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Legends of Amun Ra

The Emerald Tablet

Published by Enchanted Forest Press

36 Juneberry

Irvine, CA 92606

www.enchantedforestpress.com

No part of this publication may be translated, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, in whole or in part, electronic, or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior permission in writing from Enchanted Forest Press and Joshua Silverman. The material in this book is furnished for entertainment only and is subject to change without notice. Enchanted Forest Press assumes no responsibility for any errors or inaccuracies that may appear in the documents contained in this book. All images, logos, quotes and trademarks included in this book are subject to use according to trademark and copyright laws of the United States of America.

First Publishing September 2012

ISBN: 978-0-9852070-7-6

Book design by Reflection Studios

www.reflectionstudiosonline.com

DEDICATION

I’ve always wondered who the authors were talking to in their dedications; what they were thinking about, or why they even chose to write a book at all except to get the movies in our minds down on paper. So, I guess I want to be a little different. I want to tell you, the reader, who I’m dedicating this book to and why.

My wife, Dominique, has been the most important person in my life. She has led me to experience a surge in not just my career, but my personal development as well. What can you say to a person who sacrifices their dreams for yours? What words of praise are enough for someone who works fifteen hours or more a day so that you may accomplish a goal that you’ve had for years? Are words alone enough? Sometimes I feel the English language is wholly inadequate to express emotions. After all, ‘thanks’ just doesn’t cut it, does it?

This book is dedicated to my wife, Dominique, who is constantly on the front lines of battle, fighting for our relationship to succeed and making my dreams a reality. I owe all that I am to her, and all that I ever will be.

Ahn eu em lamo.

Josh

Accept the darkness within you, but never let it win.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Excerpt from

The Soul of the World

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Apart from the most obvious acknowledgment of all (me) for all of my time and work researching the ancient Greek and Egyptian mythologies and the countless hours and late nights spent typing the manuscript and tedious revisions, NO ONE SUCCEEDS ALONE. Therefore, I invite you, dear reader, to take a snapshot of who made my book possible.

These are, in no particular order, …

To my wife, Dominique: for her constant support and encouragement that I am a great writer (she’s biased of course).

To my publisher, Dawn Walls-Bain, of Enchanted Forest Press: for giving me the creative freedom to write the story I wanted to tell!

—By the way, in case you’re wondering, she’s awesome.

To my editor, Geoff Bain, who somehow took my gibberish and turned it into prose worthy of a professional author.

To my parents: for encouraging me not just to read, but to read history and learn about our past.

And finally, to Pat Toguchi and Joy Hoeffler, who took a momentous leap of faith when they agreed to be my guinea pigs and read a raw, unedited story from an unknown author.

You are all rock stars and you don’t even know it.

p10

CHAPTER 1

19 YEARS AGO…

Her father’s hands wrap around her neck; his fingernails dig into her flesh, slicing her skin. Although Ankar is an old man, far past his prime, his grip is strong. Blood drips through his fingers as he squeezes. His eyes are filled with hate, rage, and anger as he chokes his daughter. Her throat closes, she can’t breathe. Oxygen is cut off from her brain. Her eyes blur and she’s slow to think.

“I asked you, have you ever felt hate?” her father commands.

The lack of oxygen makes her dizzy, slow to respond. He squeezes her trachea, forcing a gag reflex. She vomits over his hands and arms, an orange gooey substance. But that doesn’t stop her father from trying to kill her. Her eyes tear.

“I can’t hear you,” he says. She blinks, trying to focus.

Ankar’s head was bald and he had a long, scraggy white beard that frayed out from his face as if he had been shocked with electricity. His frame and arms, though sinewy and frail, had the ability to be intimidating. The sunken cheeks, bags under the eyes and the worry lines across the forehead showed a man whose best years are behind him; his memories are filled with regret and revenge.

She was six years old and in her father’s study. It was rare that she got to see him, let alone hear his voice. But, given that he made a special request to see her, the nanny dressed her in a metallic grey dress and braided her sandy blonde hair. When she saw him, his voice was like gravel. She thought he sounded like he was dying.

Before he started choking her, he asked her the same question in a pleasant tone.

She didn’t have an answer then, either. But that was only five minutes ago, before the choking started, before the dying.

“It’s tough to admit if you have,” her father continues. “After all, we all want to be liked. We all want to be loved. Nonetheless, I have felt hate. I have tried to keep you in the dark about our family’s past. I have tried to raise you to be good and to know the value of life. But I no longer have that luxury. Time is no longer on my side. You are a brilliant and gifted little girl. Beautiful, like your older sister, in your own way.”

That was the first time he spoke to her, other than customary greetings. She remembers it clearly. Life on the moon was all she knew; a barren desert landscape inhospitable to human life.

She never thought she felt hate, at least, not in the beginning. The very first lesson, as her father called it, she was standing next to him as he hunched over his black chrome desk. He kept the room dark, lit only by a small desk lamp. The walls were made of glass; you could see the sand dunes of the moon. At night, the light that glinted off the sand made the dunes mesmerizingly beautiful.

She didn’t know how to respond to his question, as she stood playing with her doll. With a weary sigh, he backhanded her across the jaw so fast she didn’t have time to move. The sting of his flesh, the movement of her lip over her tooth, slicing it open, threw her to the ground. She sobbed on the floor, her cheek swelling.

