Christopher Columbus and the Lost City of Atlantis

by E. J. Robinson

  Without another word, Columbus stepped through the barrier and disappeared.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fanucio had seen the inside of more brigs than he could remember. Brigs in ships, brigs in castles, brigs on battlefields, even one in a cave. All had been bad. But the worst of them fared a far sight better than being dead.

  Not that you didn’t suffer while imprisoned. Suffering was always the soup du jour for those in fetters. In one prison, he had been beaten ’til he couldn’t walk. In another, walked ’til he couldn’t stand, starved ’til he couldn’t sleep, talked to ’til he couldn’t listen. The list ran on. Of course, all those paled in comparison to solitary confinement. There was no enemy more dangerous than a man left alone with only his mind. Fanucio had chartered a million courses in his day, but he knew sure enough that one led straight to madness.

  Another thing all brigs had in common—the smell. Each and every one stank of shit, sweat, and desperation. The nice ones offered a bucket or at least a hole for your duties. The others left you to deal with it yourself. Fanucio had seen men do creative things with shit, but no matter how it was disposed of, the smell always remained.

  The Atlantean brig was the exception to the rule. For starters, it had its own shitter—one Fanucio giggled at after using, so productive it was at funneling the fruit of his labors onto unknown waters. Also, it smelled nice. The cell, not the shit. Apparently, those eyeballs had a way of mucking up his plumbing something fierce.

  Despite these new accommodations, Fanucio still fell into a funk because any hardscrabble man worth his salt knew two things lay on the other side of a cage: death or freedom. To him, death was irrelevant, since men of his station rarely had a say in it. When God drew your lot, it was time to pack your ruck, put a lick in your hair, and hope St. Peter had a few pints waiting as you put to quay.

  The harder part was freedom, since those in irons found it more elusive than the alternative. Here at last, Fanucio had to face facts. Columbus was dead. He was on his own. Well, not entirely on his own. The others were with him here too—for what that was worth. And though he’d been wracking his brain all night, he couldn’t think of a single move that would help them.

  According to Nyx, it was still possible to save Atlantis by tracking down the third key and recovering the trident, but without a doubt that cur Vespucci had already pledged himself to that task. Should he succeed, and Atlantis be saved, the princess might be of a mind to set them free, but even then, she’d still have to convince her dad and that didn’t look promising at this juncture. But say it did. Say everything went perfect, the skies opened, and they found another leviathan to ferry them up, Fanucio had no ship to speak of. And he was no captain. Even if the four of them could crew a vessel, where would they go? They were wanted in Spain. Wanted in Portugal. Hell, half the countries in Europe wanted Columbus dead, and hearing how they’d been cheated out of his hide likely wouldn’t endear them to his.

  For the first time in his life, Fanucio felt truly lost.

  What made matters worse was the girl. In the short time he’d known Nyx, she had proven herself tough as nails. And yet from the minute she’d entered the brig, she’d done nothing but sob. No doubt she blamed herself for the captain’s death, but hadn’t she only told the truth? At twelve, she hadn’t accrued the experience to know being an adult was all about lying. Why, without lies there would be no order, no civilization, and a hell of a lot fewer bastards.

  Could she have really believed Columbus was her dad? It made no sense to Fanucio, but the girl seemed convinced. Even in the face of Columbus’s details; even after what Fanucio had told her. Odder still, Columbus—may he rest in peace—had been incredibly cold to the child, almost to the point of reviling her. That wasn’t the man he knew. In private, Columbus doted on his own children and enjoyed being around others as long as he wasn’t on the deck of a ship. So why had he ridden this one so hard?

  Fanucio decided to push it from his mind. With the captain gone, it would do no good to dwell in the past. He was alive, as was the girl, as were the wee ones. He should know. He’d listened to them cut logs the entire night. Maybe isolation wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  Another hour passed before the barrier outside their cell dimmed and the princess appeared. She was back in uniform, and yet Fanucio noticed her eyes were red. He imagined she’d slept as poorly as they had.

  When Nyx saw the princess, she took to her feet and rushed into the older woman’s arms. Not surprisingly, the princess held her tight, running her fingers through the child’s hair, whispering comfort she herself likely needed.

  “I never meant for any of this to happen,” Nyx said, her voice shaky and raw.

  “I know, dear,” Elara said.

  “Vespucci must have been eavesdropping when I mentioned my visit to the Seer. But your father didn’t hear everything.”

  Elara stepped back, tipping her head to hold Nyx’s gaze. “It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is you not blaming yourself.”

  “But I’m responsible. If I had done what he said—if I’d stayed in my room and translated the book—none of this would have happened.”

  “And you would have withheld information that might have cost all my people their lives. We all make choices, Nyx. Columbus made his. Now, you must do the same.”

