Rise of Prophecy Read online

  She sees Alexius flat on his stomach, asleep. Lizzie comes out of the bathroom. Krista quickly picks up some of Lizzie’s clothing on the floor to throw at her.

  “Cover up you tart,” she instructs Lizzie. “We have a distinguished guest downstairs.”

  “More distinguished than him?” Lizzie asks in her country accent.

  “Yes…a High Priest from the capital.”

  Lizzie yelps with excitement, then quickly gets dressed. Alexius begins to wake. She runs over to kiss him on the cheek, then joins her sister.

  “M ’Lord, there is a High Priest downstairs waiting for you,” Krista says.

  “What? Wait, where are you going?” Alexius asks a bit confused.

  “Time to go…we have to close up for the day,” Krista informs him.

  Bewildered as to what’s happening Alexius gets off the bed, not realizing that he lacked clothing. The girls gawk then leave. He proceeds into the bathroom. So begins the slow routine to get dressed. But wait….today, oh no, he screams in his head.

  The girls rush down the stairs, stopping in front of Calis. Lizzie drops to her knees then grabs the priest’s hand. She gently kisses it before bowing her head. The hand touches her forehead, ending gently on her head; she smiles. Her sister receives the same.

  “Bless you my child, both of you,” Calis says in his priestly voice. He looks around as the girls run into a kitchen area. “Might as well sit I suppose,” he says to himself, examining his hand.

  He takes a seat in a booth. The girls bring a platter of bread, cheese, steaming tea, with a bowl of olive oil.

  “Please, we insist,” Lizzie explains.

  “Oh alright,” Calis concedes. Alexius finally makes it down. The girls run over to him.

  “Thank you for the hospitality ladies,” Alexius says to the two girls. Krista drags Lizzie off to the back.

  Alexius smiles at Calis, “How did you know where to find me?”

  “My driver is not as discreet as he should be,” Calis explains. “I was concerned when Cassandra asked about your whereabouts, so I came to the only logical place you would be.”

  “You may think me a disrespectful son,” Alexius states while dipping bread in the oil.

  “Not at all. It is not my place to judge anyone, nor is it to tell anyone how to live.” Calis glances at Krista taking tea outside.

  “I thought that’s what the priesthood is for? That’s what they do.”

  “An unfortunate difference in methods, them and me,” Calis explains.

  “You don’t act or speak like other High Priests; they would never enter this place.”

  “Let’s just say that we have our differences.”

  “Say, I’ve meant to ask, who were the others who met in my father’s, secret circle?”

  “Is that what you called it?” Calis asks smiling. Alexius does not respond; he smiles with bread in his mouth. “Very well; there was my sponsor Samiri, Darius, myself of course, and…the King.”

  Alexius chokes on his bread. He looks at Calis who calmly sips his tea. The King of Atlantis has been absent from all the realms for over twenty years. No one knows why he left, never to be seen or heard from again. Only whispers and legend grew around him. The fact that he was there, with Arias in that sanctuary, sends a chill up Alexius’ spine.

  “The King? Why?”

  “He was a close friend to us all, brothers more like.” Calis looks at the wall, feeling nostalgic. “The last great Anuk King, a direct descendant of the forefathers, pure in blood, and from when I knew him, pure of heart.”

  “Why did he leave?”

  “When you see him, you can ask for yourself. But for now, we should be going.”

  Alexius wonders, Could this be a man worth befriending?

  -AFTERNOON IN DALMATIA-

  The once serene grounds of the grand temple are now alive with activity. People swarm all over the place, setting up tents as if there were to be a festival. Two small crafts are parked on the grass; troop transports, able to hold twenty passengers each. Outside the main gates, armed nomads stand with weapons, diligently waiting for any disruption of what is transpiring.

  Removed from all the activity above is the High Priest Clabber, locked away in a dungeon, his own as a matter of fact. He sits behind iron bars in a stone room about eight feet square. A ‘shit-bucket’ sits in a corner, with remnants of the priest’s nervous stomach. Oh, what have I done to deserve this? He laments to himself.

