Children of the Star
Summary: Searching for the truth behind myths and legends wasn't an easy job. Interpretation was not the best tool to decipher long lost cyphers and stories. But as Nigel and Sydney delve deeper in to this particular legend, personal interpretation is likely the only thing that might save their lives.
Disclaimer: This is a fan-fiction story of the TV show; Relic Hunter, and is in no way affiliated with the actual show. All characters and other materials related to the show that are used are not intended to infringe on any Copyrights. Elemental-Zer0 takes sole responsibility for any mistakes or offence that may be taken but truly not meant. However, any characters that are not related to any copyrights are copyrighted to Elemental-Zer0 as is any variations to the plot set out in the show.
Authors Note: I felt nostalgic; revisited an old idea; dusted off the creative gears; and found myself with this.
Let me know what you think, but no flames please. If you have any constructive criticism to make please do it politely. There's no reason to be rude and insulting when you disagree or don't like other's works of fiction.
Pre-face
Atlantis (est. 2600 and 1550 BC)
Alethea Kyero; Royal Princess and Heir to the Kingdom of Atlantis. She had been named after the Great God of the Seekers; Kynigos and the Saint of Knowledge and Truth: Alitheias. She'd been named after her curiosity and perseverance had made itself known in abundance when she was a youngling, before that she had been Neosa; The Royal Young One.
It was a heavy title to wear. She almost resented it. Her spirit, her ambition had become her curse and she knew the risks would be great but her longing for the outside world, the longing for her namesake intention was too great a call to resist. Her father would be angry, disappointed, upset even but he had plenty of sons and daughters to take her place as heir. The Gods had decided she was eligible, but they had named her older brother, Dikaios as also eligible. It had been down to public vote as to which of the two God-chosen would lead them after her father. The people had chosen her.
Her father had bode the omen as a fair but inaccurate judgement of the Gods and their meanings for those they'd marked. He knew she was a fiery spirit and needed her freedom. To rule meant a lot of stability and role fitting. Keeping her cooped inside the palaces of Atlantis was too much for her world sized reach to hold back. One could never tame the wind or seas, one could only ride their whims to a destination only fate could determine.
Her decision had been made. All she had to do now was cast off her boat and say her final silent farewells. She knew that going to the mainland, to Athens was a big leap of faith. The man she'd fallen in love with was mortal and thus their love was forbidden. She knew that if she ever copulated with a mortal man, she'd lose her longevity and would age as the humans do. She'd be vulnerable. She needed something that would sustain her while she was weak. She tightened the strap of the most mundane satchel she could find, inside was a piece of the star of Atlantis.
The Star of Atlantis was a giant rock-like mass of a strange material they'd never understood. It glowed like the sky and the sea and it was believed that this was the magical energy of the heavens and had been given to the Atlanteans for their favours and advanced spiritual progression by the Gods. It had been the method of the markings, the choosing of the Gods. One's hand was place against the star, a short prayer said and most of the time nothing happened, but for the rare few; a destiny was carved upon the star and transferred to the child being named. The star readers had long since lost their knowledge to accurately interpret the meanings of the markings, but they had their experience and patterns to draw from. They'd told Alethea that she'd been marked for greatness by the Star and even still the mark was dark and bold against her pale skin it had not dulled with her stray from her father's heritage and the passing of the crown.
But lately, the Star had been crumbling to nothing. Pieces of it were constantly found at its base and while everything was being done to curry favour with the Gods again, it seemed that they were not in a forgiving mood. Unsure of what transgression the Atlantean people had transposed, her father had forbidden any natives to leave the isle. Their repentance had begun in earnest and while she could understand her father's reasons; her desire, her ambitions, and her love were not in the same location as her father's love for her. The tug of the outside world called strong and clear to her. She knew that to save her people from the full wrath of the Gods and to save her own destiny, she would need to heed the calls of her heart and her namesake.
So, believing that the Gods would not have given her such a strong desire without the need for her to follow it, and believing that the Gods would not want a daughter of the wind and sea to be in danger, she took a fragment of the Star and made plans to meet her beloved in Kithira.
Little did she know the impact this would have on the events that were to follow.
Prologue
London, (Present day)
The Gentlemen's club had really outdone itself this time. It had been quite the flurry of activities and entertainment and Preston Bailey had thoroughly enjoyed his time spent there. The evening had proven worth the outing.