Her father repeated the question in a calm methodical tone, as if he hadn’t hit her.

“Have you ever felt hate?” He smoothed the folds of his black robes, tidying himself as he waited for her answer. Instead, she sobbed. Blubbering snot ran down her nose. She held her doll for security.

“I ask again. Have you ever felt hate?” That time, his patience was thinning and his voice had an edge. She shook her head between gasps of breath, trying to calm herself down.

Her father slapped her across the other cheek. His large red hand left its imprint on her, and she screamed in pain. The sound of her voice bounced off the glass, vibrating them. Her head throbbed.

Her father grabbed her by her hair, yanking her so forcefully she thought he would snap her neck. He tugged her head around, manipulating her like a doll. “Have you ever felt hate?”her father barks at her with such force he spits in her face.

She didn’t know what to say. What can you say when you’re six years old? She’s not sure what hate is supposed to feel like. She knows this is wrong. She felt a surge in her, a swelling of desire to harm him boiling beneath the surface. How can someone be so cruel? How can someone do this to their own daughter?

That’s when the choking started. Her father wrapping his large hands around her neck, squeezing. She can’t breathe. A wave of panic washes over her body. I’m dying. I’m dying, and he doesn’t even care.

Her father moves in close, his face inches from hers. She feels his warm breath on her ear as he whispers. “You are going to die soon if you do not do something. So I ask you one last time, have you ever felt hate?”

That feeling swelling in her is like a coiled cobra preparing to strike. Perhaps her father is right. Perhaps she does feel hate. Because, whatever this feeling is inside of her, she knows it’s evil. She knows that it is pure, raw, unbridled rage. The six-year-old’s eyes flood with a blue, gooey liquid substance, blotting out the pupils and the whites of her eyes. She taps into that emotion, letting her anger flood through her veins.

In front of her hand, the air molecules vibrate. The atoms and ions become visible as they swirl around. They turn a translucent blue, forming a three dimensional orb of energy. Within the spinning orb, bolts of blue lightning form a complex pattern of triangles, squares, and circles.

The feeling in the pit of her stomach, which makes her clench her jaw and growl at her father, is the emotion fueling her manifestation of energy. She focuses on her father. Her eyes lock onto him like lasers as she releases the energy.

The spinning blue orb smashes into his chest. The force of the collision drives him through the air. Released from his clutches, all she can think is air! I can breathe again!

Her father rises from the ground, smiling. “You must think me cruel for putting you through that. But I do it for your own good. I do it for our family. You must understand why. Pain and suffering lead to wisdom. I hope you understand?”

She is too afraid to answer. The young girl just glares at her father.

“Over seven thousand years ago,” he says, “our family lived on a planet called Earth. Specifically, we lived in Egypt, among the great Pharaohs of antiquity. In our city of Siwa, we worshipped the great god Thoth, the god of wisdom and magic. He had the head of an ibis and the body of a man. Thoth was always in our hearts, the seat of intelligence of the mind. Then, one day, a new tribe came to us. They were Greeks. Uncivilized barbarians, if you ask our family. However, over the course of hundreds of years, the Egyptians and Greeks converged. The Greeks helped us establish a great temple—The Great Temple of Amun. Inside the Temple was the emerald Pillar of Thoth, which contained our most prized possessions. The gods saw our unification with the Greeks as a monstrosity, a dilution of our culture. They punished us, transporting us to the planet Potara. We arrived on a Plateau which had a counterpart Pillar of Thoth, except this obelisk was made of gold. The gods left us to die there. But, we survived.

“Our ancestors established the city of Thoth. Through the sacred writings passed down from the gods themselves, we learned how to manipulate the energy of the universe, using mindful meditation and elevating our conscious awareness. The Greeks were jealous, fighting us bitterly for our wisdom. Sadly, they won. The battles were ferocious. Our family was exiled to this moon, where we have remained. You and I are part of something great. We are direct descendants of the first Priests of Amun. We are kings and queens. But this was taken away from us many years ago. Our history, our culture, our people were stripped of their royalty and homes.

“So yes, I feel hate. I feel the call for vengeance for not only me, but our family. It burns my blood. Underneath this calm exterior, I seethe. It’s okay to admit your feelings. Emotions are what make us human. The denial of hate, the suppression of it, only fuels its fire; it makes hate stronger. I believe in the truth. And the truth is—the world is not a nice place. I know you have the gift to harness energy. I saw it in your eyes. Together, through our lessons and with my instruction, you will feel hate. You will feel what it is to have revenge on someone you despise. One day, you will kill and you will enjoy it.”

She didn’t want to believe him. Yet, from that moment, they would practice for hours. “Focus your mind,” her father instructed. “Fixate your thoughts onto your hate, your fear, your rage, and your insecurities. Harness those emotions. Feel them surge through your body. Let your emotions become you, let them empower you.

“Imagine it starting in your toes. Let it build through your legs, your stomach, and your chest. As your emotions become more concentrated, let your feelings surround your heart until it is the only thing that occupies your mind. Watch it crawl down your shoulders, resting in your hands. Channel your whole body. Then release it into the world.”

