Son of Atlantis: Chapter III

Chapter 3
Journey


Copyright 2011
Courtesy of Christopher Pelletier and DLJ Publishing, LLC


Ziustros arrived at the Mount Atlas Observatory and de-energized his bronze crystal-powered motor carriage. His eyelids closed and his head bowed low. Then his throat went dry and started to constrict. He slapped the steering lever in frustration. Kylos’s plans of joining the Nereids brought back memories of the hard time, and now this fighting…

What’s becoming of that boy?

He lifted his head and saw the sun was dipping under the ocean, painting the sky a fiery red with deep purple clouds. The last mournful cries of a nearby gull sang, stabbing Ziustros in the heart.

His heavy steps carried him to the gray brick building with the large unpolished bronze dome on the roof. The spacious gas-lit chamber reflected light on the blue-tiled floor. His sandaled footsteps echoed in the silent space. The giant hunk of white crystal in the center of the chamber gave off a warm energy, and scroll-filled shelves, which were as high as two men, stretched along the length of the far wall.

Ziustros made his way to one end and took out a rolled parchment and brought it to his chestnut-stained oak desk. The soft leather cushioning on his chair creaked as he sat down. After his long drive to the observatory, the seat comforted his aching spirit.

Emotions lingered, so he took five deep breaths, like pearl diver’s breaths, to clear those feelings. Now he could relax and try to focus on tonight’s work.
A door to another chamber opened and Galen, Ziustros’s apprentice, entered the observation chamber.

“Oh! Greetings of the evening, sir. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Ziustros shook out the heaviness in his mind and looked at his pupil. “Greetings of the evening, Galen. Oh, could you get me the planetary chart? I think that I’ll take a look at what’s out there tonight.”

The assistant bowed, grabbed the scroll without a pause, and gently placed it on the desk. He took a step back and bowed once more.

“Thank you,” said Ziustros while examining his records from his last jaunt to the
planets.

Galen cleared his throat and broke the silence. “It’s a beautiful night, sir. Perfect for the telescopes.”

“You go ahead and check out the northern quadrant. I know it’s not as exciting as The Chair, but soon you’ll be ready.”

“I can’t wait.”

Why can’t Kylos be like Galen? Ziustros thought. He unrolled the scroll with the planets of the solar system. The chart had been done in color with quite a bit of detail and had many notations written on it. Galen stood by, bouncing on his toes. Ziustros smiled. “Maybe later tonight we’ll do some more cosmic astral training.”

“Really? Thank you, sir,” Galen said, his grin displaing his misaligned teeth. He trotted away to dust the shelves and organize the scrolls.

Ziustros gazed at the chart and eyed Mars, especially since it was so bright in the sky that night. The red planet with its immense canyons, deeply-cut canals, enormous volcanoes, and pristine polar ice had always intrigued Ziustros. Many times he wondered if it had life on it at one point, some time long before he had been born, perhaps when the Gods were young. Inside, he yearned to visit the planet in his physical body. But he was a realist and knew that his dream would go unfulfilled, as long as Atlantis lacked space-faring technology.

Maybe in a thousand years, he mused to himself. Astral projection will have to suffice for now.

He looked up and saw a younger version of himself in Galen. Maybe Ziustros had been a little more extroverted and social-savvy than his apprentice, but Galen’s mind swam in the same pool of star exploration. Ziustros recalled that his own love affair with astronomy had started during his teens. He had often gazed upon them over the ocean. His dream of studying them had come to pass and he could not have asked the Gods for more… except for two things.

But it was not time for relive all of his life’s tragedies. Now was time to explore. A youthful feeling energized him, the anticipation of getting out into the void and unknown. He never grew tired of it, and hoped he could do it for the rest of his life. He wished Kylos would take enough interest to join him one day.

With a push, he got up from his comfy desk chair and made his way to The Chair, which was a longer seat that had a tanned lion’s hide stretched over a frame made from elephant tusks. The tips of the tusks served as legs of the seat, and bits of crystal ran the length of each piece of ivory to enhance the power for astral travel. He had so much reverence for that particular piece of furniture. It allowed his spirit to soar through the heavens. The Chair seemed like a gift from the Gods.

Galen noticed him getting up and scrambled to fetch the astral chime and his own scrolls filled with notes from Ziustros’s previous travels. The assistant put both onto a desk near The Chair.

The milky crystal glowed with a dim light. Ziustros could feel its energy flowing into his blue crystal on his chest and into the crystals surrounding him, due to the proximity to the powerful rock. He eased himself into the lion skin, which had been set at a 45-degree inclination to promote more of a relaxed state.

Traveling through space always sapped energy from Ziustros, as it had done to his many predecessors. He had to mentally and emotionally prepare for the physical drain by clearing away the anxieties that troubled him. He had more today than usual. Galen took his post by the chime and Ziustros nodded. The apprentice then struck the instrument which produced a pure vibration. The pitch resonated in the chamber, perfectly matching Ziustros’s bio-rhythms. He closed his eyes and rolled them back.

It was not long before he felt weightlessness within his body.

Astral projection always started with the sensation of being swept away, as if caught in a fast-moving river. The soul always felt convinced that the body was dying, so once the process began, he had to loosen the reins on his will, which wanted to keep the connection between body and soul. This allowed his essence to slip out.

As soon as he became separated, he saw with his astral eyes that Galen was sitting down at his desk with a stylus and inkwell near the scroll, watching Ziustros’s unmoving body on The Chair. The boy waited with his arm resting on the desk for any words that his Master may say. The crystal glowed with a bright illumination.
After confirming that all was well, Ziustros left the observatory through the ceiling in his astral form. The power of the observatory’s crystal enhanced his vision. He paused in his flight to take in the view of the night sky. So many stars to explore, so little time in a life to do it in.

The orange glimmering of Mars was easy to spot. With a focus of his will, the power of the crystal shot him through the atmosphere and into space. He streaked through the silent void of the physical universe, but he felt the warmth of cosmic energy which filled the space. He had explained to Galen that it was like swimming without the resistance of water, and yet always surrounded by something akin to water.

Within hardly any time he arrived at Mars. He stopped a few hundred miles away to take in the sight of that red world which had sandstorms of such ferocity that the storms of the Atlantic seemed like breezes by comparison. The beautiful sphere in front of him floated like a ball on a black ocean. The scene reminded him of a fresco that someone had painted on the ceiling of one of the rooms in the observatory. But the painting did not match the beauty before his eyes.

If only Kylos could see this. Then I know he’d want to become an—

Something disturbed the cosmic harmony. A pressure was building up in the astral realm, something moving fast.

Ziustros looked around and saw a wake in the astral sea. The trail was easy to follow, and Ziustros soon discovered the cause: an enormous chunk of ice was racing through the void of space. He tried to recollect what it could be. For a few moments he was puzzled. Then realization hit him.

Ah, so you’re Typhon’s Comet. You’ve been away for awhile, haven’t you? You’re a beauty, though, that’s for sure.

All thoughts of Mars disappeared. Ziustros looked at the comet with wonder. Typhon was the first comet he had ever seen. He raced ahead of the Gods’ work of art, appreciating its crystalline structure. The purity of its formation inspired awe. A tail had started to form, which served like a weather vane indicating the direction it headed in as it neared the sun. It was a silent snake sneaking its way through the garden of worlds.

Wait a moment. Where exactly are you going?

He aligned his essence with the direction of the comet’s tail and shot ahead of the cruising ice. He stopped within the area of Earth’s orbital path. He spotted and smiled at his lovely blue planet crawling along on its steady trek. In the quiet of space, it seemed so serene, compared to the bustle on life in Atlantis and—realization struck him like a lightning bolt.

By the Gods…

Ziustros took mental notes on the comet’s path relative to Earth’s position, turned towards his home world, and raced back to the observatory.

This could be serious. I’ve got to check this out. I must get back now!

His astral body streaked towards Earth, and he started to panic with the possibilities. His observations could be spelling out the end of everything on the planet. No time for protocol now. He shot down through the sky and slammed into his body, throwing it out of The Chair.

Galen jumped up from his own seat and shrieked. After a moment’s recovery, he scurried to Ziustros’s side. “What is it, sir? Are you all right?”

Ziustros had a throbbing headache and could taste blood in his mouth. A slow, wet trickle came from his nostrils, too. He clutched his weary head and thought he was saying things. But he couldn’t hear any words.

He staggered about in confusion and disorientation, but by sheer will managed to get to his desk. His leg strength was depleted from the astral travel and from the abrupt return to his body. Despite the drain, he had to press on. This was far too important to stop.

Typhon.

He needed to write the calculations down. He had to figure it out. But his head hurt so much.

Need to find out if Earth will be hit—

Ziustros collapsed on the floor with a stylus in one hand and a scroll in the other. His eyes closed one last time before he was released from the pain.


. . . . .


Sleep was the last thing that Kylos could do. His ribs hurt with every breath. The bleeding had stopped, but the memory of the afternoon’s ordeal with Ballero kept on acting itself out in his mind without stop. His vivid dream of a week ago had come true on two accounts now, thanks to that beating from that damned Ballero.

In the darkness of his room he stared at the ceiling. Flickering orichalcum stars and constellations, which his father had put up when Kylos was an infant, glowed from the dim light of the gas streetlamps that crept in through a gap in the curtain. He tried to take his mind off the events of the day and lose himself in the thoughts of the Gods.

As he suppressed his tears, he half-uttered a prayer to Kronos asking for revenge against his enemy. He wished Ballero’s death.

Warmth flowed from his crystal and spread through his chest, so he opened his mind. The familiar feel of Peleus’s thoughts came through. “Hey, Ky. Are you awake?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of tough to go to sleep after what happened today.”

After a long pause Peleus asked, “Do you want to meet tonight and go on a prowl?”

Kylos gave it half a moment of thought. “Yeah, I’ll meet you in thirty minutes.”

The merge ended and with a sigh from pain mixed with exasperation, Kylos sat up and went to his boudoir. He rummaged through his tunics, and pulled out his dark one that was to be used during somber holidays and events, such as funerals. The window was his only way out, so he opened the curtains and unlatched the lock, like he had done many prowls before in the dark of night. He pushed the panes open, and the cool night air swirled around him. He jumped up from his bed, pulled himself to the window sill, and dangled his feet outside. The full-moon showed the sleeping city and the gas lamps lit the streets.

Kylos could not hear any sentry patrols nor any midnight rovers, so he dropped to the flagstones like a cat, scurried away from his house, and made his way to the rendezvous point.

Kylos thought about his other nocturnal excursions in the past and the near run-ins with sentries. He and Peleus always managed to hide in the shadows like thieves. If they had been caught, the sentries would have turned in the pair to their parents, creating more of an awkward situation for Peleus. Kylos doubted his father would even have noticed if his only son had been locked away in prison.

Prowling heightened all of Kylos’s senses, especially since sight could not always be relied on in the dark. He liked to imagine he was on a special Myrmillo mission, maybe as a spy. He focused on the sounds and smells that he would ordinarily not pay attention to. Every noise indicated possible capture, and a good Myrmillo does not get captured.

The journey was quiet, and soon he arrived at the meeting point, but Peleus was nowhere to be seen. A large shadowed recess of a building provided protection, and from there he looked and listened. As he focused his mind on Peleus's psychic frequency and started to transmit his thoughts, a hand grabbed Kylos's shoulder. His heart nearly stopped! Kylos spun around and saw the smiling face of Peleus.

"Gods, don't do that! You scared me half to death."

"You should have seen your face,” Peleus said with a chuckle. “I'll make a good Myrmillo, yet. You didn't even know I was here."

"Well, if you keep eating those pastries, you won’t fit into the armor," said Kylos with a jab to his friend’s belly.

"True enough," Peleus said smiling. "Where to?"

Kylos thought about it for a moment. "Let's see the main crystal."

"That'll be a challenge, but sounds fun."

The hurt in Kylos's body melted away with the thrill of adventure. The sharp aches turned into a dull throb as he and Peleus scurried through the streets.

The pair came to the first bridge, and Peleus said, "That's a bit of luck. No guards."

"We're not at war, remember. But I’m sure that some patrols will make their rounds. Let’s get across as quickly as possible.”

