Chapter 11: Keeper of the Stone
Medico 1 thumbed the touch-pad, and the communicator burst into life. Although not by any stretch of the imagination an ideal time to be contacting the director, the present climate of technological decay seemed unlikely to provide a better one.
The face that stared back at him from the vid-screen in the Op-Centre looked tired from lack of sleep and pallid from a lifetime hidden away from sunshine. Black circles hung like hammocks under the director's eyes, making his bloodshot orbs seem like the pits of Hell. Beads of perspiration had formed on the old man's bald head; it ran down the sides of his face and dripped from his jaw. The front of his white smock bore the stains of food, dirt and sweat.
"Yes?" snapped the director, his annoyance at the intrusion obvious. "You have good news?"
Medico 1 sighed. Pleasing his superior proved more and more difficult with each passing day.
"By diverting the power from your aircon, the technos have been able to open one channel to the teleporter and keep this communication link operating," he said, watching the director's face for signs of a mood change. Medico 1 sensed the old man's sanity poised on a knife-edge, so he chose his next words with care, making sure it was what his superior wanted to hear. "When Agent Philk is ready to return, we'll be able to receive him and download the information he carries."
"Good." The director wiped a soiled cloth across his forehead and sucked heated air into his lungs. "What is the status of Freya's aircon?"
"The batteries continue to deliver power...for the moment," said Medico 1, pleased to see his superior had thoughts for the comfort of someone other than himself.
"Good." The director paused again, continuing to mop his brow. "Have the power to her unit diverted to mine."
"But that will..." Medico 1 found it difficult to believe his ears. "Sir...you must know what that could do...in her condition..."
"Remember who I am." The harshness had leapt back into the director's voice. His eyes seemed to burn from the screen.
"I do, sir, but..."
"Do it, damn you! I have much to oversee, and I cannot function at full capacity in this unbearable heat. Without my guidance, the human race..." The vid-screen faded to a pinprick as the power drained. After a short break, it exploded back into life, the director's voice trailing several seconds behind. "...Agent Philk?"
"What about Agent Philk...didn't catch that, sir?" asked Medico 1.
"I asked whether he'd be able to penetrate my defences once there's no power to activate them."
Medico 1 thought for a moment. When he continued, his voice had adopted a more serious tone.
"Once the batteries are exhausted, your door will remain sealed. No one will be able to open it, either from the inside or out, but..."
"But?"
Again Medico 1 hesitated before responding.
"There might still be a threat from Agent Philk," he said.
"What kind of a threat?" A momentary flash of fear passed across the director's face.
"I'm not sure...somehow...by some method I've been unable to comprehend, Agent Philk seems to have managed to bypass the teleporter...even when it's not functioning...it's almost as if..." Medico 1's voice faltered as he struggled to explain something he didn't understand. "He seems to be able to..."
"Out with it, man."
"It seems he's able to teleport without recourse to the machine or his neuro-chip." The words tumbled from Medico 1's mouth in his endeavour to voice his thoughts.
A silence lasting several seconds followed Medico 1's observation.
"Damn!" suddenly said the director. He slammed his fist onto the desktop.
"Sir?"
"How could I have been so stupid as to have forgotten?"
"Forgotten, sir?"
"Agent Philk was the one who pioneered and assisted with the development of teleportation as a means of transportation more than two hundred years ago. His IQ is high enough for him to operate the system without resorting to the machinery. Damn! Damn! Damn!"
"I...I didn't know, sir."
"Of course not, you fool. There was no need for you to know. Besides, I had all records of those early experiments destroyed in case they fell into the wrong hands and others learned how to teleport. I forgot because I'd stored the knowledge away a long, long time ago, never thinking I'd have need of it again. And Agent Philk shouldn't remember because his chip has sublimated his memories."
"It seems...well..." Medico 1, aware of his superior's rising anger, paused and cleared his throat. "It seems he might...he might have overcome his conditioning, sir."
"Yes...it does...or is commencing to. And you know the threat if Agent Philk returns and his programming wears off?"
"He'll attempt to assassinate you and set himself up as leader." Medico 1 recited the litany he'd been fed by his superior every time the old man decided to remind his senior medico of the danger posed by his chief agent.
"More importantly..." said the director. His face was still expressionless, but his eyes darted about like those of a caged animal. "...he'll attempt to exterminate all of us...me...you...everyone."
