Atlantis: Children of the Gods: Chapter 1

“The sons of God saw the daughters of men, that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose.”

                                                                                                Genesis 6:2

            She would always remember the lights in the sky that night.The star rain streaked across the heavens again; Cleito stared up at it through the clearing when she saw the light winking at her through the trees ahead. One of the stars, crashed in the forest? Or a spirit light, trying to tempt her away from the tribe to her death? Too big for a spirit; too silent for a fallen star. Then it moved, and curiosity got the better of her.

            She pushed through the undergrowth towards it, not noticing the brewing storm clouds until the heavy drops began to fall from leaves and soak through her tunic. She contemplated going back to the encampment for shelter but an inner voice pushed her on; No, it said. You know what’s back there.
            So deeper into the forest she went, with the storm swelling overhead, following the light.

            At the beginning of the dreamtime, the great mother slept in the nothingness. And then she woke, and moved, and was alone, and she desired companionship.

            Imagine gazing into a dark lake and seeing your own face reflected for the very first time. Now imagine that as you look deeper, you see countless tiny tadpoles moving around in the dark water. That is how all life began.

            But then came the dark one.

            The demon had the head of a stag; after a huge explosion that startled almost everyone, it leapt through a curtain of smoke and flame, seemingly out of the fire itself. It snarled, and bent low, exposing its blackened teeth to a group of small and terrified children whose parents had knowingly encouraged them to sit at the fireside.

            Cleito sat at the back of the camp, giggling as the children shrieked. The stag-demon hurled something onto the fire that made it crack and sparkle and she cackled as she watched her little sister jump out of her skin for the second time in as many moments. He was telling the tale of creation, again, and the entire tribe had come out to hear it, again. She often wondered whether every tribe had only this for entertainment, but it was hard not to be entertained; her grandfather loved this story more than all the others, precisely because of all the explosions and the terrified children. He moved his hands strangely and the shadows behind him began to churn into snarling mouths and claws, tearing and scratching as he whirled around, fighting with himself.

            The darkness fought the great mother, but she was not alone, not anymore, as the seven had emerged from her, and they were all made of spirit, and light, which banished the darkness; for a while at least. The seven sang, and the music they made was deep and powerful, and all the little soul-tadpoles, they danced to it.

            Her grandfather glanced at her and winked, and then hurled another handful of something into the flame. Smoke billowed up in a great column, unnaturally thick and dark, and the shaman’s arms rose to follow it; he grinned at her again with a black-toothed smirk and with a dramatic flourish brought his hands back and then quickly forward. In perfect sync, the column broke like a vast wave and crashed down over their heads. Soon it was impossible to see more than an arm’s distance away through strange-smelling fog, and through it came the sounds of music, a low and solemn flute tune, and a shiver ran down even Cleito’s spine as somehow, while the flute played, he continued his story.

           
            Now that the music has begun, the soul-tadpoles wriggle and teem over everything, but the mother sees what must be done, and the seven multiply, and together they use the light and the music to weave the great tree of life into being.

           
            The fire was still visible through the smoke and began to lick upwards and outwards in circles and spirals. As it rose, a tree of flame grew in its centre and spread out to tower over them. Cleito wondered briefly if he’d put something into the fire to make them see things; she didn’t think it beyond him.
           
            Once the tree has fully grown, the mother speaks; LIFE!

            Another huge explosion, bigger even than the first; for a moment the tree burned so brightly that she had to shut her eyes; its shape was still visible behind her eyelids. She realised as she opened them that the smoke had cleared entirely, and now sparks from the fire seemed to be growing and moving, spiralling up into orbs of light.

            It is an explosion that will go on forever, and with it the sun comes into being, and the moon, and the stars. And all the worlds grow life for themselves, water comes so that plants may grow, and spirit, seeping through the whole creation, becomes the very first and tiniest forms of life. This is the first level of her great plan. Then came fish, and crawling things, and the first animals – the world teems with life, yes? And as this happens the tadpole-souls see that they can become more! They all have the creative power of the great mother, and they can become flesh. Every soul will live within the life-tree and climb its branches back towards her. To oneness.