  From his cell he hears footsteps; just the bare ‘pitter-patter’ of a child. He smiles hoping it’s one of his slaves coming to set him free, to rescue him. His prayer is answered as a little eight-year-old boy slowly makes his way towards the tired old man. He stops at the iron bars, looking upon his master.

  “Be a good boy, find the keys, help me open the doors, will you?” Clabber says to the child.

  The lad nods then walk around the area. He is not sure what he is looking for but will do anything to please his master. He returns with a stick then leans on the bars. Clabber frowns as he reaches through to slap the boy across the face.

  “I said keys, not a stick!” he screams. There is not a sound from the lad; he sits crumpled on the floor.

  More footsteps echo, this time they are loud; they are the heavy stride of an adult with purpose. Fear takes over the angry priest. He quickly retreats to the farthest wall. Mica appears, slowly walking towards the boy on the floor.

  He helps the child off the ground. The lad runs off, leaving the adults to regard one another. Mica looks at Clabber then opens the cell; so many things he wants to say to him, so much hurt he wants to inflict.

  “Where is the band of Osiris?” Mica asks calmly.

  “I don’t know what that is…please, I beg you, let me go.”

  “Where is the band?” Mica asks once more, moving closer to Clabber.

  “You keep asking me for something I know nothing about. I already answered everything you asked.”

  “Where is the….what is that smell!” Mica shouts. He rushes over to a water hose coiled up in a corner.

  He knew it would be there, as it always had been. He knows the water rushing through the lines would be powerful enough to cause welts on the skin, bruising the flesh, disrupting the senses; for an adult, it would do these things, to a child, far worse. He lets the water blast through, with the nozzle pointing at Clabber.

  The priest drops on the ground with the bucket of excrement falling over him, flowing with the water getting inside his mouth. The powerful stream goes down to his testicles. The torture feels like an eternity. After one minute, Mica turns off the water.

  “Where is the fucking band of Osiris!” Mica screams like a madman. He unclips his dagger. With hate in his eyes he rushes towards Clabber.

  A slight beeping goes off in his ear from a tiny earpiece concealed under his hair. He looks at his armband to identify the caller; he can’t ignore this one. Whatever he hears gives him calm. He looks at Clabber with disgust.

  “Lord Clabber, are you hungry? We have a fine stew brewing for you.”

  “If you wish it, my lord,” Clabber says almost to the point of tears.

  Approaching footsteps brings a mix of fear with curiosity to Clabber. He sees two nomads enter, their facial tattoos giving him much grief. His gaze drops to a smoldering pot they both carry. They leave it with a bowl on the floor.

  “Go on…eat,” Mica offers.

  It has been five days since he’s eaten anything of substance. Only liquids, including milk, a handful of berries, and an egg in the mornings, were all that Clabber allowed himself to have. Whatever this was would be a welcomed relief to the burning in his stomach. He lifts the cover carefully.

  With surprise quickly turning into anger, Clabber looks at his gold coins carelessly submerged in hot water. To add insult to injury, potato peels float about with a clove of garlic.

  Clabber looks up at Mica with hate in his eyes, “I am not hungry.”

  “Not good enough? We
will have to do better then.” Mica nods at the two nomads, who remove the pot from the room.

  A little calmer now, Mica walks over to a short stool to sit. Clabber is afraid to move, so he sits on the ground, fuming.

  “Yes, we found your hidden treasures…not very well hidden. You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “I am afraid I do not recall our acquaintance.”

  “This room, you once locked me in here for ten days. ‘What is that smell?’ You would shout as you entered. Locked in because a lovely city girl befriended me, and I brought her here, to our home.”

  Clabber looks up at Mica with remorseful eyes. “I am sorry,” he claims, starting to sob.

  “We entered the temple; all Lyra wanted to do was say a prayer for her father,” Mica explains. “When you found us you were furious. You flogged the life out of her, a seven-year-old girl. After you tossed her out like a common street urchin.” Mica’s rage returns, “She was not one of us, not one of your dirty, forgotten children!”