They scurried with heads low over the first bridge. Kylos half-expected to be stopped on the other side by a couple of guards with a group of cold-faced Automatons, but their luck held. A nearby building gave them some cover as they stopped to catch their breaths.

“One crossed, two more to go,” Kylos said.

Their journey through the gas-lit city was a bit time consuming, but they proceeded unchecked. In time, the Fourth Tier was theirs.

Kylos tried to remember where the Great Crystal Omphalos, navel to the world, was housed. Of course, the palace grounds needed to be avoided, as its guards could easily be seen from the pair’s position. Kylos scanned the taller buildings and found the smaller step pyramid with no top. That was it.

His index finger pointed to the stone structure, which sat between Oceanus’s temple and the Royal Palace, and he merged with Peleus saying, “There’s the crystal. Let’s go around behind it and climb. That way, we'll be out of sight of the Royal Guards.”

Peleus nodded and the friends ran through the streets using the cover of shadows and royal buildings until they reached the foot of the pyramid. Smoothed blocks made a staircase rising to the night sky. The steps were about three feet high, so it was more of a climb then a walk for them. But they went up the cool stone slope like mountaineers. The thrill of what waited for them at the end of their ascent spurred them on.

Passing clouds cast a veil over the moon, which helped their stealthy approach. Kylos uttered a short prayer of thanks to Ouranos for his assistance. No guards would spot him and Peleus now, unless those guards were looking for them.

Winded from the climb, they took a rest before the last five steps. Peleus gasped for air and said, “I didn’t know it would be this much work. I’ll choose the spot next time.”

“Oh, it’s good for you,” Kylos said slapping his friend’s shoulder.

“Well, let’s sit here until I catch my breath.”

“Sure.”

They sat looking out at the three tiers below. The orange-ish yellow dots of gas lamps were regularly laid out, glimmering like fireflies and following the curve of each tier. Kylos tried to find his house, but it was too dark, and most roof tops of the residential dwellings looked alike anyway. Kylos smiled at the night view and inhaled the cool, fresh air.

“About this afternoon,” Peleus said with a nervous cough, “I—I want to say thanks again.”

Kylos’s smile turned to a somber scowl.

“Ballero is such an elephant turd,” Peleus continued.

“Yeah,” Kylos said, remembering the beating he got. “I wish I had Myrmillo training. Then I could have held my own much better.”

“Have you thought about joining the Myrmillos, then?”

Kylos scratched his chin. “Yeah. I think my father wants me to join him in the observatory on Atlas. But that’s not for me. No. I have to see the world. Maybe get on a marine detachment or something. How about you?”

“My dad wants me to take over the business someday. I guess that’s why he’s got me going to Chiron’s school. When I come of age next year, he wants me to start trading.”

“Well, you could get on a ship and trade.”

“I think he wants me safe at home and do accounting or something like that. But won’t he be surprised when he finds out I’m a Nereid,” Peleus said with a gleeful chuckle.

Kylos felt he had the closest, truest friend that anyone could ever have. Kylos looked to the block at his feet and said, “My father already found out about the tryouts. I can’t understand why he was so against the idea. But I’m going to get in anyway, despite his disapproval.”

“We’ll get in,” Peleus said, nudging Kylos.

“Of course. We’ll get in and be Lords of the Sea!”

Laughter and camaraderie kept the conversation going. Great deeds were planned and exciting scenarios were created. Their crystals linked their thoughts and imaginations. Together they rode their dolphins on the ocean waves in search of distressed mariners.

Their dreams and ambitions simmered into smiles. The moment allowed Peleus to change the subject. “What about her?”

“Her? Her who?”

“That girl. What’s her name?”

Peleus’s smile was contagious, and soon Kylos could not suppress his smile or his feigned ignorance. “Her name is Ellena.”

“She’s pretty.”

“Yeah. She’s all right.”

“Come on. I know you. You like her, don’t you?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of? You were looking at her so much during the game that I was surprised you could get the ball at all.”

Kylos laughed. “No, no. She just showed up, and I was surprised. That’s all.”

“So, no feelings?”

“Maybe.”

“In that case, maybe she could fall for a merchant’s son like me,” Peleus said with a broad grin.

“I think she came to see me.”

“It could have been me.”

A hint of doubt stabbed at Kylos’s heart. He fumbled for words.

“Ah,” Peleus said. “Got you! I could smell that jealousy inside you.”

Kylos smacked Peleus in the arm. “Yeah, I like her.”

“She’s nice, even though she’s just a baker’s daughter.”

Kylos thought of Ellena. He had just seen her earlier that day, yet he had a hard time picturing her face exactly as it is. Maybe he never looked at her. Maybe he looked into her soul. There was a glow and warmth within her that enticed Kylos, drawing him in.

“Let’s check out Omphalos now,” Peleus said.

Jarred back to the moment, Kylos nodded, and they climbed some more. When they reached the top, there was an opening shaped like a square about ten feet by ten feet. They edged towards the opening and peered down. Their eyes scarcely blinked.

The inner walls of the pyramid sloped at an inward angle, following the exterior of the pyramid. The smooth, sheer walls had images: Atlas supporting the heavens, dolphins frolicking in the ocean, elephants roaming grassy plains, bulls standing proud in lush fields, along with great Atlantean heroes bearing swords, spears, and shields. Orichalcum highlights on the pictures reflected the gas lighting, creating a magical effect.

On the tiled mosaic floor directly below the opening rose Omphalos, the Great Mother of power to all Atlantean crystals. The translucent rock glowed, according to Chiron, with power pulled from the earth, sea, sky and even Atlanteans.

“It’s amazing,” Peleus said. “Have you ever seen it before?”

“No, never. I’ve seen a hunk of crystal at my father’s observatory many times, but this is a giant compared to that puny bit of rock.”

The crystal was formed as only the Gods could make it, with a slight conical shape. No Atlantean dared defy its purity of form by applying chisel and hammer to it.

Kylos could feel the power in his own crystal grow in intensity just by being within close proximity to Omphalos. But something was not quite right about the Great Crystal.

“Hey, the crystal is not as bright as I imagined it would be,” Peleus said.

“What do you mean?”

“It looks like it’s a bit dark inside.”

Kylos squinted at the crystal and confirmed his friend’s observation—it did have a haze within it, lurking like a gray cloud in the sunlight. Had that always been there? Were they the first to notice it?

Despite the late hour, four bearded men came into the crystal chamber, their red robes denoting their office as the mystical Royal Crystal Attendants. They stood around Omphalos and bowed to it with deep reverence.

One man—presumably the leader—raised his arms and held a golden scepter in his right hand. The group hymned a prayer to Kronos, Oceanus, and Atlas and then continued with a hypnotic, droning chant in meditation.

The group’s deep tone shrouded the space in an ominous atmosphere and sent chills rippling across Kylos’s skin. Something was not right. His mind was starting to feel dizzy, and a headache was setting in.

“Hey, are you OK?” Peleus said.

“I don’t feel so good. We should go.”

Peleus nodded and they took one last look down at the crystal. Just as they did so, the chanting stopped and all four men thrust their arms upward. Both Kylos and Peleus felt a burning in their chest around the crystal area.

The robed men dropped their arms slowly and looked each other. One of them pointed at Kylos. They were spotted. Chaotic dashing about and shouts for guards erupted from the Crystal Attendants.

“Time to go!” Kylos said.

They flew down the steps as quickly as they could, sacrificing safety for speed. If they were caught now, it would mean big trouble. They probably saw something that no non-religious official had ever seen, perhaps was never ever supposed to witness. Who knows what the punishment would be?

Instead of going straight down, Kylos lead them at an angle which would take them closer to the protection of buildings to make an escape. He could hear the clatter of armor and the heavy clunking steps of the fearless Automatons. It seemed everyone had been alerted, and things got more complicated.

From the last drop, then they hit the ground and ran for all they were worth, seeking the safety of shadows. A dark alleyway gave them an escape route that would take them close to the bridge, so they followed it. At the end they stopped and could see the bridge. But a pair of guards denied them an easy escape.

“What do we do?” Peleus said starting to panic. “We can’t wait here until dawn. Our parents will kill us if they find us missing, if those guards don’t find and kill us first.”

Kylos’s mind raced through possibilities. They could try to jump over the bridge and plunge into the dark water below, but that would be a long swim to the Main Canal in hopes of finding some ladder to let them out, all the while praying that guards would not be waiting to question them, or worse. No, there had to be another way.

The crystal resting on Kylos’s chest still surged with power and felt warm. He felt connected with a strong force, one that he could nearly make out with his eyes, as if he were looking through thinly woven gauze. The two sentries’ psychic-frequencies became known to him just by looking at them. Kylos visualized himself and Peleus darting in front of the guards and running towards the pyramid.

The two guards watched two phantoms running by and gave chase. Peleus looked at Kylos and said, “Wow! They’re gone. Let’s go.”

Kylos barely heard Peleus’s words and just followed out of instinct. The boys barreled towards the bridge and did not stop to look back until they were nestled safely in the shadowed recess of a nearby nobleman’s manor.

“Gods, that was lucky,” Peleus said between breaths. “They must have seen someone else and thought they were us.”

“Yeah, maybe they did,” Kylos said. The haze of the astral realm was fading away, and his crystal no longer stirred with energy. A buzzing headache continued to build, though. He could not understand what had just happened with the sentries, but he knew that somehow he was the cause. The thought scared him.

How did I do that?

If you have enjoyed the story so far, you can enjoy Chapter 4 Hope at:

http://sonofatlantis.wordpress.com/

Son of Atlantis: Chapter II

GAMES
copyright 2011
courtesy of Christopher Pelletier
and DLJ Publishing, LLC

The day of the Pelota game came quicker than Kylos had imagined. He had been busy working on his big geography project and had not given much thought to the weekend. But the day had arrived and Kylos woke up early to make the most of it. Amblix did not even have to wake him.

In the dining room, Kylos found out that his father had come home earlier than usual and gone to bed straight away. A small bit of luck. Breakfast could be enjoyed in solitude without any stress before he had to play. He felt a call coming in from Peleus, so he placed his bread on the plate and focused on his crystal.

“Hey, when are we going to meet?” Peleus said. Kylos could sense the anticipation and excitement in his friend’s thoughts. It brought a smile to his face.

“The game is at the tenth hour at the Second Tier wall, so I’ll meet you at the bakery in forty minutes.”

“Great. See you then.”

Kylos relaxed his mind and picked up the pace of his eating. The soup went down in several gulps, and he ran to his room. From a drawer he took out his wicker scoop and put it on his right hand, examining it for any holes that might have worn through. The scoop looked fine, so he shoved it in a cloth bag that was specially designed to hold his Pelota equipment. With his bag slung around his shoulder, he was out the door.

The weekend traffic on the street was lighter than on the weekdays. More people must have been enjoying their time off and sleeping in, he figured. But Kylos had a big day ahead, so he needed to hustle.

When he got to the bakery, he found Peleus eyeing a fruit muffin. “Don’t you ever eat breakfast?”

“Yeah, but it never fills me up,” Peleus said. He shook his bag containing his Pelota scoop. “Besides, I need the extra food to give me strength for today.”

Kylos laughed at his friend’s logic. Then she came out, the girl from his dream. She smiled and said to Kylos, “Greetings of the day. May I help you?”

Peleus cleared his throat and held up a shiny silver coin saying, “Yes, I’ll take one of those.”

She smiled at Peleus, and then turned her attention to Kylos. “Anything for you?”

“No, I’m fine thanks,” Kylos said. Now that he was up close, he got a good look at her, and his desire grew. He wanted to say more to this amazing girl, but his courage was lacking.

She gave a shrug and said, “Very well. I’ll be right back.”

She went back into the bakery and brought out a sheet of translucent papyrus and placed Peleus’s syrup-covered bun on it. Peleus said, “You don’t have to wrap it up. We’re kind of in a hurry.”

“Really? Where are you going?”

Peleus said, “Today’s a big Pelota game. We’re playing the Second Tiers at the tenth hour. The game will probably go on for awhile.”

