by J G Barber
Alexei ignores Paul’s feelings. “Did they speak of El Aniquilador?”
Paul nods. “Yeah. El Jefazo said he’s the big boss. I assume he runs the cartel.”
Alexei steps onto the patio to grab a smoke. He leaves the sliding glass door open just enough to continue the conversation. “El Aniquilador fashions himself after the classic drug lords of old. He uses violence sparingly and never for blood sport. He operates a global business and acts as a benefactor to the local communities where the cartel operates. Many admire him for his generosity, and they enable his deeds. He controls the police and the government.”
Paul reflects on El Jefazo’s no tell countenance. “This isn’t a work for hire gig. They want something from the sirens.”
“El Aniquilador has global ambitions,” Alexei says. “Having the siren song under his control would enable him to extend his power base.”
“This is not what I signed up for. I’m out.” Ellen joins Alexei on the patio for a smoke. “We need to get Laura to a safe place.”
Laura steps away from the patio door to avoid the smoke. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Paul connects with Ellen “I agree. We’re in over our heads.”
He pauses, allowing the moment of perfect clarity on the beach to replace his fear. “To succeed in the present, I must understand what happened in the past.” Paul lets his words sink in before he continues. “I’ve been running away from it. No more. It’s time to enter this maze of memories and present possibilities to find the truth.”
Ellen peeks her head in through the patio door. “How are you going to do that?”
“Meditate.” Paul retreats to set up a meditation spot in the storage room, leaving Alexei and Ellen to drag on their Sobranies while Laura ponders their situation and what it might mean for her son.
Paul tried abstaining for a week, assuming that if he did, the dreams of Atlantis would return, as would his connection with Leucosia. Neither happened. After today’s run, and a week of twenty questions from Laura and Ellen about his visit to the sirens’ island, he’s ready for a break.
“Y Griega, por favor,” Paul asks his nameless friend, the patio bartender.
“Ya no lo tenemos, Señor. Sé que te gusta la Sativa. La mota del día es Acapulco Gold.” The bartender slides the customary plate over to Paul.
Paul slaps his hand on the bar, flipping the joint and lighter off their plate. “What do you mean, you don’t have it? I need it.”
The bartender restores the plate and pours his tequila. “Y un gran vaso de Tequila blanca.” Paul pays and heads for his seat.
When he arrives at his customary spot, he finds a curious bloke in a large sunhat and safari garb. Paul’s not seen this man at the bar before. Paul takes the seat next to the man, noticing they purchased the same setup from the bar. The man lights up his joint and tips his hat. “G’day, mate.”
The man’s tone of voice invites conversation and disarms Paul. “How’s it going?”
“Much better now.” The man takes in a lungful. Paul lights up as the man exhales. “I’d introduce myself, but the rules, you know. Don’t want to piss off our hosts and all that.” He takes a small spiral notepad and pencil out of his buttoned shirt pocket. He writes the word Clive and hands the writing implements to Paul. Paul writes his name beneath Clive’s and hands it back. “I’ve seen you here before,” Clive says. “Come here often, do you?”
Interesting. I’ve never seen you here before. “I stop by from time to time,” Paul says. “Where I’m from, you can buy it in a store but you have to smoke at home.”
Clive takes another hit. “Yeah? Where you from?”
Paul take a swig of tequila. “Seattle. You?”
Clive exhales with a sigh. “Queensland, Australia. In and around Brisbane and the Gold Coast. Before my partner and I started traveling, that is. You’re a tech guy then, aren’t ya?”
“Retired.” Paul raises his glass for a toast. They tap their glasses before chasing their next hits with tequila. “I’m a world sailor now. How about you?”
Clive laughs. “What do I do? That is the question. I have a few skills and interests. Taught archaeology at university. Before I received my inheritance and took my leave, that is. Certified advanced technical diver. Conspiracy theorist. Crypto zoologist. UFOlogist. Hunter of strange and mysterious legends.”
“That’s quite a resume.” Paul takes another drink. “You say you’re a hunter. What are you hunting here in Zihua?”
