CHAPTER 30: A CITY AT WAR
The horizon was a-light with explosions and fire, reflecting off the pillars, and reaching for the ceiling of the city. The battle was drawing nearer to the Chamber of Lore and its ensconced silence. Like thunder heralding a storm, the sound of weapons clashing and men screaming triumphs or death cries rumbled in the distance.
Oreus had assembled the Library Army in its entirety, emptying the barracks and the many bunkers built deep into the side of the cavern wall. Six hundred Lemurian men and women, armed with glaives, waited upon the lawn of the building; gathered at the feet of the Fathers of Osiria. Amongst their number were War Heralds, a small force of City Watchmen on skyjammers, Storm Fists—giant Hyperborean warriors wielding maces and battle-axes—and a scant few Order Knights from the House of Auralar and Kratoth who took lead as field captains.
The High Librarian however was pacing his private chamber, awaiting the last of his guards to return from the Hall of Lords. Their task was to seal the doors beneath the thrown so the rebels could not use The Rise to access the city. The Key of the Library would be used to lock the portal. Should brutal force be used to break in from the other side, the doors and the thrown above it would collapse, sealing the tunnel beyond.
“Lock the gate!” Captain Acareth yelled at one of his men, who raced up the steps of The Rise. “Kaelan has already breached the the Library. We cannot afford him another way in!” Shaking his head, he turned to his men with despair in his voice. “Either the Taraal are all dead, or Kalaidan has betrayed us.”
The guard carrying the key—a silver and gold dolphin entwined, with their tails splayed out—was almost at the top of the marble steps, when a sound of cogs turning deep within the walls of the hall were heard.
“What the devil?”Acareth exclaimed, spinning around to find one of his men had pulled the lever that controlled the doors: a large bronze bar protruding from a marble encasing that resembled two suns; half above ground, half below. The suns rotated in their grooves, their light rays disappearing underground, and their previously unseen sides revealing moons. “A Dark Tide traitor!”
The other three Atlantean guards who stood nearby drew their glaives and slew the unmasked rebel. When his body crumbled to the floor, they rushed to raise the lever. But it was too late.
A surge of red, crystalline energy blasted forth from the barely-opened doors, instantly killing the guard. The dolphin-key fell to the ground, clattering loudly down the long marble steps.
“Retreat!” the Alcareth cried. “We must warn Oreus—!” But the last of his words died in his throat as another blast of red energy tore through his chest. The last thing he saw as he fell back into the arms of his men were Dark Tide rebels pouring down the steps of The Rise. They were armed with Marika Staffs—ancient Rama weapons—and were all hooded in black. The silver emblem of the skull under the ocean wave shimmering on their cloaks.
The sound of fighting outside Oreus' chamber door died; the mind-voices of his personal guard silenced forever. A shadow engulfed the thin line of light from under his door. Oreus knew who had come for him.
“The door is open; it is always open to visitors. Even to those who have forsaken the Library!”
Oreus watched in trepidation, as the door creaked open and a familiar silhouette walked into the gloam-light, which weakly bathed his chamber from the many alcoves in the walls.
Before him stood a man with a bloodied glaive in one hand and a lost look in his eyes as if he wasn't sure where he was. The thought vanished when the Dark Tide rebel look upon his childhood friend. A smile began to tug at his lips, and for a moment his eyes lit up with happiness.
“Ah! Oreus! Leader, scholar, peacekeeper,” the man in the black robes said boldly. Then a subtle tone of sadness clung to his next words, “Dear, dear friend.”
“Kaelan,” Oreus said in barely a whisper.
“Yes, it is me old friend. Come back to the House of Athesphar. A Son of Atlantis, come home. I am so wary, Oreus. Wary of the outside world that took our beloved Toram—may he rest in peace.
Oreus flinched at the mention of Thomas' true name.
“Wary of modern man and his futile machinations for power, for domination. Paupers of greatness they are, building on the shoulders of our ancestors. Pity on them for their inadequacies and shame on us for letting them rule.”
“There are good men and women who walk those streets above us, old friend,” Oreus replied. “Good people. Not all of them are petty squabblers for power.”
“Good people? The blind king befriending the jailor because he cannot see the bars. Such is our predicament, is it not?”
Oreus did not retort, but took a step back to his table where his glaive hid, disguised as a metal spine of one of his great tomes that lay spread wide under the shimmer of a gloam orb lamp.
Kaelan stepped forward. “You want this bloodshed to end? Want our brothers and sisters to stop killing each other, needlessly? Then hear me out, hear my plea. Our plea!”
