Chapter
Sixteen
Even when he’d been locked away from everyone and everything he knew, Artigos had not felt his age as he felt it now. Looking out over the sea of young and hopeful faces, he realized he was most likely the last living soul who remembered hearing the stories of Lemuria’s beginnings from the mouths of those who’d actually lived them. He still recalled, as if it had been only days ago, listening as his grandparents described those terrifying times, and how they’d survived almost total annihilation of the original Lemurian civilization.
He could be the final link between
those born on the home world, and those who had always called
Earth—and now this Lemurian dimension within Earth’s rocky
crust—their home.
He knew, firsthand, where they had
come from, and why they had fled a dying world long before their
new home on Earth had been destroyed.
The story was written down and stored
in the archives, but did anyone even care anymore? There were so
few of them left. From the last numbers he’d heard, barely a
thousand Lemurians survived—if this could be called survival, this
sleepwalk through their empty, wasted lives in an artificially
created world. At least he had an excuse for not working harder to
keep his society vital and growing.
He’d been a prisoner, locked in a cell
for well over ten thousand years, but the time for excuses was
past.
He watched as the young women seated
themselves on the stone floor and listened to the rustle of robes
and scuffling of sandals as his soldiers took their ease behind
him. He glanced at the human leaning against the cavern wall and
once again felt drawn to him. Somehow that young man, a mere infant
compared to everyone in this room, might very well be the single
factor that could tip the scales and save the Lemurian people,
their world, and all the other civilized worlds from the eternal
damnation of demon rule.
How or why, he wasn’t sure. The only
thing Artigos could be certain of was the weight of too many lives
hanging in the balance.
Worry
solves nothing. It’s time for action.
With that thought in mind, he turned
so that he could see everyone and leaned his hip against the
scarred desk the guards used for their reports. It was the only
piece of furniture in the cavern—an old and much-used remnant from
Earth. It, too, probably had stories to tell, but where to begin
his?
Folding his arms across his chest,
Artigos began at the beginning. “Long before there were humans on
Earth,” he said, “when the planet was nothing more than a
developing world teeming with primitive life, the world where
Lemurians originated, the place they called home, was facing
annihilation. Our sun was going nova, and we had no choice but to
abandon our home, the place where our civilization
began.
“Lemurians had been space travelers
for many years, and our technology was well advanced. I know that
you must find that difficult to believe as you sit here on the
stone floor of a cave in your rough garb and sandals, armed only
with swords, but Lemurians of old once colonized other planets and
regularly traveled among the stars. Unfortunately, the worlds we’d
settled were in our same solar system, and they, too, faced
destruction.
“Large ships for transporting our
citizens beyond our solar system were prepared. Goods and people
began moving aboard, until we had almost our entire population
living on huge ships orbiting Lemuria, preparing to leave. Our
scientists were hard at work, searching out worlds that could
support us, but there weren’t very many, and the distance was
great.
“Very few planets looked promising.
Our laws prevented us from moving to worlds that already had
sentient populations, but a few were primitive enough, new enough,
and without sentient species of their own; those we felt free to
colonize. Coordinates were fed into the ships’ computers, and we
prepared for a diaspora beyond anything anyone had heard of before.
An entire world—a long established, technologically advanced
civilization—was moving en masse to another planet.
“Then the unthinkable happened. The
sun exploded far ahead of the time our scientists had predicted.
Instead of an orderly journey, the ships with their Lemurian
cargo—the ones that were not destroyed in the initial
explosion—were flung into space.
“We also believe they were flung
through time, though we will never know for sure. Nor will we ever
know how many of the hundreds of vessels survived. The ship my
ancestors traveled on was damaged, but we made it to this world and
landed on a lush continent in the midst of Earth’s Pacific Ocean.
It was difficult at first, but eventually the colonists thrived in
their new world. We’d brought our technology with us, along with
our sentient crystal swords. They were the one physical link with
our home world, created out of the crystals that formed our planet,
carrying the spirits of our long-departed warriors. We managed to
save our swords, even though much of our advanced technology was
eventually lost. Life here was too easy, and our people became
lazy.”
He smiled at the women who watched him
so intently. “You have not had it so easy. You’ve struggled to
survive; you’ve worked hard. You are more like our ancient
ancestors than the spoiled free folk who run our world today. I
imagine demons would not have found safe harbor within any of
you.”
He turned his attention to the men.
