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By Christine Criss and Trynia Merin
Disclaimer: KISS is their own entity, and this is a work of fiction based on
real people. Dark
Horse comics publishes and ownes the latest rights to the KISS series,
and this story contains ideas developed by them. Marvel Comics first published the KISS comic. Any characters not mentioned as created by
them are additions of the author. This
is fanfiction and is for fun only, meaning no harm to the franchise.
Chapter 1
The olive skinned man shouldered his pack, and then let it fall into
the rubber boat. He pushed it off the shore of the river, and then
climbed inside, clutching his plastic paddle. A miracle of modern
technology, the small raft could collapse to the size of a breadbox,
and be strapped with the collapsible paddles onto his hiking
backpack frame. The owner had no interest in returning to
civilization. Every corner of his backpack was taken with carefully
chosen clothes, food and other provisions.
He had to get away. Before the voices in his head became more than
he could bear. It was increasingly more difficult to shut them
out. Paul Stanley was a man with a mission. To find one
spot on
the globe where he would be far enough away from human civilization
to find peace. A sabbatical, where he could build a
loft and create
beauty in a chaotic world.
The Amazon rainforest seemed the best place. He had traveled for a
time speaking with the native tribes. They had learned to trust
him, but told him to avoid a certain patch of jungle that was a
place that was considered sacred. Now it was his fourth day in the
wilderness, with only the native guides, and he waved to the Indian
on the shore that raised his hand in greeting. While he wore shorts
and a T-shirt, he also had the traditional Amazonian facepaint, and
carried a spear. To fend off the larger animals, he'd joked.
Paul Stanley was finding it easier down here, where the human
population was sparse. But he could now sense the minds and life
forces of the animals, and they were a welcome change of pace. Why
could he not control his shields, he wondered as he drifted his boat
into the course of the river, and let it carry him along where it
willed. He didn't care if nobody ever saw him again, because that
would be too soon.
It was not like he had lost his compassion. But who counseled the
counselor? For the past fifteen or so years he'd been part of a
unit, and he was tired. Tired of being the mediator between Demon
and Cat man, and tired of reigning in Space Ace, who had vanished
into the depths of outer space only two months ago, that he could
scream. Ace's departure had signaled the end of an era. Peter had
been the next to go, while Paul and Gene were left alone to brood.
Finally, Paul had told Gene of his disturbances, and the threat to
his own powers. Since the space ace had transcended to the realms of
outer space, the visions he had were increasing in rapidity.
Visions of losing control and drowning in a sea of human
thoughts.
He'd awaken, shaking his head filled with the thoughts of all around
him. More and more he retreated to his artistic loft in upstate
York
places that he could find sanctuary.
Gene grudgingly had accepted Paul's need to leave. Of the four,
Gene confided in Paul the most, and even though he was resentful of
his closest friend cutting out on him, he knew that Paul's mental
health was in peril. Especially when Paul had come to him those two
months ago with dark circles under his eyes, pleading Gene to let
him go. Quickly Gene had called the top doctors, and examined
Paul. Then Gene had put him on the first plane to
knew there was a monastery of highly trained monks that specialized
in mind control and psychic tutoring. However, as Paul spent time
there taking courses and meeting with the monks, he realized he
needed help that was unavailable in modern society. And there was a
possibility he could get it, for the right price.
There were tales of advanced civilizations. Those that
knew mental
control. He'd ended his Tibetan stay last month, and even under the
tutelage of the Buddhist Monks, his refuge had only been temporary.
The Abbot had told him that what he needed was rest. As
far away
from chaos as possible. Surround himself with
art and things
beautiful, and isolate himself from human civilization. They well
knew that finding a person free area of the world was hard.
were less than one human being per square
mile. Then there were the
steppes of Siberia, the burning deserts of the Sahara, the expanses
of the
Paul seemed most receptive to the last. And there was another
reason he had come to the rain forest. A secret that had
been
entrusted to him, by the abbot. Reaching into his pocket he pulled
out an accordion folded sheet. Most would have thought it was a
road map, but it was a copy of a very ancient one indeed. One that
ordinary human eye had not beheld since five thousand years ago.
***
He had taken the lessons of the Abbot, who had blessed him and given
his consent to use the techniques he'd shared. Both had spent many
days over a whole month, helping Paul to probe his psyche and see
why his control was breaking down.
