Rise of Prophecy Read online

  “What is it?” Liviana asks looking on in awe.

  “A relic from the time of the forefathers,” the King explains. He puts his hand into the urn, much to Liviana’s horror; she calms down when it is obvious that the object is quite cool. “Do you know what this is for?” Barish asks. Liviana shakes her head. “It is but a mere container,” he explains.

  “For essence?” she asks as she waits for the gem to fall in her palms. Barish nods. “Who’s?”

  “A tale for another time,” Barish says with a smile.

  “Father!” the Princess grumbles.

  “Daughter,” the King responds. He leans over and kisses her forehead.

  “Very well,” Liviana concedes. “I should know better than to try to get answers before it’s time.” Barish smiles as he grabs her arm. They begin walking back to his palace.

  “Timon has sent the Foreign Legion to Cappadocia. Even now they make camp at the ‘Gap of Cora’; I suspect they will attack Darius soon,” explains Barish.

  This news causes alarm with Liviana, “We have to help him!”

  “There are one thousand warriors ready to face them. I have dispatched more from the Illyrian highlands. Our spies could not get information out from the capital quick enough; Darius is trapped.”

  “You know what will happen if Timon gets his hands on the artifact,” Liviana says in a panicked voice. “Why won’t you just let me kill him?”

  “For all that he is, what he is becoming, he is your brother.”

  “I have to go. If I leave now I can get Darius out.”

  “No!” Barish exclaims. He stops to look at Liviana intensely. “You must return to Atlas to recall the Foreign Legion. Convince the Senate to end the campaign.”

  “And Darius?” Liviana asks.

  “Calis is on his way to get him out.”

  “You could stop this you know,” Liviana says a bit calmer.

  “Even if I returned today, recalled the Legion, put Timon in chains, it will not stop the machinery of war that has been brewing for centuries. You know what will come when the forefathers return?” the King asks. Liviana nods then rest her head on her father’s chest.

  “Send me to Nebpkara instead,” Liviana says. “Together we can increase efforts to bring down the priesthood.”

  “That road, unfortunately, has been closed. The Master’s focus now will shift to consolidating the nomads.”

  “When will I meet him?” Liviana asks.

  Barish kisses her head instead of providing an answer. They look at the star-filled sky, wondering if their friends will be safe.

  -CAPPADOCIAN MOUNTAINS-

  Long before the Great-War, this part of the Anatolian plains has been a haven for wandering tribes. The volcanic rock rises from the valley floor, creating small conical mountain stacks which over time, became assorted dwellings for the settling inhabitants. It is now a small city of nomads, which have always been ignored by the Atlantean governors.

  The people who live here today are peaceful; they casually mix with the Illyrian traders who cross the borders, and from time to time, visit the Atlantean city, about one hundred miles away. They are led by a man they affectionately call ‘Chief.’

  He has lived here for nearly twenty-six years, with a small family, and a royal order of protection for the city from King Barish himself. This area is off limits to any form of invasion or settlement from any force of Atlantis.

  Chief is in his late fifties, five foot nine, of medium build. Most of his grey hair has dropped off, with only a thin layer left to tease his age. His tanned skin is similar to the rest of the population, but his square jaw exaggerates distinct facial features common to Atlanteans. While the nomads say ‘Chief,’ those from the continent of Atlantis call him, ‘Darius.’

  Five miles outside the conical stacks of Cappadocia, is a tranquil green valley. Darius with a party of twelve armed nomads stands behind a line of trees. Just past the tree-line is an empty flat swath of land. They patiently stare out there, minding their horses.

  The engines of a small transport craft roar by as it glides into the valley, settling softly on the flat area. The nomads can see Illyrian markings with those of the priesthood. It was not uncommon for pilots to park their crafts this far outside the city; they did so mostly because of the anti-aircraft batteries posted around the mountains.

  Before the craft’s engines whine down a ramp opens. High Priest Calis jumps to the ground. He stops as if in pain but collects himself quickly to make his way to the tree-line.