"Surely he'll put the welfare of others before attempting to murder everyone," said Medico 1. "Agent Philk has always...
"The man is mad! He must be stopped." The director's raised voice, hysteria tearing at its edges, terminated Medico 1's words.
"Or course, sir, but the knowledge..."
"Once the batteries are exhausted, it'll too late for the secret of metals to assist us," said the director, again interrupting his chief medical expert. "I'm afraid our time on Earth is almost at an end."
Medico 1 gaped, unable to believe what he'd heard. He'd never known the director to sound so negative, to fold under pressure, to surrender while he yet drew breath.
"But, sir..."
"You know what you must do."
"Sir?"
"In the event of his memory returning, you must terminate Agent Philk. I will brook no excuses. Remember...it's your life or his."
"Of course, sir."
This time when the screen went blank in the Op-Centre, Medico 1 knew his superior had dismissed him.
**********
Roger Starko stood before the crude stone structure, pondering the fate of those who'd toiled beneath the broiling Hoojan sun to erect this portal for Uranus. From what he'd observed since his arrival on the planet, Roger surmised it would've been the tortured Humans, those who'd pledged their souls to the red-skinned alien for some long-forgotten reward who'd chiselled, lifted, carried and positioned the enormous slabs of rock. And, from the crudeness of the finished product, Roger guessed their tools consisted of little more than bare hands and sharp pieces of rock gleaned from their surrounds.
The Hoojan sun beat down upon his head and naked body as he wandered around the two uprights, but after the blistering heat of the bubbling lava, the conditions felt more of a relief than a hardship. The man wondered which the tormented souls had found was worse: the agonising torture of the sulphur pits, or toiling, naked beneath the pitiless sun, hands bleeding, backs aching, thirst driving screaming minds deeper and deeper into the depths of insanity.
Roger shuddered, forcing these thoughts aside as he wondered how the damn doorway worked and how he could discover the location of the corresponding portals on Earth. He was no nearer a solution than he'd been five hours ago, and he had no desire to face Uranus again, forced to admit defeat.
Not for the first time, he questioned his decision to betray his fellow Humans to the Hoojan monarch and his winged minions. During much of the time he'd served as a tool of the dictator, who ruled Earth with an iron hand and a heart of stone, Roger had schemed to usurp the old man's power and preside in his place; but Roger's ambition hadn't driven him to his act of betrayal until he'd discovered, quite by accident, the existence of Freya.
From as early as he could remember, Roger had demonstrated an avid interest in the work performed by the medical staff of the complex. By befriending Medico 1, a man who'd long since disappeared from the community to be replaced by a long line of non-entities promoted from the junior ranks, Roger had gained unauthorised access to the Med Centre. Here he witnessed many interesting practices, kept hidden from the remainder of the populace.
It was on one such occasion, while studying the secret cloning procedure, that Roger had learned about Freya. He remembered the day as if it'd been yesterday.
"This is where we store the human cells from which the clones are created," Medico 1 had said. "The room's refrigerated so that the samples are kept in pristine condition."
They stood before a large, silver door, its smooth, gleaming surface unmarred by either handle or keyhole. Roger inspected the barrier for a means of ingress, but discovered none. Seeing the other's bemusement, Medico 1 extracted a short, pencil-shaped object from the pocket of his white coveralls and held it up for Roger to inspect.
"Las-key," Medico 1 said before Roger had time to ask. Medico 1 placed one end of the cylinder against a tiny mark, no larger than a pinprick, on one side of the door, about half way down. "This alone grants access to the room. And it never leaves my person." Grinning, he activated the device.
Roger heard the mechanism inside release, and the door sighed open. Cold air leaked through the gap between door and doorjamb. Then Medico 1 swung the portal open, and Roger peered into the refrigerated storage unit.
It wasn't a large space, little bigger than a toilet cubicle. The back and sides were lined with rows upon rows of metal shelves that rose to the ceiling, almost filling the entire room. On each rack, arranged in neat rows, sat a multitude of circular, plasti-glass dishes, each one about two centimetres high, with a circumference no bigger than that of a coffee mug. Each dish bore a small white label on which was printed a coded number.
"By the Virgin...there must be hundreds...thousands even," said a surprised Roger. "Were they all collected from the same person?"