  Nyx wiped her tears and stepped back. “But we’re your prisoners.”

  “Temporarily. My father was very angry last night, but he has changed much in the past few days. He is more apt to reason than I have seen him in years. In time, he will see how you and your friends were also lied to. I believe he will set you free.”

  “Lot o’good that’ll do us,” Fanucio said. “I counted thirteen quakes last night, Highness, and many more this morning. Columbus was right about one thing: this ship of yours is set to sail.”

  Elara took a heavy breath and nodded. “We are working diligently to ensure otherwise.”

  “You can’t trust Vespucci,” Nyx said. “The man is a snake.”

  “In my experience, snakes have a way of drawing attention to themselves. It’s more important for you to tell me everything you know—including your visit to the Seer—about this book you took from my library.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” Nyx said, her head lowering with shame.

  Elara lifted her chin. “You believed you were doing the right thing. I cannot fault you for that. But know this: there is nothing I have, nothing in this world I would not give you. All you have to do is ask.”

  Nyx nodded, her eyes brimming again. Her next question was so soft, it was almost impossible to hear.

  “Do you really think he’s dead?”

  Elara’s gaze shifted to Fanucio and back. “I believe there are many mysteries in this world, and the only truths are the ones we find settled in our own hearts. Now, tell me of your visit to the Seer.”

  Nyx wiped her nose. “It was after I read the book on Poseidon. I was troubled, so I decided to take a walk. I hadn’t even realized I’d gone there until she opened her door.”

  “This is how I found my way to her too. What did the Fates reveal?”

  Nyx took a deep breath. “I started with the past. Because of what I’d read, I wanted to know more about the trident. I saw it forged in the depths of an ocean greater than our own. I saw Poseidon take it and use it to do amazing things. Amazing and terrible. But this was his attempt to make something perfect. And then war came, and he was forced to separate the realms, but in doing so, he tied the power of the trident to this realm. That’s why the trident was left behind. Without it, Atlantis would be gone. Even then, I think he knew it might not last. That’s why he ordered the Athenians to do what they did. They knew if they succeeded at the tasks he’d given them, they could earn their freedom and their place at his table again.”

  “The quest?”

  Nyx nodded. “It’s still there, in the temple, waiting to be used.”

  “By whom?”

  “That’s
just it. I don’t know. The Fates—”

  “Are cunning and cruel.”

  Nyx nodded again. “I can tell you this, the only way to save your people is by using the trident. That’s what I asked of the future. How to save Atlantis.”

  Elara felt a swelling in her heart. She had asked the same of Columbus and yet it was this girl who’d done it instead.

  “Nyx, is it true claiming the trident will awaken Poseidon’s immortal guards?”

  “Yes. But in my vision, they were called something else. Something really bad. I don’t know why I can’t remember the word, but even thinking about it…”

  She shivered. Elara laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “And you can’t remember how the trident is to be used?”

  “No. I thought Columbus would, but with him gone…”

  “The Anak-Ta Eleece did what he was supposed to do. He revealed the path and now we must see it through.”

  Nyx’s chin trembled. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “He would have done it, you know. He would’ve saved your people in the end. You might not believe that. He might not have either. But I do. I know it in my heart.”

  Elara nodded and exhaled. Fanucio thought she did a remarkable job holding her composure. At last, she smiled.

  “You didn’t tell me what you asked of the present. Sometimes we’re so eager to know what came before and what looms ahead that we forget to take in the world around us. So, what did you ask?”

  “I asked to see what Columbus loved most.”

  Fanucio watched as Elara’s smile disappeared.

  “And? What did you see?”

  Nyx looked at the floor and shrugged. It was a small gesture, but one that betrayed her youth.

  “His face. Nothing more.”

  Elara did her best to hide her disappointment. “Well, it’s not a complete surprise. It is a handsome face.”

  Nyx put on a brave smile. “Yes, it is.”

  The water enveloped him, infinitely cold, darker than any abyss. He hovered there, unable to move or breathe, knowing at any moment the veil would be torn away and the weight of leagues would crush him in an instant. Each cell in his body screamed for life as the darkness threatened to devour him from within.

  He expected his consciousness to dim at any moment. A prayer cut through the pain. Take me into your bosom, oh, Lord. Let me pass in your all-encompassing embrace.

  But the dark wasn’t through with him yet.

  The pounding in his ears was unremitting. That thrumming that had filled his chest now pulsed beyond just his physical form. He felt the temperature of the sea change, the eddies near him shift. His hand reached out and touched something firm. It filled his spirit. He tried and failed to open his eyes. His hand coursed along that smooth surface until it found purchase.

  And then it began to draw him down.