  Darius smiles as his longtime friend limps towards him. He embraces Calis tightly, for he has not been in his company for several years. They head for a small field-table with two chairs. As they sit one of the nomads brings tea; it is a welcoming drink to fight the cold wind.

  “It’s a shame we meet under these circumstances,” Darius says to Calis in his thick, loud voice.

  “Then we’d better get going,” Calis responds. “Stavos’ camp is only five miles away. The only way out is through Illyria. I’m afraid it will be just a matter of time before they close the borders. Today, time is our enemy.”

  “They still have to get past the Gap of Cora. As far as I’m told, the Senate holds the Legion in contempt for marching on us.”

  Calis leans closer to Darius, “Do you really think complaints from senators will stop Timon’s forces from invading? No, my friend. As delicious as this tea is, we don’t have time for it. Let’s go.” He stands and is startled by the sound of moving riffles. “Come on Chief,” he protests.

  “I will not leave my people. If death is what awaits them, then my fate will be no different,” Darius explains.

  “The warriors should be waiting for the soldiers at the gap. You can still get your people to safety. Have the Illyrians arrived yet?” Calis asks.

  “What do you think?” Darius asks with some annoyance. “The wild men from the highlands are late for their funerals. No, we will seek shelter in the Forbidden City; many have already made their way down there. Besides, no outsider has dared enter those tunnels in three thousand years.”

  “There is more at stake here than your death wish. Give me the artifact then.” Calis puts his hand out to Darius, waiting for his part of the key to Lumeria.

  There is a smile on Darius' face, “Well I don’t have it with me,” he explains. “What if you didn’t come? I was not going to have it rattling about in my pockets.”

  “Fine you old goat. Let’s get it. You’ll have to tell your people not to shoot my transport down.”

  “You’re not going in there with that thing. I don’t control the perimeter defenses.” Darius gestures to one of the nomads, who bring a pair of horses.

  “You are the Chief aren’t you?” Calis notices the incoming horse. “What are you doing? I’m not getting on that filthy beast. Keep it away I warn you.” He steps back from the horse, apparently afraid of it.

  “Tell me something,” Darius demands as he climbs on his horse, “how do you suppose Timon knows I have my part of the key? Only you, Barish, and Liviana knows its location.”

  “Treachery exists somewhere within our ranks.”

  “Then why am I giving it to you? What if you take it back to Atlantis, straight into the Lion’s den?”

  “Don’t you dare,” Calis warns. “I will give it to Arias’ son. He is here you know, with the regiment.”

  “Alexius?” Darius pauses for a moment as if hatching a plan. “Then I will give it to him.”

  “How are you going to get it to him, by buzzard?” Calis asks sarcastically. “No, I have befriended him, and when he returns from this awful campaign, I shall place it in his care.” Darius points to Calis’ transport.

  “Get in your ship. Wait for me at the far side of the river Halys. It’s beyond the perimeter guns so you will be safe. If I see the son of Arias first, then…”

  “Hide,” Calis interrupts. “He thinks you killed his father.”

  “And you couldn’t tell him otherwi
se?” Darius complains.

  “I took an oath never to reveal certain things…that was one of them.” He notices the frustrating glare from Darius, so he shrugs. “Fine, it was a gamble on my part; I encouraged the belief that you killed Arias so he would seek you out.”

  “You’re a bastard Calis. That’s very conniving.” Darius rides away.

  “I learned that from your sister!” Calis shouts.

  -THE GAP OF CORA-

  This narrow stretch of canyon runs for nearly one mile from the main travel lanes down to the outskirts of Cappadocia. The narrow path is the only way into the nomad city by roadway; air traffic is closely monitored by heavy batteries that keep vigil on all the approaches.

  The gap was aptly named after the sixteen-year-old princess Persephone of Hyperboria; ‘Kore’ was the name she used to hide out amongst the locals; over time the name changed to ‘Cora.’ As the story goes, Persephone was captured by Illyrian wild men from the north and was being transported through Anatolia in secret via a large caravan of 2000 migrants.

  She escaped somewhere in the wilderness, then found herself in the Cappadocian mountains. There she befriended the locals who hid her from the Northerners; her captors eventually considered her lost or dead, so they moved on.