“What would you have me—us do?” Oreus felt the edge of his desk against the back of his legs. His hands began fumbling behind him. Searching for the book that would protect him. He was one of few Lemurians who did not carry his weapon on him. Now he regretted that more than ever.
“I would have you honour our people like you once did. Put our need before these modern people, these pale imitations of us. Take up the Thrown of Lemuria and take back the world we once ruled. No longer to live in the darkness of these hidden cities! Walking tall and proud in all the streets of the world.
“Can you see it? See the great towers of Atlantis rebuilt? Raised in every capital city. A glory restored! Oh how my heart would be stilled!”
“I see all your visions, Kaelan. All your visions unfurled. A great restoration. The end of a war.”
“Yes!”
“And I see the taint of the Crown taking us back to the Fall. I see the lust for near-infinite power consuming it's wearer: you. He who would be King of All Lands. The Singer of Fates on the wind again, heralding the tidal waves of doom. Drowning this world into oblivion, under the shadow of the king's madness.”
The light of eagerness in Kaelan's eyes were suddenly gone; replaced with black rage. “The Crown of Dreams is our only weapon to use against the nations of this world. Without it we will have a fight that could stretch into the Ages beyond. Countless lives slaughtered, our people on the brink of utter destruction. No, we need the Crown!”
“No less than the lives lost now?” Oreus said, and there was an edge in his voice that surprised both men. “This war against them which you push us into will not bring sovereignty. Only more death.”
Kaelan was silent and the room became deathly still. The High Librarian could hear the throbbing of blood in his ears, the breath from both their lips. The tension was like a vice, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Kaelan's icy cold eyes bored into his, cutting into his very being and leaving all his thoughts and fears bare. Then, like the fringe of a threatening storm receding back to sea and leaving a coastal town untouched, the invisible threat began to fade. Finally, Kaelan spoke. “Perhaps there is another way. If you were to wear the Crown of Dreams, if you were to take up the charge of our people to reclaim our lands, then, by my word, I would follow you. Give up my leadership of the Dark Tide and surrender my forces to you. They would follow someone as wise and fair as you. Under my command, they would end this war. This madness.”
Behind his back, Oreus' fingers lingered along the spine of the large book. The shimmer of the glaive was hidden from Kaelan's view.
“We could fight side by side again, old friend, no longer enemies.” Kaelan dropped his right hand on Oreus' shoulder. Five claw-like rings encircled each finger. The light was in his eyes again: an intensity that seemed restrained, but just barely.
The High Librarian pulled his hand away from the book. “We will always be those young boys playing along the banks of Atlantis, Kaelan. You, Toram, Aramathaeus and I. Free as the wind. Not
hing stopping us.”
“Yes.”
“I was your older brother then, when you had no family. Remember? Sleeping in my family's loft.”
“Yes, I do,” Kaelan said, and for a moment he strayed from his dark thoughts into fond memories he thought he had lost. “How could I forget.”
“It is these memories I must honour. I cannot betray our brotherhood. Our friendship. I cannot wear the Crown. And... I cannot let you wear it either.”
A tear glided down Kaelan's cheek and he nodded slowly. Then the dream shattered. His right hand released Oreus' shoulder. The claw rings suddenly elongated, merging into one blade that the rebel drove deep into his friend's chest, screaming, “No!”
Oreus gasped in shock and he crumbled back against the table. The spine of the book out of reach.
Kaelan held him, preventing his dying friend from falling to the floor. He pulled him close and whispered through tears, “I did what had to be done. You must understand this. You of all people knew me best, that is why I cannot understand your short sight. I hate you and love you! Curse your foolishness!”
Oreus' vision was blurred by his own tears and the fog of death.
“We will always be running free,” Kaelan said bitterly. “You and I. Remember us that way.”
“Akah, sa'suur, Kaelannn...” Oreus whispered in a ragged breath as his life force ebbed away. He coughed up blood, which ran in rivulets down his neck.
“Shhh, shhh. Rest now. Let the dark tide of Atlantis take you into the sea from where we came.”
A vicious knock came at the door. Kaelan closed Oreus' eyes with his ringed hand. Streaks of blood smearing his lifeless face. The knock came again.
“Leave me!” the rebel leader screamed and a dark shadow swallowed him in despair and he wept for a long time.
When he finally left Oreus chamber, there was no longer any sadness in Kaelan's eyes; and there would never be any ever again. The past was so small a thought now, repressed by anger and madness that it could not even return to him in a dream. All he had left was the desire to find the Crown of Dreams and the wonders he could accomplish with it.
Brother and sister stumbled towards the pillar.