"No," said Medico 1. He selected seven of the small containers; the surface of each was frosted over. "There are skin samples, fingernail clippings and hair strands inside here from everyone that's ever lived in the complex. Some, like those from the director, were collected more than two hundred years ago."
"And whose are you using today?" Roger desired to learn everything he could about the process, starting with the basics.
"The director's and those belonging to another six men who helped establish this place following the Hoojan War." Medico 1 turned and walked to a nearby bench, where a computer terminal sat. "We always use the same seven." He twisted the first dish and removed its top. "It's forbidden to use any others."
"Why?" Roger had followed Medico 1 across the room.
"I'm told these cells contain the most perfect DNA configuration, exactly what we need for creating the kind of new life necessary to sustain the population of our world." Medico 1 touched the computer screen and a tray slid out from the unit standing beside the terminal.
"Have you ever used the cells of anyone other than those?" asked Roger. He watched as Medico 1 selected a tiny segment of frozen skin with plas-alloy tweezers and deposited the fragment onto the exposed surface of the tray. "I mean...why keep all the others if you're never going to use them?"
Medico 1 touched the screen again, and the tray slid back into its housing.
"I guess one day these particular DNA supplies will be exhausted," he said, "and then we'd need to use some of the others that are less perfect. For most of the original seven there's nothing left but the skin scrapings." Again Medico 1 touched the screen. It dissolved into a picture of a twisting, turning, naked baby, overprinted with the words 'CLONING PROGRAM LAUNCHED'. The unit emitted a soft humming sound, and several lights winked on and off.
"Mind you," Medico 1 continued, "I recall one of my superiors selecting the wrong batch of cells for use. I was nothing more than a lowly 57 at the time and knew nothing of the cloning programme; but I was assisting the unfortunate senior medico with some minor surgery when the director discovered the error...by this time the cells had developed to the infant stage and the strange DNA had been detected during a regular, routine check-up...and all hell broke lose."
"What happened?" asked Roger.
"It was frightening," said Medico 1. "The director was furious...called the unfortunate senior medico all the names in the world. I was standing by the man's side the whole time, quaking behind my surgical mask, praying that the director didn't think I was implicated in the mistake. The senior medico attempted to apologise, but the director refused to listen. In the end, the senior medico was despatched without the opportunity to defend himself."
"What became of the clones?" asked Roger. "Were they destroyed?"
"Not as far as I know," said Medico 1. "Destroying even part of that batch would've upset the delicate balance of maintaining the population...it would've meant a whole breeding cycle wasted. Anyway, it was quite some years ago now. I guess some of the resultant offspring are even now living in the Village outside the complex."
"What you've told me goes a long way towards explaining why many members of our community are so similar in appearance...with few variations." Roger nodded towards the winking lights. "What's happening now?" he asked.
"The computer's using microwaves to thaw the skin sample I placed inside the unit. It should be almost complete..." Medico 1 paused in mid-sentence, glancing up at the vid-cam mounted on the wall above them. He turned to Roger, his expression one of unease. "Please remember to stand off to the side a little more?" Medico 1 asked. "I don't want the director detecting your presence here in the laboratory...just in case he's watching me."
"Of course," said Roger, no more anxious to incur the director's wrath than his companion. Roger moved out of the line covered by the watching device. As he did, the lights on the defrosting unit ceased winking and the tray slid open.
"What happens now?" Roger asked.
Medico 1 selected another sample dish, opened it and placed a second specimen inside the tray. He touched the screen and, as the tray closed, turned towards Roger.
"I don't understand the technicalities," Medico 1 said, "because the process is computer controlled and every stage takes place inside the enclosed incubator you see before you." Roger studied the long, tubular mechanism that ran from the vid-screen to the end wall of the room. Nothing of what happened inside was visible to the operator. "I do know that the thawed skin has passed into the second chamber," continued Medico 1, "where healthy cells will be extracted and placed in an artificial medium that simulates conditions in the womb. Depending on the quality of each specimen, as many as ten clones may be selected from each sample.
"When the foetus reaches one month, it's ejected from the far end of the incubating machine, and it's my job to transfer each new clone to one of those larger plasti-glass vats located at the far end of the lab. There it's immersed in a fresh batch of embryo-fluid, nourished and monitored while it continues to develop."
As he spoke, the second thawing ended, and Medico 1 placed another sample in the tray. After re-starting the programme, he turned back to Roger.