Kylos got up his nerve. “You should try and make it. It’ll be exciting.”

His heart was hanging by a hair and the girl held a pair of sharp shears. He could not wait to hear her answer and prayed to the Gods it would be favorable.

“Well… it sounds exciting. I’ve never seen Pelota played before, but, of course, I’ve heard about it. Unfortunately, I’ve got to work and help my dad and mom…”

The blades were closing in on the hair.

“But maybe I can stop by later,” she said with a smile.

His heart was safe, and he felt a rush inside. A ‘maybe’ was not a ‘no’.

“Great. So, maybe I’ll see you there then,” Kylos said. He turned to Peleus who could not wait to start in on his second breakfast. “Come on. Let’s get going. The guys are waiting for us.”

Without any regard for decorum or manners, Peleus shoved his food into his mouth, and his cheeks bulged out like he was trying to swallow a Pelota ball. The girl smiled and the boys headed off. Kylos stopped and called to her, “What’s your name?”

“Ellena.”

“See you at the game, Ellena.”

The pair ran off, but after a couple of minutes Kylos stopped mid-stride. “Gods, I forgot to tell her my name. I’ve got to go back.”

“No time,” said Peleus. “We’re almost late now.”

Racked with indecision, he followed Peleus who trundled down the street. The two boys crossed the bridge leading to the Second Tier. Some old men were fishing from the stone expanse while some barges passed underneath. Kylos and Peleus got through the gate and took a left.

After passing many modest manors, several multi-storied apartments, and a variety of shops, they arrived at a tower section of the orichalcum-covered wall where the L-shaped Pelota play area had already been set up by eager players like Demnos. The Second Tier wall stood thirty feet high, and the tower climbed to over fifty feet. At its base, the tower stuck out twenty feet deep from the wall, which was perfect for serving the ball. Chalk lines had already been drawn on the flagstone street, and the boys' classmates had already gathered there.

Demnos bounced towards Kylos and Peleus, full of energy. Pelota was his passion, it was what he lived for, and was pretty much all he ever talked about in class. “Hey, what took you two so long? We’re about ready to pair off. Lymines couldn’t make it, so we’ll have an even fourteen. They’ve decided on their fourteen. It’ll be seven games. Then we’ll total the points to see who won.”

“Sounds good,” said Kylos. “So what’s the time limit?”

“Thirty minutes per game. You two will go last.”

Kylos smiled, but Peleus grimaced. There was a lot of pressure finishing up. Ballero and his partner, Hator, glared at Kylos and Peleus, making their expectations of the pair’s final performance known. Kylos said to Peleus, “Don’t worry about them. Let’s just have fun.”

One of the extra Second Tier boys became the referee. He called the teams to gather around him. In a screechy voice, he explained how the games would be played. To avoid any possibilities of cheating, he announced that players could not wear their crystals during games. Then he proceeded to tell the order of the Second Tier team partners.

The First Tiers made it known to the Seconds who their opponents would be. Several minutes passed as each team sized up their opponents and tried to guess each other’s skills. Kylos and Peleus were to play against a pair of boys about their age whose confident looks turned haughty when they saw Peleus.

The first game got underway with Demnos hurling the ball from his scoop to the tower wall. Both sides played aggressively for thirty minutes resulting in a Second Tier lead against the First Tiers 20-18.

Demnos and his partner came back to their group. Even though they had lost the first round, he was still very happy. “They were tough, but maybe we can get them later. What do you say, guys?”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and the First Tiers rallied and grew rowdy. They slapped each other on the back. The Seconds tried to outdo the Firsts in volume and energy.

The next four clashes were a mix. In a couple of the games the Firsts pulled ahead, but by the time of the sixth game they were behind by six points.

A considerable gathering of spectators amassed to watch them play. As Pelota was the sport played by most every youth on Atlantis, many of the spectators were men talking to their male friends, probably reminiscing about the glory days when they used to play.

Kylos scanned the crowd but could not see Ellena. The games were mostly finished, so he would be playing soon. He had hoped with all his heart she would have come.

Ballero and Hator put on their wicker scoops and entered the playing area, hungry for victory and bearing faces of grim determination, like Kylos had seen on Myrmillos during public parade exercises. The Seconds won the right to serve, so Ballero stood by ready to receive the ball. In a flash the game commenced.

Kylos stood cross-armed and watched the play. He was impressed with Ballero’s quickness and Hator’s control. If only they played last instead of us, Kylos wished. There would certainly be less pressure and, perhaps, a better chance of winning the day.

A prodding elbow took Kylos’s attention from the game, and he saw Peleus looking into the crowd. The freckled boy said, “Hey, isn’t that the girl from the bakery?”

Kylos turned around and saw Ellena. She gave a small wave, and Kylos could not suppress his smile. The impulse to run over to her was strong, but he controlled himself and left his friend, walking with a calm, casual stride to the wonderful girl.

“Hi,” Kylos said.

“Hi,” she said, her eyes glowing like orichalcum.

“I’m glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, it looks really exciting.”

They both watched the game in progress. Ballero just got a point and the Firsts roared in cheer.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you back at the bakery, my name is Kylos.”

Ellena laughed a prettiest laugh he had heard. “Well, you were kind of in a hurry.”
Kylos smiled. “Yeah. Well, it’s quite a big crowd today. Peleus and I are playing last.”

“Then I came just at the right time,” she said looking into his eyes. She watched

Hator and Ballero, lifted her shoulders and shook her head, tossing her long hair from side to side, and said, “I don’t quite understand the game. Can you explain it to me?”

“Sure, I’d be happy to. Let’s get a little closer so I can show you what goes on.”
The pair walked over to the Pelota area, but safely out of the way of any stray balls that might fly towards them. Kylos wanted to put his hand on her back, in a friendly, escorting way, but he resisted the urge.

Kylos said, “Those guys are wearing scoops. They have to catch a ball before it bounces twice on the ground. Just like that.”

Hator made a diving catch, scrambled to one knee and flung the ball back, speeding to the tower wall.

“Once caught, you have to get rid of it quickly. The ball has to hit the tower wall, but you can use that wall,” Kylos said, indicating the Second Tier wall, “to make a play. But the ball has to make it past that first line on the ground. If it doesn’t, it’s a point for the other team. Do you get it?”

“Maybe,” she said with her lips in a grimace. The look was so cute; Kylos really liked this girl.

“Well, the more you watch, the more you’ll understand it.”

She shrugged in an “I guess so” kind of way, but she gave him a look that said, “I’m happy to be here.”

He wanted to take her hand, but he did not dare. He had to be content that she came to see him. Her presence would inspire him to play even harder today. He would be her champion and wanted to impress her as much as he could. But now the game really did not matter to him. She was there. That was all that he cared about.

Ellena watched the action and Kylos watched her, trying not to get caught staring. He wanted to take in every detail of her face, the smooth skin, the long eyelashes, the curve of her brow—a sudden roar of disappointment from the First Tiers startled him and dragged his attention back to the game.

He saw Ballero helping his partner up from the ground. Kylos guessed that Hator had just missed a difficult return and all that he had to show for his troubles was some blood dripping from a scrape on his right arm.

Ellena looked at Kylos with her face scrunched up at the sight of the wound. Kylos tried to reassure her by saying, “It happens. This can be a fast and dangerous game.”

“I hope you don’t get hurt,” she replied. The look of concern remained on her face.

“I’ve been lucky so far. Only a nasty bruise on my arm when a ball hit me there.”

She looked at his arm trying to find the bruise. He chuckled and said, “That was a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she said as she shifted her look from his arm to his eyes. “I’ll be tapping my finger tips for good luck.”

Kylos looked at the clock on the tower. Three minutes left. It was time for Ballero to serve. The referee shrieked. “First Tiers: 21, Second Tiers: 12.”

With a quick bit of arithmetic, Kylos calculated that overall they were ahead. If Ballero could get one more point before the round finished, that would give a bit more room to get a First Tier victory—the first time in five years!

The ball flew from Ballero’s scoop with a wicked spin on it. He aimed high and the ball appeared as if it was going deep, but suddenly dropped just passed the front line. The nearby Second Tier player raced forward to get the ball. Ballero eased back, screening the direct line to make the play. The Second Tier player swiped for the ball but missed. The wicker scoop connected with Ballero’s face, though, creating a slim cut.

Ballero shook off the sting. He got the point and obviously saw the disappointment on the Seconds’ faces. His lips curled into a satisfied smile and held a fist into the air to his adulating team mates.

“Time!” hollered the referee.

The Firsts went to their two saviors. Thanks to Ballero and Hator, they had a three point lead. But there were thirty minutes remaining and it fell upon Kylos and Peleus to keep the lead or add on to it, if possible.

Peleus, wide-eyed with doubt, looked to Kylos, who smiled and turned to Ellena. “Well, it’s time for my friend and me to see if we can win.”

She bounced in excitement, showing her beautiful smile, and said, “Good luck, Kylos.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it,” he said with a wink and nodded towards his terrified partner. She laughed and started tapping her thumbs sequentially with each finger, down and up and back again, over and over, all the while mouthing a silent prayer to the Gods.

Kylos smiled and ran to his friend. He swatted Peleus’s shoulder and said, “Come on. Let’s get our scoops and kill these guys!”

The tension on Peleus’s face eased, allowing his chubby cheeks to smile. “Yeah, let’s kill them.”

They took their scoops from their bags and fitted them over their right hands and forearms. Kylos looked at his friend, tapped his crystal and removed it. Peleus nodded and did the same.

The playing area cleared, except for the Seconds who were going to play in the final round. Kylos and Peleus walked with shoulders back and did the traditional crossing of scoops with their opponents. The referee approached the group while tossing the leather ball up and down in his hand. It seemed the referee really wanted to play that day, especially as his team was losing but could not do anything about it.

The referee’s subdued look from to his team mates turned into a blatant scowl when he looked at Kylos and Peleus. He hissed out, “So, you guys are ahead by three. But judging by Pudgy, here, you two don’t have a prayer.”

Peleus welled up in a huff and raised his scoop to bash the referee across the face. The referee flinched, but Kylos held his friend’s scoop at bay. The referee held out the ball out in his fingers and just dropped it to the ground. He turned and walked away saying, “It’s your serve, Firsties.”

Disgust is all that Kylos could feel for that sour boy. Peleus's eyes had started to water up and turn red, his scoop quivering in a mix of shame and anger. Peleus’s mouth formed words, but no sound was coming out. Kylos knew his friend was deeply hurt by the name calling.

Kylos grabbed his friend and walked with him towards the tower. The Seconds were mocking Peleus with exaggerated sobs. Peleus whipped his head around, but Kylos said, “Hey, don’t worry about those guys. They’re just a bunch of jerks, full of elephant crap. Never mind them. If we can win this one, we’ll be the ones laughing. You and I will be the ones everyone loves. They’ll talk about us at school long after we finish. We’ll be heroes!”

His freckled friend choked down the sobs and regained composure. The lingering sniffles were the only evidence of the humiliation that Peleus had endured. He said, “Let’s kill these turds.”

A slap on the back was all the encouragement it took to have Peleus stomp into position. The Firsts hooted and hollered for their boys, and the Seconds did the same with equal gusto for their own.

While stooping down, Kylos picked up the ball from the flagstone street with his left hand and popped it into his scoop. He stole a look at Ellena, who raised her arms and showed him that she was still doing the lucky gestures.

He put his left toe on the serving line and turned to Peleus, who looked determined. A nod from his friend signaled that all was ready. The battle could start.

The ball slammed into the wall, and one of the Seconds received it and whipped it back without hesitation. The action was intense with both sides exchanging points for points in small bursts.

A steady exercise routine had helped Kylos to endure the rigors of the game. Sweat streamed down his face and occasionally stung his eyes, but he did not let it interfere with his playing. Peleus had surprised their opponents with great speed and agility for a heavier kid. But endurance was something he never had much of, and Kylos saw his red-faced friend dragging after twenty minutes.

In between points, Kylos looked to Ellena to see if she was still watching. After seeing her attention focused on him, his motivation for victory soared like a seagull in the wind. It came down to the last few minutes. The score for that round was 19 to 22 favoring the Seconds.

