Rise of Prophecy Page 16

  “I do not know. All communication has been lost. These are all the groups’ transmissions for the past year. There is no trace of the expedition.”

  “The high priest assigned was a dear friend,” Inias expresses solemnly.

  “I sometimes wonder,” Varna begins looking at Inias’ head, “who is the more powerful, us the royal bloodline of the Anuk, or the priesthood.” Inias takes the tube with shaking hands. “I will send you the encryption keys later on,” Varna informs him.

  “Have you seen the transmissions?” Inias asks.

  “Yes,” Varna responds. “Most of the data is corrupted. What survives are only images, archaic symbols, more of the ancient tongue.”

  “Then best let Prince Timon have it.”

  “No,” Varna snaps, “not yet. He gets his books, I have this, for now. You know how impatient Timon is. Best give him a complete report.” He grabs Inias’ hand. “Just as you are powerful Archon Inias, so am I. I consider you a smart man. This particular item stays within the privy of you and me.” Inias nods and then bows.

  Suddenly, a loud ‘boom’ from a weapon echoes. The servant drops to the ground clutching his sides. Another shot echoes more intensely; this time a trail of smoke follows a projectile heading to the exit walls.

  An explosion rocks the interior. Debris falls between Varna, Inias, and their exit. The Archon frantically ducks inside an enclave. Varna does not move. Instead, he looks around for the attacker.

  Lyra is behind a broken wall, about thirty feet away from Varna. She sees him smiling. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into? She thinks. She decides that avoiding a fight will be in her best interest.

  “All I want is the chest!” Lyra shouts.

  Varna smiles, “Then you will have to come get it” he announces arrogantly. “Don’t be shy…come on.”

  A shot flies towards Varna. As the hot projectile nears his head he shifts his body, it misses. Another bullet comes his way, with the same result.

  “Are you fucking shitting me?” Lyra mumbles.

  She looks out at the cowering Inias. The servant is crawling towards a hole in the rubble. Varna has his hands in the air, still smiling. She pulls her hood over her head, checks her pistol, then begins her charge.

  While running Lyra fires her weapon. He once again successfully avoids the bullets. It doesn’t take long for her to reach him.

  Varna expertly deflects the small female’s blows, disarming her in the process. She gets an unexpected kick through to his stomach, which sends him reeling back. He glances over at Inias who has grabbed the chest. He is almost at the exit hole.

  Varna picks up an iron rod, then sends another to Lyra; she picks it up. They strike at each other, whirling and connecting the rods, engaged in a deathly dance. At one point Lyra is locked in close to Varna, but he does not deliver a devastating blow; he is enjoying himself.

  “Did you think that it would simply go from my hand to yours?” Varna asks as he pushes her off, relishing in her frustration. “It’s a shame if I were to kill you now.”

  “It’s a shame that I would disappoint you,” she responds.

  The rods slam into each other. Varna knocks Lyra’s weapon down. He grabs her then tosses her several feet across the room. He looks at the exit hole once more; Inias is gone.

  “I’d love to stay and fight,” he declares, “but I have to go. Come find me; show me what’s under that hood.”

  He runs towards the makeshift exit. Inias’ men begin firing their weapons at Lyra. She grabs her empty gun. She dives across some rubble.

  It doesn’t take long for Lyra to make it outside. She runs down the concrete alley, heading to her hover-bike. To her horror, she sees a large man attempting to start the vehicle. It figures I’d get robbed. Rovina is going to kill me, she complains. She pushes herself hard to reach the thief before he takes off.

  Alexius is on Lyra’s bike, struggling to start the thing. He finally engages the igniters, evident by that glorious hum. He taps some switches, the stands retract. He is about to engage the throttle when he feels someone grab on to him. A second later shots fire past his head.

  “Go!” Lyra screams.

  More shots ring past them as they speed off down the alley. After a minute of traveling at nearly 120 miles per hour, Alexius slows the bike. He brings it to a stop at the edge of the ghetto. He turns to see Lyra’s furious expression.