"When the clones are sixty months old, they're removed from the vats, taught to eat and walk. Then they are ear-tagged and released outside the complex to fend for themselves until they reach their seventeenth year. Those that survive their time in the Village are returned here, thus sustaining the ranks of the workers below us."
"Seems a sad, pathetic kind of life," said Roger, his mouth turning down at the corners. "I don't envy those clones one little bit."
Medico 1 shot his companion an understanding look.
"Me neither," Medico 1 said and moved away to enter a fresh skin sample.
"Chatting to yourself, Medico 1?" said a voice from the wall screen, which abruptly filled with the director's stern face. Startled, Medico 1 glanced away from his work, almost dropping the tweezers in the process. "Some might take that as an early sign of madness," continued the director.
"Just thinking aloud, sir," said Medico 1, "running through a checklist, making sure I've entered the correct samples."
"Good," the director grunted. "How much longer will you be?"
"Almost done...ten more minutes, no more."
"When you're finished, I want you to run the monthly tests on the girl. Make sure she's healthy and not developing any hostile tendencies."
"Of course. Is she sedated...have you deactivated the protective devices that secure her quarters?"
"Yes. A sleeping draught was administered as part of her last meal, and I'll disarm the door leading to her apartment in precisely ten minutes from now."
"Anything else, sir?"
"No. Report when you've completed the tests. Have the results transferred directly to my office, as usual."
"Of course."
The screen went blank.
"Girl? What girl?" asked Roger, stepping from the shadows at the back of the room. Excitement coloured his face. "I didn't know there were any females in the complex."
"Nobody does. It's a secret." Medico 1 shot a scared glance over his shoulder. "And you mustn't let on you know. I've been sworn to silence on pain of death."
"Why would I? It shall be our little secret." Roger's face broke into an evil smile. "Now, when can I see her?"
"You...you...can't." All the blood drained from Medico 1's face.
"Take me with you."
"I can't...the old man will know." Medico 1 again glanced over his shoulder. "He...he watches me the whole time while I examine her."
"Damn!" Roger considered for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then his face lit up. "What about that screen?" He pointed to the wall, where minutes before the director's face had been displayed. "Can you patch that into the director's spy-cam?"
"I...guess so...but..."
"Do it...or I'll be forced to spill what I know. I'll say you tricked me into coming here with you...how you couldn't wait to brag about your responsibilities, the secrets you know. The old man trusts me...it'll be your word against mine."
Not knowing what else to do, Medico 1 had agreed. That day, Roger Starko caught his first glimpse of Freya. She was only twelve years old. Since that first sighting, Roger had coveted the girl for himself.
Time passed, and Roger had also come to realise that the director favoured Janus Philk over all his special agents, and that if anyone inherited the old man's power it would be the most senior operative. In the wake of this revelation, resentment consumed Roger to the point where he decided to use any means to destroy both Janus and the director, leaving himself as the sole successor to the role of supreme ruler of Earth.
And so what if Uranus and his Hoojan followers destroyed the inhabitants of the Government Complex as well as the cattle from the nearby Village? Roger knew the cloning procedures from beginning to end. He'd made a mental note of each step taken by his erstwhile friend, Medico 1. Besides, the whole process was computer controlled. What could go wrong? Roger would use his own cells to create a new batch of subservient beings who'd be only too happy to serve himself and his future queen.
In the meantime, Freya would cater to all Roger's needs. He smacked his lips in anticipation.
Smiling, Roger gazed up at the lintel of the megalith, studying the hieroglyph etched into its face. He recognised the figure as a poor likeness of Uranus and wondered why the alien had forced his workers to carve his image into the stone lintel. Vanity, perhaps.
Discover the locations yet? a harsh voice asked inside his head, banishing the man's reveries from his mind.
Roger spun around, surprise registering on his blistered face. Uranus hovered in the shimmering air, his membranous wings flapping, holding him aloft.
"Uranus," Roger said. "I didn't hear you approach."
Uranus smiled, an expression that failed to imbue a feeling of security in the Human.
Better ears than yours have suffered a similar fate. Uranus alighted beside Roger and stood gazing at the portal.
Do you now possess the answer to my question?
Roger shook his head and lowered his eyes. His confidence shattered by yet another failure in his desire to please Uranus, Roger had nothing to say.
Very well, said Uranus. The voice rolling around inside the man's mind sounded a little disappointed, or had Roger imagined that?