  He drops down to meet Clabber’s gaze, then slaps the man several times on his rosy cheeks. Clabber begins to cry, but this does not stop Mica. He drags the priest up. He puts his palm on Clabber’s face, violently pushes his head back on the iron bars.

  “Where is the band of Osiris?” he screams. He repeats the action until blood drips down Clabber’s head.

  He stops, intrigued that this filth can keep a secret. They were sure the band was here; Liviana was confident about the location. Could the journal have been wrong? I knew we should have brought it…and now it’s back in the hands of this lot, Mica ponders.

  “Mercy…I beg mercy, pardon,” Clabber cries. “Please, I am faint.”

  “Then you are of no use to us.” Mica retrieves his dagger, displaying it to the frightened man.

  “Wait, wait,” Clabber begs with his hands in the air. “There is something that was left here; I know not what it’s called. It is ancient.”

  At last, a glimmer of hope. Mica touches his ear to call for his nomad comrades. It doesn’t take long for two to enter the dungeon. They grab Clabber. Mica stays behind for a moment, looking at the room where he once endured the priest’s torture. He smiles.

  The bright afternoon sun shines on Clabber’s face, blinding him momentarily as he makes his way outside. His captors drag him out of the temple then down the stairs. He breathes the crisp autumn air, confident that he may yet live through this day.

  Liviana is close by; she sits with a feeble old man, a slave. She gently feeds him from a bowl, treating him like a wounded child. She entrusts the man’s care to a nomad. She sees Clabber at the bottom of the stairs.

  The grounds are filled with people running about, alive as if for the first time. Nearly one hundred souls have been freed from Clabber’s household. They regard their liberators with much respect, not afraid of the nomad terrorists. Neela with several children run up to Liviana, smiling as they try to hug her. She pats them all then continues on.

  She stops in front of Clabber, who immediately drops to his knees then prostrates. She looks at one of the men standing behind him; he drags the priest up. Mica stops at the group.

  “He should be fed, for his compliance,” Mica orders. The men drag Clabber off to a table. “It’s here; he will show us.”

  “Good work,” Liviana says to Mica as she takes his hand. “What do you think he will do when he realizes his wealth is being given away?” She points to several tables, loaded with Clabber’s once hidden treasures.

  Mica smiles, “Take his life if he knows what’s good for him.”

  “Come,” Liviana says, putting an arm around Mica.

  They walk towards the treasure pile. It is undisturbed despite the multitude of people walking around it. Freedom is more important to the slaves than all the gold they can carry. With all his talk about finding treasure, Mica finds himself disgusted by the sight of it.

  “There’s your treasure, you can have anything you wish,” Liviana offers.

  “This belongs to them,” Mica says as he looks at the people, “and to the poor, the sick, the weak. Anyone who has been cheated by this animal should take what they feel is owed.”

  “Consider it done. Now, we have some business to attend to.” Liviana walks off towards Clabber, but stops midway, realizing Mica is not following; she looks back at him.

  He stands in front of the tables, looking at everything, contemplating what he had just suggested. It would be a shame to leave empty-handed, Mica reminds himself. He picks up what looks like a broken piece of a small golden disc with a chain attached to it. Smiling, he displays it to Liviana; she smiles back at him.

  Chapter 12: The Inheritance of Humans

  The late hour of the evening is marked by the declining sun poised to make its final drop behind the mountains of Parthon. A small river flows through the Badur estate, turning into smaller streams as it flows out in various directions. One stream pass along a fenced off area near a private road.

  The three-mile retreat into the less visited areas of the estate is a welcomed hideaway for Alexius. He sits on the rocky banks watching his horse take its drink. Such a simple life, he thinks. Reality sets in. He brings forth his father’s journal, ready to read some more.

  ~Journal~

  A high burden I carry for my family, one that dwells beyond the confines of time. Doomed are the trustees who live in the misery. Long have I relished my title, yet my soul knows it is an unearned affair. The balance of things comes at the fulfillment of the oath.