  She slams the butt of her pistol on his temple, sending him falling to the ground. She slides forward looking at Alexius rubbing his head.

  “Serves you right for stealing my ride,” Lyra says before speeding off.

  Alexius shakes his head, admitting that a girl bested him. He did, after all, try to steal her bike. This is just not my day. I’d better call Deidra, he decides.

  Chapter 15: It’s in the Blood

  In the sewers there are always some things that never go away; the dark, the dampness, the ever-present dripping of water. Everywhere there is always water dripping into something, creating that infernal ‘drip’ sound. If one were to live down here all their life, it would not be such a bother, but for Samiri, it drives him crazy.

  The creature who sits in a dimly lit enclave was once a man; what exists now can barely be considered one. He appears to be in his fifties, with long dark, greasy hair. His clammy white skin has a texture of oatmeal in the candlelight, which goes well with his sinister face. His clothing is a ‘mish-mash’ of old filthy rags, filling his medium frame and short stature. There is an air about him, a stench you can say, of death and misery.

  Samiri has lived in Atlantis for a long time. He was a companion to Alexius’ father, Arias. Together with Darius, Calis, and on many occasions the King, these five adventurers would travel the world for whatever glory held their interests. Not much is known about him except that he is a foreigner; Illyrian most likely.

  His attention is currently on his meal. He sits on a wooden chair held together by thin dark rope. His metal dinner plate is on a stone table, which he managed to shape out of a broken column. He regards his meal with delight; a swirl of potatoes, rat meat, with moss for garnish. Thin fingers with overgrown nails claw at the roasted rodent. He picks it up, bites into the flesh, relishing the flavor.

  There is a tunnel across from the chamber he sits in. Approaching light with accompanying footsteps make their way through the stone passageway. He looks at the intrusion, protecting his plate as if he is about to be robbed. Calm overcomes him when he sees Prince Timon. That resolve disappears when two Red Guards appear behind the prince.

  “How dare you summon me like a commoner!” the prince screams as he nears the wretch. Samiri springs off his seat.

  “Forgive me, your highness. I meant no ill.”

  Timon puts his hand over his nose as he stands next to Samiri. He looks at the dinner plate and scowls, “Well, what is it?”

  Samiri raises a bony finger, “Agents of our enemies have entered Harappa. They must not be allowed to converse with the one called, Old Mother.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Who is Old Mother, and why should I care?”

  “She is the keeper of forbidden knowledge.”

  “That is just a myth; a legend cooked up by fanatics. An old tradition long lost with my ancestors. Besides, Harappa is Illyrian sovereignty; you want me to start a war before it’s time?”

  “Surely you have allies who can do your bidding?”

  “Surely you have minions that can do yours! Take care of your problem. I have my own concerns.” Timon backs off from Samiri, unable to bear the smell.

  “We cannot let…” Samiri stops mid-sentence when the prince glares at him.

  “We?” Timon asks. “Who is this, we?”

  Samiri takes a step back, “Very well my prince; I shall do what I can.”

  Timon begins to leave. He stops at the center of the chamber before entering the tunnel. The dingy walls are annoying him.

  “Why do you continue to refuse my offer for bet
ter accommodations?” Timon asks.

  “My condition forbids sunlight as you know. The sewers are my only refuge,” Samiri explains.

  Timon grunts to himself. He steps in a puddle which aggravates him some more. “I’ve been fortunate to be without prying eyes for a few weeks. I think it’s safe to indulge in your welfare a bit.” He begins his retreat from the place but stops again. “Oh, I almost forgot; get your potion ready, we have a candidate.” This time he leaves.

  The footsteps disappear down the tunnels from which they came. Left alone at last, Samiri walks over to a portion of the stone wall. He touches what appear to be mere scratches on the stone; these are in reality hidden switches.

  As the wall slowly swings open, the sound of stone dragging on stone causes a rumble. Samiri quickly enters a hidden tunnel. It is a short walk ending at another enclave. He sits on a stone block then stares down at a console; it doesn’t look like any in Atlantis.