Each one had opened himself to demonkind. Not consciously, but
they’d not fought against the bastards, either. “You were young,
brave soldiers, but most of you came of age at the end of the Demon
Wars. You were not tested in battle and had no idea how to fight
the demons that raped your souls. Now you know. Demonkind will try
again and again to gain access, but you cannot allow it. Fight
them. With everything you are, you must fight them.”
He caught Dawson Buck’s eye, and
nodded, sensing the young man’s impatience. He was right to be
concerned. Time was short, but Artigos needed to finish this tale.
He had to explain how they had come to this point, to this pivotal
battle, and somehow hope it was enough to convince the women he was
a worthy leader.
The men would follow. Their confidence
in themselves was badly shaken, and he offered them hope of
redemption, if only to die in battle as heroes against demonkind.
He certainly hoped to offer more than that, but it would depend on
the women.
Everything depended on them. They
carried crystal; the men did not. He’d tried using DemonsBane to
change the steel blades the way Roland’s sword had altered Birk’s,
but it hadn’t worked. Some critical element was missing, and
Artigos feared Selyn’s crystal sword was right—DemonsBane had
passed DarkFire’s message on to him—that without the women’s
forgiveness, the men were incapable of bearing crystal. Their shame
was too great.
He focused on his audience.
“Eventually, many thousands of years later, when most of the
original colonists were long gone, we discovered another advanced
society on the far side of Earth. Though they called themselves
Atlanteans, they were too similar to us for it to be mere
coincidence. Amazingly, they had been here much, much longer than
we had, which is when we realized our world’s diaspora had taken
some of our ships through time as well as space. The Atlanteans’
technology was even more advanced than ours, but by then we had
begun to lose much of what we had once had, while they had
obviously continued to develop. They no longer remembered their
off-world beginnings. Lemuria was legend, nothing more. But we knew
they were our brothers.” He laughed softly. “That is a tale for
another time.
“For whatever reason, we had not been
bothered by demonkind until shortly after making contact with
Atlantis. Their world was rocked by massive upheavals, and they
elected to encase themselves within a protective dimensional bubble
that would allow them to continue as a civilization far beneath the
sea. They exist there still, for all I know, living apart from all
worlds, accessible only through the portals in the vortexes. As far
as I know, they’re unaware of the current demonic uprising, though
their world is at risk, should Lemuria fall.
“I was the heir of the last king of
Lemuria, a position and title handed down from parent to eldest
child. We had our share of queens who ruled. My grandmother was the
last woman ruler. Her son, my father, took over leadership, and
when he had tired of corporeal life, it was passed on to
me.
“Because I was a young man, yet
untried, when I took over the monarchy, I chose to lead as a king
with a council of trusted advisors. I was king during the
DemonWars, when we discovered that our crystal swords were the only
weapon we had to effectively fight and kill demons. But after, when
Lemuria was in constant upheaval with volcanic explosions and
earthquakes, when our government was in turmoil with the forced
move to a new world, I was taken prisoner. At the time, I had no
idea my own son was behind the coup. Nor did I realize he was ruled
by demonkind.”
He shook his head and fought back a
great welling of sadness, but he couldn’t stop the tears from
filling his eyes. “Demons have no concept of time. All these
thousands of years while I have languished in a prison cell, they
have worked to gain a foothold among our people. I believe demons
were behind the destruction of Atlantis as well as our continent of
Lemuria, and I know they are working even now to destroy this new
home of ours, though this time they’re doing it from within, by
taking possession of the souls of our people.
“I have no idea how many of the
so-called ‘free folk’ are actually slaves to demonkind, but I am
certain, just as these guardsmen have been bound by evil, many of
our council members and aristocrats are bound as well. The Lemurian
population is small. There are barely more than a thousand of us
remaining, but if demonkind ever completely controls Lemuria, they
will have found that immutable, irreversible tipping point that
will finally give them what they have worked toward all
along—dominion over all worlds in all dimensions.
“Earth will fall. Eden, Atlantis . .
.” He shook his head and wiped at the tears spilling down his
cheeks. “All of us will become hosts to demonkind, and life as we
know it will end for all time.”
He focused on the women. “As slaves,
your lives have been hell. What demons will do to our worlds will
make your previous existence appear as paradise. My grandson is
struggling to hold Lemurian society together, but he does not want
to lead. I do, and I can. I am willing to fight this scourge, but I
cannot do it without your support. Will you stand with me? Will you
stand beside these men? Whether you want it or not, you carry their
blood in your veins, as well as the blood of the warrior
women.”