"You are a tower that is being eroded by wind and rain. You need to
rebuilt yourself," the Abbot said,
and Paul drank in the serenity of
ordered thoughts. At least even if he couldn't shut them out, they
were peaceful and ordered. And guarded.
"But ARE there places where people exist who KNOW how to shut out
thoughts entirely?" asked Paul. He had tried the meditations, but
his walls were so badly eroded that he had to force control every
moment of every day. And even when he tried, it was close to
impossible.
"Yes. You are one of the most powerful listeners of minds this
world has produced. The knowledge you seek is not possessed by this
age of civilization, but by those pockets of ancient knowledge
carefully preserved. Because you are in our sacred trust, I will
point you in the right way, but you must take the journey with what
I have taught you, to find your answers..."
The Abbot then had given Paul a book written in his own hand. A
reproduction of an ancient Mayan Codex that described a city in the
heart of the rainforest, and which spoke of a hidden city that was
off limits to even them save on certain days of the year. Filled
with ancient secrets that Paul was astounded by. ON the map he saw
the very realm where his talisman came from. When he questioned, he
said, "Those cannot help you. They fashioned the Talisman, but
cannot help with psychic powers..."
"But..."
"I have seen the place myself. And unfortunately they are skilled
artisans... but their magic is only in the realm of bringing clarity
to others hidden gifts. The answers you seek are in a civilization
on the opposite side of the world. Deep in a rainforest.
You must
ask the native peoples there if you may traverse... but be sensitive
to their ways. Because you might not return..."
"Because I would get killed... or because I might not want to? I
might as well seek Shangri La..."
"That place cannot help you either. You can meditate, but what you
need is the special mental psychic training to repair your scarred
mind and soul. You've helped too much, and now it is time for you
to submit to being helped by others..." said the Abbot. Paul rose
and bowed to him, and backed away, taking with him the cotton scarf
of friendship.
***
Now his mind returned to the present, and the currents of the mighty
but he was glad for the pith helmet. He had fought the temptation
to change and shed his civilian ID, but he had to know if he was
close to the place that the Abbot had described. A hidden place,
which was known for its citizens who had abilities that were the
last shred of ancient Atlantis. Their people were so remote, that
although they knew what was going on in the outside world, they kept
to themselves.
The stories from the tribes closer to civilization said there was
the tribe at the heart of the jungle who were descendants of the
ancient Inca and Maya. But the civilization that Paul described,
using an ancient code word, was not of them. It was an ancient
alliance. He opened the accordion shaped ancient book that was
copied, and saw the two sorts of figures in armor. A procession of
young girls was being led into the heart of the ruined city, and
then another tribe would come and get them.
All he wanted was to at least be close to them, and away from
mankind. At least to rest. He was warned that they
did not welcome
outsiders with open arms, unless they showed the proper obeisance.
What sort of a people demanded such unflappable respect, he wondered
as he continued further down the river? The barrage of human
thoughts had lessened to a trickle, and all he could feel was the
occasional glimmer of a native Amazonian tribesperson hunting, or
fishing in their own craft.
Of this other people he only heard stories. Few had ventured in,
and even fewer had contract with the tribe that guarded the inner
heart of the forest. This tribe had few women. Most of the women
after age 12 simply vanished. Only men and boys were visible, and
they said their women were a precious resource, far more precious
than any food or shelter. And from the limited contacts with the
periphery tribes, this Heart tribe, had their own
face painting, of
solid white with black designs. Paul smiled ironically. Was this
coincidence?
When asked about where their women were, they said that men and
women had to live separately, as many tribes did in this region.
But they said it was not allowed by their spirits to tell where the
women went at a certain age. Some of the people in the tribe had
very fair skin, and it seemed that some of the legends recounted
European ancestry. There had been reports of men and women
anthropologists interacting with this reclusive tribe and sometimes
more often then not, the female members of the expedition vanished,
while the males chose not to return, deciding to adopt the life of
the tribesmen. What was so appealing about giving up modern
civilization? Paul had his own conclusions. The surrounding tribes
dared not make war on this tribe, for it had miraculous powers of
protection. They only needed fear the developers, which dared not
venture. By satellite, all that was visible was an ancient Mayan
city that was ruins reclaimed by the jungle.