It took years to create a small sphere of energy, but she did it. As time grew, she improved. Then, when her father felt she was ready, he sent her to Thoth, on the planet Potara, to infiltrate the Priests of Amun.

* * *

SEVEN YEARS LATER…

Caerus Anius pulls the throttle of her urban terrain vehicle. She grips the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. The large rear tires turn, spitting out dirt as it accelerates into the Erebus forest on Potara. This is a forbidden place, long thought to be haunted and ruled by Achlys, the spirit of the eternal night. She enchants the forest, keeping it in eternal darkness and an unholy mist. According to legend, Achlys was the embodiment of misery and sadness. She is a pale, sickly looking woman with bloody cheeks, long nails, and white hair. Yet, despite the warning, this is where Caerus Anius drives.

The Erebus forest is located thousands of miles from northwest of the Thothian empire. Along Thoth’s southern border are the Olympic Mountains, which butt against the ocean. The Olympic Mountains are identified by Mount Parnassus at an elevation of over forty thousand feet. It is a massive empire which, over the course of thousands of years, has dominated the Hellenes.

Once, it was led by the Priesthood and became the most advanced society. Then, almost two thousand years ago, the Amun Priests’ power dwindled. The monarchies of the High Priests were replaced by the Ephors, a republican government. Since that time, the Amun Priests have been thought of more as a cult than a religion. Most Thothians discount the Amun Priests’ beliefs with a wave of their hand. They are called ‘mystics’, ‘magicians’, or ‘zealots’ of a long forgotten time. Yet, the historical impact of the Amun Priests cannot be ignored, despite their irrelevance.

The tallest building in the empire is the Great Temple of Amun, located in the southern district of Amun. Built into the face of Mount Parnassus, anchoring it to the mountain, it is home to the Amun Priests. The exterior of the Temple, from the ground to peak, is covered in hieroglyphics and Egyptian sculptures of the gods and the lesser deities. Outside, on the ground floor of the sandstone Temple, are two hundred-foot high crystal statues. One is sculpted in the form of the Egyptian sun god, Ra. The crystal statue of Ra is sculpted as a man with the head of a hawk. Above his head is a sun disk. He holds the Scepter of Seth in one hand and in the other, Ankh, the symbol for the ancient word ‘life.’ The second crystal sculpture is of Amun, which is the god to whom the Temple is dedicated. He was revered as the King of the Gods in Egyptian culture and was depicted as a man with the head of a ram.

The UTV zips along the dirt road. Cruising through the forest of eternal darkness, the gentle hum of the engines does nothing to stop Caerus’ nagging fear of the child in the back. It’s her third child, a third boy. But this one is different, this one was never meant to be born. When Caerus saw what the boy was, she knew she had to get rid of him. He was far too dangerous to keep. He had to be taken somewhere safe.

The woman pushes on the throttle, decelerating as she drives through rougher terrain. The hoot of the owls and the caw of the crows unnerve her very soul. Outside of the windshield, the forest floor is covered in a white mist. Caerus manipulates the buttons on the dashboard. A needle rises from the hood and a red light sweeps over the landscape. An electronic display of the topography appears over the steering wheel, allowing Caerus to see where she is maneuvering. This should have never have happened to me. Why did I bear this child?

She hears a beeping on the display, indicating a house to the right. From its looks, she has no doubt that this is the house she seeks. She maneuvers towards it, parks, and steps into the mist. The chill in the night air hits her, sending a shiver up her spine. The hairs on her arm rise with fear as the owls and black crows cry above her head, hidden by the dark trees that sway under the breeze. The UTV hisses as the door opens. Caerus lifts the child, covered in an emerald green blanket, out of the car and tucks him in her arms.

A large, sheer crystal sphinx looms up, almost hidden from sight and covered in an overgrowth of dark forest shrubs, leaves, and vines.

Beyond the forty foot sphinx is a clay doorway covered in the same vines. A porch light hangs over the door, illuminating the immediate area. The doorway itself is arched in ancient Egyptian style architecture and between the two lotus bud columns, one on each side of the arched heavy oak doorway, lies a maze of ferns leading like a path out to the sphinx.

The front door opens with a loud creak, startling her. She puts her hand to her chest to quiet her pounding heart. Looking in the doorway, she sees a clean-shaven old man with dark eyes and dirty white hair. His white robes expose his grey haired chest as they came to a point. Over the white robe, the old man wears an emerald padded coat with gold trim, extending to the floor.

“Leukos?” she asks the man in the doorway. “Leukos Trismegistus?”

“I am,” he replies. Caerus moves closer. She holds the child to him for inspection. Leukos Trismegistus takes the child into his arms. She exposes the child’s forearm to Leukos.

“Do you see it? Do you see the symbol?” she asks.

Leukos holds the child into the light. On his forearm is a birthmark of two dragons, their heads wrapped around each other. One head faces the sun and the other faces the moon. The blood drains from Leukos’ face, though he keeps his composure in front of Caerus.

“I see the symbol,” he says.

“Well?” asks Caerus with both dread and anticipation. It would do no good for Leukos to lie to her; in fact, it would only make matters worse for the Hellenes.

“You have borne the child with the symbol of the Emerald Tablet.”