I have a new project in mind, continued Uranus.
Today, after hundreds of years, I was able to re-establish contact with my Saurian forces. It seems that, after all this time, I must once again call upon them to assist me in conquering your planet.
In the meantime, in readiness for my conquest of Earth and the return of my full powers, I've decided to modernise my palace, make it a fit place from which to reign over the universe with my sister, Serena, at my side. Let us see how you manage, assisting with the modifications.
**********
The huge throne, moulded from solid rock, dominated the entire chamber, but the being sprawled upon it held Janus' attention more than anything else. Although the Dragon lolled upon its seat, inhaling from a long tube that ran down the side of the throne to the floor, the man realised the creature outstripped in every way the sentry who'd directed him at the commencement of the byway. Red in colour, each of the Dragon's scales seemed as big as the dinner plates from which Janus and the magician had eaten mere minutes before. Between each scale, orange peeked, while yellow formed the hue of his softer, lower belly.
Something stirred deep within the man's memories, some feeling of deji* vu, as if he'd seen this particular creature in some other time, or at some other place. He shook his head, shrugging the feeling aside, knowing all too well his browsing of stored images in the library back on Earth had created this false memory.
After inspecting the Dragon for a few moments, Janus turned to Merlin for an explanation. To the Earth agent's surprise, his companion had thrown himself to the stone floor in a supplicating manner. And, whereas Merlin had entered the castle wearing a tattered, drab garment, he was now adorned in a long, red coat covered in stars. As Janus watched, the decorations seemed to twinkle in the light filtering through slits in the castle walls.
Janus, who'd never bowed to anyone in his lifetime, remained standing beside the magician, his arms folded, a smile playing upon his face. He allowed his eyes to survey the throne room.
He realised they'd been transported to the inside of an active volcano. Molten lava flowed past in narrow channels beside where they stood, glowing red and yellow before disappearing into fissures and cracks towards the outside world. Smoke and steam billowed and hissed from somewhere in the upper reaches of the chamber, while the atmosphere reeked with the smell of sulphur, accompanied by heat more intense here than outside.
Towards the far reaches of the chamber, Janus took in fluted columns, curving archways and a staircase leading upward into the tower, the flagstones worn by the feet of countless climbers. Hanging from the ceiling, tapestries draped down and across the walls, many depicting battles between Dragons and Humans clothed in armour, all of whom wielded swords. In all of the illustrations, the Dragons emerged victorious from their encounters with their two-legged adversaries. Beside the throne stood an enormous, bronze gong.
At length, the red Dragon flicked a huge, clawed right hand, dismissing his companions - a smaller, winged beast with metallic blue colouring and a second with muddy brown scales - and turned his attention to the new arrivals.
"What have we here?" boomed the red Dragon, shattering Janus' reverie. Smoke and flame punctuated the creature's words. "What has the wizard, Merlin, brought for our entertainment today?"
"If it pleases you, my lord?" said Merlin, regaining his feet. "I present the emissary from Earth whose arrival has been foretold for almost two centuries." The magician gestured towards Janus.
"A Human?" boomed the Dragon, turning his yellow, reptilian eyes to study Janus. "I see he possesses the typical arrogance of his species."
"If it pleases, my lord," continued Merlin. "He is new here and does not..."
"Enough," interrupted the Dragon, glaring at the magician. Turning again towards Janus, the Dragon addressed him. "Step forward and tell me...have your species evolved into beings with wings since my days on that planet?"
Janus advanced, his arms dropping to his sides.
"My lord Dragon...these are no more than an attachment by which I am able to fly." He removed the harness and his wings as he spoke. "As to my mission...I am here seeking the secret of metals."
"Ah," breathed the Dragon. "We know of the prophecy, but I have forgotten how you are named...what do they call you, man with artificial wings?"
"Janus."
"Shanus," hissed the Dragon, struggling with the 'J'. His eyes closed as he pondered the name. "Your features seem familiar to me, but then all you Humans look pretty much the same. Now let me see...I once assisted a Shason during my time on your planet. I seem to recall I helped him in his quest for the Golden Fleece. Are you he?"
Guessing that the Dragon asked about someone from his past, Janus shook his head. He pondered the concept of the Dragon's age. The creatures had been unknown on Earth for centuries, their existence relegated to writings of mythology. If this Dragon had lived then, did he know the secret of longevity, something for which Humans had searched for many centuries? Janus tucked the question into the back of his mind, meaning to ask it when a suitable time arose.
