by Gene Stiles
“Now, Haleah,” he heard Iapetus rumble, “it seems as if I shall have to put you in your final resting place myself. Such a waste. Such a terrible waste.”
A red-hot bubble formed in the heart of Morpheus. It burst upward from the depths of his soul, burning through his mind, clearing away the pain and the fog. His veins flowed with the lava of rage, fueled his muscles with the pure bright light of love. Morpheus rose to his feet like a phoenix, his arms spread outward as if to draw energy from the very air around him. “Keep away from her,” he said in a voice that rolled down the hallway like thunder.
He started to lunge at the giant who dared put hands on his love, but stopped at the grasp of a hand on his ankle. Startled, he looked down as Anaxus pushed the plasma rifle out from beneath his battered body.
Iapetus spun, roaring in fury, and barreled back toward him. In a single sweep, Morpheus dropped to his knee, grabbed the weapon, raised it and fired. The bolt of white, liquid fire burned into Anaxus, setting his clothes aflame. A great gout of flesh disappeared from his side and Iapetus fell like a boulder, his head dealing the hard rock a crushing blow. He lay deathlike, the smell of charred flesh fouling the already noxious air of the corridor.
Morpheus dropped the rifle, sat on the floor and cradled the great, bloody head of his friend in his lap. Anaxus lifted weary eyes and gave him a wan smile. “Does she live?” His whisper rattled in his rib-crushed chest, causing him to cough up a bubble of red colored bile that dribbled down his chin.
“She lives,” Morpheus nodded, the golden glow of Healing forming in his palm.
“No, Morpheus.” Anaxus clutched at his wrist, holding the hand at bay. “You have not that much to Lend. Save it for Haleah and yourself. I am dying.” He coughed again, his face clenching in torment. Fresh blood erupted from his nostrils and the massive body trembled for a long moment then went still, the heat of life dissipating into the ether.
Morpheus held his friend a little longer, rocking him gently as if to sleep. With deep regret, he eased the head to the floor and rose to his feet. He found Haleah exactly as he had left her, unmoved by the violence that had briefly swirled around her. He lifted her into his arms as if she were made of the most delicate porcelain and, with a last glance at Anaxus, headed to the stairs and the city beyond. He paused for just a moment and gazed down on the peaceful form laying in quiet repose at his feet.
“Rest well, Anaxus,” he whispered. “Rest well, my friend.”
The Isle of the One Tree was a favorite location for those who sought peaceful solitude for silent introspection. The dark green moss covering the ground from one side of the isle to the other was always warm with just a hint of moistness. It made one feel as if they walked on piled fur and filled the air with a pleasant, musky aroma. In the brightness of a noonday sun, the light here was muted and soft, dimmed to twilight by the heavy foliage of the massive tree. No insects lived in this gloom and no birds made homes in these wide, spreading branches. It left the isle with a hushed quietude that was like a serene balm to the body and soul.
It was not, however, the best place for a noisy, rambunctious party of picnickers. Themis lead the way, laughing gaily at the energetic children that bounded over roots and rolled across the soft ground. Almost all of the People who had joined the crowd at the Rainbow Bridge trailed behind her, their tension whisked away by her joyous attitude and the atmosphere of festival emanating from most of the partiers. Her escorts had long since thrown off their hoods and smilingly chatted with anyone close enough as if their earlier actions had never even occurred. Without realizing it, the entire gathering moved across the isle at a brisk pace. They were simply keeping up with Themis and the children.
Themis was acutely aware of her pace, though, and kept it steady with purpose. Under the surface of her glittering smile and carefree demeanor, she knew she had limited time to get these People within sight of the Izon compound. The reports of her spies trickled in steadily and made her sick deep in her soul at the foulness. Taking the issues before the council had proven appallingly disheartening. Without prove, most had chosen to simply disbelieve the reports. When she was informed of what had befallen Haleah, she was not embarrassed at all, instead infused with an almost blinding fury. While keeping the People on their trek, she thought back to the conversation the night before.