  Oh, how I lament the tale of Persephone, for she suffered a fate no soul should endure. Her burden must be set free, now, in this age of the awakening. Oh, how I lament the tale of Persephone. Share in her tragedy I must.

  ~End Passage~

  “Some clues would be helpful,” Alexius says to his horse.

  A snapping twig startles him; he turns quickly expecting something sinister to fall upon him. He breathes relief when Remus appears with a horse.

  “Clues to what?” Remus asks.

  “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out doing your Lordship duties?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous…I can’t stand those vultures any more than you can. They are all there unwilling to leave, roaming about the place as if waiting for some treasure to be bestowed on them.”

  Remus lets his horse join the other by the stream. He sits next to his brother, whom he noticed is trying to conceal a book.

  “So where did Calis find you? Gambling? Wenching at Turney’s? Or wandering around town?” Remus asks with a smile.

  “Turney’s; don’t complain, I made it didn’t I?”

  “Barely. Andros was beside himself, assuring us you will not attend the burial.”

  “What did you think?”

  “I knew better.” Remus pats his brother on the back. “Even if you did not come, we would understand.”

  “It was the right thing to do.” Alexius smiles, remembering this is what Deidra had told him. He carefully reveals the journal to Remus. “It’s father’s.”

  “I haven’t seen that since, a very long time.” Remus takes the book, handling it like a delicate flower.

  He smells the cover, igniting memories of childhood. He closes his eyes becoming lost in the past. Arias treated him as his own born son. Remus cherished his adopted father, whom he honors every day by carrying on the family’s name and title.

  Remus takes a deep breath, “You asked me about the men in father’s circle. From what I remember, one of them, Darius, was charged with his murder.”

  Surprise overcomes Alexius, “I thought father was killed in a terrorist attack.”

  “He was in a way, for that is what Darius had become, or so the tale goes.”

  “What became of him?” Alexius asks, still staring at his brother.

  “No one knows. He fled Atlantis never to be heard from again. This journal, when it was but empty, was a gift to father from Darius.”

  So many questions are swirling around
Alexius’ head. The journal mixed up with ancient texts, a task bestowed by an ancestor, Persephone, a murdered father; there was a connection he could feel.

  He takes the book. “There is a part here…It reads, ‘The path to the key of power starts in Cappadocia. The eye of Persephone will guide you to Lumeria. Protect the people Alexius, my son.’ What does it mean?”

  “You must find a way to Cappadocia,” Remus advises.

  Suddenly, Alexius remembers that he has been reassigned to the Far West Continent. Frustration overcomes him.

  “I have to be in FaW-C a week from now.” Alexius stands and looks at the sunset.

  “A trivial detail, one I am certain you will overcome. It’s getting late, time to head back.”

  They both get on the horses. They planned on making the journey a slow one, for the gathering at the house was not one they were thrilled to rejoin.

  -GRAND TEMPLE, DALMATIA-

  For the first time in decades, the Grand Temple is alive with celebration. No longer was the High Priest Clabber its keeper, more importantly, no longer was he feared. The former slaves set up a feast for their liberators, thirty or so nomads, with their two distinguished leaders. Urns burn bright, music echoes, revelry is abundant, and everyone is cheerful. One is hopeful, Clabber.

  He is not amongst the crowd for surely his safety will be in peril. He stands in a remote corner of the monastery, inside a large hall that has long been locked away from intruders. Liviana stands at the top of a short flight of stairs with Mica, patiently waiting for Clabber’s revelation.

  “I have your word. I will be free?” Clabber asks Liviana.

  “You will be free,” she responds.

  “Hurry up swine,” Mica says, pushing the priest’s back.

  Clabber looks at his former slave who is now the master. He hurries to the far end of the room some thirty feet away.

  “For a fat fuck, he sure can run,” Mica observes.

  “Do shut up,” Liviana warns.

  A marble wall is at the end where Clabber has stopped. He doesn’t look back; instead, he quickly pushes a sequence of tiles. There is a short rumble on the floor. A descending stairway appears to his side. He hastily makes his way down, disappearing into a darkened corridor.