Caerus’ face goes slack. She pushes the child into his arms and backs away. “Then you take him. Keep him secret, keep him safe, Leukos. He’s far too dangerous with his brother.”

“His brother?” Leukos asks.

Caerus struggles to speak. “He bears the symbol of the Heart of Gold. His older brother is already with the Priests of Amun. They must be separated, Leukos.” She grabs his forearm. “Promise me you’ll take care of him.”

Leukos appraises her in the dim light. She has risked her life to come to the enchanted forest to save her last child. The prophecies by the oracles foretell a time when the bearer of the symbol of the Emerald Tablet would fight the bearer of the symbol of the Heart of Gold to decide the fate of the world. The two people who bear such a mark would be brothers.

Caerus’ first child bears a birthmark with an uncanny similarity to the symbol of the Heart of Gold. The brothers are destined to fight each other, and only one will prevail. Leukos nods his head.

“You will never see him again,” he says.

Caerus nods, swallowing. “I know, but it is for the best.”

“Then you know his destiny is to fight his brother. The boy’s fate is sealedby the gods.”

Caerus weeps. Only one of her sons will prevail, forced to kill the other. But which son, she doesn’t know and, even if she did, how could she ever choose between her children? No, this way is best. The other brothers do not know of this child yet, and it’s safer for them to never know. In the end, she is saving both of her son’s lives.

“Swear you’ll protect him with your life,” she squeezes his arm again.

“I swear, Caerus.”

She kisses her child goodbye.

CHAPTER 2

PRESENT DAY…

Cletus, a Priest of Amun, grunts as he thrusts into the young girl who grew up on the moon. The bed springs squeak under his gyration. She is bent over, supporting herself on her forearms and biting her lower lip to prevent herself from whimpering. She hates herself for doing this, she hates her father for making her do this, but it’s all for the family. Her father made her hate him so she could focus her rage. He made her feel terrible things so she could manipulate and manifest energy. Yet, at the same time, she can’t help but acknowledge her own duality, her own love-hate relationship with her father. Ankar is trying to save her life by giving her the opportunity he never had. He wants to return to his home. He wants all of the people that were exiled to return. For that, she must be thankful. But the manner in which he trained her, the brutality he used, gives her pause.

She has become a daughter of two worlds. The young woman has grown to love the people in Thoth. It pains her to know she must kill them. She focuses her mind on the task at hand to escape the pain.

Cletus grunts, collapsing next to her on the bed. She slumps next to him. The woman smells the stench of sweat. He breathes hard; his chest rises and falls in rapid shallow breaths. His shaved head glistens from the sweat, his beard is damp from the exertion. She might not need to kill him if he has a heart attack. Don’t chicken out, don’t chicken out. You can do this; you’ve trained for this. Sweat accumulates on her brow. Training is different than the real thing. Nobody gets hurt in training, nobody dies. Her father’s scolding of her weaknesses haunts her mind. Pull yourself together, woman. How many times has she practiced for this moment? He’s right there, unguarded and in his state of bliss. Her father used to say men are at their most vulnerable after sex.

Her hand slides between the mattresses and her fingers search for the knife.

“That was amazing. Remember, you can’t tell Pythos our little secret, okay?” Cletus says.

“Of course. You have my word,” she says as her fingers clench the hilt. She drags it onto the edge of the bed. “Can I lie on your chest?” she asks innocently.

“Of course, my dear,” he replies.

The girl holds the knife behind her buttocks as she rests her head on his shoulder. She kisses Cletus and his eyes close in ecstasy. With lightning speed, she plunges the knife into his heart.

Cletus’ eyes pop open, staring in shock at the young woman. The Priest opens his mouth to scream, but she is quicker, stifling his scream with her hand. She twists the knife. Blood covers her hand.

The young woman looks into Cletus’ eyes as his life drains. The sparkle dies, replaced by a lifeless stare. Death is beautiful—a true transformation from one form of existence to another. It’s amazing that a person’s physical life is contained in a red, gooey substance that can be so easily taken away. She releases the knife and rubs his blood between her fingers.

He lies naked. The bed sheets are stained red. Out of respect, she closes his eyes. For all the power the Priests wield, Cletus seems helpless now. Maybe this is how she should picture all Priests? For all his abilities, he couldn’t defend against a seductive twenty-seven year old girl. Her father was right, she shouldn’t be afraid.

The woman picks up his blue robes that were draped over the chair. The robes of a Priest of Amun are sacred to many as a symbol of peace and justice. To people like her father, who believe the Greek culture squashed their own heritage, the blue robes of the Amun Priests are symbols of subjugation. She checks the room, making sure she has left no evidence behind, before walking out the front door.

* * *

Ankar sits in his study alone. Nearly eighteen years ago, he sent his youngest daughter to Potara to infiltrate the Priests of Amun. It’s not that he regrets that decision, he just misses his family. He’s not just doing this for his daughter’s future. He’s doing it for his parents, and his grandparents. His family’s lineage stretches back to the founding of Egyptian culture. A heritage of kings and queens demands retribution for their displacement. It riles Ankar to think the Amun Priests and the city of Thoth, which was founded by his own ancestors, were hijacked by the Greeks. They had the audacity to rename the Egyptian deity, Thoth, to Hermes. His family deserves more. They demand more.