“How could the council allow such a travesty?” she sputtered, pacing the floor in her well-appointed, colorful home. Her twin sister, Thea, sat upon the leaf-patterned sofa, her head bowed and her slender fingers entwined between her knees. Tethys stood behind the over-stuffed chair in which Rhea curled, arms crossed over her chest as if she huddled in a dark corner. Tethys rested her matronly hands on Rhea’s shoulders, comforting the troubled woman, her brown eyes misted, but with a firm set to her jaws.
“We all bare a measure of responsibility in this,” She replied sadly. Her dark, wavy, brown hair rippled over her wide, stocky shoulders as she shook her head. “We have paid little heed to the Izon since they arrived. We have been so wrapped up in our own activities that we just assumed they were happy no longer having to worry about food, clothing or shelter. By the time I learned of their plight and sent out my people to learn the truth of it, it was far too late.”
“In truth,” Thea interjected, “I regret to admit I have thought little of them at all. When I do, I have looked upon them as well cared for pets.” She signed heavily. “They are so very different from us and do not speak a language that I assumed they were not quite human.”
Rhea shuddered, tears trickling down her face. “It is I who bare the most guilt. I have spoken to Haleah on many occasions and listened to her stories of the Izon. When she told me of their language, I discounted it as the way one would teach a parrot to speak. When she told of their loves, their families, their lives, I thought of it as only fantasies she created in order to survive with them. How could we be so arrogant?”
“It seems we lost much of our humanity when we lost our home world,” Tethys near whispered, the other women nodding in silent agreement.
“There is more,” Rhea continued. “Cronus has changed much since our arrival. It is as if his soul has filled with a darkness. He never smiles anymore. He seldom comes home and, when he does, he is silent and brooding. He scarcely shares our bed and has not touched me as wife since Hera was born. He draws away like my fingers are poison…and he never touches the children at all.”
Rhea began to weep softly. The others waited silently for her regain her composure. “I have made many an excuse for him. He never wanted to be the leader of the People. It was thrust upon him in the worst of ways. Killing the Lord Father broke something deep inside Cronus. Finding we were entombed inside the ships for untold ages cut him like a knife. It was his decision to put us all to sleep and to join us, leaving Iasion and the others to die in the cruel world beyond.”
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Her friends encircled her, cooing soft assurances. Rhea looked up at her gathered friends. “There is something else eating away at him and I swear I have absolutely no idea what it may be. He leaves for days on end. When his is home, I hear him mumbling in his sleep, bathed in sweat and twisting as if he is being harmed. I tried to awaken him only once. He struck me with such force I was thrown from the bed.”
“Oh, Rhea!” Themis cried. “How can we help? What may we do to make up for our callous ignorance?” She gazed at the women around her. “We must do something. This is not the way of the People!”
Drawing strength from her friends, Rhea told them of the plan to free Haleah and the Izon. What she needed from them, she said, was to get to the Izon camp by noon the following day and to bring as many of the People and members of the Council as they could manage in such a short time. Rhea stressed the need to keep the plan from Cronus and the others. Just tell them it was a spring picnic, she said, and they all agreed readily.
With the People parading behind her, Themis reached the lines of sleds at the edge of the
chasm separating the Isle of the One Tree from the valley beyond. Some were two and three-seaters, but most were made to cart men and materials so they were quickly loaded with laughing children and happy parents. Themis knew that within the crowd were a few other members of the Council out for what they thought was a short holiday. It took only a couple of trips with all the various sleds to ferry the People to the other side. By common consensus it seemed that the picnickers were more than happy to follow Themis as she made her way through the high waves of grass toward what everyone assumed was the edge of the stream where they would stop to play and eat their packed lunches.
Shouts of anger froze the People in their tracks and quickly dimmed the jubilant mood filling the warm spring air. Still following Themis, they trekked over a small rise that had blocked their view of the valley beyond. All stopped and gaped in stunned wonder at the tableau spread out under the clear blue, cloudless sky. Most could not comprehend what was playing out before their very eyes and watched in utter bewilderment, pulling their children protectively close to their sides. Murmured questions swept through the People as they spread out atop the hillock seeking a clearer view of what had brought things to such an abrupt halt.