Clive takes his turn with the tequila. “Well, my latest passion is forbidden archaeology. Trying to connect the dots between some very interesting myths and artifacts in this region. I’m learning that the Mayans, the Otomi, the Aztecs and Atlantis were all connected.”
“I’m very interested in Atlantis these days.” Paul takes a hit. “Tell me more.”
Clive turns his chair towards Paul. “My friend the Mayan elder tells me stories about how visitors from Atlantis traveled across the sea on large tortoise shells to share advanced knowledge and wisdom with his people. He says the popular and academic views on Atlantis are all incorrect. My working theory: the Atlantean influence is why all ancient sites around the world are similar in design.”
Same thing Ellen said. “What do you know about sirens?” Paul asks.
“Ah. Sirens. They’re the real reason my partner and I are here. You might say that siren hunter is my true profession these days.” Paul sits up in his chair as Clive continues, “This region is a hotbed of siren lore, you know. Inland, in the city of Metepec and surrounding areas, between here and Mexico City, the indigenous locals still believe that mermaid sirens swim the waters of the local lakes and rivers. Over 11,000 years ago, the Matlazinca people settled in the swamplands in and around an area where the city of Metepec exists today. Their legends tell of an enchanting, bare-breasted serpent-woman who would appear in Las Nueve Aguas Lake. They called her La Tlanchana. Spirit of the water. They believed she was the embodiment of the goddess of the waters and love, Chalchiuhtlicue. She was the mother-creator and lady of the swamp. The sight of her mesmerized the local fishermen. If she fell in love with one of them, and he rejected her love, watch out! She was so important in this region, the Aztecs built a cluster of fourteen small pyramids in her honor.”
Same thing Laura said. “That explains why the sirens are here.”
Clive checks his glass and his joint. Both are running low. “We have a common friend, the Russian. You know, the one who can’t stop smoking those bloody Sobranie cigarettes.”
Paul lets the truth sink in. I knew it! Fucking Alexei. “Yeah. He’s one of my housemates.”
Clive raises his glass with one hand and his roach with the other. “Our meeting today was fate, fellow siren hunter. We have a lot to talk about.”
Paul taps his glass. They finish their remaining supply at the same time.
“Bloody hell, that’s good tequila. I’ll get us another round.” Clive bolts to the bar and returns with two more five finger glasses and two joints. Another tap of the glasses, a deep drink, a few more hits, and Paul and Clive are well on their way to a shit-faced bonding session.
Leucosia walks alone, her bare feet connected to the clay dance floor. Since the siren potentials arrived, she seeks her private time while the sun is up. The setting sun has been the signal for the party to start.
Since the dream where her mother, Diana, spoke of the risk she would take to leave the water to spend time with her daughter, Leucosia’s dreams have not spoken to her. What that dream revealed, however, continues to alter her conscious mind.
Diana’s words echo in Leucosia’s mind. We are Sirenians, the bringers of peace. We bless the Earth and all its creatures with our love of life and our desire for harmony. The words evoke violence in her as her mind flashes through the atrocities she has witnessed, and perpetrated, over the course of her 12,000 year existence. She cannot bear the pain of it all. She collapses to her knees, in tears, falling onto the clay and rolling
into the fetal position as an immense wave of grief consumes her. She allows it to devastate her. After some time, her tears wash away enough grief to enable her to stand again.
Her vulnerability brings forth a revelation. Aztlan was my father, she concludes. I am the product of a mating between Sirenian and human. I only exist because a human, my father, gave his life to save mine. He sacrificed everything so I could live. What have I become?
Monica-Lorelei joins her on the clay dance floor. She studies the clay covering Leucosia’s skin and the remnants of tears covering her face. “What troubles you, sister?” Monica says as she wipes the tears away.
“I am a hybrid,” Leucosia answers. “All we can ever be is hybrids.”
“Yes we are, my dearest Leucosia,” Lorelei says. “Humans have tainted all life on Earth. We will never recover.”
“Then what is the point of all this?” Leucosia’s arms motion to the facility around them and its boarders. “If we are not pure, how can we realize our resurrection?”