            She looked around the crowd; B’toun was staring at her again. It seemed that everywhere she went lately he was there, staring at her. She was pretty sure that someone had told him her family had been pestering her to find a mate, and if she ever found out who she was going to kick them. She screwed up her face rudely, rolled her eyes and then made a deliberate show of turning her back to him to make absolutely sure.

            “What have I missed?” Her father sat down next to her. “Has he done the monsters yet?” He handed her a deep shell, overflowing with mead; the liquid dribbled thickly down his hand. She took it from him; it was sticky. She thanked him, but checked carefully for dead bees before she took a sip.
            “Just the creation of the world. Now he’s on to the souls who like the great mother’s plan and souls who don’t and the good ones made worlds for themselves and became the sons of light.” She knew the story verbatim. “And there are other souls who think the mother’s plan is stupid and they don’t want to be part of it because they think only of themselves.”

            “They think only of themselves, yes? So they have become the expressions of darkness.”

            Hearing her words echoed back, her father laughed and patted her on the back.
            “Maybe you should be his apprentice instead of that odd boy he’s got.”
            Dahir was another one who stared at her. Stupid boys had been doing it a lot lately and she had long resolved not to have anything to do with them, just as she had resolved not to entertain this conversation with her father again.
            “I don’t have the slightest skill to do it, nor the desire. All those dead things he uses! Ugh! Why didn’t you do it? You’re his son.”
            She knew already, from a number of similar exchanges. Her father had been raised by parents who talked to the dead and communed with spirits from the otherworld, but had neither the interest nor ability to follow them. Evenor was a hunter, a skilled one, as were his sons. None of the men-folk in the family had inherited even the tiniest spark of the spiritual. So Cleito and her younger sister, too young even now to comprehend much of what was being imparted, satisfied their grandfather’s need to deliver something of his years of wisdom to a descendant, in spite of there being no evidence of either child having any of his supernatural gifts.
            But she did love the stories; she had grown up demanding to hear them, and so she had, come what may, once a week or more; tales of the great mother, and the spirits of light and shadow, the monsters, the first men, the beginning of their tribe, and the great destruction. Her father grunted his defeat and sat in silence for a moment before noticing that she had finished her mead; he sloped off to bring more.

            The tadpole-souls float about in the spirit fog, and many are drawn to this world. They saw the fruit and wanted to eat it like the animals did, and they watched the way the animals got to rutting and they wanted to copy them, and so they looked at the fish, and the beasts, and they did just that – they copied them! They pushed through the spirit fog to make forms for themselves in this world of matter. In the dreamtime, the world is still as water crystallising into ice, and so it is with the souls. Some of them have taken the shapes of the patterns of nature, as the sons of light once did, and they are not at risk. But others still have become trapped in flesh, in monstrous bodies of their own devising. Monsters, motivated by lust. The world of matter has made them forget that they are soul-tadpoles. For these lost ones an intervention was needed, yes? And so came the sons of light.

            “You’re just in time,” she whispered as her father returned, “he’s onto the monsters.”
            She watched, entranced for a while, and then took a large glug of mead. Too late she realised she hadn’t checked it, and a lump that could only have been an insect slipped down her throat. She gagged and looked accusingly at her father as she stood up, retching.

             “What? Did I miss one again?” he said, feigning concern with a grin. “They’re good for you!” he whispered loudly at her as she staggered away from the rest of the tribe and out of the encampment.

            Do you remember? You are the tadpole-souls! The life-tree was made just for you to play and learn and grow in! Everything is one with the mother, and you are just a bubble in Her plan, spiralling upwards and outwards back into oneness.  

            She purged her stomach outside the encampment’s wooden walls, falling to her knees and heaving until she was certain that nothing remained.
            It was as she got to her feet, wiping a hand over her mouth, that she noticed the light. Up the hill, away from the settlement a long distance ahead of her and deep within the forest above she could clearly see it, too bright to be a fire, too large and too far in the wrong direction to be a spirit-light from the swamp. Instinct took over as she began to walk towards it. If her grandfather had taught her anything, it was that spirits were not to be feared. She walked quickly away from the settlement towards it; his voice echoed behind her.