Kylos and Peleus won the serve, so Kylos got to the line and let the ball fly. It whizzed from the tower to the wall and landed deep. One of the Seconds got the ball and returned it in such a way that Kylos had to dive for it. The hard flagstones were not forgiving. The pain of the scrapes and impact on his knees and elbows throbbed, but he was not going to let that hold him back from winning the game and the admiration of beautiful Ellena.

He got up to one knee and sent the ball to the wall. It soared high and deep, but the Second in the rear caught it with ease. He shot the ball back and it bounced off of the wall, hit the tower, and flew over Kylos’s head.

Kylos turned around and saw Peleus preparing to get it. The ball hit the flagstone and rose only slightly off the ground. It was obvious that Peleus had not anticipated the low bounce, and he heaved his jiggling form to get at the ball. The front of his scoop nearly touched it, but not before it fell to the ground a second time. He stumbled and rolled on the flagstones.

“Time!” called out the referee. “The Seconds win!”

All of the Second Tiers burst into jubilation and ran to their match saviors. The Firsts shouted in dismay, some throwing their scoops to the ground. Kylos saw Ballero and Hator glaring at him and Peleus. Kylos turned his attention to his friend, who was still on the ground, and rushed to help him up. Peleus was a pile of sobbing dead weight, as he knew he cost the team the match. Kylos patted Peleus’s back and said, “Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s just a game.”

Kylos’s reassuring words had little effect, and Peleus turned his face away. Ballero said, “Hey, Kylos! Tell Pudgy he ruined the game for us!”

Kylos, with his teeth clenched at the slanderer, stayed by his friend. The Seconds cleared out in a merry procession, screaming with shouts of victory. The Firsts ambled off in a sullen mood.

Kylos saw that Ellena had remained as the crowd of onlookers was dispersing. She walked over to Kylos and said, “That was an interesting game. You two did very well. Sorry that you didn’t win, though.”

He smiled and said, “Well, there’s always next time. Right, Pelly?”

Sniffles with a long, slow nod were the only responses. Kylos worried that his friend was taking this too hard. Ellena broke the silence by saying, “Kylos, I have to go back home now. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Yeah, thanks for coming. I’ll see you around.”

She smiled, turned, and headed back towards the bridge leading to the First Tier. Kylos watched her every step as she went away.

“Sorry,” Peleus said.

Kylos looked back to his friend and, feigning ignorance, said, “About what?”

“For losing the game. I should have had that ball! I was so close.”

“You tried to get it, and it was a tough shot. Even Ballero would’ve missed it.”

Peleus smiled at the thought. He said, “Thanks.”

“Let’s get our stuff and get out of here. I’m starving, and I bet you are, too.”
Peleus looked at Kylos’s playful grin and laughed. “Yeah, let’s get some food. Come on over to my place. I’ll have my slave cook us up some steaks or something.”

“Sounds good.”

The pair collected their crystals and put away their scoops in their bags. They joked and laughed and got their minds off the earlier defeat. The sun was warm, but the incoming sea breeze was refreshing.

After crossing the bridge, they headed towards Peleus’s place and on the way, they came across Ballero, Hator, and two others loitering by some columns in front of an apartment building. It was all too clear that they had been waiting and their mood seemed hostile. Ballero strode forward and said, “Hey, Pudgy, why couldn’t you get that last shot? My slave could have gotten it, and she’s fifty years old!”

Kylos and Peleus stopped as trouble was imminent. Kylos said, “Let’s go this way.”

Ballero stormed after Peleus and shoved him to the ground. “Hey, Fatty, I asked you a question. Hator, here, and I got us ahead and you blew it!”

Kylos had never been in a fight, and he felt a queasy feeling in his stomach, and his mouth went dry. Anger raged in his mind, and he felt like someone else was controlling his body and voice. “Let him be. We both tried hard, but were unlucky.”

“You did all right, Kylos. But tub o’ guts over here needs to be reminded of how close we came to actually winning.”

Ballero kicked Peleus, who lay helplessly on the ground, covering his head with his arms. Kylos lunged towards his taller classmate. The group gathered around to watch the fight that started.

Kylos, filled with wild anger, punched at Ballero’s chest, but landed only glancing blows. Ballero went for Kylos’s face and connected three times. Kylos used his hands and arms to protect his face, but that left his body open to attack. Kylos went down to one knee in submission but Ballero did not stop. Hator grabbed hold of his Pelota partner and yanked him off Kylos. “Hey, come on, Bal. He’s had it. You’ve taught him good. Let’s get out of here.”

The group scampered off through the streets, shouting and hollering. Peleus crawled over to Kylos. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t feel all right. Ow! My face...”

Peleus helped Kylos up. He could feel the cuts and figured that there would be a lot of bruising. The warm taste of blood was in his mouth as he ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth to make sure no teeth were loose. He spat a red glob onto the gray flagstones.

Bystanders who had watched the brawl went about their business.

“We’ll go to my house,” Peleus said. “We’ll get you fixed up.”

“No, that’s OK. I think I’ll just go home now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I just want to crawl into my bed and die.”

“Well, I’ll call out to you later.”

With a nod and a wave, Kylos sent Peleus off and started to hobble back home. Every step towards home was to the repeated cadence in his mind of I hate Ballero.

After he arrived at his home, Kylos strained to push the door open without wincing. Inside, the sounds of activity and conversation could be heard coming from the dining area.

Oh, great, he thought. Father’s up early.

He went to his room and tossed his Pelota scoop bag on his bed and went to the bathroom to assess the damage in the orichalcum mirror. He shook his head and ran some warm water into the bronze basin sink. As he splashed water on his face, it stung as if a demon had applied it and he could not help cringing. The cuts had stopped bleeding, but there was no way to cover the bruising or the congealing scabs.
His head dropped and an involuntary sigh came out. His father would be expecting to see him. The temptation to hide in his room was strong, but his father would hunt him down eventually. Also, he was hungry from the big game, and his condition would be discovered sooner or later.

He dumped the basin of reddened water into a drain on the tiled floor and wiped his face with a soft towel. A fresh tunic hung on a peg on the wall, so he slipped the white garment on and walked to the dining area. The smell of chicken had filled the hallway and was exactly what he needed.

When he arrived, his father was seated and Amblix was bringing in more food from the kitchen. Ziustros dropped his fork down and just stared at Kylos. “What happened to you?”

Kylos made his way to his chair and sat down. He said, “Today was the big First Tier versus Second Tier Pelota game.”

Ziustros scrutinized Kylos’s face and said, “Did you play Pelota or try Myrmillo boxing?”

“No, I just accidentally got hit from a scoop a couple of times during a game. That’s all.

Ziustros closed his eyes and shook his head. “This is just excellent, Amblix! First, this boy wants to join the Nereids. Now he wants to prove himself and get into fights. What a man!”

“It wasn’t like that!” Kylos protested.

“Enough! Get out of my sight! Your mother would be disgusted to know what a brute her son has become.”

Tears uncontrollably welled up in Kylos’s eyes. His father would not listen to his side of the story, no matter what he said. He looked to Amblix for help, but the household slave lowered his eyes.

So that was it. No support or understanding from anyone.

Kylos turned and stormed out of the dining room, leaving his livid father and petrified slave behind. Kylos slammed his bedroom door and fell onto his silk sheets. His pain was complete, as he languished in bed.

“I hate my life!”

Son of Atlantis: Atlantis Trilgy Book I

Chapter 1
SNAKES
copyright August 2011

courtesy of Christopher Pelletier
& DLJ Publishing, LLC

Kylos stretched out on his back in an open grassy field, his hands stroking the smooth blades which bent without resistance. A lilac-scented breeze shifted the surrounding green spear points to and fro in the gentle rhythm of an afternoon dance, and the sun’s warmth caressed his face. Although the presence of predators was always a danger in the wild, he did not sense any nearby, so he relaxed and enjoyed the day. In the distance, he could make out the trumpeting of elephants over the rustling of the grass.

He rolled over to his stomach on the soft earth and propped himself up on his elbows to survey the land through the grass. A wall of old oaks stood off to the west and dark mountains lay to the south. Snow-crowned Mount Atlas was by far the most prominent peak.

With an eager push, he got up and stretched, taking in a healthy dose of the fresh air. His desire to see different sights conquered his lethargy, so he tromped through the knee-high blades in search of new scenery and any sort of adventure he could find on the way.

He did not know his destination, but that did not matter. This was his time. School and his father did not hold him back. Curfews and strict rules did not apply out in the wild. Being away from the big city refreshed his spirits, but he wished Peleus could be with him.

Adventures are always best shared, Kylos thought.

His excursion took him to a river where a group of three middle-aged women and a girl who looked to be his age were doing some laundry in a clean, gurgling stream. They stopped their labors to take a look at him.

“Greetings of the day,” one of the women said to Kylos.

He nodded and replied, “Greetings.”

“It’s a good day for laundry, eh?” another one asked with a smile.

“I suppose it is,” Kylos said looking at the sky.

The young girl looked up from her work and stared at him. The soft lines of her face were framed by her long raven-colored hair which dropped unbraided past her shoulder blades. She gave him a smile, and Kylos fidgeted in place, but managed to smile back.

“Care to help us?” the first woman asked with a grin.

“I don’t know how to do it,” Kylos said, not really wanting to help.

“It’s easy. Come here, and I’ll show you.”

Kylos meandered through the grass, taking his time to make his way to the group, and stooped down just at the river’s edge. The woman threw a soaked blue garment at him. As he caught it, water droplets pelted his face and she said, “Just dip it in the water.”

Then the woman tossed to him a hunk of soap, which he caught with one hand but dropped on the ground because it was slippery. The woman bent over the running water and demonstrated what should be done. Kylos did his best to copy her by immersing the tunic in the river, applying the soap, and then rinsing it off.

“There, now you’ve got it.”

Kylos could sense the girl watching him, so he looked up. She was still smiling at him. His cheeks were feeling warm, partly from being embarrassed about doing the older woman’s work, and partly because he felt nervous about the girl watching him the way she did; but he kind of liked it.

A tap on the shoulder startled him. He jerked his head around and found Ballero, a classmate of his, looking down at him. Ballero cackled and said, “What are you doing there, Kylos? Slave work?”

Kylos threw the tunic into the river and stood up as dignified as he could. “They asked for my help. As an Atlantean, how could I refuse?”

Ballero laughed in ridicule. Even though Ballero stood a head taller, Kylos really wanted to punch his face. So with his fists clenched and teeth bared, Kylos rushed his classmate. The women shrieked and hollered in delight at the play.

The boys grappled with each other and fell to the ground. But Kylos, as if under some magical spell, could hardly move at all. His classmate outmaneuvered him at every turn, making Kylos feel like he was fighting in a pool of water. Soon Kylos was put into a tight headlock, and breathing became difficult. Ballero laughed his wicked laugh in triumph.

While Kylos’s chest was pressed to the soft ground, he was losing air. Across the water, he caught sight of a creature slithering in the grass on the opposite bank. At first, he could not make it out, but as it got closer, he saw that the thing was a gigantic white serpent—bigger than any that he had ever seen, much less heard of—approaching the river’s edge. In silence, it made its way up to the women, poising itself for the strike.

Kylos wanted to cry out, but his throat was closing. All he could do was watch as the women discovered the monster too late and listen to their screams as it sprung on them. Kylos felt a warm sensation in his chest. The scene of the grassy field and stream was fading…

“Time to get up, Young Master,” a soothing voice said in Kylos's mind. The thick accent was unmistakable.

His eyelids flipped open, and he found himself in his room on his bed. Some morning light had made its way through a crack in the burgundy curtains, creating a dim glow. He closed his eyes again and heaved a sigh of relief. The dream was too real.
After the wake up call, he could still feel the warm energy from the mind merge surge like ripples in a pool throughout his upper body. The source of the emanation came from the red crystal pendant resting on his chest.

Kylos flung aside the bed’s turquoise silk sheet, got off of his cotton-filled mattress, and drew the curtains. Atlantis was coming to life on that fine spring day. The gleam of the morning sun reflected off of the First Tier’s orichalcum-covered ring wall; the magnificent metal alloy cast a yellow blaze on nearby white-washed buildings. People had started to go about their daily business, but the street in front of his house was not yet crowded. He knew that in four hours, though, it would be difficult to get around on the same street.