He gazed at the faces watching him,
and he spoke to each woman as if she, and only she, mattered. “You
were born to be warriors, not slaves. Don’t be slaves to your need
for revenge. These men—these brave warriors—are ready to take up
arms against our common enemy. Can you put aside your desire for
revenge and focus that hatred on an enemy that will do anything
possible to divide us? Even after the wrong done to you in the name
of Lemuria, can you raise your swords in her defense? Not for
yourselves. Not for me. For Lemuria!”
Selyn was the first one to her feet.
She thrust her crystal sword into the air and shouted loud enough
for her voice to echo from the cavern walls, “For Lemuria.
Yes!”
One by one, and finally all together,
the rest of the women, many with tears on their faces, leapt to
their feet. The shout went up. The men were on their feet, with
steel blades high and voices raised, and the echo of their shouted
cries gave the women more power, more strength, until the stone
chamber reverberated with their battle cry.
“Lemuria! Lemuria!”
Chills coursed along Artigos’s spine.
He felt the energy grow and intensify, a sacred trust these women
and men had just given to him. He drew DemonsBane from his scabbard
and held his sword high. Each of the women drew their crystal
blades. The crystals flashed with brilliant bursts of blue and
silver light. The cry of “Lemuria” grew louder, taking on a rhythm
all its own until it became a song powerful enough to lead an
army.
Then, without warning, with cries of
“Lemuria” still echoing from the cavern walls, the women surged
past Artigos with their blades drawn, and raced toward the
men.
Artigos shot a fearful glance at
Dawson Buck. What the nine hells was happening? Were they going to
kill the men after all? But Dawson was smiling and holding his
blade high. Crystal fire shot from the ruby tip and flashed in
blood-red streaks across the ceiling. Artigos spun around,
expecting carnage, but it wasn’t that at all.
Not even close. Men and women stood in
tight groups, swords held high, crystal blades caressing steel.
Blue fire flashed, a blinding light that wiped away shadows until
everything glowed.
Men, women, swords, all of them
encased in cold, blue flames that flowed over arms, down bodies,
across shoulders.
Artigos the Just sensed movement.
Dawson stood beside him, just as awestruck, watching the power of
crystal as it bathed the entire group of men and women, encasing
them in light, and filling them with power.
Time stood still, and yet Artigos was
aware of the sound of many hearts beating, the rush of blood
through veins, the crisp spark of thoughts in so many minds. As if
these disparate men and women were a single entity, a single life
form, united at a cellular level by the power of
crystal.
And he, the man known as Artigos the
Just, was the breath this form drew, the strength that lifted their
arms, the mind that ruled their thoughts. An unexpected, compelling
burst of power filled him and gave him hope.
Then, as if from another plane
entirely, new voices intruded. First a whisper among the
blades—whispers that became words—until he knew that the voices he
heard were those of the spirits of the women warriors coming
together, growing stronger, calling out to their daughters and
their oppressors alike.
The whisper became a mighty shout as
their many voices rose in battle song. We are avenged, they cried.
We are one people. Not wardens and
slaves, not men and women, not adversaries. Now we are and forever,
one people. We are Lemuria!
Their passionate cry faded as the glow
of many blades slowly dimmed. As raised swords lowered, men and
women looked first at one another and saw their comrades for the
coming battle, and then turned to their swords—crystal swords held
by guards and former slaves alike. Swords with the sentience of the
brave women who had gone before.
Birk was the first one to step apart
from the crowd. The massive guard walked to Artigos and knelt at
his feet with his blade pressed across his heart. “I pledge my
sword and my heart to Lemuria, to her protector, Artigos the Just,
and to our cause. All hail Artigos the Just. All hail
Lemuria!”
Artigos stood tall as he tapped Birk’s
right and then left shoulder with DemonsBane. Birk rose, and Selyn
took his place. Another man followed, and then a woman, until every
single soldier—male and female alike—had pledged his or her loyalty
to their leader and their land.
Soldiers. All of them. Not a single
slave in the group.
When they were finished, Artigos
clambered atop the desk so that he could see his army, all of them
standing in formation now without regard to gender. Men beside the
women they had mistreated; women next to men they’d sworn to
kill.
Brought together by the spirits of
warriors long gone, by the power of crystal.
“We march to the upper levels
tomorrow. I’ve not heard from any of our comrades who went ahead,
and can only assume the worst. I want you to eat well, and sleep.”
Then he grinned at the robed men lined up before him. “Philosophers
fight in robes. Soldiers need pants to better maneuver. If any of
you gentlemen know how to turn those robes into clothing such as
the women are wearing, you may find yourself better able to fight.”
He sobered as he looked at them. “And if so, do it quickly. I think
we will fight before too long. Rest well. We leave with first
light.”