            The dark one became trapped in the life-tree. In this world; our world of matter. The dark one lives in the same world as YOU. You see? In this world, light and darkness cannot exist without each other. And each of them lies within you! So, which one will you feed?

            She could still hear the tribe’s cheers as she continued further into the forest. She was still not close enough to make it out properly; then it moved away from her. A shiver ran down her spine; it was large, moving smoothly and eerily. After a brief hesitation she followed it, though large drops of rain were quickly becoming a torrent. She had come this way only earlier today on her way to the sea, where her sister had insisted that they go to find tadpoles under the belief that they were baby souls that hadn’t been born yet. Cleito had tried to tell her that tadpoles didn’t live in the sea, but her sister had ignored her and skipped ahead to try and find some anyway.

            She followed until she was almost at the beach. Finally near, the light flooded her vision, so bright it seemed to come from all sides at once. She held up her hands to shield her eyes but could only make out a vast bright orb ahead, twice her size or more. As she stumbled further forward, she heard a great crack and suddenly it was gone; she blinked and caught a glimpse of it streaking away down the beach and into the sea, where it disappeared.

            She ran down the shore after it, but found no sign of anything. No tracks, no marks and nothing in the sea; just a very large broken branch near where she’d stood, snapped in two as if broken by great force. It was the only indication that anything had happened at all.

            Dejectedly she walked back towards the camp, trying to consider what she’d seen as the rain soaked her to the skin. The light had made it difficult to get any impression of it, but it was larger than any beast she’d ever seen, and besides, no beast could produce light like that, shining through the dark forest. Had she seen a tail? Or were her eyes playing tricks on her while she was blinded by the brightness? She had certainly never seen anything move that fast, not even the great daggertooths that could outrun the fastest men in the tribe during the hunt.
            It was raining more heavily now, water dripping off her hair and robe even as she picked up pace and ran towards the encampment. She pictured the tribe running for cover as the rain drowned the fire out and was brightened by the mental image of them all scurrying around, though her grandfather would pout about not being able to finish his story with another explosion. She realised that he might have some explanation for her; he had dedicated his entire life to the supernatural. Her mind was full of questions as she reached the round hut that her father had crafted himself only a few months ago, when they had reached the valley that became their home every summer. Could a spirit-light have escaped from the swamp? Surely not, yet they were the only thing she knew that could glow like that. But that was ridiculous, the swamp was the same distance again in the opposite direction. Besides, it had been too big. She raised a hand in greeting to her father as she entered the hut. Her sister was already fast asleep in the corner.

            “Where have you been?!” he slurred as she went to lay on her bed. Did a spirit even have the strength to snap a branch like that? Did they have the strength to move anything in the real world? It took her a while to realise her father had spoken.

            “Throwing up your mead!” she replied sourly. She rolled one of the hides over herself and turned away from him. Were there any monsters, or demons, or spectres that could shine brighter than fire in the darkness?

            “Sorry, I thought I’d got them all. At least this one was dead!” her father said cheerily. She grunted, wishing he hadn’t reminded her of the last time he’d ‘missed one’, then curled into a foetal position and tried to fall asleep, but her mind was racing. The shaman had told her countless stories of the supernatural but this was her first brush with it; her own, with nobody else to confirm what she’d seen. Then she thought about the smoke flooding over the audience, the way that the lights from the fire had spun; this was a new trick and she once again considered the possibility that her grandfather had made her hallucinate. I’ll talk to him in the morning, she thought crossly, then, her mind made up, she fell into a deep sleep.
           