The scent of breakfast enticed him out of his room. A white tunic with a golden waist chord hung on a peg in his boudoir, and his comfortably worn-down brown leather sandals waited for him on the cool tile floor. After getting dressed, he marched to the morning meal. The smell of fresh bread and seasoned soup filled his nostrils, making his mouth water.

Amblix, the family slave, was setting the black lacquered table in the dining room with two sets of gray ceramic bowls, some bronze spoons, and two white ceramic plates for the bread. The five bronze plates hanging on the white plaster wall behind him, which depicted sea battles and the Gods, had been polished and the tile floor sparkled, too. Amblix had been busy. He turned his attention to Kylos with his pale-blue eyes and said, “Greetings of the day, Young Master. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough, I suppose. I had a strange dream, though.”

“Oh?” Amblix said, as he carried on with his morning meal duties. “What sort of dream?”

“It was really bizarre. There was this snake—a huge white snake.”
Amblix stopped what he was doing for a moment. He shook his head which threw his blonde beard and braided hair about, and then he continued arranging breakfast. “Snakes in dreams, eh? A strong omen, in my old country.”

“Strong? How?”

“Well, snakes, in my land, are seen as powerful animals full of magic. Almost like daemons. They have the power of destruction and rebirth.”

Kylos was surprised to hear that. Atlanteans did not believe that serpents possessed any sort of supernatural powers. “Where was your land, again? I know, you’ve mentioned it to me several times before, but I keep forgetting its name.”

“Far across the sea towards the rising sun,” Amblix said, jerking his thumb east.

“Didn’t it have a name of some kind? Like Kal-doy or something like that?”

0“Actually, to us, the land was sacred, so giving it a name seemed to show a lack of respect, so it remained nameless. We just lived in a medium-sized village, and I belonged to the Keltoi tribe—before I was taken away on a raid by Atlantean warriors—if that’s what you were thinking of,” Amblix said. “Hmm. I wasn’t much older than you are now. I was learning about farming from my father, but also how to use a blade, spear, and shield. Most of the men in my village were farmer-warriors. We were bold and strong and loved four things in life: fighting, song, ale, and women. As a matter of fact, I was in love with a beautiful girl from a neighboring village.”

Kylos smiled at the pride beaming from Amblix’s face and sat down at the table. “Tell me more about your people.”

“Well, as I said, I came from a farming village, but often we raided to get cows and other livestock from nearby villages. And they did the same to us. It was almost a kind of game.”

Amblix chuckled at his recollections, but Kylos failed to see the sporting nature of that game. Amblix noticed the look on Kylos’s face and said, “Our warriors knew no fear. Cowardice in battle was punishable by banishment and remaining an outcast from the tribe for the rest of your life. You were also given a scar across the cheek as a lifelong reminder of the treachery done on the field of battle.”

Kylos rubbed his cheek imagining the pain involved. Amblix chuckled again. “Yeah, we fought hard and well, practicing with weapons whenever we could. But in the end, Atlantean tactics and resolve proved stronger.”

Then he scratched his thick hair and looked down. “Well, as I think about it, the organization of the Atlantean army was probably our downfall. We had never seen anything like it. And the Myrmillo fighting style was a wonder to behold. And those war elephants… Let’s just say it was a very sad day for me and my people when the Atlanteans came to our village.”

Amblix went about preparing for Kylos and for his father, who would soon be returning from the Mount Atlas Observatory. As Amblix worked, he hummed a song. Kylos sat back and listened, and soon he heard words slipping out with the tune. The sounds of Amblix’s native tongue were harsher than Atlantean sounds, with stronger consonants and some sounds that were almost spit out. Yet, the words fit the melody.

“Is that a song from your land?”

The slave self-consciously stopped. “Yes, it is. Sorry if it disturbed you.”

“No, no, no. That’s all right. It was a nice tune.”

“Actually, Young Master, it’s a sad song. The warriors of my village would sing it when they went on those raids that I told you about. It’s about missing home.”

Kylos started to see the household slave in a different light. He had never really thought about Amblix any more than a fixed part of his life, like his crystal. Both had been with Kylos for as long as he could remember. Kylos realized he had been too wrapped up in his own life while growing up, and, until this moment, he had never thought about Amblix once having a life far away that was very different from the Atlantean way of life.

Delighted with his new awareness, Kylos asked, “How do you say ‘Hello, my name is Kylos; I come from Atlantis,’ in your language?”

Amblix replied in his native tongue. Such different sounds were exotic and Kylos wanted to learn more. He asked to be taught more pleasantries, how to ask where things were, and how to make a compliment to a pretty girl. The language was a bit difficult for Kylos to pronounce well, but they were laughing and enjoying the attempts. “That’s quite good, Young Master. Maybe you can learn my language some day.”

His classmates would have made fun of him trying to learn a slave’s language, but he said, “I’d like that. Maybe I can visit your land. I’ll bring you with me as a translator and you could see your family once again.”

The thought of traveling to foreign lands and having adventures brought a grin to Kylos’s face. He imagined going with Amblix and meeting many blonde-haired, blue-eyed people living in the woods. He thought the mention of family would also bring a smile to Amblix’s face. It had the opposite effect. Kylos said, “What’s wrong?”
Amblix wiped the table with thoughtless swirls. “Oh, just thinking of home. In my fifteen years of being here, I had put away all those thoughts, because I had given up hope on ever seeing my home again. You brought back the ghosts to haunt me.”
Kylos felt sorry for Amblix. “Are you happy being a slave?”

At first Amblix seemed a bit hostile towards the question with a loud huff, like it was some cruel joke about his present condition. But Kylos was giving him undivided attention and really wanted to know the answer. Amblix put down the food he was holding, shook his head and chuckled. “What a question… Well, given the choice, of course, I’d rather be free and back home with my people. Your people took that possibility away from me.”

Kylos shifted around in his chair, realizing that he should not have gone down that path of questioning. As his teacher had said, ‘Better to be thought a fool than proved one.’ Kylos just let his curiosity take over without thinking. The mood was getting tense, but Amblix was generous and said, “Well, to be honest, I’m glad that I’m here with you and your father. I could’ve had it worse, like being a laborer at some rock quarry, or stuck on some farm or orchard in the northern part of Atlantis. That would’ve been miserable.”

Kylos looked down on the table and said, “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“I thank you for your thoughts, but things are as they are and there’s no changing that for now.”

Kylos made no response.

“Do you remember when you were younger and I took you to the zoo gardens?”

“Which time?” Kylos said while smiling.

“Yeah, we did go often. You always loved animals. Remember those large cats in the cages? They paced back and forth, over and over again without stop because their minds were broken. Their spirits were gone. Only their bodies remained, caught in unending madness, because they were captured and caged. Well, as you can easily see with your eyes, I’m not pacing around all crazy… at least, not yet.”

Amblix winked, and Kylos laughed.

“That’s good to hear,” a deep, exhausted voice echoed in the hallway. Ziustros, Kylos’s father, entered the dining area, his teal-colored robes swooshed as he moved to his chair. On his chest hung his royal badge of office, which was a large gold pendant that had a radiating star etched onto it. Imbedded in the center of the star rested his blue crystal.

Amblix bowed and said, “Welcome home, Master.”

“Father,” Kylos said with a slight bow.

Ziustros nodded his head to Kylos in response and sat down for breakfast in his chair. He heaved a sigh, as if to release the burdens of last night’s work, and picked up his spoon.

The usual quiet atmosphere at the breakfast table left Kylos to his thoughts. Amblix served the breakfast soup with a silver ladle, first to Ziustros.

The mussel chowder with the mild rosemary seasoning smelled wonderful. Kylos reached for some bread, after allowing his father to take some first, and the meal was eaten in silence. Later, Amblix cleared the soup bowls and brought out a tray from the kitchen with a variety of cut fruits. Kylos could not wait to get his fingers on the pears and peaches.

“So, summer vacation is coming soon,” Ziustros said, breaking their silent morning routine with conversation. Kylos sat motionless. “I was thinking you could come to the observatory with me for a week and look at the stars; learn what they really are instead of what you’ve probably been told they are.”

What did he mean, ‘What you’ve been told you they are?’

A response was required, but Kylos just squirmed in his seat. He had already made plans for the summer with Peleus. He wanted to hold off on telling his father as long as he could. He wanted deliver the news as a passing comment just as he was heading out of the door. But the sands of the hourglass had run out, and he had yet another family confrontation in the making.

Kylos coughed, and then decided to try to explain his big plan in an excited way, which he hoped would be contagious and get his father thinking the same. “Actually, I have some great news! Someone from the coast guard came into our class last week. Since Peleus and I are fifteen years old, we can join the Nereid Corps this summer and be one of the fifty dolphin riders!”

Kylos could see that his father took the news like a knife to the heart. The thought of weaving through the ocean waves on the back of some sleek dolphin and fighting off pirates filled Kylos’s spirit with such happiness. The same thought filled his father’s face with a redness, which only disappointment and anger could create.

The soup bowl in front of Kylos was infinitely preferable to look at than the fuming gaze of his father. Kylos caught sight of Amblix easing his way into a corner of the room with his head down while holding a platter in front of him. So much for martial bravery. Obviously it was another battle the slave did not want to be involved in.
After what felt like a half an hour, Ziustros finally said, “Well, that’s that then. You’ve obviously thought this out well. It sounds like you’ll have a wonderful time with the fish and what’s his name… Peleus?”

The sarcasm of his words stung. Kylos had never seen his father so upset, but he wished to speak out and explain how good his plan was. He wanted to tell his father about how all of the boys in the class wanted to do it, too. He wanted to say that so many boys his age had done it before and survived unhurt. He wanted to remind his dad that next year he would be coming of age. He wanted to say that he had been dreaming of being a Nereid for the past two years. But all he could muster from his dry mouth at that moment was absolute silence.

“Well, it’s time for you to go to that school that I’m paying to keep you educated and intelligent, isn’t it? Master Chiron shouldn’t have to be kept waiting.”

Amblix stepped forward and said, “I’ll get your things ready for—“

“No!” Ziustros said with a snap. “That won’t be necessary. If he’s man enough to go swimming with the damn fish and his friends, he’s old enough to get ready to go to school by himself!”

Understanding, as always, Kylos thought.

Ziustros’s tone of finality cued Kylos to leave before worse things were said. Kylos got up from his chair, bowed without looking at his father and said, “I will take my leave of you now, Father. Sorry to have upset you.”

With that, he whirled around and fled from the dining room, the tension in there being as thick as the autumn fog which sometimes settles around the First Tier walls early in the morning. He bolted through the hallway straight into his room. The sound of hands slamming onto the dining room table echoed throughout the house.

In his sanctuary, he grabbed his stylus and wax tablet and shoved them into his leather satchel. He made a dash to the door that led to freedom. Once his feet hit the street, he felt immediate release. The morning sea breeze brushed over his skin and helped to ease his stress.

His father never understood him, and he had never taken the time to try. Every night he was away at his stupid observatory looking at the stars. For what purpose, the Gods only knew. Common knowledge held that the lights in the sky were older gods, or the heroes who had been granted immortality. They slowly made their course through the night sky on parade, watching mortals below. He and Peleus had looked at the stars together and prayed to them—but not so often.

Why did his father have a problem with the Nereids? The life of a dolphin rider would not be boring at all. Being on the open ocean without a care, the wind fresh on the skin—what life could be better than that? Riding fast, riding free, fighting pirates, capturing smugglers, and rescuing stranded sailors like a hero. That is the life he craved. To become someone to be proud of and respected by all would fulfill his dream.

But Kylos did not want to hurt his father’s feelings, though, especially since his father was finally offering something. But what was that something? Looking at the stars? Sharing his father’s royal duty was not the ideal vacation. Kylos knew that his father had wanted him to study to become some boring scholar for the King. He would be locked in some study that would not allow for any exciting things whatsoever. Deep down, he knew that a life like that was not for him.