Monica-Lorelei strokes Leucosia’s hair. “This is merely biology.” She touches Leucosia’s heart. “The Sirenian spirit lives on in all of us. And the Sirenian gene survives. Our genetics can never be pure again. But we will manifest the pure spirit of the Sirenian soul and make the most of our gene that remains.”
Leucosia grabs Monica-Lorelei’s hands. “I did not reveal to you why Paul came to us.”
“He came to face the truth of his inevitable choice to join us,” Lorelei says.
Leucosia shakes her head. She considers Paul’s offer for a moment as she speaks. “He came to propose peace.”
Lorelei laughs. “There can never be peace between the invasive human species and New Sirenia! They have murdered and exploited us since before the Great Flood. They have done the same to the aboriginal humans. You have told me of this, sister, from your own experience. Their very existence perpetrates a crime against all of life.”
“His offer may be genuine,” Leucosia admits.
Monica-Lorelei slaps her. “Have your dreams made you soft? Your fond recollections of your mother and your early years do not serve our purpose. Do not speak of this to our sisters. It would undermine your authority.”
Leucosia feels her steel will return, wrapping her emotional wounds in the cold and familiar comfort of vengeance. She circles around the dance floor a few times to shake off her moment of weakness and embody her power to command. “Let us prepare the next phase of training. Our potentials are weak. Identify those who will take the journey with us, and those who will not.”
Chapter Twelve
After a long walk on the moonlit beach to sober up a bit, Paul and Clive arrive at Paul’s house. Paul opens the door to Laura, Ellen and Alexei engaged in a lively discussion with two men.
Clive smiles. “I should’ve known I’d find you two here. The time has come for the siren hunters to unite!”
His mind still slow from the overindulgences, Paul tries to take it all in. Alexei introduces a tall, bearded man with olive skin and a charismatic and mysterious presence, a mixed ethnicity version of the most interesting man in the world. “Paul, this is Sorcerer.”
Sorcerer shakes Paul’s hand. “Your reputation precedes you. I’ve heard many tales about your odyssey. If I may introduce our esteemed counterpart, El Anciano. He is a Mayan scholar, recognized by his own people as an elder. We are fortunate to enjoy his counsel.”
“I told you about El Anciano, Paul,” Ellen says. “He wrote the essay about the Mayan connection with Atlantis.”
El Anciano is a small man with a wiry build similar to Alexei’s, older and less muscular. What he lacks in physique, he more than makes up for in the power and serenity of his presence. He accepts Paul’s handshake, looking into Paul’s eyes as he does. “Your ancestors bless you with messages from their time. Why do you seek to cloud them?”
Clive wraps an arm over Paul’s shoulder. “He says the same thing to me all the time.”
“And he does not listen,” El Anciano says.
Paul looks to Laura and Ellen. “Don’t look at us,” Ellen says. “We just met these fine gentlemen about an hour ago. Now Alexei…”
Alexei rolls his huge satellite photo out on the dining room table. “It is time for us to join forces. Sorcerer will provide the latest intelligence.”
“We all know the sirens negotiated a deal with Cartel Nuevo Ciglo. They traded access to their women for protection. We also know they have been moving forward with their archaeological surveys. Today, they found what they are looking for.” Sorcerer pauses for dramatic effect.
“What did they find?” Laura asks.
Sorcerer rolls out another satellite photo on top of Alexei’s. “A Mayan pyramid, buried beneath the earth.”
Ellen checks out the photo. It reveals nothing. “I thought the Mayan domain extended from the Yucatan south into Central America.”
“The modern world does not understand our true history or the geographic reach of my people,” El Anciano explains. “Many misconceptions exist. Your university scholars, your books and your popular media tell incomplete and inaccurate stories.”
Clive surveys the kitchen for more booze. Finding nothing, he shakes his head in dismay. “The truth is coming out about the Maya. Just look at the recent discoveries in Guatemala’s Peten region, for example. A population of 10 million in the area and advanced commercial agriculture to feed them.” He returns to the main room. “I still have access to a Lidar satellite from my university days. We’ll get a 3D map of the siren’s pyramid and the surrounding area and see what we can see.”
