Legend Page 5

  Donnchadh paid the sailors a bonus of gold. She and Gwalcmai watched as the long-prowed ship disappeared into the darkness, heading for home. They were at the heart of the Airlia’s power on this planet, armed only with swords and daggers. And knowledge of the true nature of the Airlia.

  They took their time. They spent a full year on the outermost ring of land. It was over six miles wide and covered with farms. The people who worked the land worshipped the Airlia but had little interaction with the Gods. Every so often a golden saucer-shaped craft would fly overhead, heading toward some faraway destination. Donnchadh knew these were the flying machines that the Airlia used in the atmosphere, powered by engines that used the magnetic field of the planet.

  They discovered that all was not bliss and harmony in Atlantis. The farther one went from the Airlia palace, the less the benefits of the Gods extended. And the less the control of the Gods held sway. There were those on the outer ring who worked both sides, dealing in the black market. It was this group that Donnchadh and her partner slowly infiltrated. Gwalcmai was quickly accepted for his martial prowess. For Donnchadh it was a different matter. She had to fight off the uncouth advances in the seedy drinking houses along the waterfront, with Gwalcmai lurking in the background, frustrated, but knowing she had to earn her own way. Her fighting skills, inferior to Gwalcmai’s, were still far beyond what these humans knew, and she was able to hold her own and more.

  She became the deal maker. After several years she came to know all who plied their occupations in the dark and she put together those who could benefit each other. Doing so allowed her and Gwalcmai to accumulate what passed for wealth among these humans, but more important, she gathered people. She learned who could be trusted and who could not. Who was content with the rule of the Airlia and who seethed against it for varying reasons. And her reach grew longer, not only outward to the traders who came from faraway lands, but inward, toward those who served the Gods on the inner island.

  Gwalcmai, meanwhile, worked with blacksmiths and other craftsmen, slowly improving the quality of the weapons and armor among the humans. It was an exceedingly slow and often frustrating process, but he and Donnchadh had accepted the need for a very, very long view of the war they were fighting.

  Donnchadh knew it was impossible to corrupt a high priest or Guide. Those humans who had made direct contact with an Airlia guardian computer were now just like programmed machines, their free will suborned to do as they had been directed. They had had to kill many of these Guides— either priest or warrior—on their own planet. But the Airlia took only so many humans into their inner sanctum to be so corrupted. There were many—lesser priests; the rank-and file soldiers; the laborers who maintained the inner city— who served out of faith or for money or, mostly, from fear and ignorance. It was they whom Donnchadh went after, searching for just the right person. After six years of questing, she found her man.

  His name was Jobb. He was a level-four supplicant, meaning he was one of the next to be taken into the temple, put against a guardian, and made a high priest. As such he initially seemed to be a waste of time, as he would shortly be brainwashed by the Airlia. But Jobb had a daughter whom he worshipped as much as he gave allegiance to the Airlia Gods. Supplicants were not supposed to have families, but Jobb had had an illicit lover years previously. Knowing her fate for committing this sin, the woman had run away after giving birth, taking passage on one of the black market ships—how Donnchadh had first learned of this—but Jobb had kept the baby, hiring nannies to care for the girl.

  Only four days before he was to be brought into the ranks of the high priests, his daughter became ill. He tried to bring her to the palace to be placed in the high priest’s infirmary, claiming she was his brother’s daughter. But rules were rules and his daughter was denied treatment. The infirmary was only for the priests. She died three days later, on the eve of Jobb’s induction.

  All this Donnchadh heard from a trader who plied the inland seas in a small, skin-covered ship, which he could carry over the rings of land between. It was just before dawn and Donnchadh was in a traders’ tavern. The man had just returned from a journey to the palace island, where he had been directed to Jobb, who was desperately searching for any possible cure for his daughter’s sickness, even something from the outer lands, where, he had heard, people used roots and other strange concoctions for medicine.