  The tap of a few symbols causes a screen to materialize in the air close to the wall. The images are just static. Samiri patiently waits for something, maybe someone to appear. He looks down at the ground at his loathsome feet. Longing for the dinner plate overcomes him.

  -DEIDRA’S APARTMENT-

  One of the perks of being a captain in the Atlantean Foreign Legion is the ability to have one’s own lodging. The Foreign Legion, after all, was always on assignment; at times for years on end. But for the small contingent stationed in the capital, they can enjoy some little luxuries.

  With the influx of troops returning from Illyria, Deidra was lucky to find her apartment at the rate she did. Rent was not cheap here. Finding decent housing on a soldier’s pay, well, that was like finding a needle in a haystack. She earned one thousand ducats, or gold pieces, each month. Her rent was four hundred ducats.

  Nevertheless, the apartment was on the second level of a busy restaurant on ‘Food Alley’ called, ‘Number one Aryan food restaurant.’ It was spacious for a single person, with a large sitting room, and a bedroom of comparable size; what else could she possibly need? Because of her unwanted house guest, additional space is desirable.

  Running water from the bathroom can be heard in the sitting area. Deidra fumes as she checks the clock; Alexius has been in there for almost thirty minutes. She jumps off her comfortable couch to storm into the bedroom. She sits on the bed looking at the bathroom door.

  “Chow is going to be mad with the amount of water you’re wasting!” she yells. “You’re not rubbing one out are you?” The water stops.

  “Who is Chow?” Alexius yells back.

  Alexius finally comes out of the bathroom. He looks at Deidra attempting to pout; she appears awkward trying to be a girl. He smiles at her feeble attempt.

  “He’s the landlord. He owns the restaurant downstairs,” she explains.

  “Enterprising fellow. Hey, thanks again for picking me up.”

  “No problem your majesty.” She drops down below the bed to pull out a bag. “Today I was your taxi, your slave. Here, you left this at the crash.”

  She drops his leather bag on the bed; she did not know why she was angry with Alexius. It could be because she found out about the attack from the news reports or the fact that he refused to go to the hospital. It could also be that after all this time, she is still listed as his emergency point of contact. She folds her arms observing him rummage through the bag.

  Alexius retrieves his father’s journal. He knew this would put her in an even fouler mood.

  “Is that it, your stolen book?” Deidra says pointing.

  “It belonged to my father, see here.” Alexius opens the page with his family crest, then to the part which mentions him by name. “By right its mine.” He gives it to her.

  Deidra looks at the inscriptions. She fans through the pages ending at the map of Cappadocia. A moment passes as she reads, then she returns the journal to him.

  “Whatever is going on is beyond anything I’m prepared to get involved with,” she declares.

  “You don’t have to get involved with anything. This burden is mine to bear.”

  “And what about today? What was that all about?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know much of anything anymore. What I do know is that I cannot go to FaW-C. I’ll have to convince Andros to change my orders.”

  Alexius pulls out a small case from the bag. He opens it up, displaying two layers of trays containing money.

  The hard currency system throughout the empire was simple. Since Atlantis was the most influential civilization, their system is honored by everyone. One ducat is worth ten silver pieces; one silver is worth ten bronze; one bronze is worth five coppers; one copper is well one copper.

  For the snottier folks, there were the higher denominations called cubits; they were slightly larger than a coin, rectangular shaped, with a body of platinum. A pure platinum cubit is worth one thousand ducats; there are other denominations all the way down to a cubit that’s worth ten ducats.

  “No,” Deidra protests.

  “But I haven’t asked anything,” Alexius says while smiling.

  “If Andros changes your orders, you can’t stay here. I was lucky to find this place fully furnished. I’m sure you will find something too.” She looks at the money, “You can stay at a snotty lodge. Whose money is that anyway, I thought you didn’t have any.”

  “It’s a loan from my brother. I don’t trust anyone but you. Come on. It will be like old times.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Deidra grumbles under her breath. “You do know you’re not sleeping on this bed.”

  “If I had a pair of tits you would let me,” he jokes. Deidra hits him with a pillow.

