It was a cold and rainy day when they left the southern shore of their island with the men whose distant ancestors would one day be known as Vikings and sailed west along the coast, until they came to the sea that separated the larger island from its smaller partner to the west. The trip to what would be called Ireland took three days. For Donnchadh it was a strange and humbling journey. Having crossed light-years in the mothership and across a solar system in the Fynbar, to move on top of the water at the whim of the winds made her realize the gap that these people had to bridge even to attempt to battle the Airlia. This world must have been seeded long after her own. There would be no possibility of freedom here anytime soon.
It was three weeks before they saw land again. Actually, it was not land they first sighted, but the golden tower ofAtlantis poking above the horizon to the west. As they drew closer, its scale became clearer as land appeared beneath it. Only the Airlia and their high priests were allowed in the palace, while humans tilled the land around it. Donnchadh asked the sailors on her ship to heave to and wait until night-fall before approaching the outer ring. They did as she requested and made landfall several hours after darkness had fallen along an empty stretch of coastline.
Donnchadh paid the sailors a bonus of gold. She and Gwalcmai watched as the long-prowed ship disappeared into the darkness, heading for home. They were at the heart of the Airlia’s power on this planet, armed only with swords and daggers. And knowledge of the true nature of the Airlia.
They took their time. They spent a full year on the outermost ring of land. It was over six miles wide and covered with farms. The people who worked the land worshipped the Airlia but had little interaction with the Gods. Every so often a golden saucer-shaped craft would fly overhead, heading toward some faraway destination. Donnchadh knew these were the flying machines that the Airlia used in the atmosphere, powered by engines that used the magnetic field of the planet.
They discovered that all was not bliss and harmony in Atlantis. The farther one went from the Airlia palace, the less the benefits of the Gods extended. And the less the control of the Gods held sway. There were those on the outer ring who worked both sides, dealing in the black market. It was this group that Donnchadh and her partner slowly infiltrated. Gwalcmai was quickly accepted for his martial prowess. For Donnchadh it was a different matter. She had to fight off the uncouth advances in the seedy drinking houses along the waterfront, with Gwalcmai lurking in the background, frustrated, but knowing she had to earn her own way. Her fighting skills, inferior to Gwalcmai’s, were still far beyond what these humans knew, and she was able to hold her own and more.
She became the deal maker. After several years she came to know all who plied their occupations in the dark and she put together those who could benefit each other. Doing so allowed her and Gwalcmai to accumulate what passed for wealth among these humans, but more important, she gathered people. She learned who could be trusted and who could not. Who was content with the rule of the Airlia and who seethed against it for varying reasons. And her reach grew longer, not only outward to the traders who came from faraway lands, but inward, toward those who served the Gods on the inner island.
Gwalcmai, meanwhile, worked with blacksmiths and other craftsmen, slowly improving the quality of the weapons and armor among the humans. It was an exceedingly slow and often frustrating process, but he and Donnchadh had accepted the need for a very, very long view of the war they were fighting.
Donnchadh knew it was impossible to corrupt a high priest or Guide. Those humans who had made direct contact with an Airlia guardian computer were now just like programmed machines, their free will suborned to do as they had been directed. They had had to kill many of these Guides— either priest or warrior — on their own planet. But the Airlia took only so many humans into their inner sanctum to be so corrupted. There were many — lesser priests; the rank-and file soldiers; the laborers who maintained the inner city— who served out of faith or for money or, mostly, from fear and ignorance. It was they whom Donnchadh went after, searching for just the right person. After six years of questing, she found her man.
His name was Jobb. He was a level-four supplicant, meaning he was one of the next to be taken into the temple, put against a guardian, and made a high priest. As such he initially seemed to be a waste of time, as he would shortly be brainwashed by the Airlia. But Jobb had a daughter whom he worshipped as much as he gave allegiance to the Airlia Gods. Supplicants were not supposed to have families, but Jobb had had an illicit lover years previously. Knowing her fate for committing this sin, the woman had run away after giving birth, taking passage on one of the black market ships — how Donnchadh had first learned of this — but Jobb had kept the baby, hiring nannies to care for the girl.
Only four days before he was to be brought into the ranks of the high priests, his daughter became ill. He tried to bring her to the palace to be placed in the high priest’s infirmary, claiming she was his brother’s daughter. But rules were rules and his daughter was denied treatment. The infirmary was only for the priests. She died three days later, on the eve of Jobb’s induction.
All this Donnchadh heard from a trader who plied the inland seas in a small, skin-covered ship, which he could carry over the rings of land between. It was just before dawn and Donnchadh was in a traders’ tavern. The man had just returned from a journey to the palace island, where he had been directed to Jobb, who was desperately searching for any possible cure for his daughter’s sickness, even something from the outer lands, where, he had heard, people used roots and other strange concoctions for medicine.
The trader had been unable to help Jobb. He told Donnchadh that the girl had died in her father’s arms just before he headed back.
Donnchadh wasted no time. With Gwalcmai at her side, she made her way into Atlantis, toward the inner island that held the great city and tower. They arrived just before noon, when the elevation ceremony for high priests was to occur. Thousands of people crowded the open plaza inside the city’s wall. Wearing dark, travel-stained cloaks, Donnchadh and Gwalcmai stood in the shadow of the wall, looking up at a balcony on the tower on which stood a pair of Airlia, regally garbed as befitted their status as Gods, and flanked by high priests.
At the base of the tower were two dozen red-robed level-four supplicants. One of the high priests began to call names, and one by one the supplicants entered a door at the base of the tower.
When Jobb’s name was called there was no response. That was the sign that Donnchadh was looking for. With her partner she took back streets to the place where the trader said Jobb’s daughter had lived. They found him inside, the cold body of his daughter still in his arms. His skin was pale, his eyes red from countless tears.
“You do not have much time,” Donnchadh said as they stepped through the doorway.
Jobb did not reply or even look up.
“They will come for you,” she continued. She went to him and knelt at his side. He finally reacted when she placed a hand on his shoulder, slowly turning his head to look at her, gazing at her with uncomprehending eyes.
“You must tell them that this is indeed your brother’s daughter. And that you were too grief-stricken to make the induction ceremony. And that you are now ready to serve.”