The gala had been put on to raise money for the nation's much beloved charity fund raiser, Children in Need and with the comedy, the exotic dances and the plethora of daring acrobatics, the club had certainly garnered the attentions of some of the higher spectrum of the upper-class societies and had successfully persuaded them to part ways with a significant amount in donations. Preston felt practically giddy with pride at his achievement for which he'd been receiving praises from nearly everyone in attendance. His event planning skills were second to none when it came to planning entertainment for the upper-class British society and he knew it.
But the hour had turned very late – or early depending on which side of midnight you found yourself on – and though he had wished to stay longer, he did in fact have a busy morning to follow such a massive success. The Curator was prepping a new wing in the museum and as the head overseer, it was Preston's job to manage the plans and set up for the new wing.
So, being careful not to fall between the lines of sobriety, Preston had kept his glass mostly full all night in order toward off any unnecessary drink buying on his behalf and had managed to keep his head where it should be and not floating away in drunken clouds of inebriation.
With all his guests taken care of, he left the clean up to those who were paid to do the job and headed out into the brisk night air. He was in a jubilant spirit and the night was a beautiful one. As he was staying in a hotel only a few streets away, he decided that the walk would be a pleasant addition to an already amazing evening. He set off at a leisurely and relaxed pace.
"Mr Bailey." The feminine voice was unexpected and Preston barely contained the surprise he felt when he heard it say his name in such an urgent and serious tone. He turned to face his interruption and found his gaze fall upon a trio of people who had appeared behind him. "We need your help."
There was a tingle of fear that crept up his spine at the foreboding triplet stood before his person. He couldn't quite place the peculiar feeling, just that he felt uneasy around the strangers. It was an odd sensation. "I can't help you if you're after directions ma'am, I'm hopeless with them myself." He said with a faux air of confidence and hoped they'd back off but she was persistent.
"I don't believe you think we're after directions Mr Bailey. I called you by your name." She said stepping slightly forward but stopping when he turned to her again. "I won't beguile your intelligence, so do me the honour of respecting mine." This made him pause a little. He was unsure of this whole encounter and was beginning to wonder if he'd have need of help were he to insult these people further.
"Fine. But I'll be frankly honest with you." Preston began bluntly as he turned fully to acknowledge his conversational partners and would-be accosters. "Your entire outfit is very alarming and off-putting. If you wish to garner my attention conversationally, I'd recommend you use a different approach." He said, he wasn't prepared to be bullied into a conversation with people who were clearly pulling the intimidation card. "If you wish to speak with me, speak. I'll not be caught consorting with strangers in the night for long." He added impatiently.
The female figure stepped forward once more and stopped a few feet away from Preston, she pulled her hood back only slightly so that he could see her face but any accidental passer's by would see only shadows. "I need to ask you about your mother." She said, her voice soft now that she was closer. "And of a stone she may have kept secret." She added mysteriously. Preston frowned in confusion. He could hardly remember his mother with any stone. Sure she'd owned expensive jewellery, and the stones in them were quite precious but he got the feeling that trinkets of the feminine artistry were not what this group of people were vested in. He answered honestly.
"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about. My mother had a lot of trinkets and baubles but nothing that really stands out as something needing to be kept secret. She wore them all, favoured the one she was buried in but it was a semi-precious stone that one can definitely purchase today." He said. He wasn't sure why he was being informational with her, but it felt like the right thing to say in order to portray his honesty to her. He really didn't know of any secret stone his mother would be involved with. "Now if you're done with your miniature Spanish inquisition, I have an early morning tomorrow and not enough night left to prepare for it." He dismissed the conversation with a nod, "Good night miss, and goodnight gentlemen." He bid them and turned to walk off with an accelerated gait.
They didn't follow.
He mulled over the strange encounter and suddenly realised why he'd found it strange. She'd had an American accent.
That prompted another thought; Nigel.
His younger brother was living in America and if these people had found Preston all the way here in England, then his baby brother was probably on their radar too. Especially since Nigel's and their mother's relationship had been a tight one. Preston had been closer to their father in that respect.
On a whim, and maybe because he was still feeling a little more charitable than usual despite the odd encounter, he flipped out his smart phone and tapped out a text to his brother's number. The name of which he'd saved as 'Podge' so as to annoy the younger man if he ever saw it – he admitted it was a boyish prank but couldn't seem to bring himself to change it. Sentimentality, and all that. The message was vague and held no urgency, but he was sure it would benefit the younger man if he was similarly accosted by inquisitors of his mother's secrets. No one liked to be surprised with personal questions and his little brother was a sensitive lad at best.
Message sent, good deed done, and a new spring in his step at his own gracious nature; Preston continued to the hotel and stepped inside the foyer.
And that was when all hell broke loose.