            “I didn’t even get to do the big bang at the end!” the shaman said for the second time, yet more dejectedly. This was to be expected; the explosions were always his favourite part and when it rained during a storytelling he always sulked for a full day afterwards. To Cleito, the brooding expression coupled with his bald and hooded head always seemed to give him the air of a tall, sad, skinny baby.
            “At least you got to scare the life out of another group of children,” she said, gently mocking him.
            “Yes!” he laughed, “although none of them wet themselves like you did!”
            He had never stopped reminding her of this, not for the thirteen years since it had happened. He grinned at her, all black teeth and gaps. The impression of a baby ended the moment he smiled; the same mischief that led to ever-bigger explosions flashed across his face. She hit him playfully.
            “You got to do the bit with the music and the fog at least,” she said, knowing how much he loved his own theatrics.
            “Ha! Did you see their faces?!”
            “I couldn’t, could I? You’d covered the whole place in smoke. And what exactly was in that smoke? That trick with the tree was new; did you drug everyone again?”
            He looked at her, wounded, although a twinkle in his eye left her wondering how sincere he was.
            “Would I ever do such a thing!?”
            “Yes, I think you probably would.”
            “Shaman’s secrets,” he said, pinching his lips closed. She hit him again, less playfully this time. “What?! Everyone is fine, yes? The story was better than ever, yes? Don’t be so dramatic.”

            Cleito had turned up at his hut immediately after waking. He’d long been awake, of course, she couldn’t actually be sure if he’d slept at all, or indeed if he ever did. She pulled the animal hide back across to cover the doorway after she entered; he always complained about the breeze messing with his fire, which had to be kept steady throughout the process of concocting his vision-brews or foul-smelling poultices. The hut was pungent with the smell of burning sage and whatever was brewing in the pot, and all hung about with death, as ever. Every space in the rafters was occupied with a combination of dead birds and small game strung by the feet to the beams, and hundreds upon hundreds of dried & desiccated herbs and flowers and mushrooms mixed among hooves and beaks and eyeballs and other horrible things that had forever filled Cleito with dread. She had always tried to avoid coming in here for this exact reason, so she was already keenly aware that the shaman knew she must have an ulterior motive.
            “You didn’t come in here to tell me off, did you? You came to ask me something,” he said. Great mother curse him for always knowing in advance, she thought, looking at the floor guiltily.

            “Don’t look so ashamed of yourself! Do you think your grandfather doesn’t know how much you hate all this death?! Spit it out girl, what do you need?”
            She looked up. His face had softened, and she crumbled instantly. No matter how much she might be irritated with him he had always known her without being told a word; it was his gift.
            “I saw something,” she said timidly, “In the forest last night. A light.”
            “When?” His face became stern, like a hawk, penetrating eyes staring down his hooked nose into her very soul.
            “I was sick. I left the camp halfway through the story.”
            “I see. And exactly where was this light? The forest? Are you sure it wasn’t the swamp?”
            “The forest. I followed it,” she said, feeling guilty again.
            “You did what?!” he shrieked. Any remaining impression of a brooding child was gone in an instant. His shadow grew to tower over her, his face distorted with the very essence of the stag-demon that had once made her wet with fear. “What have I always taught you about spirits?!”    

            “Leave them alone. They aren’t to be trusted,” she chorused, immediately regressing; sat in his lap at five summers old. The spirit-lights were said to lead people to their deaths in the swamps, hoping to claim souls to reclaim their own, it was said, as penance for their roles in the great destruction.
            “But it wasn’t in the swamp,” she said, “And it was too big to be a spirit-light. And it moved slowly and gently, at least until I reached it.” The old man looked at her thoughtfully.
            “Well? What happened when you reached it?”
            “It was too bright for me to see anything,” she replied, suddenly over his admonishment, “Brighter than fire, bigger than a hundred spirit-lights together.” The shaman’s brow furrowed. “And as I reached it, it rushed into the sea. It moved faster than anything I’ve ever seen.”