Now he felt something as the sun slid down, and the day was whittled
away in travel, that he had not for the longest time. Paul began to
feel less barraged by even the most remote human thoughts. All he
sensed now were basic animal sensations, and it hit him like a ton
of bricks. It was so... so quiet...
The sounds of the jungle merged into a symphony, but Paul was
enjoying the silence in his mind, interrupted only by animal
thoughts that he could live with easily. They were music compared
to the jarring complexities of modern thoughts. The native thoughts
were far easier to deal with, but they were still bombarding him.
Only the Tibetan Abbot's training kept it bearable on the way back
to civilization, and to the nearest airport to return to
and then to Rio Di Janeiro.
"At last... at last..." Paul whispered, sniffling away a
tear. "Silence..."
Not a human being for miles. Other reports told that this tribe was
constantly moving, to chase game in their hunts. This season was
their roaming, while the winter months of huge rains were where they
retreated to their treetop dwellings. He sensed nothing, and knew
that they must be so sparsely populated, or at least able to block
their thoughts that he couldn't discern them. Or there was some
other magic. Was he in the right place? At once, Paul no longer
cared. The silence was so refreshing, that he pulled his boat up to
the shore, and almost leapt out in joy. The tribes were wrong about
the location. Here was one of the last unspoiled patches of ground,
reclaimed by the jungle, where there was no human being for at least
100 square miles.
Paul quickly collapsed the boat, and folded it up. He rolled it up,
and collapsed his paddles as well, bundling them into a tight
package and tying them to the top of his backpack. Closing his
eyes, he savored the silence of human thoughts, and shouldered his
pack. He would follow the silence to his heart, and perhaps there
he could make his home. If the tribe did come his way, perhaps they
could let him stay here, and take the rest he so richly deserved.
And convey his request for the help of the more sophisticated hidden
city, which time had not diminished. If it indeed
existed...
Paul sought a natural pathway, which told him that humans HAD
traversed here, if only a month or so ago. They were not here now,
he sighed. The sides of the plants had been neatly sheered, not
hacked by a machete blade, but almost melted, as if with a great
source of heat. He didn't stop to puzzle this now. For he
was so
desperate to see the source of the silence, and know if he could
really drink it in. IT had been so long.
With each step he was carried away from the hot close environment of
the river. Far away from mosquitoes, and other buzzing gnats he
found himself trudging under a green canopy. Orchids were hidden,
unnamed by man, and perhaps he was the first Caucasian to see in a
hundred years. No sign of human disturbance could he see, and it
was as if time had stood still. No planes flew overhead, and no
distant sounds of motor boats, or chain saws resounded. Only
the
songs of birds, monkeys, and other native life.
Under his feet he noticed the hardness of stone, and saw a gap in
the trees that was wider than the shoulder height of a man or
woman. There were cracked stones lining this causeway, and he felt
the incline of the hills. Paul felt hot and confined in his
clothes, and he knew that he wanted to start to let the modern world
go. For a moment he set down his pack, and stood in the center of
the path. He shed his clothes, and stepped out of them, till he was
only clad in his undergarment. Then he bundled the clothes neatly
up and put them into his pack. Reaching deep inside, he unfettered
the bonds of his civilian ID, and let his true self emerge.
Purple energies blazed, and he stood taller and erect. The Star
Child was in the forefront once more, and he shed Paul Stanley,
perhaps forever. With a deep sigh he drank in the fresh air, and
spanned his muscular arms, glancing down them at the clothing that
he'd conjured as well. With but a thought he dismissed the skin
tight costume, till he was clothed only in the leggings encrusted
with stars, and the tall boots, which he hoped would not encumber
him.
"Free, free at last," he whispered and picked up his pack again.
Shouldering it on his bare back, the Star Child started up the
ruined Inca pathway. He would know if this were the place of
refuge. If this was the ruined city, than perhaps he could make his
home here, and reclaim the bits of civilization for his own use, and
not have to eke out an existence from the native jungle. It seemed
sacrilegious to disturb it; he chuckled as he trudged along.
***
Now his mind returned to
the present, and the currents of the mighty
but he was glad for the pith helmet. He had fought the temptation to
change and shed his civilian ID, but he had to know if he was close
to the place that the Abbot had described. A hidden
place, which was
known for its citizens who had abilities that were the last shred of
ancient Atlantis. Their people were so remote, that although they
knew what was going on in the outside world, they kept to themselves.