  The trader had been unable to help Jobb. He told Donnchadh that the girl had died in her father’s arms just before he headed back.

  Donnchadh wasted no time. With Gwalcmai at her side, she made her way into Atlantis, toward the inner island that held the great city and tower. They arrived just before noon, when the elevation ceremony for high priests was to occur. Thousands of people crowded the open plaza inside the city’s wall. Wearing dark, travel-stained cloaks, Donnchadh and Gwalcmai stood in the shadow of the wall, looking up at a balcony on the tower on which stood a pair of Airlia, regally garbed as befitted their status as Gods, and flanked by high priests.

  At the base of the tower were two dozen red-robed level-four supplicants. One of the high priests began to call names, and one by one the supplicants entered a door at the base of the tower.

  When Jobb’s name was called there was no response. That was the sign that Donnchadh was looking for. With her partner she took back streets to the place where the trader said Jobb’s daughter had lived. They found him inside, the cold body of his daughter still in his arms. His skin was pale, his eyes red from countless tears.

  “You do not have much time,” Donnchadh said as they stepped through the doorway.

  Jobb did not reply or even look up.

  “They will come for you,” she continued. She went to him and knelt at his side. He finally reacted when she placed a hand on his shoulder, slowly turning his head to look at her, gazing at her with uncomprehending eyes.

  “You must tell them that this is indeed your brother’s daughter. And that you were too grief-stricken to make the induction ceremony. And that you are now ready to serve.”

  Jobb tried to speak, but his voice cracked. Gwalcmai gave him a flask of water and Jobb drank for several seconds before giving it back. “I will never serve them. They did not help me in my time of need. What kind of Gods are they? They say they are here to help us, but when I asked, there was no help.”

  Donnchadh glanced up at Gwalcmai, who met her gaze and nodded very slightly. She took a deep breath, then spoke, knowing she had to lie in order to achieve a higher goal. “It is worse than you imagine. Do you think it was just coincidence that she grew ill four days before you were to be inducted into the ranks of the high priests?”

  “What are you saying?” Jobb demanded.

  “The Airlia Gods do not care about humans except that we serve them. You have spent many years in preparation to serve. Your daughter would have stood in the way of that. That is why there is the rule against high priests or Guides having family. They are to serve only the Airlia, with no distractions.”

  The Airlia did not pick stupid humans to become high priests. Jobb connected what she had said within seconds.

  “You are saying they killed her?”

  “Not the Airlia directly, but the high priests who serve them. They killed her twice,” Donnchadh said. “First by making her ill. Second by refusing to treat her.”

  Gwalcmai reached down and slid his hands under the dead girl’s body. “I will take her and make sure she is buried.”

  Jobb blinked. “Why?”

  “So you may have vengeance,” Donnchadh said. She went to the wall and retrieved the red robe of the level-four supplicant. “When they come, you must have this on and tell them you are ready to fulfill your duty. Any other action and they will kill you.”

  “But”—Jobb tried to think it through—“once they take me into the palace and I touch the golden pyramid, I will be theirs.”

  Donnchadh reached into her pack and pulled out a thin silver chain. She slipped it around the top of
Jobb’s head, hiding it under his hair. “This will stop the golden pyramid from affecting your brain.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “From the Airlia,” Donnchadh said.

  “How can that be? Everything is guarded tightly in the temple. Only the high priests have access.”

  “And soon you will have access,” Donnchadh said.

  “But how did you get this?” Jobb asked.

  “You would not understand if I told you,” Donnchadh said.

  “Who are you?” Jobb demanded,

  “I am like you,” Donnchadh said. “I am the enemy of the Airlia. I can help you get vengeance for your daughter. I too lost a child to them.”

  “They are not Gods, are they?” Jobb asked, staring at the body that Gwalcmai gently held.

  “No.”

  “I always feared that. Even in training. Even in the temple. It is what none of us would speak of, even when we thought we were alone and could not be overheard. It was easier to believe. And we feared the high priests and Guides. Any word of dissent or heresy would be dealt with on the X-cross. I saw one of my fellows suffer that fate for asking too many questions of a high priest.”