“What was that?” Vesphaeon said, suddenly turning to Eleena. “Did you hear that?”
“No,” she answered, the look of confusion and fear on her face to the battle around them. “What is it?”
“I heard a voice scream in my mind. Warning me! It must be father! What have I done?”
“Run!” Eleena screamed and Vesphaeon snapped out of his reverie as a Library guard leaped out of the darkness, trying to grab him.
“You must come with us, my lord!” the guard shouted.
Vesphaeon pulled Eleena by the hand and they ran into the pillar. When he turned around, he saw his brother Rykar joining the guard who was running after them.
“Its Rykar!” Eleena screamed. “Don't close the door—!”
The pillar's door slid shut and an enraged Rykar crashed against it, hammering it with the pommel of his glaive. “Open this door, fools!” He screamed over the fighting. “You traitorous fools! Explain yourselves!”
Then a horde of djinn warriors rushed Rykar from out of the shadows. Their scimitars gleaming in the like swathes of white fire in the darkness.
“To me!” the son of Oreus screamed back in challenge, raising his arm into the air. Library guards rallied at the pillar's base and fought back the tide of enemies. Two djinn died under Rykar's blade, before he said, “Ramose! I knew that desert rat was a runner for Bast's army!”
Arrows suddenly rained out of the darkness on top of Rykar's men, who turned from the battle and retreated, frantically searching for shelter. Using their glaives to mind-shape elaborate shields, they scattered into the side streets and behind pillars out of the light of the statues. Then, when they had finally regrouped for a counter attack, a sand storm exploded around them. In the low-light they could see the silhouette of djinn warriors spinning around in intricate dances. They were called storm-dancers and they used similar weapons to Ramose' Staff of Dancing Winds. When their dancing had completely obscured the battle, the djinn archers began firing their black shafted arrows at the sand-blinded Library guards again as they stumbled about and crashed into each other.
“We can't fight in this!” one guard shouted to Rykar, running for cover. “They now have the upper hand!” Then a hum of arrows pieced the air near the men, followed by several thuds. The guard toppled over—several arrows skewering his throat and chest. Through squinting eyes, Rykar could just make out the silhouette of the dead guard; one of many hazy lumps that lay still in the grey sandstorm.
“They don't have the upper hand just yet,” he whispered harshly to himself, turning his attention to the statues and their gloam-orbs. Removing a small, metallic sphere from his belt, Rykar wound his arm back and hurled the hand-bomb with strong accuracy. There was an immense explosion upon impact and the statues were engulfed in a huge column of fire that hungrily devoured their gloam-orbs and heightened the fire. The djinn archers were suddenly visible in the sand storm.
The tide of battle turned back into the Lemurians' favour as the Library guards rushed the djinn from the cover of their glaive-shields.
Rykar ran towards the pillar his brother and sister had entered. A giant djinn suddenly appeared from behind it and crashed into him, throwing Rykar to the ground. The wind drained from his lungs, he watched as the towering opponent slowly approached him.
“This is the strength of Atlantis?” bellowed the sinister laughter of his attacker as he loomed into view. “I am surprised our ancestors were defeated by you!” The man was big, bigger than any Osirian Rykar had ever seen. His broad chest was protected by thick, horizontal bands of metal, which formed a solid breastplate—and in the centre of it dangled a necklace of human skulls on a thick leather cord. Large, tree-trunk arms bulged at either side of the breastplate, and boulder sized fists gripped a scimitar each. The weapons were noticeably twice the size as the ones Rykar had seen carried by the other djinn. Long, black hair pooled on his shoulders, and a craggy face covered in scars scowled down at him with a hint of mockery.
“You will rue those words, djinn filth!” Rykar wheezed, his shock of the giant's appearance fading into abject hatred.
“Stand, Atlantean!” the giant commanded, stamping a booted foot closer. “Face me. Face your death!” The scimitars raised up in an attack stance.
“Bast,” Rykar said, scrambling wearily to his feet. “You have come a long way from your home in the desert to die.”
The djinn leader laughed again. “The pitiful fool speaks words bigger than his deeds. You are a man of little strength, Rykar. Little importance. Your brother has spoken of you and your foolish pride. Yes, don't look so surprised, you knew deep down inside he would betray you. Your father never had much faith in him either. I suppose that is why he left him for dead.”
Upon hearing the last threat against his father, Rykar screamed in rage and rushed the giant djinn with his glaive whirling wildly above his head. His first few hits against Bast's dual scimitars forced the djinn a few steps back and one blow even sliced open the djinn's chest. However, when his rage was spent, his sudden weariness left him dangerously open. Bast stepped in and cut off Rykar's sword hand after a feint with his other blade, before decapitating him in one swift movement.