Kylos wanted fun and adventure. He had even toyed with the idea of joining the Trader’s Mariner Guild not long after had his sixteenth birthday next year, or even the Myrmillo Army. He just wanted to see the world across the ocean that his teacher had told him about: the thick pines to the lands northeast, the deserts to the lands southeast and the dense jungles to the lands southwest. Even visiting the copper mines in the lands to the northwest would be something different, although he could not care less about mining. He just wanted to go places.

If his mother were alive, she would have understood. He often wondered what she was like, as he had no image of her face to recollect at all. She had died while giving birth to him, as his father often reminded him. But his father would say no more about her than that. Kylos thought he had happened to catch sight of a mosaic of some young, beautiful woman tucked away in his father’s closet once when Amblix was cleaning his father’s room. But Ziustros’s room had always been locked and off-limits to Kylos, so he could never see it again.

Kylos had to be more like his mother, he figured, for he was not at all like his father. Peleus’s mom and dad seemed more like parents to Kylos when he visited their house after school. They always treated him with warmth and kindness, filling him with cookies, cakes, and sincerity. He felt so much more at home with Peleus’s family than with his own father. Even Amblix, who was always around to help whenever needed, felt more like family, despite being the household slave. The situation of his home disappointed him to no end when he thought about it.

Kylos’s red crystal warmed his chest, so he opened his mind for the merge. He could sense it was Peleus calling out to him.

“Hey, where are you?” Peleus said.

“I just left my house a bit ago and am walking.”

“Any troubles?”

“Oh, my father was being his usual understanding self.”

“Ah. Well, get a move on! I’m waiting by the bakery. Chiron will grill us if we’re late.”

“I’ll walk faster.”

“You’d better run. See you soon.”

Kylos released his focus on his crystal and concentrated on his running. He dodged through the early morning traffic of citizens on foot, some elites being carried in litters by tireless bronze Automaton android servants, and some vendors guiding oxen loaded with foreign goods from the docks to be sold in the agora. Two-story white houses, tall buildings, and small shops all whipped by as Kylos’s sandals pounded the gray flagstones in rapid succession. He followed the gradual curve of the road, which matched the curve of the First Tier wall. The last thing he wanted to do was be late for class, and he did not want to make Peleus late either.

Even though Kylos had no desire to become a scholar, he enjoyed his schooling. He learned things he would need on his great travels to help him be a more worldly man. Chiron’s lessons made him think, made him use his logic and creativity, and occasionally made Kylos laugh to himself, if not out loud with the other students. Chiron had a good balance of keeping the atmosphere serious when it needed to be and yet light to keep the class focused. Chiron was the wisest person Kylos had ever known, so, in a way, he was grateful to his father for sending him to school. Being the son of the Royal Astronomer and Scientist had its benefits sometimes, like getting an education. He knew very well that most other boys had to do without.
After ten minutes of steady running, he arrived for his rendezvous with Peleus. The plump boy with freckles already had the end of a long, honey-glazed pastry projecting from his munching jowls. Bits of bread flew out as he said, “It’s about time you got here!”

Kylos stopped and laughed at his wonderful friend. Peleus shrugged and with a mouthful said, “What? I was hungry while waiting for you. We need to hurry up.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Peleus licked his sticky fingers and wiped them on his white tunic. He turned to go, and Kylos did the same but stopped when he happened to catch a glimpse of the girl who had been in his dream last night. There she was in the flesh, carrying a tray of bread from the bakery out to a stand where an older man, presumably her father, took the goods and became animated and announced the fresh arrival, which had customers flocking with coins in hand.

1When Peleus saw what Kylos had been gawking at, he grabbed Kylos’s white tunic and shook it. “Hey, Ky, no time for girls. We’ve got to go!”

Kylos gave the baker’s daughter a quick smile to show her that he noticed her. She paused in her bread sorting and looked at him. The smile was returned. A warm feeling surged throughout his entire body, much warmer than any crystal power surge he had felt. His grin grew bigger, then he raced away to catch up with his friend.
The pair ran to the school which was housed in a building lined with many columns which had been carved with bull’s heads at the tops and sea shells on the bottoms. Those columns supported the overhang of blue tiles which provided a shaded retreat from the warm Atlantean sun. The walls were whitewashed, though it was easy to see that it had been awhile since it had last been done. Kylos and Peleus entered the building’s antechamber. The sounds of boys playfully shouting at each other could be heard through the thick wooden door with ornate aquatic motifs carved into it. Peleus grabbed the bronze knocker that resembled a sea horse and banged the door three times.

Akadia, Chiron’s aged servant, opened the door and greeted the pair, “Greetings of the day, Young Master Peleus, Young Master Kylos. Everyone’s assembled in the lecture room now, and Master Chiron will be attending to you all very soon. You’d best hurry.”

With his long thin arm, the servant gestured for them to come in. Kylos and Peleus ran through the hallway and burst into the lecture room. There, most of the class’s boys were jostling with each other on, and around, the tiers of stone benches circling the arena space. A smooth blue-veined marble altar stood in the center of the room, and sunlight illuminated it from a circular portal in the domed ceiling.
Kylos and Peleus greeted their classmates and climbed some aisle stairs to get at their usual seats. Ballero sat away from the bulk of the crowd, having a few students around pandering to him.

A jovial pimple-ridden student named Demnos came over to Kylos. “Hey, are you two going to join the Pelota game this weekend?”

Kylos said, “Yeah, sounds great. Who are we going to play?”

“It’ll be us against the boys from Second Tier.”

Peleus made a sour face. “Last time they killed us.”

Kylos smiled and patted his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll get them this time.”

Peleus just shrugged in disbelief. Demnos laughed and said, “Yeah. It doesn’t matter. It’s just for fun.”

“But it’s embarrassing getting beaten like we did.”

“Well,” Kylos said, “we’re bound to win one of these days, Atlas willing.”

The revelry of the class was instantly silenced by the resounding pound of the Akadia’s thick staff on the stone floor. The old man stepped forward and boomed, “Boys, get to your places! Master Chiron is coming.”

They all scrambled to their seats and took out their wax tablets and styluses. The aged servant stood near the arched entryway and bowed as Chiron strode in with an assortment of paper scrolls.

The students bowed and sat in respectful silence while Chiron placed the scrolls on the altar. The teacher raised his hands into the air, his bearded face absorbing most of the morning’s sunlight that streamed through the ceiling, and invoked the Gods through prayer. “Oh, Atlas, how calm and serene you are. We acknowledge the power you and the other Gods possess and are humbled by it. We are grateful for this beautiful land that we call our homeland. Lord Oceanus, we thank you for the glorious civilization you had started so long ago. Long may it reign supreme in the world, as well as grow in wisdom and beauty.”

The students chanted in well-rehearsed unison, “Long may it reign supreme in the
world, as well as grow in wisdom and beauty.”

A silent prayer followed the ritual. But Kylos figured that most of the kids were using the time imagining what it would be like to beat the Second Tiers in this weekend’s big game. He used the time to think about the girl he had seen in his dream and then at that bakery. Why was she in his dream? He had never seen her before in his life. But he was thankful the Gods had allowed him to see her. She was very pretty.

Chiron lowered his arms and face, releasing the astral energy that channeled through him and his blue crystal. He returned to the realm of the mundane and spun around fully energized to face his students. He slapped the altar, which jiggled his wooden beads of his bracelet and surprised everyone. He said, “All right, take out your poetry assignments from the other day. I want to hear what the muses have done in the way of inspiration to this fine body of talented students.”

They took out their tablets, some of the boys appearing uneasy, already knowing the inadequacy of their poems. It was only a matter of time before they had to reveal their mediocrity to everyone else in the class. Other students sat upright with confidence in their writing, eager and willing to share their works of creativity.
Kylos fell somewhere in between.

Chiron was a challenging task master, always pressing the class to think on a wide variety of topics and create works by using their heart and soul. Kylos felt like he was actually learning, even though his school Master always claimed he had done nothing. Chiron would insist that the knowledge had always been within the students, and that he was just the artist carving away the excess clay to sculpt the beautiful thought. For Kylos, his teacher had opened up the world around him.

The schoolmaster made the rounds, choosing students at random and having them read their works aloud. The theme he had assigned was about nature. As the orations happened, Kylos found some poems to be decent and others not so good, while others were just plain ghastly, usually resulting in snickers from the other students. In those cases, Akadia assailed the guilty students with fierce reprimands and a threatening staff, as he was in charge of discipline. For such a small, stringy man, he could be a fierce lion.

When it came time for Kylos to read, he stood up and cleared his throat. Being the sudden center of attention caused an uncomfortable increase in his heart rate, sweaty palms, and a sinking feeling in his stomach. He cleared his throat a second time and read:

“Mount Atlas, the titanic god, sits on his island
Holding up the sky on his weary shoulders
Every day and every night without end
Atlas, who is now made of rocks and boulders.

You hold up the sky to protect us all.
For that we are always giving you due praise.
What would happen if the sky suddenly slipped?
Would that be the end of our days?”

A moment had passed and the students looked at each other with smiles that were turning into suppressed laughs. The dam broke and a flood of guffaws filled the room, along with a myriad of snickers and jibes. Kylos could hear whispers in the room saying how stupid it was to think Atlas would ever let the sky fall on them. The hurtful scorn and ridicule filling the room drowned out the servant’s attempts to control the situation. All Kylos heard was the laughter. He lowered his head in shame, his eyes began to sting, and he sat down feeling like a complete failure.

“Silence!” roared an unexpected voice. As if by magic from his crystal, Chiron immediately vanquished the chaos that had erupted in his classroom. The students’ faces went blank with a mix of fear and shock at the Master’s outburst in class. Chiron continued, “I’ve heard many poems today about trees, fish, grass, and fruit. And there was even one which strayed from the assigned topic and spoke of the big game this weekend! At least Kylos was the only one of you who had anything worth saying. He asked a very good philosophical question about nature. If only the rest of you could have followed his example, what a much better class this would be.”

The students lowered their heads and could not meet Chiron’s infuriated gaze. Only one student dared: Ballero. His mouth was pressed into a smug grin and had his usual posture of superiority, as the Master had not apparently mentioned his poem’s topic.

“What? What is this? Why do you have that look about you, Ballero?”

Ballero’s composure changed a bit. He went more rigid, and his boastful confidence
slipped away.

“Your dry observations in that scribble, which I have barely been able to read this whole year, were hardly food for thought. A mouse would have starved. Your look at elephants was a pathetic attempt to please me… I assure you, it did not.”

The students gasped and involuntarily turned their heads to Ballero to see how he would react to the damage. What they saw scared them. His face muscles contorted and his skin turned scarlet. His mouth was an open slit, baring gritted teeth. He looked at his fellow students in defiance and they all looked away. He boiled in fury. To the best of Kylos’s knowledge, no one had ever challenged Ballero or insulted him, at least not to his face. His family had influence, so everyone feared any consequences of upsetting him. Rumor had it that bad things happened to people who dared cross with Ballero’s family. Apparently Chiron did not care.

The silence was getting weighty. Peleus and Kylos looked at each other and wondered what would happen next. Chiron paced back and forth across the center of the room and stopped and looked at a student.

“Demnos!”

The boy bounced to attention, apparently startled to be selected for the next round of scolding.

“As for your poem… I wouldn’t worry too much. Most of the Second Tiers will probably be overconfident, so you’ll have a decent chance of winning.”

Chiron turned around and walked to the altar. The students, eased from the tension, laughed and swatted their Pelota-obsessed comrade on the back. Kylos felt better and forgot about his inglorious moment. He noticed that Ballero was still stewing in anger over the berating he got from the Master.

“Now,” Chiron said, “today we’re going to review geography. I need someone to help me… Peleus. Come down here, please.”

Peleus popped his head up in surprise, and he looked wide-eyed at Kylos. Peleus’s round face read like an epic poem of fear. He was terrible at geography, and both Kylos and Chiron knew it.

With trembling steps, Peleus wobbled his way down to the center. A rectangular area containing sand for drawing lay in front of the altar. The aged servant approached Peleus and offered him a long drawing stick. Hesitantly Peleus took the rod and clutched it in his trembling grip.

