“The Fates have spoken,” the Seer said.
Columbus dropped his head.
Elara waited patiently outside the Seer’s door. She wanted nothing more desperately than to be inside that room, to hear what Columbus heard. She had been given her turn before the Fates, but her questions failed to provide the answers she needed. The Fates had tricked her. She hoped with every fabric of her being that Columbus had not made the same mistake.
An eternity passed.
At last, the door creaked open and the mariner appeared. His eyes were downcast, his face troubled. Elara felt her heart sink. Then he looked up and nodded. With that single gesture, relief flooded her, and she felt her heart fill with something she had not known since she was a child. Pure joy.
Chapter Ten
The Garden of the Blest was situated at the rear of the city. It boasted mossy plots of grass, a few slender trees, smatterings of wildflowers, and a dry creek bed filled with colorful rocks that twinkled with dewy sunlight. The biggest draw, however, had to be the trellis bridge, which extended over the creek, but only by half. Its latter half couldn’t be seen, as it disappeared into the Void.
The Atlanteans who escorted Columbus and his crew out there the next morning couldn’t explain why the bridge hadn’t collapsed in the years since the Void had encroached upon it. They only said the garden had once extended far beyond that point, and somewhere in the city there were paintings to prove it.
“I’ll bet it was beautiful here once,” Nyx remarked once they’d been seated at a stone table near the creek’s edge. It was still wet with dew and made for uncomfortable sitting.
“I don’t like it,” Fanucio grumbled.
“The garden?”
“All of it. This city. These people. First, they threaten to kill us. Then, they lock us in that room. And now, they send us out here to admire the sunrise and that bloody curtain of death behind it. No subtle message there, I say.”
“You’re being paranoid,” Columbus said.
“Never met a sea dog worth his salt that wasn’t.”
The Pygmies were at the end of the table. Monday sat head-in-hands, eyes drooping, which was marginally more respectful than Tuesday, who lay face down, snoring.
“And where’d you two go to last night?” Fanucio asked.
Monday mumbled something, but in all the clicks and grunts, Fanucio still couldn’t understand the half of it. Columbus grinned like a proud father.
“What’d he say?” Fanucio asked.
“He said they went in search of a privy.”
“Twelve hours looking for a shitter? Bah. Them savages wouldn’t know what to do with one if they found it. Probably went hunting for whores. Or food. Which reminds me, my stomach’s grumblin’ like that damned mountain in the Canaries. When are we going to eat?”
“I’m hungry too,” Nyx added.
“We’ll eat soon enough,” Columbus said.
“So,” Nyx said, the edge of her mouth curling into a smile. “You were gone some time with the princess. How’d that go?”
How to answer? If Columbus explained his visit to the fates in detail, it would require admitting that he had been deceived. And while the others might not blame him for falling victim to those treacherous gods of old, the same couldn’t be said of himself. Those witches had blinded him with smoke and artifice; turned his greatest weapon—his sexuality—against him. Even now the memory both enraged and excited him. At least he’d gleaned enough clues to set him on the next stage of his journey.
As for the princess, she’d gotten what she wanted too. So far as she believed. He’d told her their purposes were aligned though nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, he made a promise to help her, but he broke promises to women all the time. Such was the nature of being a man. He knew he couldn’t find the trident without her just as he knew her kingdom could not be saved. That would require a true hero of old. And as much as Columbus hated to admit it, those fellows existed only in stories.
“Well enough,” Columbus said finally.
Nyx and Fanucio shared a smile.
“She sure was beaming when she returned. And to think, you were only gone an hour.”
“Fifty-eight minutes longer than it normally takes him,” Fanucio said. He and the girl burst into laughter.
“Suppose he pleased the old one too?” Nyx teased.
“A good Cap’n should always be willing to take one for the team.”
“Ha, ha,” Columbus said, looking straight at Nyx. “Did they teach you to talk about such things at that school of yours?”