Rykar's headless body dropped to the ground and Bast readied himself against the oncoming swarm of Library guards who wanted vengeance for their dead leader. There was no fear in his eyes, only sadistic glee and arrogance.
Out of the dying sand storm a fresh assault of arrows fell on the Lemurians.
Return to the Sun Garden! Take the back roads! Mathias' mind-voice commanded. The shadows of the rebel army that had swelled beyond count had overcome the Library guards. More kepri-arks came up the road towards the battle.
Layla nodded, half-dragging Jack to the last remaining skyjammer. Placing the circlet on he
r head, she urged the hover vehicle forward and into the darkness, away from the battle.
“What about Mathias!” Jack screamed over the wind whipping in their faces. “He will be overwhelmed by the rebels!”
“There is nothing we can do now, we have to do what he has commanded us to do. Get back to the Sun Garden. I believe Will is waiting for us there.”
“How will we escape the city?” Jack replied, doubt filling his stomach like a lead ball again.
“The Rising Hope.” Layla's soft voice held determination.
“The Rising Hope,” Jack echoed back, his eyes wide in awe.
The back roads! Mathias' last thoughts were shattered by the ringing of steel against steel as Xharan's short spear and glaive—which he had released from his waist—clashed against the general's glaive.
“The boy will not escape us!” the Dark Tide captain hissed, cautiously approaching his larger opponent. “Kaelan will get him and you will pay for your disloyalty to our people.”
Mathias did not answer, but took two thunderous steps forward and swung his glaive-hammer at Xharan's spear, knocking it twenty feet away. He then swung his hammer down low and hooked it in the groove above the rebel's right heel and pulled upwards, tripping him over. Xharan landed in a handstand position, then back flipped towards his spear. Mathias gave chase. Xharan landed in a crouch beside his spear, picked it up and hurled it at the giant's right leg. Mathias' glaive morphed into a circular shield and the spear ricocheted away, embedding itself in the stomach of another rebel. Screaming, the man dropped to the ground, his body convulsing in a fit from the poison.
Xharan smiled darkly, turned to a dead Atlantean several feet away and used his psychic power to draw the man's glaive through the air to him. “Two glaives, two silver flames of Atlantis to cut you down!”
“You have no honour left to carry even one,” the general replied, panting softly. The battle exertion was taking its toll.
“Surrender, Aramathaeus,” Xharan demanded, holding both glaives in an Atlantean battle-stance; one sword raised over his head, and the other down low, pointing up. “You have nowhere to go. No escape.”
The giant turned and watched as the rebels and djinn began to emerge in a large circle around him. There were many of them. They were closing in, eagerness for his defeat on their faces. Some he knew, which made his inevitable defeat more harder to bare.
“Do not die for a lost cause. Do not die for the son of Thomas.”
“We still have time, the boy and I. Time to finish this.”
“A fool to the bitter end,” Xharan laughed, boldly approaching him now.
Then they were upon him.
It took almost twenty of the enemy's lives before Mathias was subdued and disarmed. Six more died touching his Gaianar armour by lashes of blue and white fire which burned through them like they were wheat. But they finally pulled it off him, pried it off his thrashing body. His wrists were then savagely chained to his ankles like he was a wild boar, and he was beaten by a crowd who were hungry for revenge. They were the people who Mathias had chastised and expelled, labelled traitors and forever scorned by the Library. They—who merely wanted to reclaim the Earth as the rightful masters—were separated from their families who now hated them. Because of Mathias, Kaelan had said, they could never return home. Because of Mathias they were made outcasts. This hate drove them to take turns in delivering their own justice on him. Their own revenge. And after awhile Mathias became numb to the violent kicks that hammered into his ribs and the fists that pounded into his face—he accepted their hate, understood it. Finally, the violence stopped, and he was left bloodied and broken upon the cold cavern floor. Blood gushed into his eyes, running down his temples from unseen gashes he couldn't feel anymore.
“Now we will take you to your new master,” Xharan said, his voice coming from somewhere beyond the mass of bodies that crowded over him. The rebels parted, and Xharan walked up to him. “So falls the Library.” Then he stomped hard on Mathias' head with his leather boot.
All went black.
Layla and Jack flew the skyjammer through the back streets of the Library-city. The sound of the battle had become faint, then finally disappeared into the stillness of the dark.