"No," Janus said, having examined the memories of his reading and finding an entry that matched the Dragon's query. "Jason was not of my time. He no longer lives."
"Ah!" hissed the Dragon. "I was forgetting your short Human lifespan. It is of no mind."
He paused and swung his enormous tail, bringing its flat, pointed end into sudden contact with the huge metal gong standing beside the rock throne. A note of pure sound rang out, seeming to vibrate to the very core of Janus' being. Then the Dragon continued.
"My name is Aphophis," he said. "Welcome to my kingdom. I would like you to meet a few of my subjects."
In response to the gong, dozens of other Dragons of different sizes and colours emerged from openings in the walls of the throne room and advanced towards their leader, their voices raised in discussion. When they spotted Janus standing before their monarch, their words died and their pace slowed. Then they rushed to Janus, congregating around him, vying with each other to get close to the newcomer, to touch him. In the hubbub of confusion he could only make out the words 'Human', 'stone' and 'prophecy' as their voices washed over him.
"Silence," bellowed Aphophis after several minutes. "Back from Shanus so that he might breathe." The Dragon king laughed good-naturedly.
The voices abated. The throng stepped back, long Dragon fingers trailing talons across Janus' body, each seeking to be the last to touch the new arrival.
Janus smiled.
"How is it that everyone knows of my mission here?" he asked. "What is the prophecy of which everyone speaks?"
Aphophis chuckled and shook his massive head.
"Rush, rush," he said, smoke drifting from between his jagged teeth. "I see little has changed in the manner by which Humans strike right to the heart of business. Come sit here." The Dragon moved his enormous, three-toed feet aside, making room for Janus on the floor. "Perhaps you'd like to partake of a little weed with me, regale me with stories of your world and meditate with me for a while." Aphophis extended the end of the long tube towards his guest.
From where he stood, Janus saw that the other end nestled in a clump of brown leaves smouldering in a small pool of lava. Aphophis had been inhaling the smoke given off by this grass.
"I don't wish to appear rude, lord Aphophis," said Janus in his most appreciative voice. "I would gladly avail myself of your hospitality at another time. Right now..." He smiled at the Dragon king. "...my business is pressing. It is extremely important for me to complete my mission and return to my world as soon as possible.
Aphophis sighed and held Janus' gaze.
"Your mission seeking the philosopher's stone," said Aphophis, "has been anticipated for many years. The prophecy regarding your visit was foretold, almost two thousand of your Earth years ago."
"Who made this prediction? Was it you?"
Aphophis laughed, sparks and smoke erupting from his gash of a mouth.
"I know many things, for I have lived since the beginning of time. But I do not make predictions. That is the realm of our creator...Serena, mistress of all you survey." He uttered this last statement with an air or reverence and swept his arm around to encompass the immense chamber.
"May I meet with this mistress...this Serena...your creator?" asked Janus. "I would speak with her concerning the prophecy."
Aphophis shook his head.
"She is away visiting family at present...we expect her...when she returns," he said.
Disappointment washed over Janus. If Serena did possess the gift of foresight, he knew she could answer many of the questions that had nagged at him for as long as he could recall; but he also knew he mustn't delay his return to Earth. He made up his mind, however, to honour his promise to Aphophis and revisit Thurgolde once his mission was completed. Janus wished to meet with this Serena of whom the Dragon king talked.
"What then of the secret of metals?" Janus asked, returning to the task at hand.
The winged monarch used his tail to strike the gong again. At the sound, another group of Dragons entered from the wings of the building led by a beautiful woman with long, flowing, yellow hair. Dressed in a robe similar to that worn by Merlin, Janus could see the contours of her voluptuous body outlined by the flimsy material. Instead of the red fabric of the magician's garment, its rich, blue colour reminded Janus of the oceans of the Earth he'd seen depicted in the library, while on the fabric's surface, yellow crescent moons seemed to be in constant motion.
In her hands the woman carried a smooth, multi-coloured rock about as large as a watermelon. She advanced towards Aphophis' throne, presenting the stone to the Dragon king.
"This is Morgana," said Aphophis, introducing the woman. She turned to face Janus, arms extended towards him. Aphophis continued, "She is my handmaiden and Keeper of the Stone."
Part 13
Linear Mode