            “I see.” Her grandfather’s face was intransigent, unreadable.
            “But if it was a spirit it couldn’t have broken such a large branch, and it snapped right off the tree.”
            “Indeed.” he said. Another pregnant pause. “So you went into the forest during my story?”
            “Yes.” She realised that she was blushing, and immediately felt irritated with herself.
            “You mean you missed the best bit?! Where the sons of light make humanity?!” He laughed hard at his own joke, though the moment he saw that she was not smiling, his laughter subsided.
            “This was no spirit.” she said. “It’s like nothing you’ve ever taught me about.”
            Unnoticed, the laughter had drawn Cleito’s little sister into the hut. Her grandfather made to speak, then noticed her and walked over to pick her up.
            “Did you ever wonder why I told you all our stories so often?” he asked, looking at Cleito’s sister as he swung her about.
            Honestly, I just assumed it was because you liked the sound of your own voice, she thought to herself, though what came out of her mouth was, “I had wondered.”
            “You wondered if it was because I liked the sound of my own voice!” he smirked. Cleito wasn’t able to disguise her shock.
            “I have told you – both – all of these stories because I have seen that there will be a time that you will need them,” he said, looking at first Cleito and then her sister with affection. “The spirit fog still permeates all things, you know. In it is recorded all that ever was, and through it we may see glimpses of things that have not yet been. Very few will ever try to learn to lift the veil and read it. I lifted the veil long ago; I have seen many things that have not yet been. Each of us has a path to walk in order to find our way back to the great mother. Our path will unfold over many trials, over many lives.”
            “Many lives?”
            “What happens when a soul dies?”
            “A soul can’t die. It’s a part of the great mother. It can’t stop until it’s back with her.” Years of conditioning and repetition answered for her.
            “The right answer! Cleito is not the first you, nor will she be the last! But never mind those others yet; Cleito has her own trials that she has not yet faced, yes? Watching things unfurl that have not yet been is a part of my existence every day. I cannot prepare you for what may come any more than I already have. And besides, I believe that your sister wants to go looking for soul-tadpoles once more.”
            And with that, he placed the young girl into Cleito’s arms and ushered them both out of the hut.

            She only took in her surroundings when she heard her sister’s voice.

            “Cleito!” She was standing on the beach.

            “Cleito!” Somehow, they had walked all the way from the village to the sea without her taking in a moment of it. Her sister had run ahead, finding the biggest stick she could carry and declaring it her shaman’s staff but received no response from Cleito. She had even climbed a tree, an act that would normally have resulted in a fretful attempt to pull her back down and a scolding. The girl suffered from the falling sickness, and as such was supposed to be prevented from such activities, but Cleito had simply not noticed.

            “Cleito!” She looked up. The sun had been much lower in the sky when she entered the hut, now it stood at its highest point. Her little sister was running down the beach yelling at her. “An egg, Cleito! Come and look! It’s so bright!”

            Cleito walked to the sea and splashed herself with cold water in the hope that it would sharpen her senses; she still felt a little like she was dreaming. She walked up the beach towards the little girl and picked her up.

            “I touched it and it open-ded so I came to get you!” she said. “Something might have hatched!”

            “What are you talking about? You cracked an egg? It broke?”

            “No! Put me down!” Cleito obliged. “Come and see! I open-ded it!”
            The girl rushed off down the beach and round a promontory; Cleito ran after her. She had to shield her eyes from the light as she rounded the corner. There on the water’s edge was, indeed, an egg, but far bigger than any she’d ever seen, and it somehow shone with such brightness in the midday sunlight that she was forced to squint at it just to make it out.

            “See?” her sister shrieked with delight, dancing towards it. “It’s an egg! I open-ded it!”

            “How did you open it?” Cleito asked, following her.

            “I touched it and it moved and whooshed and open-ded so I came to find you.”

            Cleito walked closer but could see little in the glare. It was only as she turned away from it that she noticed him.

            Standing just a few paces away was the most beautiful man that she had ever seen. He stood utterly naked, several hands taller than she was, with a shock of golden hair and the most perfect features she could have imagined. It may have been the light from the egg, she realised, but he glowed.

            “Hello” she said nervously. He looked directly at her face for the first time through searching blue-green eyes and her stomach flipped. Her heart started to quicken as he spoke. Had he spoken? Or had she just heard it in her head? Either way she had physically reacted. She had never been more drawn to anyone or anything in her life.

            “I’m Cleito,” she said in response to what she swore she’d heard. “Why are you naked? Did you come from the sea?! Who are you?”

            So many questions. He smiled at Cleito and she felt some inner part of her melt. I am Aatlae. Had he moved his lips? One part of her brain was fighting her physical senses, another part had surrendered utterly.
            And who is this?

            He was gesturing towards her little sister, who was staring at him open-mouthed.

            “That’s Pandora.”