  “It was easier in the short run to believe,” Donnchadh said. “But we are concerned about the long-term outcome of all of this. We need your help.”

  Jobb got to his feet and walked over to the wall. He took the robe and slipped it over his head. Then he went to Gwalcmai and leaned forward, kissing the cold child in the warrior’s arms on the forehead. “They should have saved her,” he whispered. “They will pay for that.”

  Three weeks later Jobb came back to the house. He wore the white robe with silver fringe that indicated he was a high priest. Around his neck was a silver medallion with the image of the eye within the triangle, the access keythat allowed him into most places inside the temple and palace.

  Donnchadh had spent the three weeks anxiously awaiting his return. The silver chain was a device her people had discovered inside the mothership on their planet, in a tray near the Master Guardian. Her fellow scientists said it was used by technicians who serviced the alien computer, allowing them to be in contact with it without having the mental field affect them. It had never been tried by a human, so they did not know if Jobb was still free or a Guide as he came through the door. Would he be alone, or would he bring a platoon of Guides? As a precaution, she and Gwalcmai had split up. He had taken her ka and gone to another place, a backup in case Jobb had been corrupted.

  Jobb closed the door behind him and faced her alone, his hands inside the sleeves of his robe, arms crossed on his chest. “It is as you said. The Airlia just use us.”

  Donnchadh felt a surge of relief and took her hand off the dagger strapped to her side. She knew no Guide would be able to speak against the Airlia. Jobb reached up and removed the silver chain from underneath his hair. “I do not need that anymore. They only give access to the Master Guardian once. That is all that is needed.”

  “Where have they assigned you?” Donnchadh asked as she took the chain.

  “I work in the temple, overseeing the processing of tribute brought by the traders.”

  “How much contact do you have with the Airlia?” Donnchadh asked.

  “Very little. It takes many years to gain the rank to be close to them.”

  “We have time. We’ll come back.”

  Thirty years. A trip back to England. A regeneration. A return trip to Atlantis.

  If Jobb was surprised at their youthful appearance when they met again, he didn’t indicate it when he entered his humble home and found them waiting for him. The years had not been kind to him. His hair was gone. His face was hard. His body was stooped with the weight of time. He moved slowly, his body riddled with arthritis. He had been used by the Airlia, and Donnchadh had no doubt his replacement was already in training.

  The small room where his daughter had lived was still the same. Just a simple bed and bare walls. His garments were slightly different. Still a black robe with silver trim, but there was a series of red loops around his right sleeve, indicating higher rank.

  “You have done well,” Donnchadh said as she mentally counted the loops.

  “I have done as you told me to,” Jobb replied as he wearily sat on his bed after greeting them.

  “You are the Director of Temple Operations for the high priests,” Donnchadh said. “A position of great trust and responsibility. With great access.”

  “For a human,” Jobb said. “For a human who is supposed to be corrupted.”

  “And the Airlia?” Gwalcmai asked. “How do they fare?”

  Jobb looked at him. “Do you know of the black tubes?”

  “Sleep and regeneration tubes?” Gwalcmai said. “The Airlia use—”

  “No.” Jobb cut him off. “Do you know of the half-breeds they put in the black tubes and what they use them for?”

  “ ‘Half-breeds’?” Donnchadh repeated. Her face had gone even paler, if that were possible.

  “Half-human, half-Airlia,” Jobb said. “There are royal consorts. Something no one other than the highest ranking of the corrupted know about. Human women who are taken as part of the tribute. Taken deep below the temple, where the Airlia live in their tunnels. And they are never seen again.”

  “I know of such,” Donnchadh said sharply, earning her a surprised look from Gwalcmai.

  “They are raised down there,” Jobb said. “By a special cadre of high priests. Men whose tongues have been cut out so they can never speak of the dark things they are a part of.” He fell silent, reluctant to speak further.