Paul recalls one of his early dreams about Atlantis, where Citizen Aztlan rescues Leucosia from the military science lab at the cost of his own life. “The pyramid contains Atlantean technology.”
Clive slaps his hands on the kitchen counter. “Yes. Yes! It all makes sense now!”
“What is this Atlantean technology capable of?” Ellen asks.
Paul stumbles over to check out the satellite photo. “Genetic transmutation. That’s how the women will birth the new Sirenian race. But first, they will reactivate Leucosia.”
Sorcerer looks to Paul. “We need to see what’s inside that pyramid.” He nods to El Anciano.
El Anciano lays his hands on Paul’s shoulders. “Your ancestors gifted you with the ability to see. You must cleanse your mind and body. That will give you full access to your gifts.”
“How do I do that?” Paul asks. “I already tried. It didn’t work.”
“I will prepare an herbal tea and juices to cleanse your body. You must exercise and meditate.” El Anciano digs a cloth pouch out of his bag. He heads into the kitchen to prepare tea.
Clive shakes his head. “Here it comes. No more tequila y mota for you, my friend.”
Paul frowns. His mood sinks as he comprehends that he’s busted. He has no choice but to get his shit together and face the truth of what’s haunted him since they arrived in Mexico.
Leucosia looks out at the ocean as the sun rises. She sits alone on a rock beyond the borders of the facility, in a meditative position, hidden by the trees behind her. This spot is her place to escape, to connect with Great Mother away from the noise in the facility. She closes her eyes, opens her arms and takes in a series of connected breaths.
Her mind’s eye opens, and her consciousness projects through the sky, flying as the bird-woman over the desert brush and trees into the mountains. She arrives at the pyramid site, its pinnacle exposed and surrounded by piles of earth. Heavy machinery engines start with a roar. The day’s excavation begins.
Leucosia’s consciousness enters through the pinnacle of the pyramid, traveling down a vertical shaft to a large throne room. She sits on the throne. Her mind’s eye flashes with a rapid-fire download of images as she sees into the past. Ghosts of the sirens who once lived in the surrounding region reveal themselves to her, imparting their stories in an instant. This was a place where a gossip of sirens fled after the Great Flood, d
isplacing the dark Atlanteans and finding refuge in the local waters.
A deep knowing fills her mind and heart. The locals here loved, feared, and worshipped us. Then the Spaniards came, and the inquisitions began. They demonized us as they did in Europe. They enlisted the locals to hunt us down until none of us survived. A wave of grief passes through her physical body. She allows the tears to flow and returns her focus to the interior of the pyramid.
The ouroboros—the ancient symbol of the serpent eating its own tail—marks the entrance to a sprawling gallery. Not unlike Lorelei’s collection in Seattle, it contains many ancient artifacts in pristine condition, organized in clusters. A pedestal holding a crystal accompanies each cluster of artifacts. Leucosia’s mind explores the room. As she approaches each pedestal, a holographic story displays, accompanied by a siren song that resonates through the gallery.
Art, statuettes and jewelry she hasn’t seen since her childhood draw her in. They represent the original Sirenians, before the Atlantean genetic manipulations. Scenes of peace and love and community, some underwater, others at the ocean shores with humans gathered around the Sirenians, moved by their song. The starting place of the sirens’ journey. The artifacts awaken a childlike wonder and curiosity in her.
One by one, the crystals light up to lead Leucosia through the gallery as she follows the sirens’ migrations from Atlantis to locations around the world. Each collection represents a site where the surviving gossips settled after the Great Flood, ocean front and fresh water inland locations. The stories are all too familiar. The gossip established themselves in a body of water. They built peaceful relations with the local pagans or aboriginals. The locals worshipped the sirens until the Europeans arrived. The ensuing madness turned the humans into mass murderers and the sirens into killers and thieves.
A familiar song calls to her. The holograph depicts trees covering a remote island, similar to their rocky island in Mexico, but with a tropical ecology. Leucosia delights in watching and listening as their story unfolds from arrival to lingering images of the sirens living a simple and peaceful life filled with loving songs from the old times. Their story does not end.