Dawson held Selyn’s hand as they
walked away from the soldier’s barracks. They’d eaten well, and the
dynamics between the women and men had been fascinating. Everyone
had been so tense at first. Then some of the women had offered to
help the men turn their robes into pants. Before long, one of the
men had approached a young woman and told her she looked exactly
like his mother.
From there it had become a game, with
the women trying to figure out which of the men might have fathered
them. What could have been horribly uncomfortable had ended up with
small groups of women and men cutting and sewing, and quiet
discussions among others about who might or might not be
related.
No one would ever know for sure. The
men had little memory of that period, when they’d gone against all
their natural instincts to protect women, and had abused them
instead. Yet none could deny the powerful sense that those women
warriors were there, in the same room, in the sentience of the
swords.
Attending, and approving of the
unexpected emotional connection between their daughters and their
former guards.
“I didn’t expect tonight.” Selyn
glanced at Dawson and then looked away. “I thought there would be a
more lingering anger, a stronger need for revenge. We’ve talked of
revenge all our lives. But those voices . . .” She shook her head.
“Those were the voices of our mothers, the women warriors, and
they’re right.” She sighed and leaned her head against Dawson’s
shoulder. “I once had so much anger against the wardens, but it’s
gone.”
Dawson wrapped his arm around her
shoulders. They were almost to the room they’d shared the night
before. Anger and revenge were the last things on his
mind.
“Maybe because you’ve found a new
target for it,” he said. “A common enemy. Something that pulls all
of you together, rather than drives you apart. As Artigos said, you
need to concentrate on fighting demonkind, not each other. The
spirits of the women appear to agree.”
“Are we truly ready for this?” Selyn
rested her fingers on his chest. “I’m worried that we haven’t heard
from anyone. If they could have contacted us, both Roland and Taron
would have done so. They know how important it is that we have
news.”
“That’s why you and I are going on
ahead. If we leave early enough, we should be able to get word
back. Lord Artigos said he doesn’t want us taking any risks, but if
we can reach a level where you can contact Ginny or Alton, find out
what the hell’s going on, and get back below without getting caught
. . .”
“Or worse?” She tilted one
eyebrow.
He nodded. “Or worse. But I’m not
going to think that way. I can’t, not if I want to have the courage
to carry out Artigos’s wishes. What I really wish is that I could
go without you, but we need the information, and I don’t do that
telepathy thing you do.”
She stretched up on her toes and
kissed him. “Yeah, but there are other truly amazing things you can
do. We don’t have to leave until morning. That gives us a whole
night. . . .”
He stood there like an idiot staring
at her. She grabbed him by the hand and led him inside their room,
but he didn’t remember to breathe until she closed the door behind
him. It was as if she’d shut the world, the war, and all of
demonkind outside, leaving just the two of them. And, like she
said, there was a whole night before they needed to return to
reality.
“I need to bathe.” Selyn let go of his
hand and headed toward the bathroom. Then she paused in the
doorway, glanced over her shoulder at him with a look that could
melt ice and added, “Would you like to join me?”
If there’d been a prize for speed
undressing, Dawson was positive he’d have won. But by the time he
got into the small room where he’d showered the night before, there
was no sign of Selyn. Then he noticed a narrow alcove he’d missed,
and the sound of water beyond.
Slipping around a corner, Daws
stumbled and had to hang on to a stone outcropping to keep from
tumbling into the pool. If this was a typical Lemurian bathtub, he
was giving up showers forever.
Selyn sat shoulders deep in a bubbling
pool of dark water about six feet in diameter. It appeared to be
cut from solid stone, so that the gray walls rose up around it on
all sides. Hot water flowed in from a small waterfall on one side
and trickled out through a hole on the other. Steam rose all
around, and a soft, blue-green glow emanating from the walls cast
strange shadows across the roiling surface.
“What’s this? A hot tub?” He knelt
beside the pool and dipped his hand in the steaming
water.
Selyn tilted her head and frowned at
him like he was a complete dolt. “Hot tub? We call it a bathing
pool. We had one like it in the slave quarters, though it was much
larger. Showers are for hurried bathing.” She smiled, and he could
have sworn she actually fluttered her long lashes at him.
“Remember, we have all night.”
“Oh, yeah.” He slipped into the pool
beside her. The warm water came to his waist—a perfect temperature
for bathing. Or other
things. Except he couldn’t go there. At least, not
beyond the amazing images crowding his mind. He found the ledge
Selyn was sitting on and sat beside her.