There is nothing elegant about his study. Everything has a practical use and nothing is left to waste. Survival on the moon made aesthetic designs and fashions impractical. Everything serves a purpose. It is more of a militaristic society, requiring a strict adherence to the rule of law in order to survive.

His tired eyes drift over the books and manuscripts that litter his desk. He spots the one he has read a hundred times and he grabs his cane, putting the majority of his weight on it to get up from the chair.

Ankar picks The Book of Six Pillars up off his desk. His fingers turn the pages. This book is over five thousand years old. He flips through it until he spots the section he reads every night. ‘The one who bears the symbol of the Emerald Tablet will fight the one who bears the symbol of the Heart of Gold to decide the fate of the world.’

Prophecy is written by oracles who communicate with the gods. Oracles have always been the seat of power of the Amun Priests, who are governed by the Nine. The Nine are eight Priests and an oracle. Only the most distinguished Priests are selected to sit at the Nine.

Ankar closes his book and rubs the cover. He takes a deep breath, looking through his glass walls to the emptiness of the night sky. Thousands of stars shine in his sky, and out there is his answer. His eyes come down across the barren desert landscape, down to the computer on the far side of the study. He sits at the computer every evening, searching the universe for the key to saving his family.

Hunching over the controls, his fingers intricately reposition the knobs and buttons. His wrinkled hands trace the outline of a screen. He has been doing this routine for years, only coming close to what he’s been looking for, but never finding it.

A king on the moon, a nobody everywhere else. But the key to his survival does not rest on anything his moon can offer him. He searches for the Heart of Gold.

A knock on the door rattles him from his thoughts. “Come in,” says Ankar.

A large, brutish man enters the King’s chambers. Even in the safety of their city, within their high walls, and with thousands of soldiers, General Rahm leaves nothing to chance. He always dresses in armor, leaving no skin showing other than his face. The uniform itself is comprised of hundreds of black metal discs, chain linked together. Their helmets are inspired by Thoth himself, an ibis.

“King Ankar, we have word from your eldest daughter. She has located the artifact on Potara,” says General Rahm.

King Ankar slumps, exhausted and relieved. His tired, withered hands cover his mouth in thought. “Potara”, says King Ankar, “We’ve been searching Potara for years and haven’t found anything. Are we sure?”

“Quite sure, my King. We wouldn’t have received such a communication if she had not been sure.”

The Book of Six Pillars is a book of prophecy. Written by the last oracle, Eos, it states there is one Pillar of Thoth per planet. One on Earth, one on Potara, and the other four have yet to be found. The Heart of Gold could be on any of these six planets. Yet, out of the six planets, it was on his home planet the entire time.

“I see,” says Ankar. “Then I think you should ready the battleships. Alert the army.” He picks up his cane to assist him out of his chair.

“Yes, my King,” says General Rahm. He bows before exiting.

Ankar stands alone, staring at the floor. For five thousand years, his family has ruled this dying moon in exile. Now, he has been given an opportunity to redeem his family’s honor. Now, it is time to go home.

The King walks to the corner of his chamber where a large obsidian crystal stands. Ankar throws down his cane; his eyes refocus as black liquid fills his eyes.

An indistinguishable image appears in the obsidian crystal, “My child,” says King Ankar, “it is time.”

“Yes, father,” replies the shadowy figure.

CHAPTER 3

Atlantia Oneiroi wakes up dripping with sweat. Her heart is racing. She hears it thump against her chest as if it was fighting to break free of her ribcage. She wipes her damp forehead with her palm, her fingers moving her brown hair from her eyes. She peels herself from her wet sheets. She’s had another nightmare. She’s had them since she was six, but since her thirteenth birthday, they’ve become much more vivid. She lies down, her sheets soaking wet. Atlantia adjusts to a dryer part of her bed. Her skin is clammy from sweating.

She stares at the ceiling, lined with pictures she’s drawn. Each picture is of a different nightmare. Reminders of her private horror. She hasn’t told anyone about them. Even if she did, they’d say they’re just dreams. But what people don’t know, what people can’t know, is her nightmares are coming true. It scares Atlantia to her very core.

Last night, she witnessed a murder. She saw the action unfold as if she was there. She smelled the sweat, the grunting, his tongue licking his lips as he thrust, the sweat accumulating on his brow, trickling down his face as it vanished into the old man’s white beard. She recognized Cletus, the one Amun Priest who would replace Pythos as High Priest. He is one of the Nine. He is held in high regard, second only to Pythos. Everyone loves Cletus and respects him; but to see him like this breaks Atlantia’s heart. She feels a tingling run up her spine.

The poor woman whom Atlantia can’t see must feel terrible. What is she doing this for? Atlantia hears the young woman whimper in pain. Cletus grunted and fell onto the bed with sigh.

Atlantia is relieved it is over. But the young woman had other plans. She slid her hand between the mattresses.

Cletus said, “That was amazing. Remember, you can’t tell Pythos our little secret, okay?”

She dragged a knife from under the mattress. Atlantia screamed a warning, but no one acknowledged her. She didn’t realize she’s dreaming. Atlantia ran to Cletus and nudged him to get his attention. His arm was slimy from sweat, but no matter how hard she pushed him, he didn’t notice her efforts.