The Izon compound stood in stark, stony contrast to the beauty of the valley. Colorless, it squatted on a wide swath of naked ground, no design to the structures other than blocky utilitarianism. Silver staffs topped with the blue crystals of perimeter wards surrounded the buildings and appeared to have held the very waves of swaying green grass at bay. Birds chirped in the flowered foliage of a nearby grove of tall trees, their bright, happy songs at severe odds with the deathly silence of the encampment.
Themis heard the rustle of grass behind her and tore her view away just long enough to see Tethys arrive with her husband, Oceanus. Close behind, Thea and Hyperion hurried to stand beside them. Noticeably absent was Rhea. Despite her adamant abjections, it had been decided she was to remain behind in Atlantis to allay suspicions that the picnics were more than they seemed.
“What in the name of the Creator is going on here?” Oceanus boomed, his voice echoing out across the valley. His ebony skin glistened in the sunlight, the top of his bald head damp with droplets of sweat. His wide, flat nostrils flared with outrage, he stomped down the incline and confronted the men standing rigidly below.
On the side closest to the milling crowd of People, a line of silver suited Aam stretched out with plasma rifles leveled at the men arrayed before them. Few of them looked back over their shoulders to see the masses gathered on the hill. Most glared ferociously across the short distance separating them from their opponents. The atmosphere was charged with deadly intent, crackling as if lighting were about to lash the ground around them.
Between them and the Izon compound was a contingent of about thirty Aam, their silver Enviro-Suits covered by long, brown, hooded cloaks, loosely clasped at the front, which flowed around them in the light breeze caressing the grasses. Their line was straight, disciplined and their faces were grim but determined. Each held a stunner in one hand, but these were not aimed at their brethren. They pointed downward at the swaying grass. Chest to chest between the groups stood two men that Oceanus knew well. The big man shoved his burly, labor-hardened body through the heavily armed Aam with Hyperion, Tethys, Thea and Themis in tow.
“Cronus!” he shouted, “just what is happening here?” He planted himself like a tree and slammed his knuckles onto his wide hips. The big man almost recoiled when Cronus spun on his heel to face him. The black eyes that bore into him were glassy with rage and a terrifying madness.
“How dare you speak thus to me!” Cronus growled, spittle spraying from his mouth like some rabid animal. “I command the Aam! I command the city!” He advanced on Oceanus as if to attack, his hands balled into fists, the tendons in his neck standing out in stark relief. “No one, not you,” he swept his arm out to encompass the Aam arrayed against him, “not these traitorous excuses for men can question my orders! I do and have always done what is right and best for the People! Now turn yourselves around and get that mob on the hill back to their homes! Leave me to deal with this rabble as I see fit!”
Oceanus held his ground as stubbornly as the most obstinate farm animal he had ever attempted to force into labor. When attacked, he responded by becoming as unmovable as the One Tree and the ground in which it laid root. Instead of reciprocating with fury of his own, he held his considerable temper in check and spoke as flatly as sheet of granite.
“I shall not,” he said with a shake of his head. “You do not command me. We are equal in Council. You have yet to answer my question. Of what ‘traitorous’ acts are these men accused?”
He knew in his heart at that moment that Cronus would have killed him then and there were it not for the mass of People staring open-mouthed and silent just a few yards away. He watched warily as Cronus clenched and unclenched his fists, muscles bunched as if to pounce on him to strangle the breath from his throat.
It was Ulin who answered him, his voice seemingly calm and quiet. “We have freed the Izon from their prison. I and my men stand guard to insure that they escape unscathed.”