Chiron slowly approached the boy with his hands behind his back and with a coy smile said, “Please draw for us the world as you know it.”

Kylos pitied his nervous friend, but equally wanted to laugh at his poor friend’s plight. Kylos knew Chiron was playing with him.

Putting the rod to the sand, Peleus sketched out Atlantis—which was fairly accurate—followed by a vague outline of the European and African continents to the east.
“Not bad, Peleus,” Chiron said. “Now to the West.”

Peleus did as he was told and made the western continents. Then, he sketched in Asia, Oceania and even Antarctica. He stopped drawing and scratched his curly brown hair, trying to recall if he had forgotten anyplace important.

Chiron addressed Peleus’s questioning look with a loud, “Ah…”

Peleus stepped back and bowed in defeat to his teacher. Chiron looked to Kylos and said, “What did your friend forget to include?”

Kylos paused to think and analyze the map. “Mu.”

“Yes, the lost continent of Mu, which nurtured our spiritual brothers from the other side of the world. We must always remember them by faithfully putting them on the map so as to never forget them. What do you remember about them, Kylos?”

Kylos tensed up for being put on the spot again. “Um… as I think I recall, they were very wise and rejected physical things as part of human imagination—or something like that. They just wanted peace and harmony with the universe and mankind.”

“Good. Good,” Chiron said with a smile. He took the drawing stick from Peleus, who looked all too pleased to be rid of it, and drew Mu in the Pacific Ocean.

“Excuse me, Master Chiron,” Kylos said.

Chiron looked up. “Yes?”

“Were they really that way?”

The other boys rolled their eyes in a ‘Who cares?' way.

Chiron frowned at their reaction. “Yes, they were. We had a lot of contact with them before the great catastrophe which led to the island’s sinking. They had mastered the ability of channeling and harnessing the power of crystals and taught our ancestors how to do it. That was a long time ago.”

The boys in class sat up and leaned in with a bit more interest. From time to time, they enjoyed Chiron’s stories from history.

“It was from them that we gained the great crystal Omphalos, which is housed in a sanctuary on the Fourth Tier close to the temple of Oceanus and the Royal Palace. We have been fortunate to be able to use its powers in our personal crystals. What would you do if you couldn’t communicate with your friends late at night… or even during my class? Right, Xeno?”

Nearby students punched and slapped the culprit with good-natured laughs.
Chiron drew a rough sketch of the crystal in the sand. “With the power, we can do many things, but on Mu they could do so much more—even fly, we are told. Their powers grew and developed to a point where they no longer needed the crystals. Their innate powers were passed down from generation to generation. Murians were born with special abilities and could do wondrous things that most people would consider magic.”

That really got the class’s attention. Supernatural powers always drew in a crowd.
“But in the end, even with all of their great powers, they couldn’t save themselves. The island disappeared and the population’s survivors fled to foreign lands to lead isolated lives or intermingle with other populations.”

Such god-like people with unlimited powers disappearing into the unknown seemed so unbelievable to Kylos. Yet that was the case. He thought about the poem he had written and then agreed with the others’ thinking that he was foolish to believe that the Gods would ever let the sky fall down on Atlantis. It was Oceanus’s land. The great sea god would protect it from everything, even monsters.

“You may sit down now, Peleus,” said Chiron. Kylos’s friend did not have to be told twice, as he scooted to his seat.

“May I ask another question?” Kylos said.

“Of course. I always welcome them. It shows you are thinking and not just listening like a tree in some wooded glade.”

Kylos smiled at the remark. “Well, this morning I was speaking to my slave. I never really thought about it until today, but he came from very far away. He had mentioned before that it was a forest-filled area east of Atlantis. He has blonde hair and blue eyes.”

“Ah, perhaps he is a Teutonic.”

Even though Amblix had just told him that morning, he could not remember the name of the tribe, but it was not so important. “Maybe. Well, anyway, I asked him if he missed his home.”

Some students chuckled, probably at the absurdity of the question and having such a familiarity with a slave. Chiron glared at them, and his aged servant slammed his staff on the stone floor with an authoritative thud. Chiron said, “Please continue, Kylos. Did he miss his home?”

“Yes. I could tell he was sad, and I started to feel sorry for him, especially after hearing about his home. My question for you is this: have there always been slaves? I mean, we have Automatons now. They don’t feel anything. Why do we need to take and use people?”

Chiron paused and rubbed his bearded chin. His eyes and mouth tensed as he struggled for the answer. After long reflection, he said, “Slaves have always been a part of our society. Take my faithful friend, Akadia, over there. He was a slave before I had freed him. Slavery has been our way of life ever since we left our shores in search of conquest. Slaves have provided labor for services which make our lives as Atlantean citizens much easier.”

Chiron turned and started pacing and said, “I’m opposed to slavery, as humans are closer to the Gods than any other creature on this world. They shouldn’t be used like beasts of burden and not be looked upon as property, like a house or tools. Right now, we are caught in a sad cycle in which we need to keep the slaves to prevent chaos from erupting in our society and thus ripping our culture apart. However, our enlightened people know they should be free.”

“So what do we do, then?” a bold student caught up in the oration asked.

“Well, Kylos has mentioned Automatons. They are our substitute for a lot of our hard labor needs and add strength to our military. We have created them in our own form and powered their bronze android shells with crystals. But they still lack the finesse and ability to do all that may be required by our people. Our clever technologists, though, are always researching and coming up with new developments. So, I’m sure that some day—maybe even in your lifetimes—that human slavery will be replaced by machines of our own design and making. Imagine that, all of you: no one will ever have to do mindless, dangerous or strenuous work. That will free us for higher and nobler pursuits to allow the body, mind, and soul to grow to its fullest potential. We will truly have become the greatest society the world has ever seen, even rivaling Mu. Future generations of every culture will envy our way of life and imitate Atlanteans forever more.”

Kylos imagined himself older, like Chiron, having a household of Automatons to take care of him. He could envision that future. Every problem would vanish from their culture in the better tomorrow his teacher proposed. At that moment he felt proud to be an Atlantean, the greatest people in the entire world.

The other students chatted with each other like buzzing bees. Kylos could see they shared the same enthusiasm that he did about their bright future that would come to pass. It felt like fate and destiny. All of the students were in the grip of Chiron’s vision; all of them except for Ballero, who glared at Chiron with unblinking eyes and a snarling lip.

Kylos watched as Ballero gripped his stylus in his right hand and struck it into his wax tablet again and again with slow, deliberate thrusts, as if he were burying a knife blade into flesh. He caught Kylos staring and did one last thrust.

Son of Atlantis

Hi.

Don't forget, you can get my YA novel Son of Atlantis: Atlantis Trilogy Book I on amazon.com.

Vaquero

Vaquero
by Christopher Pelletier
copyright 2010

Juan’s stallion, Lightning, snorted and stamped his front right hoof several times on the ground, wanting to run and stretch his legs a bit. The cattle were minding themselves fine, just chewing on the grass. Juan looked to the herd and wondered if he should slip away with his friend for a quick gallop. The day was bright, and the air was fresh, so he reckoned it was as good of time as any to ride. Besides, the cattle were not going anywhere.

The pair broke away from the herd of 200 plus head of cattle and galloped up a green slope. Juan's straw sombrero fell back, but his chinstrap caught it from flying away to the ground. His long black hair tickled his cheek as the breeze tossed it in his face. The sun warmed him, and he felt joy from escaping the drudgery of watching his cattle.

At the peak of the incline, he surveyed his herd set against the landscape. No trees obstructed his view. The sea of grass just rolled on to the horizon in every direction as far as his eyes could see. He took a moment to look southeast towards the hacienda, in case bossman Manuel was riding out to him with some news or orders for the herd. Or maybe Paco had recovered from his fever and was galloping to help out once again. But the lack motion from that direction told Juan he was going to spend another day spent alone. He worried that he would start talking to Lightning as if he were a person if no one came soon.

As Juan took in the surroundings, it triggered a memory from five years ago when he was ten years old on a burro in the same area with Papa watching the herd. His papa had been ill at the time with a deep cough which sounded like he was drowning. But Juan's tough old man managed to do what he had been raised and taught to do by Juan's grandpapa—get in the saddle. It was the vaquero way. Juan's papa had explained many times it was the vaquero's solemn duty to protect the herds, no matter what. Even though the cattle were not theirs, the beasts were the vaquero's responsibility. Papa had learned the trade from Grandpapa, who had learned it from the missionary at San Ramon. Friar Gomez, Papa had said, treated Grandpapa strictly, because he was a mestiso. But father Gomez had taught him the two most important things in life: about the Lord and about being a vaquero. So Grandpapa found salvation through God and through work, despite his heritage.

Juan missed Papa, who had died from the cough and was delivered into the bosom of the Lord. All that Papa had left behind was Juan’s mother, tools for the trade, his horse, and an apology for the debt with the hacienda that Juan was expected to pay back.

The credit debt Papa had run up had no real meaning to Juan. When Juan had needs, he could fill them at the hacienda and simply add to the debt, which, from his understanding, he slowly paid off with his work with the cattle. As his needs were few, he figured he would pay it off by the time he got married, whenever that might be.

But for now, his mind was free of such worries. He had to focus on the job and protect the hacienda's beef. Usually the task proved easy, but from time to time, a pack of coyotes would try to snatch some calves. But Juan and Lightning would storm in like a conquistador on his mount and break any attempts at his herd. He grew quite proficient with his bullwhip, and could command the attention of any cow or coyote with it. At times, though, he wished he could have a lance, like Grandpapa had before him. But the church had forbidden vaqueros to carry them several years ago. He was only allowed a knife and whatever he could make from hides: reatas lariates, a pole with leather loops, or his bull whip.

Juan breathed in the afternoon air and, going against his second nature, closed his eyes, putting his face to the sun. The May afternoon was not as hot as it would be in two months later, so his cotton shirt was tied up, but his open leather vest flapped in the breeze. He allowed himself a moment to relax his guard and enjoy.

All sense of time had vanished. Ah, Mama and Papa, if only you were here to enjoy this fine afternoon with me.

The breeze brushed his face once more, but Juan sensed something was changing. Perhaps it was the way the cattle were bawling. He opened his eyes and saw three riders approaching the herd from the north: vaqueros by the looks of them but somewhat different. He stood on his wooden stirrups and squinted to get a better view to see if he recognized them. One of the riders pointed to Juan with a long pole in his hand as they continued their ride. Juan flicked his reins and rode to meet the strangers. The closer he got, the stronger the sinking feeling upset his stomach.

The three riders were dressed vaquero style, but carried the forbidden long lances with a blade at the ends. His own pole with a lasso attached was at his shelter some leagues off.

Juan rode up to the trio and said, "Buenos dias. Who—"

One of the riders in a burgundy felt sombrero raised his eight foot lance and held the blade close to Juan's face. Juan sat motionless and prayed Lightning would not suddenly move
towards the blade.

"Buenos dias, amigo," said the lance bearer. He looked in his mid-twenties, had a thin moustache of whiskers covering his top lip, and strands of black hair hanging from his tanned chin. The scar on his right cheek ran from his left eye to his ear. His dirty clothes were that of a common vaquero, but his red sash, leather vest and hat were of higher quality. He also had several rings adorning his fingers.

Juan sat in his saddle in silence. The other two riders went to work gathering the cattle by taking a bull, allowing the rest of the herd to follow. Juan's dry throat finally croaked out, "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious, amigo? We are taking your cattle with us."

"But you can't."

The lance got closer to his throat. The rider said, "I’m Pedro La Morta, and I can see from the look on your face you’ve heard of me."

Who hadn't? Stories had it that La Morta was a vaquero turned robber and cattle rustler. He had not only taken cattle, but also lives of victims, or so the rumors went. The last known whereabouts of La Morta were further north. Juan cursed his incredibly bad luck which brought the bandit so far south. "Yes, I have heard of you, senior."

"Good. Then you know my reputation," he said with a wicked smile. "Have no fear, amigo.
I’m not in the habit of killing boys like you, no matter what they say."

"They say the devil got you."

"Perhaps he did."

