my friends. Maybe I can be of assistance here.” She turned to face the Aam commander. She was well aware that her Creator-given physical attributes took the edge off most men and she had learned to use those gifts to her advantage so she was abashed to see no slip in the composure of the commander. In fact, she felt a little dirty at the look of unbridled lust that burned in his black eyes. The snee
r that split his thin, wide mouth did not say he simply wanted her. It said that he wanted to dominate her, to control her, to make her his slave. Not that such a thing would ever occur.
Never allowing her revulsion to touch her face, she addressed the man with a tiny smile playing across her pouty lips. “I am Themis, member of the Council and one of the People. What seems to be the problem here?”
The commander did not even flinch. He matched her gaze with his own burning eyes and smiled a little wider. “I am well aware of who you are, Lady, but it matters not. We are under the direct orders of Cronus, as passed through our commander, Iapetus, to restrict traffic across the bridge until further notice.” Themis noted the way his hand caressed his weapon as if itching for just the slightest excuse. “We are ordered to use whatever force is necessary and, believe me, I intend to fulfill my orders.” He patted her shoulder as he would a child, stepped back a step and pointed his rifle directly at her. “I answer not to you but only to the Lord Father, himself! Now be good enough to use your abundant charms to disperse this rabble before I have to do it for you.”
The two men on either side of her erupted as if the sun, itself, had suddenly exploded in the peaceful sky above. Each drove hammer-sized fists into either side of the commander’s head in the half-blink of an eye it took for them to pass him. He never saw them draw stunners from under their robes in one fluid motion, firing and leaving his men in quivering heaps on the ground before their brains could even register the movement. Blackness enshrouded him, sinking him to the ground like a crumpled pile of leaves. He never felt it when Themis removed the plasma rifle from his still hands. With silent efficiency, her men disarmed the guards and gently seated the still forms against the side of the bridge, looking as if they had but decided to stop of a short nap.