“Can I lie on your chest?” the young woman said.

“Of course, my dear,” he replied.

The young woman rested her head on his shoulder. Her face is a blur, shielded from Atlantia’s vision. Before she could blink, the young woman plunged the knife into Cletus’ heart.

Atlantia watched his skin split open when the knife entered his chest. His body convulsed. Cletus tried to open his mouth to scream but the faceless woman was quicker, stifling him with her hand. Blood spilled from the wound in spurts, pooling on the bed. Atlantia ran to him and put pressure on the wound. Her hands were soaked in blood.

Atlantia was just inches from the woman, who released the knife and rubbed Cletus’ blood between her fingers. Atlantia stared in disgust.

With trembling hands, Atlantia withdrew the knife.

That was when she woke up, drenched in sweat. She wishes she could make the nightmares stop. She doesn’t want to see these things anymore; she doesn’t want to know if Cletus is really dead. She just wants to be a normal slave, like everyone believes she is. Atlantia will bury this nightmare in her memory.

Her eyes roam over the walls of her bedroom, covered in her paintings and pictures. Most of them are from her nightmares. She posts them on her walls to remind her of what she has dreamt and what will come true. It scares her mother to see such images. She’s sure her mother thinks she is going crazy. Her first vision will always be burned into her memory. It was of her own death.

The vision starts with her on the Plateau of Parnassus. It’s cold. There’s blood down her white tunic. She finds a knife buried in her stomach. It’s her blood. Then she sees the boy. She doesn’t recognize his face but, whenever this is supposed to happen, whenever she is supposed to die, Atlantia knows him. He looks at her as though they are best friends. His dark brown hair blows in the cool mountain wind. There’s pain in his eyes. But there’s something between them as she strokes his cheek. She would never do that to just anyone.

Atlantia’s family is from Messenia. Thoth conquered Messenia over six thousand years ago. Since then, male Messenians, like her father, are sold into the army as equipment mules and workers. Females are sold into houses as maids, assistants, or any other typical female servitude. They are called Helots. Atlantia and her mother are just like thousands of other slaves in Thoth.

Almost every night, when she goes to the park, the looming towers lit up like a field of dancing fireflies, Atlantia wonders if the boy in her vision is out there. If he is, who is he? Where does she meet him? And what is between them to make him hold her while she dies? Atlantia tries to erase his face from her memory. But she can’t. She sees his face every day. What is he doing right now she wonders?

An alarm stirs her from her thoughts. She looks at the electronic control panel on the wall. Realizing she has slept in, she curses to herself. No, no, no. I’m dead. He’s going to kill me. Hades! Atlantia runs around her tiny room in her mother’s apartment. She runs over to a wall, clicks a button, and a shelf extends. She digs through her clothes, furiously pulling out a white tunic, brown belt, and blue leggings. She searches for her blue robes, but can’t find them. Pythos is going to kill me!

“Mom?” Atlantia shouts, as she slips on the blue leggings and white tunic. “Where are my robes, mom?” She throws the belt around her tunic and shoves her feet into her knee-high brown boots. She continues searching, running to a closet. No, no, no. Her blue robes aren’t there either. Hades! Atlantia curses. This is just great. Pythos wanted to visit the library in the Temple of Amun before training today, and I am late.

Her mom enters her room. “Here honey, I had them cleaned.”

“My gods, mom! Could you not have given them to me sooner? I’m late,” she responds.

Atlantia snatches the blue robes from her mom, throwing them on as she runs out the door into the hallway of the apartment tower. Her robes are too long for her and she steps on them, tripping herself. You have got to be kidding me. We can fly in personal aerial vehicles, but I can’t get a robe that fits! She sprints down the hallway and hits the elevator button. The elevator doors open and she descends to the flight deck, where her personal aerial vehicle awaits. Exiting the elevator, she runs to her yellow Aerodyne PAV. Atlantia hits a code on the wing of the vehicle, unlocking the security systems. The windshield of the cockpit slides open.

Atlantia jumps in, closes the windshield, and punches buttons on the cockpit controls. The engines roar to life. Atlantia checks the traffic as she straps in. Gamoto! It’s busy today. Hundreds of PAVs zip above the flight deck.

Atlantia pulls on the throttle. The engines of the yellow pod twist, creating a vertical lift. With skillful manipulation of the controls, the engines rotate again, thrusting her forward and through the flight deck’s doors.

Instead of joining the rat race in the sky, Atlantia dives towards the ground. She yanks the throttle just before crashing into unwitting pedestrians, making them duck for cover.

A large building blocks her path. Atlantia swerves around it and then veers right, avoiding another building. The city is beautiful. If she had time, she might stop to look at the hanging flowers on the architecture of the buildings, or stop by the city center park. But not today. As she dodges another building, she hears a loud horn. A transport ship heads towards her. Atlantia yanks hard on the throttle, avoiding the ship. Clear. She chuckles to herself. Yes, yes, I’m amazing and I know it. Thank you very much. Please, hold your applause, she thinks, as she pretends to bow to an imaginary crowd.