The stories from the tribes closer to civilization said there was the
tribe at the heart of the jungle who were descendants of the ancient
Inca and Maya. But the civilization that Paul described, using an
ancient code word, was not of them. It was an ancient alliance. He
opened the accordion shaped ancient book that was copied, and saw the
two sorts of figures in armor. A procession of young girls was being
led into the heart of the ruined city, and then another tribe would
come and get them.
All he wanted was to at least be close to them, and away from
mankind. At least to rest. He was warned that they
did not welcome
outsiders with open arms, unless they showed the proper obeisance.
What sort of a people demanded such unflappable respect, he wondered
as he continued further down the river? The barrage of human
thoughts had lessened to a trickle, and all he could feel was the
occasional glimmer of a native Amazonian tribesperson hunting, or
fishing in their own craft.
Of this other people he only heard stories. Few had ventured in, and
even fewer had contract with the tribe that guarded the inner heart
of the forest. This tribe had few women. Most of the women after
age 12 simply vanished. Only men and boys were visible, and they
said their women were a precious resource, far more precious than any
food or shelter. And from the limited contacts with the periphery
tribes, this Heart tribe, had their own face
painting, of solid white
with black designs. Paul smiled ironically. Was this coincidence?
When asked about where their women were, they said that men and women
had to live separately, as many tribes did in this region. But they
said it was not allowed by their spirits to tell where the women went
at a certain age. Some of the people in the tribe had very fair
skin, and it seemed that some of the legends recounted European
ancestry. There had been reports of men and women anthropologists
interacting with this reclusive tribe and sometimes more often then
not, the female members of the expedition vanished, while the males
chose not to return, deciding to adopt the life of the tribesmen.
What was so appealing about giving up modern civilization? Paul had
his own conclusions. The surrounding tribes dared not make war on
this tribe, for it had miraculous powers of protection. They only
needed fear the developers, which dared not venture. By satellite,
all that was visible was an ancient Mayan city that was ruins
reclaimed by the jungle.
Now he felt something as the sun slid down, and the day was whittled
away in travel, that he had not for the longest time. Paul began to
feel less barraged by even the most remote human thoughts. All he
sensed now were basic animal sensations, and it hit him like a ton of
bricks. It was so... so quiet...
The sounds of the jungle merged into a symphony, but Paul was
enjoying the silence in his mind, interrupted only by animal thoughts
that he could live with easily. They were music compared to the
jarring complexities of modern thoughts. The native thoughts were
far easier to deal with, but they were still bombarding him. Only
Zhrimpoche's training kept it bearable on the way back to
civilization, and to the nearest airport to return to
then to
"At last... at last..." Paul whispered, sniffling away a
tear. "Silence..."
Not a human being for miles. Other reports told that this tribe was
constantly moving, to chase game in their hunts. This season was
their roaming, while the winter months of huge rains were where they
retreated to their treetop dwellings. He sensed nothing, and knew
that they must be so sparsely populated, or at least able to block
their thoughts that he couldn't discern them. Or there was some
other magic. Was he in the right place? At once, Paul no longer
cared. The silence was so refreshing, that he pulled his boat up to
the shore, and almost leapt out in joy. The tribes were wrong about
the location. Here was one of the last unspoiled patches of ground,
reclaimed by the jungle, where there was no human being for at least
100 square miles.
Paul quickly collapsed the boat, and folded it up. He rolled it up,
and collapsed his paddles as well, bundling them into a tight package
and tying them to the top of his backpack. Closing his eyes, he
savored the silence of human thoughts, and shouldered his pack. He
would follow the silence to his heart, and perhaps there he could
make his home. If the tribe did come his way, perhaps they could let
him stay here, and take the rest he so richly deserved. And convey
his request for the help of the more sophisticated hidden city, which
time had not diminished. If it indeed existed...
Paul sought a natural pathway, which told him that humans HAD
traversed here, if only a month or so ago. They were not here now,
he sighed. The sides of the plants had been neatly sheered, not
hacked by a machete blade, but almost melted, as if with a great
source of heat. He didn't stop to puzzle this now. For he
was so
desperate to see the source of the silence, and know if he could
really drink it in. IT had been so long.