  “Tell us what else you have learned,” Donnchadh said, changing the subject.

  “As you told me so many years ago, they are not Gods,” Jobb finally said. “They are demons. They take their own offspring from the human consorts and put them in the black tubes. Then, once a month, they go down there and open the tubes. And drink the blood of these half-breeds. For pleasure.” He tapped his chest. “The high priests lie. They are programmed to lie. I wish sometimes I had been programmed. So I could deny the truth of what I have seen and heard, to myself, never mind the people we preach to and control for these creatures.” Jobb laughed, the bitter edge indicating no humor. “Even the Airlia are beginning to believe their own lies.”

  Donnchadh leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  “They believe they are Gods. Why shouldn’t they? They’ve been doing it for long enough. Who has challenged them? Who can challenge them?”

  A long silence followed.

  “Other Gods,” Donnchadh finally whispered, her body stiffening as a surge of excitement coursed through it.

  “What?” Gwalcmai turned toward her.

  “Other Gods can challenge them,” Donnchadh said with more confidence in her voice.

  “What other Gods?” Jobb demanded.

  “The Airlia here are just a few of a larger group,” Donnchadh said. “They are an outpost. Outposts have to report in, right?” she asked of Gwalcmai, the military expert.

  Gwalcmai shrugged. “One would assume so. It would be normal operating procedure.”

  “And if an outpost doesn’t report?” Donnchadh pressed.

  “You send someone to find out why,” Gwalcmai said.

  “And we know how they communicate,” Donnchadh said.

  “That’s your area of expertise,” Gwalcmai said.

  “We saw the deep-space transmitter array coming here,” Donnchadh said. “But that’s only the transmitter. The message has to originate from here. This planet. From the Master Guardian.” She turned to Jobb, who had been following their brief conversation without comprehension. “You were taken to the red pyramid—the Master Guardian—to be conditioned to be a high priest, correct?”

  Jobb nodded.

  “Where is it?” she asked.

  “Inside the holiest place in the temple,” Jobb said. “The inner sanctum, high up in the holy spire.”

  “And the sword that control
s it?” Donnchadh pressed.

  “Excalibur?” Jobb asked.

  “Is that what it is called here?” Donnchadh asked. “Yes, Excalibur.”

  “It is set in the crystal stone in front of the red pyramid,” Jobb said.

  “They are very confident,” Donnchadh murmured. “Can you get us there?”

  “When do you wish to go?” Jobb asked.

  “Tonight.”

  Donnchadh gave a silver chain to Gwalcmai as Jobb led them into the temple. “Wear this just in case,” she whispered to him. He took it from her and strapped it around his head. She took another from out of her cloak and put it around her own head.

  They wore the yellow robes of the favored—those who contributed greatly to the upkeep of the temple. This, and being guided by a high-ranking priest, allowed them to pass the Guides who manned all the entryways into the temple. After all, high priests were above suspicion, just as the Guides were.

  Donnchadh had to admit to herself that she was impressed as they made their way into the temple. The one on her home world had been destroyed during the first year of the Revolution, leveled by multiple nuclear explosions that had also eventually devastated half the surface of the planet with radioactive fallout. The weapons had been sneaked in underneath the Airlia shield that protected the island via an undersea tunnel that took over twelve years to build. Their detonation had been the first act of outright rebellion.

  Donnchadh and Gwalcmai knew this world was far away from any outright attempt to use force against the Airlia, so they had decided on a different course of action. Tonight would bring the initiation of that plan.

  They made their way up into the temple tower. It was almost deserted so late at night. The Airlia, Donnchadh knew, had a fondness for living underground. Whether that was something inherent in their species or a defensive measure, she didn’t know. Jobb had confirmed that the Airlia lived in tunnels deep under the palace and rarely came to the surface or to the temple anymore. They were so confident in the imprinting of the Master Guardian on the high priests and Guides that they felt the temple was most secure.