“Oh, relax,” Nyx answered. “It was just a joke. I thought that’s how the crew was supposed to talk.”
“Oh, they do. But you’re not crew, remember?”
Nyx sulked. Columbus felt a pang of guilt before Vespucci exited the city door.
“Peacock ain’t struttin’ now, is he?” Fanucio asked. “Almost feel sorry for the smarmy bastard. Think he’s learned his lesson?”
“Yes,” Columbus said, “and that’s what troubles me. Go get him.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Fanucio said before limping off.
Columbus focused on the tha-clunk of his first mate’s receding steps before he noticed the girl watching him. Keen blue eyes. So familiar. Was it possible? No, it couldn’t be.
“Have you ever considered working with the man rather than against him?” Nyx asked at last. “I mean, I know it would probably bruise both your egos, but the two of you aren’t all that different. You’re both explorers hailing from the same region. And he’s intelligent enough.”
“One doesn’t work with someone like Vespucci. It isn’t in his nature. Oh, he can play along well enough at court, even bend the knee for a monarch or two, but it’s all in pursuit of one thing—the only thing that interests him.”
“Power,” Nyx said.
Columbus was surprised by her answer. “Yes. And anyone who can’t help him realize that power is, at best, insignificant, and at worse, in the way.”
“Mansa says power is an illusion. That it only leads to self-destruction.”
“Tell that to the victims of the Romans. Or the Mongols. They’ll tell you their suffering was quite real.”
“Mansa also says the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
Columbus smiled. “He knows his history, this Mansa. Who is he? I’d like to meet him.”
A look came upon Nyx again, as if she’d said too much.
“He was my teacher.”
“Hmm. A skilled fighter, capable linguist, and wise to boot. Where did you grow up again?”
Nyx hesitated. Fortunately, she was spared when the other arrived. Fanucio beamed as he sat, chocking a thumb at Vespucci.
“Our friend here tells me breakfast is on the way. Let’s hope they can cook pork.”
High above the garden, King Atlas watched the interlopers from a narrow balcony. Word had gotten back to him quickly after the mariner, Columbus, emerged from the Seer’s lair to confirm his daughter’s beliefs that he was the Anak-Ta Eleece. The fact that there was no evidence to support his claim didn’t dissuade her one bit, which was troubling. What was even more so was that it had gotten the citizens talking.
Hope.
On its own merits, hope was a good thing, provided its goal was achievable and didn’t run counter to the king’s agenda. Hope inspired people, gave them something to believe in. Under the right conditions, hope could unite a people.
But there was also a point where hope overtook logic and reason. In desperate times—times such as these—hope could be a dangerous substitute for purpose, for it took the responsibility of finding a solution out of the people’s hands and put it somewhere else.
In this case, a man. A man of the old world. The world that had once attempted to annihilate them. The reasons didn’t matter. Only that the outcome of that attack had led them here—imprisoned in a godforsaken realm on its death knell.
Even worse, the one claiming to be their savior was a
self-described ‘adventurer;’ his singular objective—the pursuit of wealth and riches. What a fool. He should have had them all executed the moment he first set eyes on them. Damn his daughter. Damn the Seer and his people. Mostly, damn the slaves and their old lore. Of all their senseless acts, the only one he approved of was their self-chosen end, which ironically enough took place on the bridge below.
“Father?” a voice beckoned. “You wished to see me?”
King Atlas nodded and made room for Elara on the balcony.
“Look at them down there. No doubt conspiring our ruin, thanks to you.”
Elara swallowed. “The Fates revealed our salvation to him.”
“So he says.”
“He recalled events no man from the upper realm could have known.”
King Atlas grunted. “Even if that were true, seeing a path and walking it are two separate things. In the Nave, you told him about Dion’s weakness, didn’t you?”
She couldn’t lie to her father. She nodded.
“Why?”
“I wanted to even the odds.”