With each step he was carried away from the hot close environment of
the river. Far away from mosquitoes, and other buzzing gnats he
found himself trudging under a green canopy. Orchids were hidden,
unnamed by man, and perhaps he was the first Caucasian to see in a
hundred years. No sign of human disturbance could he see, and it was
as if time had stood still. No planes flew overhead, and no distant
sounds of motor boats, or chain saws resounded. Only the
songs of
birds, monkeys, and other native life.
Under his feet he noticed the hardness of stone, and saw a gap in the
trees that was wider than the shoulder height of a man or woman.
There were cracked stones lining this causeway, and he felt the
incline of the hills. Paul felt hot and confined in his clothes, and
he knew that he wanted to start to let the modern world go. For a
moment he set down his pack, and stood in the center of the path. He
shed his clothes, and stepped out of them, till he was only clad in
his undergarment. Then he bundled the clothes neatly up and put them
into his pack. Reaching deep inside, he unfettered the bonds of his
civilian ID, and let his true self emerge.
Purple energies blazed, and he stood taller and erect. The Star
Child was in the forefront once more, and he shed Paul Stanley,
perhaps forever. With a deep sigh he drank in the fresh air, and
spanned his muscular arms, glancing down them at the clothing that
he'd conjured as well. With but a thought he dismissed the skin
tight costume, till he was clothed only in the leggings encrusted
with stars, and the tall boots, which he hoped would not encumber him.
"Free, free at last," he whispered and picked up his pack again.
Shouldering it on his bare back, the Star Child started up the ruined
Inca pathway. He would know if this were the place of refuge. If
this was the ruined city, than perhaps he could make his home here,
and reclaim the bits of civilization for his own use, and not have to
eke out an existence from the native jungle. It seemed sacrilegious
to disturb it; he chuckled as he trudged along.
***
Chapter 2
The Star Child drank in the silence that grew sweeter with each step
of his platform boot. The regularity of the stones was increasing,
and as he climbed to the summit, he drew in his breath. A whole
plateau spread out on every side when he climbed past the rim of
trees, and into a wide-open expanse. The spires of the pyramids were
overrun with vines and growth, but the city was as if it were in
hibernation. Paul smiled and saw the golden glow of the setting sun
sliding between two hills, which were large and gently rounded like a
pair of women's breasts, oddly enough. He glanced at the ruined bits
of statue, and saw the ancient glyphs. His eyes widened as he caught
the site of the nearest temple spire, and wandered forward, as if
drawn by a magnet.
He reached into his leggings and pulled out the copy of the codex.
The accordion folded book, though a reproduction was exactly like the
text in every manner. He saw the glyphs that matched those of the
city, and knew he was where the city of the Incas had once stood. It
was one of many, but it was said they had access to the secret
knowledge. And in so doing, the tribe that protected these lands and
knew of the hidden city, may well be their
children many times over.
But they had returned to the land, instead of rebuilding the city.
Why?
Most women in these civilizations were not seen to have great status,
but as he traced his finger along the glyphs he saw the line of men
and boys, protecting a line of young maidens in the first few panels.
Most of the glyphs described the existence of the city, and the
existence of a tribe. There were few among the Amazons who could
read this ancient writing, but they strangely did exist. When he'd
shown the codex to the first tribe, they had almost bowed in
reverence. The second and third tribes, which had contact with human
civilization, had shut their mouths when they came halfway through
the book, pointing to the glyph of the next mountain peak, and said
that it was forbidden. It was the Mother Goddess' home.
Paul wondered what the story was, as he read on. Of course he did
not know all the meanings, but he had learned quickly through the
eyes and thoughts of the translators. He dared not show it to the
university, for he feared of broaching the trust the Tibetan monks
had provided. From his private library he'd given this reproduction
document to Paul, and said it would be his road map of sorts. He had
to find the people to decode it, and in so doing find his goal.
"The journey is the important part," Paul laughed as he stood in
the
center of the plaza, and then moved toward one of the less ruined
shelters of stone, near a smaller pyramid. The priests had lived on
the pyramids, while the other classes lived in huts and homes of
walled stone and leaf roofs around at their feet. A city on a hill,
facing two hills between which the sun set during the summer months.
The text from what he'd heard decoded, spoke of the silent city, of
the Mother Goddess, where the Heart protectors roamed. These tribes
must be their children, and they were NOT of the Incas.