  He quickly gets dressed as Deidra picks up the journal again. He makes his way to the other side; she doesn’t complain.

  “That bitch today stuck me with something; took blood.” He points to the needle marks near his abdomen; the area is turning blue.

  “Should have gone to the hospital,” Deidra says sarcastically.

  She tosses the book into the bag. She turns to see Alexius falling asleep. Sleep you little shit. I hope you get your orders changed, she admits to herself. It was too early to go to sleep, but she was exhausted; it was only eight O’clock. She reaches over to the nightstand to touch a small switch. The lights go out.

  -SACRED TEMPLE AT HARAPPA-

  It is midnight at the pagan temple. It was a busy day with Old Mother seeing nearly two hundred supplicants; over one thousand remains. The holy day does not end with the sunset, but instead, it continues for seven days. The twelve hundred or so worshipers will have another chance to see the revered one. For now, they all sleep on the spacious five-acre grounds behind the temple.

  Small tents are scattered around an open garden area. Green grass that spreads out like a carpet is almost an unnatural occurrence in such abundance. Water fountains flow into a long rectangular enclosure. Two figures lurk once more in the bushes, again on the holy ground.

  “I don’t know why we can’t just wait for daylight. We only have one hundred fools ahead of us,” Mica fusses softly.

  “The truth is, they don’t see the real Old Mother,” Liviana explains.

  There is some confusion on Mica’s face, but he puts off asking his question to scale the nine-foot wall ahead of him. Liviana effortlessly jumps to the top. She lays flat on the surface then sticks her hand out towards him. Once the two are at the top, they scurry across to some thin overhead pipes.

  They shimmy across a twenty-foot gap, over a deep gorge; the drop is 97 feet into a dried-up ravine. After a couple of feet away from the wall, they attach lines to the downward sloping pipes to begin a rapid descent.

  The pipes end at a conical mountain’s ledge; it looks like a giant ant hill. More of the dusty mountains litter the desert behind the temple grounds.

  With some effort, they make it across. As the pair drop to the dusty ledge, they look out to their left at the open desert and the night’s
sky in the horizon. Stars fill the darkness, and a small moon provides some light.

  “What is it, like just after eight in Atlantis? It’s Happy hour at the Furry Chariot,” Mica ponders loudly.

  “Be quiet,” Liviana reminds him.

  They make their ascent along the ledge; it narrows as it goes up to the top. The journey is not a long one before reaching a small cave. The pair stops at the entrance, cautiously peering in.

  Mica scans the space with his band; a hologram materializes above his arm, displaying an empty cave. They enter looking around the small area. The blue light illuminates the low ceiling and flat ground. A metal circle, about six feet in diameter, beckons ominously by just sitting there.

  Liviana looks at Mica then at the floor, “Well, we’ve come this far.” They both step onto the platform.

  “How’d you know to come here anyway?” Mica inquires while holding on to Liviana.

  “I didn’t. It’s just a memory from childhood.”

  The edges of the perfect circle light up as they begin to descend to the inside of the small mountain.

  ~LIVIANA (Age 05), HARAPPA~

  The rumble of a large craft invades the serenity of the desert afternoon in Harappa. The Atlantean transport hovers next to small mountains behind the ancient temple. The craft positions itself next to a cave. A ramp extends to a dirt ledge, allowing a large man to stride across; he carries his little daughter in his arms.

  -LATER THAT NIGHT-

  A fire ceremony is underway on a cliff; the landing is sizeable, able to hold a comfortable gathering of seventy people. There is chanting, dancing in circles, with the required smoking of sacred herbs.

  In the center near the fire, a bundle of blankets covers Liviana. She is sweating profusely; her body is desperately trying to release her from the clutches of a deadly fever. It is no ordinary fever, for this illness had taken her mother’s life two days earlier.

  Strange men had abducted her and her mother during their trip to Illyria. Her mother was infected with a deadly virus; Liviana was sentenced to be slaughtered. In a surprising turn of events, she killed the attackers, as young as she was, but not before she was infected. Her father found her after an exhaustive search; everyone knew he would destroy the world to protect her.