“Escape?” Hyperion quipped, his light and airy voice out of place in the thick fog of tension surrounding them all. The tight, oiled curls of his shoulder-length, black hair bounced with the laughter bubbling from his full, red lips. Everyone, including Cronus, looked at him as if he had lost his mind. He acted as if he did not notice the gravity of the confrontation. He strode between the lines of Aam as if he had not the slightest regard for their weapons and waved toward the compound with a giggle of merriment. “Why on earth would they wish to go anywhere? They have wonderful homes, food for the asking and safety from the ills of the world!” His chipped jade eyes glittered in the sun, his straight, white teeth almost dazzling in the light of day.
Themis smiled inwardly, watching as his antics caused weapons to lower and the tautness of stances to ease at the pure absurdity of his actions. Most People thought of Hyperion as worthless and foolish. She knew better. She knew his mind to be quick and intuitive. He proved it here when heated argument and manly posturing would only have caused coiled springs to explode into violence.
“If they wish to go back to the wild,” he laughed, “let them go, I say. It will leave us with more room to spread into the valley; more land for my friend, Oceanus, to plant his gardens; less food to share and we will not have to clean up after them! Where is the harm? I see naught but good things to come of it!”
Hyperion turned to face Cronus and his Aam, his radiant smile filled with boyish charm. “Besides, friend Cronus, what would you have these men do? Since the others seem to be bent on protecting the Izon, would your men kill their own kind to prevent a few foolish animals from running to the hills?” He rested his hand leisurely on the shoulder of Cronus. “I truly think not.”
“Now,” he shouted to the People on the hill, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, “let me take a taste of those scrumptious smelling lunches! And bring out the wine for my friends here,” he motioned toward the Aam. “They have been standing in this heat long enough!”
Hyperion clapped his hands and the People swarmed down the hill, laughing, the children weaving through the legs of both sets of Aam as if they were there just for amusement. The men shifted on their feet, casting furtive glances at Cronus, unsure of what to do. Cronus fumed, growling softly, his jaw clenched, trembling with barely contained rage. Knowing there was nothing he could do with the People teeming around him, he gave an unwilling nod to his men, spun on his heel and stomped back toward Atlantis. Within moments, the Aam disbanded, swept up by groups inviting them to join in their repasts. The women stared in dazed wonder after Hyperion who was dancing in the grass with packs of children nipping at his heels.
‘Not quite the way I had planned,’ Themis thought with a smile, ‘but effective, nonetheless. Very, very effective.’
Chapter IX
The Clan was fre
e! Thanks to the People – Guel still shook his head in astonishment – the women, children, infirm and elderly were able to slip into the darkness of the forest. Gathered underneath the massive foliage of a gigantic tree, the Izon rested quietly, looking toward Guel for their next action.
He did not have a clue. He pretended to warm his broad, knurled hands over one of many meager fires. Guel was aware of the quiet murmurs of those around him and the pleasant breathing of exhausted, sleeping children. So focused had he been just to free his people and the Keeper that he had not considered what to do next. With the pass closed, what were they to do now? How could he reunite the Clan? Before he could come up with an idea, an obvious rustle of bushes interrupted his thoughts.
To his great sadness, not all of the Izon had joined him. Many wished to stay in the city when the Clan had planned to leave. Mainly dockworkers, they chose to remain where they were. It reminded Guel of the stories of the Izon who had abandoned the Need and dropped away from the Clan to settle in a valley or mountain along the long journey to awaken the People. Knowing what he did now, he wished so deeply that he had been one of them.
The Clan bolted at the sound, women grabbing sleeping children, their flight halted by a single command.
“Stop!” Guel shouted. He instantly recognized Morpheus appearing from the brush, holding a battered, unconscious form in his mighty arms.
Morpheus stopped before the campfire and lay Haleah lightly on the ground. She moaned softly even at the touch of the thick carpet of green grass beneath her. Morpheus ran tender fingers along the scars upon her face and brushed the soggy hair from her eyes. When at last his eyes lifted to touch the eyes of Guel, his countenance shifted to one of fury. “I brought friends,” he stated with a wave of his hand.
Six men materialized from the shadows to stand silently just at the edges of the firelight. Five were of the People, but the sixth was clearly Izon. The women held their babes closer, drawing the older children under their protective arms.