The streets they travelled were at first deserted. Several of the squat buildings had been ransacked, with their doors left open and the furniture and contents strewn onto the roads. However, they occasionally passed silhouettes of the invaders fighting the Lemurian settlers and quickly swerved down another street to avoid being seen. It was evident from the trail of destruction that the rebels and djinn looters were taking what they wanted and then heading to the main road from where Layla and Jack had come, readying to make an attack on the Chamber of Lore.
At one moment, they almost ran into a Hy-Bresailian battling three djinn warriors in the middle of the street while his wife and screaming child cowered in their home's doorway. Layla stilled the skyjammer in shadows and waited. Jack made a move to help, but Layla stilled him with a sharp glance and whispered, “No. We must not jeopardise our position. That is old Hanresh, he can handle himself.”
The bull-necked man, who was thicker in limb than Mathias, grabbed the closest djinn in a headlock and snapped his neck like it was a dry stick. The other two rushed him with scimitars as their companion crumbled to the earth, unmoving. The Hy-Bresailian punched one hard in the face, knocking him out, then used the unconscious body of the djinn to shield himself against a thrust from the other. The scimitar cut deep into the back of the knocked out djinn. Realising he killed his friend and his adversary was now armed with a sword as well, the last djinn ran off into the darkness.
“Run you coward!” Hanresh thundered after him. The big man then dropped the scimitar and rushed over to a body—that Jack had not noticed until now—laying still on the ground. His wife and child joined him and they began to weep loudly.
“Let's go,” Layla said and steered the skyjammer down another road away from the scene. “He has just lost his eldest son.”
Jack looked back until the lit street of huddled shadows was gone.
Time stretched uncounted, and the darkness seemed impenetrable.
Down a series of empty streets that were hidden between the squat shoulders of the obelisk Osirian buildings the pair travelled in silence. Fearing the enemy was waiting for them around every corner, they kept to the backroads, avoiding the gloam-lit pillars and the open doors that shone bars of light through the pitch black.
They were crossing through a broken yard to reach a certain road when the skyjammer almost collided into a parade of men and women hurrying in single file down a secret trapdoor in the ground. In the scant light, Jack could see that their faces were fine featured with glittering green eyes. After a quick whispered conversation between Layla and the leader of the refugees, they clasped hands, patted backs and departed. Jack's flurry of questions as to who they were and where they were going after the trapdoor had closed was answered with a silent stare. It was an hour later when Layla finally answered him in hushed tones, “They are Avalonians. Their leader, Artur, told me that they will seek to reclaim the ruined city of Avalon for shelter. As to where they were going; there are many secret ways out of the Library other than the Great Stair. That trapdoor was one of them. It connects to the lower passageways hidden beneath the cavern. I wished them luck.”
Jack nodded but did not answer. He remembered Mathias telling him that Avalon was abandoned when Kaelan and his army half destroyed it in the first rebellion. It had been their home before the Library was restored. Perhaps they will salvage something from that mystical city. The teenager thought, wondering where Avalon might lie concealed. England, perhaps? Then the thought was consumed by the darkness around him and his mind was set on the road ahead.
“I hope Mathias is okay,” Jack whispered to Layla as they stopped and crouched behind a low-set wall, avoiding being seen by a patrol of Dark Tide rebels. When the silhouettes had disappeared around a stre
et corner, the pair continued on down a straight road that lead to the Sun Garden. The gloam trees could be seen shimmering in the distance. “I hope Oreus managed to send more men.”
“We must not fill our heads with such questions,” Layla replied firmly. “Our task is all we must be concerned with. Mathias taught me that: focus on the now. Complete your mission and then wonder what is next.”
Jack silently reflected on the wise words. But he couldn't help but feel that they were abandoning their friend. There were so many of those black, armoured vehicles! There must be thousands of rebels and djinn! His thoughts raced.
After passing the last two buildings on either side of the road, which slumped like shoulders under the weight of the mournful darkness around them, they finally arrived at the perimeter of the park. The familiar glow of the gloams filling Jack's heart with hope once more.
“We best continue on on foot,” Layla said.
The pair dismounted the skyjammer and walked into the park. It wasn't long before they were traversing gently across the great lawns of lamp-grass. Five minutes later they finally stopped before the great circular, metallic plate that rested in the centre of the park. The ten symbols of Lemuria glowed softly under the tree light. Instantly, Jack noticed the Atlantean symbol of the overlapping rings in the triangle was gone. In its place was a deep black hole.
“Where did it go?”
“The door is open. Someone is inside the Rising Hope.”
Jack threw a confused look at Layla. “William?”
She nodded and urged him on.
Standing at the edge of the hole, Jack made out ladder rungs trailing down into the darkness below. Without a word, Layla began to descend. Jack shrugged and followed.