The king shook his head. “You have always been an impetuous child, far too curious for your own good. Your mother used to say that you see the best in people, but you never see what lies beneath. At least your brother understood that to rule one must first be feared before they can be loved.”
“But Atreal was never loved.”
“I loved him,” the king seethed.
“As did I, Father. I only meant…the people saw him differently. He was a great warrior, the best I ever saw with sonstave or blade, but it was not the security of Atlantis that seeded his heart.”
“You knew his heart? What was it then?”
“His love for you.”
King Atlas sighed heavily. “Even your flattery wounds me. Tell me of the mariner. What’s he like?”
“Cavalier. Arrogant. Rude. What you’ve always told us of man. But a fire burns within him. A thirst for life that cannot be quenched. Should he keep his footing, he might one day achieve great things.”
King Atlas shot her a glance. “You fancy him.”
“Never,” she said, mortified. “I only meant—”
“Can he be trusted?”
“You taught me to never trust anyone.”
“Aye. And it was the wisest thing I ever did. Trust is a fool’s bargain, offered by the strong and accepted by the weak. Do not forget what this man is.”
“And what is he?”
“Were you not listening? He and the child told us themselves. Fortune hunters. Privateers. They live upon the sea and to the sea they’ll return. But not before commanding their price.”
“Then perhaps we should set the terms. Offer him all the gold and jewels he can carry in exchange for seeing the prophecy through. I am certain he would jump at the chance.”
“Aye. Which is why you will strike this bargain.”
There it was. He had set a trap, and she’d walked into it freely. Would she ever learn?
“After all, it was your actions that precipitated this. You broke my law and traveled to the caverns alone. It is your defiance that has the city stirring, so it should be you that bears the cost when he fails.”
“If he fails.”
“He will. Men always do. It’s why the Gods have cast them from paradise again and again. Not that I can blame them. From on high, it’s easy to recognize a lost cause when you see one.”
Down below, Fanucio continued to grumble until he saw two Atlanteans with trays headed in their direction.
“Finally!” he shouted. “Breakfast be served. Haha! I can only imagine the delicacies they eat. No more porridge and salt tack I tell you. I want meat!”
As the servers set the trays on the table, Fanucio’s smile faded.
“What’s this?”
“Morning meal,” the Atlantean woman answered. “It is what all citizens of Atlantis eat.”
“Raw fish and seaweed? This is supposed to be blasted paradise! Where’s the cod slathered in butter? The lamb with saffron and pepper?”
“In Atlantis, we value sustenance over taste.”
“But this couldn’t sustenate a canary!”
Everyone at the table laughed. Even Vespucci cracked a smile. Monday and Tuesday were too busy eating to join in. Columbus thanked the servers, who bowed and left.
“Poor Fanucio,” Nyx teased. “You look like someone just nipped the last of your rum.”
“Laugh it up, cabin boy. At least I have provisions in store.” He patted his prodigious belly. “You ain’t savvy enough to know, but these gill lovers are starving us. I seen it before. Starve us, and when the time comes we won’t have the energy to fight back. Then, it won’t be fish on this dish. It’ll be you.”
“Please,” Nyx laughed. “There’s no such thing as cannibals.”
Monday and Tuesday froze before looking away sheepishly.
“No?” Fanucio asked. “So how do you think I come by this?” He plopped his peg leg down on the table. Nyx’s eyes ballooned.
Columbus locked eyes with his first mate, who winked. The mariner had to turn away to keep from laughing.
An hour later, Columbus and crew were escorted to Atlantis’s military command chamber, already bustling with a bevy of warriors, including Dion. The giant could barely contain his ire for the newcomers, especially Columbus. When he wasn’t scowling at him, he was ordering his own people about, crisp fingers flying in lieu of words. Columbus made a mental note to ask Elara more about him.