La Morta scrutinized Juan some more, then dropped the point of his lance. With a thrust, he plunged the steel into Lightning's throat. Juan's horse went down with a pitiable last whiney, rolling his rider to the ground. Juan’s leg was almost pinned under his dying friend. Then Juan looked up into the leering eyes of La Morta who said, "You see, I don’t kill boys. Horses... well, I have no problems with killing them."

The bandit turned his horse and started after the herd that his two companions drove. He looked backto Juan and said with a wry smile, "Best you find a new profession, amigo. This one can be dangerous."

La Morta grabbed the wide brim of his sombrero and gave a little nod. Then he was gone among the strolling hooves of cattle.

Juan sat next to Lightning, stroking his dead horse.

If only Paco had been there. Maybe they could have protected the herd. Well, maybe La Morta

would have killed Paco, as he was older. Best he was not there.

As Juan watched the remnants of the herd trail off over a hill, the shock of what had just happened started to fade, and he was left with the thought of what to do next. The bossman was not there to give any orders.

Juan expected he would be whipped for losing the cattle. He failed in his duty as vaquero, and he failed his father who had taught him what he knew, and perhaps even God would not forgive that. At least, Juan thought he was beyond forgiving himself.

Lightning was dead at his feet, but there was nothing that he could do to change that. He would feel sad for his friend, but the grieving had to wait. The cattle were stolen and he knew what had to be done. He gathered his lariates, his whip, and his pole, then followed the well-blazed trail leading north. From experience, he knew it would be slow going. Maybe they could do five miles before nightfall, and chances are the bandits would be lazy and not push on into the night.

So, Juan stalked the herd, trying to stay out of sight of the bandits.

What am I going to do when I catch up? Oh, Papa, if you can, give me some help. If only Paco were with me…

His prayer buried itself in his heart. He crossed himself and moseyed on after the herd. He kept them in sight, and when nightfall came, he positioned himself on a slope keeping low.

The bandits did just as he thought they would. A small shelter made of tanned hides had been stretched over their standing lances. One of the bandits started a campfire, and they had slaughtered one of the cattle. Mescal flowed down the bandits’ throats as they gorged on cooked meat in an impromptu feast. Juan's stomach growled just imagining the succulent taste of the fresh beef. He realized he had not eaten since the morning. The jerky and water bladder in his saddle bags would have helped. But he would have to content himself by staying still and planning in the darkness what to do next.

The bandits' carefree ways showed them to be in no particular hurry. They must have thought they had gotten away with the cattle and were rejoicing over their new plunder. As the evening progressed and the fire's flames started to dim, one of the bandits took out a guitar. The
raucous noise of their singing filled the cool air. They laughed and praised themselves, clapping themselves on the shoulders. Juan wondered if he had ever been as happy as they were. Perhaps La Morta spoke the truth when he said to get a new profession.

The music died off, and the belches grew less frequent, and all turned to quietude with the occasional popping ember and shuffling of horses or cattle. The party was winding down, and
they got up to turn in for the night in the shelter. Opportunity was at hand.

But what to do?

Juan scratched his chin and looked up at the star-filled sky. Fortune granted him a moonless night, so he would have the cover of darkness. He knew what he had to do.

With great caution, so as not to spook the herd, he made his way to the horses. The bandit’s snores ripped through the tent. One of the horses gave a warning whiney and Juan froze. But
no one stirred in the tent. He thanked God for the liquor they had drunk. Juan dreaded the next step in his plan, but he had no choice. He unsheathed his blade and looked at the bandits’ mounts. There was a chocolate one, a white one with brown patches, and a black one that looked a lot like Lightning. That would be his new horse as payback.

But the other two horses were a problem. If he let them live, at least two bandits could chase after him. He had to kill the animals. The paint stood closest, and Juan looked into its big eye, which reflected the embers of the dying fire. Its eye was watery, like it was crying, as if it knew what was coming up. Juan bit his lip and brought the blade to the horse’s throat. His hand trembled, and he could not break from the horse’s sorrowful gaze.

Juan managed to close his eyes, and then let the blade slice. The leather tether which held the horse to a stake dropped to the ground.

It was free, as was his conscience. He cut the tether of the brown horse, too, and gave it a smack on the rump.

After a moment's search in the dark, he found the saddles piled together and he cut straps of two of them. He grabbed the last one and put it on the black horse. With a fluid movement and a swinging leg, Juan mounted his new horse. At first, it tensed its muscles with the new rider, but Juan soothed it with gentle strokes on its neck and flanks, whispering the calming
words that his father had taught him to say to uneasy horses. It gave in without a struggle.
He was up and ready to go.

A kick of his heels and a click of his tongue got the new horse in motion. Juan pulled the reins and went around the herd scanning for Max, the lead bull. It stood a head taller with larger horns than the other bulls, so even in the dark Juan could spot the familiar form. He coaxed the horse to the bull and lassoed the monster around the neck. He then took a leather line from the saddle and tethered the horns. With a couple tugs, the bull gave way and followed the horse, and the rest of the herd soon followed the leader. Juan drove them in a southerly direction.

He looked at the position of Venus and realized he did not have much time left until dawn, and he hoped the night's drinking kept the bandits asleep longer than usual.

Although a forlorn hope, he prayed the other horses had run far away, and La Morta would just leave him be. But he knew that was too much to wish for. He kept pressing the herd up a slope.

Dawn brought a sky the likes of which only God could paint. The fiery reds and oranges blazed in the sky. Rain was going to fall soon, he knew. The mare’s tail clouds from the day before gave the telltale sign, too. But the rain was not going to help him this morning. Only luck.

Juan stole a glance back over his shoulder and saw that his luck had just run out. The three bandits rode on two horses straight towards him.

Juan's throat tightened and his stomach had a sickly feeling. The blood flowing through his head pounded. He stopped his horse and watched the riders approach him by weaving through cattle. Juan felt like he was in a bad dream. The sun hid behind a blanket of clouds. He had hoped it might have been a clear day, like yesterday, giving him the advantage of the sun at his back when the trouble started.

The bandits called to their horses to stop. Then La Morta rode up on the paint within fifteen
feet of Juan. The bandit's face was tense at first, but softened after a moment. La Morta actually smiled and laughed. The other two bandits on the saddle-free brown horse looked confused.

"Buenos dias, amigo. It seems you’re a clever one. I like that. We woke up and found the cattle
gone, our two horses scattered and our saddles tampered with. Your ears would have burned with the curses those two had said. I have to say that I, too, said a few choice words. But we couldn’t curse your name because we didn’t know it."

The two companions chuckled.

"It's Juan," he said, not so much out of defiance but out of a courtesy to his enemy. If he was
killed today, the stories would be told that Juan Ramirez stood up to La Morta and did his father proud...

"Well, Juanito, you have guts, I'll give you that." La Morta raised his lance with his scythe blade pointing forward. This is it, thought Juan. I’ll join Lightning and my parents soon.

"Tell you what… How about you join us?"

The companions looked as shocked as Juan felt, but they dared not contradict their boss. La Morta gave them a glance as extra motivation to keep quiet.

"Well, what do you think? We go around and take from the Spaniards to make ourselves and our families happy. How does that sound?"

Juan did not expect the offer. "You actually give to others?"

La Morta shrugged and said, "Well, sometimes…when we have extra."

The companions snickered and ribbed each other. Juan furled his brow. "It doesn’t seem likely that you help anyone but yourselves."

"What difference does it make? The Spaniards helped themselves to our land and our people! You and I are both mestiso. We have no rights in their eyes and are no better than animals. They rob us of our days and give us a pittance in return. Do you have the life debt?"

The words brought Papa to mind.

"I see that you do, Juanito. Tell me, is that fair? You have to pay back the debt of your father
and his father before. They keep you locked and bound to them like a slave. That will fall upon your children, too, someday if you have any."

La Morta's words made sense, though Juan could not imagine a family of his own yet. He remained silent.

"You have the choice of a happy life with us or a hard life with your cattle. If you choose the hard life, then you are a fool, for you will not live to see tomorrow. With us, you will
see many days with wine, women, and song. What do you say?"

Juan scratched an itch on the side of his head. If he had any food in his stomach, he would have thrown it all up. Although the morning air was cool, sweat started to bead on his forehead. The moment of reckoning was at hand. He loosened a string on his belt which held his black and white braided whip in place and mentally prepared to grab his knife. When La Morta came, Juan would give as good as he got. He said, "Stealing isn’t only a crime against man, it’s a crime against God. These cattle are not yours for the taking, nor are they mine to give. It's my job to
protect them from people like you. I’ll try to do my best to be true to God and my father, rest his soul."

La Morta shook his head and looked down. "So, this is your answer then? There’s no coming
back from the trail you are riding down, amigo."

Juan stared at La Morta showing no emotion, as he had none inside. His mind had left his body, his fear had passed. There was only the moment of him, La Morta, the other bandits, and the cattle, all under a gray sky.

"So, be it, Juanito. I’ll send you to God now. H’ya!"

La Morta spurred his horse, and the spotted stallion jumped to life, lunging forward and digging into the turf as it propelled itself up the slope. La Morta's lance's blade pointed straight at Juan's head.

Patience, Juan told himself. Wait, wait.

Although the horse was charging, the slope slowed it down a lot. Juan judged the distance and grabbed his whip. In a flash it unfurled from its coil and snapped out like a serpent's tongue, lashing out and cracking just in front of the paint carrying La Morta. The horse reared up, whinnying out of surprise and fear.

Juan swung the braided leather whip around his head, leaned forward, flicked his wrist, and cracked the whip once more while aiming for La Morta's hand. This time the horse bucked its head up in the way and the leather connected with its left eye. The stallion flung itself back, crying out in pain, and gravity pulled it down the slope. La Morta clutched on to the crazed animal to keep from falling off, but the horse fell onto its back, landing on the screaming La Morta.

Through all of the commotion, Juan thought he could hear the snapping of bone, but he was unsure if it came from the horse, La Morta, or both.

After an anxious moment, the horse got up. However, La Morta would never rise again. Juan bowed his head, closed his eyes, and felt a tear slip through his tightly closed lids.

Juan's hand flew signing the cross again and again for the young man that he had just killed.

God forgive me. Papa, I hope I did the right thing. I didn’t want this. La Morta brought it on himself. I hope his departed spirit can forgive me.

When he lifted his head and opened his eyes, he saw La Morta's men bickering. The bandit sitting behind jerked the sleeve of the rider in front, and they turned and rode off without a glance or word. Perhaps they would be back for revenge. Perhaps they would go elsewhere and find a new boss and make the same mistakes. Juan did not care. They left him alone, and that was more than he had expected.

The body of La Morta lay in a broken heap. Juan tied up the horse to the lead bull and dug a gravewith his knife and hands in the soft turf. Rain started to fall, but Juan kept digging until it was deep enough. Papa's grave was rectangular, as he remembered, but La Morta's was more of oval-shaped. Juan dragged the soaked body, dumped it into the hole and filled it with the musty-smelling wet earth.

La Morta's lance rested on the wet grass nearby. Juan went over to it and, with several painful attempts, managed to break the haft over his leg. He lashed the shorter piece to the longer one to form a cross-bar and plunged the blade deep into the freshly dug earth. If La Morta were alive, he would have felt that.

The rain slacked off, and he knelt in the muddy mess on the ground, clasped his hands together, and bowed his head. With all of his heart he yearned for forgiveness for what he had done. Only God could forgive him, he had learned from a young age. He just wanted a sign that he could be forgiven for killing a man.

Tears rolled down his cheeks. Juan had an emptiness growing within his heart. He had no comfort. His head sunk low, but a nudge on his shoulder caused him to look up wide-eyed,
thinking it was the bandits. As he looked up, it was the paint stallion that he accidentally got in the eye. It prodded at Juan, beckoning him to stand up.

Juan grabbed the reign dangling under the horse's chin and pulled himself up. He stroked the horse's strong jaw covered with wiry fur and patted the side of its face. He looked at the mark that his whip had left and moved his hand to touch it, but the horse backed up a few steps, and Juan waited.

Please, forgive me...

The horse approached Juan and nestled its large head on Juan's chest. The tears would not stop. Juan knew he had been forgiven.