Now he set about exploring this place, knowing full well that
darkness may limit him. He felt intensely weary, and decided to
unroll the sleeping bag he had brought with him. Rather than erect
the tent, he figured it would be best to lay the ground cloth over
the floor of the ruined temple to the side, and then spread his
sleeping bag upon it. Willing away his costume, till he was sky
clad, the Star Child slid between the folds of cloth and lay
his head
down to sleep the best sleep he had in nearly a decade.
"At last I am free," he whispered, letting sleep enfold him like
a
blanket. If the tribe did find him, he'd be long awake before they
did, and perhaps THEN he would know if he was welcome to stay, and if
they would invite him to the
***
He sat bold upright, hearing voices. But why had he not sensed their
thoughts. In almost a panic he felt the onslaught of thoughts,
chattering in a language that was similar to those of the Amazonian
tribes, with images and pictures racing through his brain. Yet the
shape of the thoughts suggested people who were not shaped by the
modern world. Rather by the green confines of their world.
Why had he not heard them, he whispered. Such a
burst of thoughts
was an unwelcome visitor so early, and he felt anger build within,
that his sanctuary had been breached. Yet he reminded himself this
was not his land. These were not his people. He was the alien here,
and then he stopped as he stood upright, hearing the thoughts grow
closer with the voices.
A smile came over his lips. He could not comprehend the language.
Those other tribes had a smattering of English, and those were rooted
in the shape of thoughts he could relate. Even though he read minds,
he couldn't automatically discern the thoughts if they were words in
another language. Faces, images and such he could read, but if he
had no knowledge of their context, he was equally lost. Still the
noise of even non-English speakers was enough to drive him mad, and
he quickly found himself learning and absorbing even this language.
Then it stopped, and a sea of emotions washed out the tide. It was
as if a damper had shut, and he panted with relief. Now he realized
all the chatter he heard were voices. Who or what
had caused this,
for he felt able to cope now, and walk shakily out to meet his
visitors, or his hosts. A line of tanned natives, their faces
painted white and black, and shades of red in varying patterns
circled the plaza, and he noticed they were men and boys. However,
in their midst he saw pre teen girls, perhaps only 11 years old at
the most, and girls even younger than that, their faces NOT painted.
Each one had an excited smile on her face, while the faces of the men
and boys were stern and sad. All he could discern were the sadness
and excitements appropriate for such expressions. He marveled that
he could not discern the thoughts of language or higher functions,
only the residual empathic echoes.
They must know this shielding. This thought control. For they had
shut off the higher thoughts so he was only left to hear and feel the
emotions, which he could stand. Even so, as they neared, he felt the
emotional tide suddenly abate, till he heard silence again. It
stunned him, for these beings were suddenly two-dimensional. He
could see them with his eyes, but he could not feel them in his
mind. It was refreshing, and simultaneously terrifying.
"We see you there," said the leader calmly, as he walked towards
where Paul had concealed himself. "We knew you were here before you
even came. Come out and let us see you…"
Star child realized he understood the speech, changed into English,
and it staggered him. A fine mental control was needed for such a
skill, and he wondered if this was the evidence of the contact with
the
"I am but a visitor, told to come here," Paul said as he
emerged.
The men and boys fixed their eyes on him, in wonder and reverence.
"He bears the markings of us, but his garments are not of us,"
the
younger boy said, to the left of the Leader. Several of the girls
glanced in his direction, and smiled, and Paul felt their eyes and
the sparkle of thoughts slip past the shutters these people had
erected.
"He is of the outside world, but his mind is like ours," said the
second Elder, who was a dusty skinned man, smaller in stature. Each
of the men and boys wore kilts, their chests encased in vests made of
woven cloth that was just as fine as any machine made cloth. They
had painted colorful designs on their chests and arms, while the
bodies of the girls were bare. Oddly enough, the girls were all
wearing tunics of white fiber, that came to their
mid thighs. The
designs of the odd armor were of some shimmery plant fiber and
feathers that were woven to resemble something like metal armor, but
it was all organic.