The room was located high atop the city’s westward tower. Bookended by two batteries, it faced the sea with a wall of windows that afforded a view of the realm’s many islands. More curious, however, were the interior sheets of muted glass, which were positioned here and there, but with no discernible use. It wasn’t until Columbus saw a few intermittent flashes of lights on one that he realized they were part of some advanced technology—or, more accurately, ancient technology—that largely went ignored. This—like so many other aspects of Atlantis—created an overwhelming sense of awe in Columbus, and not for the first time did he wonder if he was both figuratively and literately out of his depth.
Then, Elara walked in.
She wore a white silken bodysuit, adorned with a single belt made of orichalcum. Her scarlet hair was plaited in the back, clean and lustrous, ceding rule to her rich green eyes, which only shined brighter in their halo of gems. The room fell silent in an instant. Columbus guessed those gathered weren’t used to seeing their princess in such refinement, which boded well for him.
“You clean up well, Princess,” Columbus said, meeting her mid-room. “I’m impressed.”
He thought he saw her color, though it could have been the light.
“I see a good night’s sleep has done little to diminish your crude ways,” she responded coolly, which only made him laugh.
He leaned in as she drew past. “Oh, I doubt either of us slept well last night.”
She frowned before making a show of ignoring him. She strode to a large, elevated table that looked like a sandbox. With a nod, Dion and the others gathered around. Then, Elara touched a control panel and the nodal “sand” came to life, rising in patterns that Columbus eventually recognized as the terrain and topography of this kingdom. It’s a living model, Columbus thought.
“Atlantis, as it was in the beginning,” Elara said. “But over the course of the last century, our realm has been reduced by the condensing of the Void.”
Another swipe saw the land mass diminish, as a black circle representing the circumference of the Void closed in from all sides until more than half the map’s area was gone, excising even a portion of the city itself.
“The quakes you’ve felt precede these reductions. We’re not sure why. Some have theorized the Void’s power comes from the volcanic core beneath the city and that it is waning. Others have suggested the Void is itself a sphere and in shrinking, it compresses the crust below, forcing mass upward. What we do know for cert
ain is that the frequency of these events is accelerating and that it will soon reach a critical stage—if it hasn’t already.”
She turned to Columbus. “Yesterday you visited the Fates. They spoke to you and showed you a way Atlantis might be saved.”
“That’s right,” Columbus said, holding her gaze.
“I would like you to share with us how.”
Columbus looked around the table and swallowed. He knew a tough crowd when he saw one. The Atlanteans stood mostly grim-faced, willing to listen only because they’d been ordered to do so. Especially, Dion. The man clearly suspected Columbus was full of shit. More reason he was glad he’d invited his crew along. They knew he was full of shit, but at least they’d had practice pretending like he wasn’t.
“As you forewarned, Princess, the Fates were cunning. They used their sorcery and female wiles to beguile me and to cheat me of our right to the truth. I wholly rebuked them.”
Fanucio cleared his throat loudly, drawing the eyes of the others. He tapped his neck and said, “Seaweed.”
“In doing so,” Columbus continued, “our task was revealed. To save your city and all the inhabitants of Atlantis, we must recover three magical keys from three separate locations. I have no doubt this will prove challenging, but I believe together we are up to the task.”
“I recall a story my mother told me as a child,” Elara said. “It, too, spoke of magical keys, though the details elude me. It was, however, slave lore, so it’s possible it is the same.”
“Do you have access to this lore?” Columbus asked.
“No. Several generations back, there was a rebellion. Fanatics seeking to ‘free us from our reliance on the old ways.’ They were quelled after a time, and dispatched through the Void, but not before destroying many of the advances our ancestors had created. It’s why these mechanisms you see around us no longer work. They called it ‘the purge.’”
“Shame,” someone said at the back of the room.
All eyes turned to find Vespucci. He, like many in the room, looked surprised he’d spoken. But he refused to rebuke the attention. “I imagine just a few of these tools might have aided your quest spectacularly.”
Christopher Columbus and the Lost City of Atlantis Page 13