She’s seen the Great Temple of Amun a hundred times, but that doesn’t mean it is any less magnificent when she reaches it. Built into the northern slope of Mount Parnassus, the Temple is over twelve thousand feet high. At the very top is the Hall of the Nine. Unlike most of the Temple, which is designed for training, education, and living quarters of the apprentices, the Hall of the Nine is ornate and majestic. It has nine golden chairs before a large, crystal door. The crystal gate leads to the Plateau of Parnassus, home to the golden Pillar of Hermes. The Nine are the last defense before reaching the throne of the gods. It is a sacred place that only the High Priest or the oracle is able to visit.

She slides into the hangar, quickly un-straps, powers down the engines, throws off her helmet, and climbs down from the PAV. As she steps off the ladder, she trips on her robes and falls down. Seriously, could Pythos have not given her a robe that actually fits? She hustles into the elevator, which takes her to the library floor. When the elevator opens, Pythos stands waiting.

* * *

Pythos waits for his assistant. His arms crossed in front of his chest, his head rolls back as he looks to the ceiling. He scratches his beard. All Priests of Amun shave their heads and have beards. He prefers to keep his neat and trimmed, he hates when it itches if it’s too long.

Patience, he thinks. Atlantia’s only a little girl, she’ll be here. His eyes wander over the engraved crystal roof and the tens of thousands of books that line the walls of the large bookshelves. The Temple of Amun is a symbol of the Amun Priests and their sacrifices. It is a symbol of the pursuit of truth and knowledge through dedication and mindful meditation. This is his home; this has been his family’s home for centuries. Through years of struggle, the Thothian people have created an empire of prosperity. They are by far the largest unified people on the planet, a mecca for the disillusioned, poor, hungry, entrepreneurial, and capitalistic.

Thoth boasts a large army, but there are elements in this world that steel cannot destroy. It takes a special person to battle universal elements of nature. An Amun priest is such a person. Children are evaluated and tested early to see if they have the natural gift to control the elemental energies that exist in the universe. It is not mandatory to have a predisposition towards a higher level of consciousness; in fact, anyone can attain it through dedication and meditation. However, the most successful Priests are those willing to listen to new ideas about the nature of the universe.

Once a child is selected, the long and arduous training process begins. Pythos was chosen at six years old, when he accidently blew a hole in the roof of his parents’ apartment. It doesn’t get more obvious than that, if the child has the gift. He remembers when he was six and discovered his ability. He thought it was the best thing in the world. His parents, on the other hand, weren’t so convinced.

Now, over fifty years later, Pythos has achieved the rank of High Priest. There aren’t many Priests left—five to be exact. One has all but disappeared, though. He abandoned the Amun Priests and became a recluse long ago. Leukos, Pythos’ own mentor, is all but dead.

The others have died through disease, wars, hunger, or natural causes. The reality is that the Amun Priests are a dying breed. The Priesthood is dwindling and fewer gifted children are born each generation. Now they are marginalized and side-lined, as generations of Thothians look upon them as mystics and radicals. Thothians have become captivated by gadgets and toys, rather than by the natural beauty and symmetry of the world around them. They think of the Priests as magicians and sorcerers; Hades worshippers.

There was a time, thousands of years ago, when people thought differently, when Priests could manifest and wield not just one color of energy but several. Those times just seem like old fables of mythical heroes with amazing abilities. But these times are different, and in his years he has met only one person who could command energy other than blue. Shirin.

Shirin was his first apprentice, and his first failure as a Priest. Twenty years ago, she was a beautiful young woman who could harness black energy. But ever since the time of Lycurgus, those who are gifted and who wield black energy have been banned from the Priesthood.

When Pythos realized Shirin could not conjure blue, he was fearful of her. Gifted people who manifest black are thought to be too easily corruptible. Black energy feeds off fear, anger, and hatred. He was forced to exile her. He wishes he would have handled the situation differently.

The elevator opens and Atlantia stands before him in an ill-fitting blue robe, with an innocent face. He would be upset, if she weren’t so cute. She can always wiggle into his heart. Damn her. He tries to maintain his serious demeanor.

“You’re late.”

“I know, I know,” Atlantia replies, exasperated.

Pythos shakes his head and walks down the aisle between the desks of students. He looks behind him, motioning Atlantia to keep pace with him. He sometimes doesn’t know if she’s incredibly bright, or incredibly slow. She is small for a thirteen-year old. He wishes he only kept her around because she is interested in his work and she does an impeccable job of cleaning, but Pythos knows that is not the case. Atlantia is exceptional.

“Atlantia,” says Pythos. “Please hurry. We are not having a stroll to look at pretty flowers.”

“I would go faster if you didn’t make me wear these long robes,”Atlantia begins, but his piercing gaze cuts her off.

“These are the robes of the Priests of Amun, and you would do well to respect them. Someone in your position would never have the chance to wear them if it weren’t for me.” Pythos stares at Atlantia with piercing grey eyes. He regrets the biting words. He has tried to never treat her like a Helot. He thinks of Atlantia as his adopted daughter. But he can’t take back what he said and he can’t change the class hierarchy system in Thoth. He is an Amun Priest, the High Priest at that, and though they are considered crazy, they still hold higher ranks than slaves. There are no Helots in the service of the Priests other than Atlantia. She is the only one.