She was sleek and warm where she
leaned against him, all soft breasts and smooth skin. He slipped
his arm up and over her back, tucking her close against his side
where she fit perfectly—a wet, warm, and willing woman clinging to
him. The water bubbled and steamed around them, and they had hours
before they needed to slip into the upper levels and see what was
happening among the free folk.
All night. Just the two of them.
Dawson felt like screaming his stupidity to the world. They had all
night, and no condoms.
Never, ever again was he leaving home
without his pockets full of the damned things. He could have kicked
himself, except it wouldn’t help a bit. He told himself to accept
the fact they weren’t going to make love tonight, and relax. The
warm water bubbled over his aching muscles, and Selyn was so close
that at least the problems of demons and danger and a looming war
melted away with the billowing steam.
Unfortunately, his raging libido
remained, literally front and center—a painful reminder of his
absurd lack of preparation. Selyn’s fingers brushed his arm, and
she gazed at him from pools of deepest blue. Dawson groaned and
tightened his grasp around her. She surprised him by moving closer.
Causing barely a ripple in the pool, she slipped willingly into his
lap and straddled him.
Her puckered nipples brushed his
chest. Her lips swept gently over his mouth. She was so close. Too
close. Her feminine thatch of hair meshed with his dark tangle, and
it would take just the slightest adjustment for him to slip inside
her. Her heat surrounded him. She pressed her breasts closer
against his chest, and her lips followed the line of his jaw. Her
slim, muscular arms slipped around his neck; she tangled her
fingers in his damp hair. It was too good, too much, too hard to
resist.
He shouldn’t risk this. She couldn’t
risk it, but still it took an act of will he wasn’t sure he had, to
wrap his fingers around her waist and lift her away. She laughed
and tightened her arms around his neck, clinging like a
burr.
“There’s no need to push me away.
Unless you’ve decided you don’t want me.” Her laughter raised
shivers across his chest, and he was almost preternaturally aware
of the taut points of her nipples teasing the hair that covered his
pecs. Not want her? Who did she think she was kidding?
“I talked to Nica.” She kissed his
chin. “Her mother was a healer before she was a warrior.” This time
she planted a small kiss at the right corner of his mouth. “She
taught Nica lots of her ways, including how to prevent
babies.”
No kisses this time. Instead, she
leaned her forehead against Dawson’s, and there was a sense of
sadness in her voice. “It’s not difficult for us, not when we
prepare ahead of time. It’s much harder for Lemurian women to
conceive than it is to avoid conception, but because you worry, I’m
being careful.”
He was almost afraid to ask. “What do
you mean? Just how are you . . . ?”
“Being careful?” She kissed him. A
real one this time, a long, lingering kiss that spoke of sexual
experience he knew she didn’t have. Experience she was going to get
if they both weren’t careful. Whatever willpower he’d had was
dissipating along with the steam rising above the surface of the
pool.
“An herb,” she said.
Her soft whisper against his mouth had
him rising even higher, swelling even harder against her. “An
herb?” Was that his voice?
“A simple herb in my meal tonight.
Once a month is all it takes, until I want to try to conceive. Then
I stop eating it and hope that somehow, at some point, we make a
baby.” She shook her head. “For most women, that never
happens.”
Her fingernails scraped the back of
his neck, and his entire body trembled with need. He took a deep
breath. Then he sucked in another and grabbed her hands from around
his neck, held her arms down at her sides, and looked directly into
those guileless blue eyes. Speaking very slowly and clearly, he
said, “I need to be sure what I think you’re saying. You ate an
herb with your dinner tonight, and that’s all it takes to keep you
from getting pregnant?”
He almost laughed, but the sound he
made was more of a croak. “I’m assuming that’s including sex. . . .
You’re saying that you can have sexual relations and not conceive?
As long as you’ve eaten this . . . whatever?”
She laughed, only Selyn’s was
full-throated and filled with joy. “Ah, Dawson. I wish you could
see yourself right now. Yes, that’s what I’m saying. But, knowing
you, healer of small furry creatures and grown Lemurian women that
you are, you want specifics.”
She kissed him once again, and then,
speaking as if she were teaching sex education to a room filled
with seventh graders, said, “Listen, carefully. I ate an herb known
to our healers that will prevent implantation of the male sperm
with the female’s egg. It is one hundred percent effective in
preventing pregnancy for Lemurian women. Is that information
precise enough? I can’t get pregnant if we make love. No matter how
many times or what positions we are in, which means you have
absolutely no excuse to avoid showing me what making love is like.
Now do you understand?”
Oh, shit. Did he ever.