  Fortune would favor Persephone once more, for entirely by accident she discovered a long-abandoned sub-terrain city. It was a carefully designed network of tunnels with rooms plunging nearly four hundred feet into the ground, spread over a five-mile radius. The conical mountain stacks above the surface were mere dots when compared to the size of the underground dwelling spaces.

  This city was built by her ancestors, during a period in history lost to all but the Creator himself. She did also discover a small cache of weapons amongst riches left behind by the previous occupants. Being the petulant child that she was, she orchestrated the return of her captors to the canyon. Eventually, the wild-men were massacred.

  A river of blood flowed through the canyon. Since that time Persephone was never regarded as a child again. Her father’s enemies knew she was a force to be reckoned with, so they no longer threatened either her or her concerns.

  Her uncles who ruled Illyria granted the Princess a massive portion of the land, which she, in turn, sold off, except Cappadocia. She then freed all the slaves in the domain. Persephone never revealed the secret city to anyone except a chosen few.

  Even though the Great-War devastated the region, and the forces of Atlantis claimed the land for the empire, the people who come to Cappadocia know that Persephone is still the sole owner of all the properties contained therein.

  This fact does not concern the current forces of Atlantis who inhabit the ‘Gap of Cora.’ The heavily armed regiment has finished doing battle with the nomad terrorists. Hundreds of bodies lay prostrate on the canyon floor; blood flows from the Atlantean and nomad dead. Several attack aircraft from both sides smolder from their crashes. The ‘Gap of Cora’ once more flows red.

  Commander Stavos’ camp is just beyond the gap’s entrance. Red tents of Atlantis are spread out on a small area of flat land. Heavy troop transports and attack crafts are parked on a designated airfield. Support vehicles hastily re-arm the ships. Soldiers run feverishly to and from their stations.

  The troops wear their fatigue well. Most have never seen battle, for they were recent recruits at a training base in southern Illyria. Now they were soldiers, blindly following the orders of their Commander.

  Stavos’ tent is the largest in the camp; the fabric is a rich red color, with a gold standard standing proudly at the front. The entrance’s flap is closed, which means there is a gathering of officers inside.

  A female soldier walks briskly to the flap then boldly enters. Inside, Alexius, Deidra, along with two other officers observe the soldier as she greets Stavos. She hands Alexius an encrypted message tube, salutes Stavos then promptly leaves.

  “It has a royal seal,” Alexius observes. He hands it off to Stavos, who then tosses it on top of his small desk.

  The Commander is not his cheerful self, “Good work today. It appears we have stopped their resistance.”

  “Are we making camp then?” Deidra asks.

  Stavos shakes his head then walks towards the exit, “Get the troops mobilized; we are moving into Cappadocia.”

  Deidra looks at Alexius, then back to Stavos, “Sir, they are wary…”

  “Do as ordered Captain!” Stavos snaps.

  “Yes Sir,” Deidra responds.

  “Now all of you get out!” the Commander orders. The group leaves through the flap. As Alexius begins to leave Stavos grabs his shoulder, “Not you Captain.”

  He returns to his desk with Alexius following. He picks up the tube. Alexius opens a portable receiver on the desk. Stavos promptly inserts the tube. The screen flickers to life. Prince Timon’s image appears.

  “Stavos, I want you to clean out Cappadocia,” the recording begins. “Remember, wipe out every living nomad. Find Darius, and bring me my artifact!” The image flickers away.

  Surprise fills Alexius’ face, “Darius? He is here?”

  “Wine!” Stavos orders. Alexius brings a pitcher with two cups. “I take it you know the story of Darius and your father?”

  “I only recently learned of what happened,” Alexius answers as he touches his shirt, feeling for his necklace. “What artifact is the prince searching for?”

  “A family heirloom.” Answers Stavos. He shuffles some papers on the desk. “But he wants Darius’ head. Help me accomplish this. Rise with me to the halls of glory.”

  Stavos produces a picture of Darius when he was younger, along with a rendition of what he may look like now. Just below is a picture of a small octagonal artifact with engravings in the old tongue. Alexius is relieved as the heirloom is not his. He notices infrared scans on the desk.