Was it a copy of something else, he wondered? He stepped forwards,
and the Leader did as well. The Leader was a man in his mid forties,
his hair straight and jet-black. All the men had hair varying from
dusty red, to the white of age, to black. Yet the girl's hair ranged
from blonde, to light honey brown, their skin only lightly tanned,
and some almost could pass for Caucasian, as he did. Bare chested,
clad only in his leggings he stood, and waited to see if the gulf
would be crossed.
"You, your name, Stranger, if you may… how are you called?" asked
the
Leader. "I am the High one of this People of the Goddess… the
protectors of her Elysian paradise."
"Elysian?" he asked, stunned by the usage of a Greek word. Then
it
hit him, the hairstyles of the women were not the straight jets of
simple hair, but were in fact elaborate coifs like Grecian curls.
Strangely out of place among the men and boys who had hair that
flowed freely about their shoulders under the headdresses and
helmets. He hadn't noticed the girls distinctly before because they
were at the heart of the human wall of men and boys, perhaps close to
a hundred, standing orderly in the middle of the Town Square.
"Elysian," said High One.
"I am Knowledge holder," said the older man, to his left.
"And some
call me
"Mountaineer," said the young man, who stood as the spitting
image of
High one, and was clearly his son."
"Star Child," said Paul, and they nodded as they walked towards
him,
still protecting the girls.
"You are from Outside. Why have you come here?" asked High One.
"He has the Star," said
chosen this marking?"
"It is my inner self," said Paul. "Please, I came here
bidden by one
who holds ancient wisdom. I only wish to stay here, to rest…"
"You may stay here," said High One. "But it is not for US to
determine how long. Since you honor our ways with your respect for
our lands, and our markings… we will mean you no harm. But you must
not leave here before this day has ended."
"We must ask the Goddess if he is supposed to be here,
and if he
should remain with us…"
"We must take him along. The High One of the Elysian Goddess will
wish to meet him…" said Mountaineer. "Nothing must delay
us…"
"I don't trust him," said another one closer to the women.
"Who are you?" Star Child asked as he moved toward them, and
stopped.
"Peace, Firestarter," said High One. "Will you remain here
long, and
if so, can we trust that you will not bring others here? From
the
outside world?"
"I don't wish to go back, ever," said Star Child. "I want
to stay."
"Then we must take him to see the High one of the Elysian
Goddess,"
said
pleased at his addition to us…"
"Who would not want to live in the City?" asked Mountaineer. "One of
a few."
"Say no more," said
Either way, you must ask permission to remain."
"If we take you to the city, you may well never leave this
realm,"
said High One. "Even now you can remain here, but it is not for us
to say how long. It is for Her. And you must STILL
travel with us
to know our ways… if you are to remain here peacefully…"
"I understand. I'll go with you gladly, if I can stay…" Star
Child
nodded.
"Then join the rear of the procession. Mentor; teach him what he
needs to know. That he must hold his tongue till spoken to, and earn
our trust."
"Come this way, Star Child," said
and Star Child moved quietly, carrying his pack.
"You must give that to us," said High One. "It must not
enter the
City… take this and conceal it, Mountaineer…"
"At your command, High one," said Mountaineer.
"Everything?" Paul asked.
"You may keep personal effects when you enter. But for now, he will
carry them."
Reluctantly Paul handed his backpack with all his worldly possessions
to the second in command.
column of men and boys, the People of the Goddess, continued on their
way among the ruins, and Paul walked at the back, under
watchful eye.
He realized he had not shown them the codex. His instinct told him
that he had to earn THEIR trust as well as show his own, and he
needed to know if they would really take him to where he needed to
be, or to someplace far worse. Why were the girls being taken, and
why were they happy when the men and boys seemed sad? Were they
being prepared for some sacrifice?
He shuddered to think, and then sent that thought out of his head.
He'd been watching too many
grossly exaggerated and confabulated unfounded
rumors of headhunters
and human sacrifice. He knew that some races were cannibals, but
they didn't indiscriminately eat any stranger. Cannibalism had its
ritual place. But the Aztecs, a civilized race, practiced human
sacrifice.
Yet the Grecian tongue. The Greeks in some city states, and he
didn't question for a moment WHY their presence was here, if there
was some ancient Atlantis connect… did practice infanticide. Yet if
they worshipped a Goddess, perhaps these girls were priestesses,
being taken to this
questions, and his reservations were still strong. He was still an
outsider and the gleam of the men and boy's eyes did not reassure him
that they trusted him at all.