Pythos takes enormous pride in the wardrobe of the Amun Priests, particularly the overcoat. Under the robes, all Amun Priests, apprentices and full priests alike, wear white tunics, blue leggings, and knee-high brown boots. However, the blue is a symbol of a life of sacrifice, dedication, and perseverance over adversity.

Atlantia has the wit of an adult, but she is young and her naivety shows regarding the dedication it takes to become a Priest of Amun. After all, Pythos trained for longer than she has even been alive before he was accepted as a Priest. He has always felt incredible guilt over what happened to Atlantia’s father. He died saving Pythos’ life. Out of respect for an honorable man, Pythos treats Atlantia as his adoptive daughter and grants her too much leeway. She loves to test his patience. Normally, she is quiet and obedient, reclusive even. But with Pythos, whom she is comfortable with, Atlantia can be herself. She voices her opinions to him without fear of reprisal. It is a special privilege he shares with her. Helots have been killed for less.

“Oh yes, my lord. I know,” Atlantia replies, “…but it doesn’t make it easier to walk in.” Again, Pythos’ gaze cuts her off. “My lord”, Atlantia mutters.

They walk down dark stairs to reach an impenetrable steel gate. With an intent gaze, Pythos’ eyes turn a sharp sapphire blue and an orb of blue light forms. The sphere travels towards the impenetrable steel door. Reaching the barrier, the blue light engulfs it in its luminescence. The intricate knobs, mechanisms, and security devices unwind and unlock. The door opens and Pythos and Atlantia scurry through.

There are so few rare books and scrolls left anymore, thinks Pythos. He cannot help but wonder what mysteries of the universe they could have unlocked, if he had a complete collection. He surveys his humble vault.

The vault stands in contrast to the elegant design of the Temple. The vault of the High Priest is simplistic, spartan even. It is meant as a private retreat for the High Priest to study sacred texts. Pythos finds the book he is looking for and opens it. He glances at Atlantia, who is happily reading a scroll in the corner of the room, singing a popular song to herself. Pythos murmurs to himself as his hands follow the lines of text. “The one who bears the symbol of the Emerald Tablet will fight the one who bears the symbol of the Heart of Gold to decide the fate of the world.” This one sentence has plagued the Priests of Amun for centuries. Pythos grunts, closing the book in frustration. A thousand better priests have tried to interpret this sentence and come up with a thousand different interpretations. Pythos hates prophecy.

“What’s wrong?” asks Atlantia.

Pythos looks at the young girl. “It’s just the same prophecy we’ve talked about.”

Atlantia reaches across the table and grasps Pythos’ hand.

“I know it’s hard for you.”

Pythos nods. Atlantia has always been wiser than her years. Perhaps she was gifted in a past life. “You love reading these scrolls about grand battles and ancient heroes, but do you want to hear a real story?”

Atlantia perks up, “Yes. I love this stuff. It’s so exciting to read about the great Priests of old.”

“Seven thousand years ago, there were hundreds of gifted. The two tribes, the Greeks and Egyptians, formed the Amun Priests. It was to protect the secrets, as much as to help promote peace and prosperity between the two cultures. The Amun Priests represented a unification of diversity. They worshiped Hermes. The Priests of Amun dedicated their lives to the study of the universe and its mystical properties. Unlike today, there were hundreds of small little city-states on the Hellenes. Now, most of those small city-states have merged to turn into the more monstrous cities we have now, like Thoth. They were controlled by either the Greeks, or the Egyptians. The Districts of Isis, Karnak, Thoth, Amun, and Heliopolis are Egyptian, as you know. Messenia, Philae, Thebes, and Corinth are of Greek origin.

“The Priests of Amun were trusted with the most sacred texts the universe has to offer. The Temple of Amun was purposely built into the side of the mountain, so the Pillar of Hermes on the Plateau of Parnassus could be accessible for the Priests. It also doubled as an excellent defensive location. The High Priests’ private vault was built inside of the mountain for protection.

“Legend says that not all of the Priests were happy with the arrangement. Some Priests saw the combination of the two cultures, the intermixing of the blood, as an abomination. Specifically, two half-brothers, Lycurgus and Osiris, butted heads quite often. It started when an oracle named Eos wrote The Book of Six Pillars. In it, she made a prediction that the Heart of Gold would grant its owner untold power. The power of the Heart of Gold lies in its connection to all realms of the universe. It is tied to both light and dark. Through this connection, it can heal all rifts and unite all opposites. Osiris interpreted the prediction to mean that with the Heart of Gold, he would have absolute power.

“Lycurgus told Osiris there was no such thing, but his words fell on deaf ears. Osiris, in his paranoia and fear, did not trust his brother. Knowing that Lycurgus had access to the knowledge in the sacred vaults, he believed his brother lied. Osiris took Eos hostage and threatened to kill her if his brother did not tell him where the Heart of Gold was. But he had nothing to tell Osiris because Lycurgus was both right and wrong. At that time, the Heart of Gold did not exist because he had yet to make it.

“Osiris was insidious. He led a campaign to eradicate all other energies except for black. Osiris had become consumed by his own desire for abundance and power, convincing people he was the savior of Thoth. In reality, he was only interested in creating a tyranny under the guise of a utopia. Their blood feud consumed the whole continent in war.

The Wisdom of the Gods