  “These look like dwellings; families not warrior camps,” Alexius point out on the scans.

  Stavos finishes his wine, fills his cup, then quickly downs the drink. He is sweating profusely, even though the temperatures outside are a few degrees above freezing. Alexius looks at him with concern but decides not to inquire about his friend’s strange behavior of late.

  It was just four days ago when he ran into Stavos with prince Timon at the underground fight club. There was nothing out of character with the Commander then, but the next day, there was an anxious way about him. They made their way to Cappadocia with haste, barely set up camp, battled the nomad warriors. Now without rest, they were about to storm what looked like dwellings.

  Then there were the physical signs of anguish in Stavos. His eyes were bloodshot with bags forming under his eyelids. He was always sweating as if his body was trying to burn out an infection. He was quick to get angry, and rarely made any sarcastic comments about, anything. There is something wrong with him, Alexius acknowledges silently.

  “Do you know what a nomad child turns into?” Stavos asks, “A warrior! This is our chance to stamp out the disease, here, now!”

  Horror overcomes Alexius, “You’re talking about genocide; mothers, children, families.”

  “You’re a fucking soldier!” Stavos points out. “Those little shits will turn into the dead out there. Before that, they will wait to slit your noble throat the first chance they get. Don’t go soft on me now. Tell you what, you and Deidra can plunder when we are finished.” Alexius looks at him as if he got caught with his hands in the coffers. “I know about your exploits.”

  “Deidra is innocent; any wrongdoing should fall on me,” Alexius says quickly.

  “Yes, she is. A fine soldier, whom I foresee will command the Foreign Legion one day.” He grabs Alexius’ shoulder, “You and me my friend will be amongst the living gods, like the heroes of long ago.”

  There was a time when the thought of glory would entice Alexius to whatever means necessary to achieve it. Now, there is a bitter taste to what Stavos is feeding him. The small ache in his stomach is quickly turning into nausea. He notices
that he has been spinning Chloe’s ‘magic bracelet’ for the entire conversation. Suddenly, his mind escapes to thoughts of his niece and nephew, the priest Mathias with his dead grandson, and the faceless civilians who they are about to massacre.

  There would be no escaping the events to come.

  Chapter 20: The Lies We are Told

  The river Halys is a quarter mile wide, stretching for 734 miles through the land. The rough waters beat on rocks near the banks, creating foam in its wake. It separates Cappadocia from the nearby Illyrian border some two miles away.

  The Illyrian transport craft Calis arrived in sits on a grassy area near the banks, with the engines ‘spun up,’ ready to depart at a moment’s notice. Some twenty yards away near the riverbank, its passenger paces impatiently.

  “Hurry you fool” Calis grunts to himself.

  Why doesn’t anyone listen to me? He did not want to be out here in the open. He should have been within Illyrian airspace with Darius by now. Then there is the risk of his sudden trip to Illyria being found out by the new Acheniaes, Inias; that would ensure some uncomfortable questioning from the intelligence arm of the priesthood.

  His contemplation is interrupted by the pilot shouting from the ramp. He looks at the man. This cannot be good.

  “Your holiness, we have incoming!” the pilot screams.

  As if on cue, three Atlantean fighter craft dart overhead; they are a quarter mile away, 800 feet up. One breaks off from the formation then banks steeply to the right, pulling a sharp turn while descending toward the river. The remaining two fire missiles into the Cappadocian landscape, causing anti-aircraft batteries to engage.

  Calis begins to run towards his craft but freezes when he notices the single fighter angling towards his position. He shouts to his pilot, “Get out,” but the man is already engaging his engines, attempting to lift the craft off the ground. A missile from the fighter shoots off to the escaping vehicle; within moments it hits, exploding into a massive fireball.

  The force of the explosion knocks Calis off his feet, sending him plunging into the roaring waters. The fighter speeds by then pull up sharply, beginning its ascent into the clouds. Debris from the Illyrian craft drops into the river, missing the unconscious priest by inches. If he doesn’t drown for the next mile of his travel, then Calis will be stranded in the wilderness that waits.