  Down through more depths, though Columbus would have sworn it wasn’t possible. Down where the water grew still colder and where he thought his head might explode.

  And then he felt the tug of another barrier. An instant later, the pressure evaporated, and he was overcome with a blissful silence. The water was still cold, but at least now, he could feel the chattering of his teeth and knew he was still alive.

  Whatever pulled him had mass. He felt his legs bump against it as they glided downward, moving across the distance now until the water changed again, much warmer now. Columbus thought he saw flashes of light. He tried to steal a glimpse at his guide but saw only blotches. The water grew hot. Columbus’s lungs started to burn. He needed air. His guide seemed to sense it. They picked up speed, turning this way and that until Columbus feared he would black out. Then all at once, they rose and broke the surface of the water.

  Columbus gasped, taking in an equal measure of water and air. He retched again and again. Somewhere in the darkness, he saw an orange glow, though his eyes were still too blinded by tears to see it clearly. Spinning around, he realized his guide had left him. He swam forward until his hand hit stone. He pulled himself over the edge before collapsing, utterly exhausted.

  Columbus lay there panting as the water trickled off him. He tried to clench his hands, but they were numb. As his pain slowly receded, he looked around. He was in another cavern of some kind. The air was stale and thick with sulfur. And he felt heat. Real heat. Where was he?

  Columbus sat up and looked around.

  He was in a subterranean cavity, held up by a procession of vaulted arches that seemingly had no end. In the distance, pools of molten lava bubbled up. No wonder he was hot.

  Working gingerly to his feet, Columbus looked back at the water. The surface had nearly grown slack. There was no sign of whatever had brought him here. He looked over the series of endless canals that bisected most of the cavern. He wondered what their purpose was. Columbus couldn’t guess. His mind was still muddled with all that had happened. Even the events that transpired in the city were a daze. He remembered the king ordering his arrest. He remembered running through the city as the walls shook around. Then Dion at the bridge. Why had the giant moved from his path? Had he wanted Columbus to end his own life? To die in shame? Or had the man spared him an even more ignominious one? And then there was the princess. She’d begged him to step back from the Void. The look of pain on her face—it resembled the one Nyx had made when she announced his betrayal. To know he was the cause of both nearly buckled his knees. But he couldn’t dwell on those things now. He had been spared, though he didn’t know why or by what. The voice. Was it Poseidon? Was it something else? He had to find out.

  Across broken flagstones, Columbus saw several shelters huddled together like aged shanties, though it was obvious no one had lived in them for a very long time. He walked to the nearest of them and pushed the wooden door. It broke apart like kindling. Inside, a bed, an earthen hearth, and clay cups overturned. The next shelter was the same.

  “These are the slave quarters,” Columbus said.

  Yes.

  Columbus spun around. “Who said that? Where are you?”

  Here.

  The water rippled. Columbus thought he saw a large form beneath the water. “Where is here?”

  Safe.

  Columbus moved closer. Only then did he see the patchy hide, its true bulk. The dorsal he’d clung to. The spotted eldock had saved him.

  “You’re the one that’s been inside my head all this time?”

  Yes.

  It made sense. He was there when they headed for the tower and later on in the eldock dens.

  “Only eldocks can survive outside the Void.”

  Yes.

  “Thank you,” Columbus said.

  The spotted eldock didn’t reply.

  Columbus wiped the sweat from his brow. The heat was already getting to him. In no time, he’d need water, and he doubted he’d find any here. He headed back to the shelters and saw a stone bench with several wooden sticks beside it. Two dusty old vases sat beneath an open window. He opened them and looked inside.

  Sulfur and lime.

  Columbus tore a strip of fabric from his shirt and wrapped it around one of the sticks before dunking it in both minerals. Then he jogged to the nearest magma rent and lit it on fire. The heat was scorching.

  When he was finished, he returned to the canals and the spotted eldock.

  “Do the Atlanteans know about this place?”

  Once.

  “Elara said they were flooded. Is this where you’ve been hiding? You and your kind?”

  At first the eldock didn’t answer. And then it maneuvered up the canal.

  Come.

  “Where to?”

  To see.

  The path was dark, the broken cobbles hard on Columbus’s feet. He passed through a grove of crumbling columns, all the while taking in the final residue of slave life. A rusted kiln. A broken spinning wheel. A dry cistern. An old box held a bevy of scavenged tools, mostly broken and lost to time. There were more poignant signs of life. Dusty plates that once fed the
hungry. Children’s toys shrouded in dust. Columbus tried to imagine what life here had been like. Exiled for a century or two in the abyss, attempting to help those who hated your very existence. How did they stop themselves from going mad?

  The spotted eldock continued slowly down the canal, his occasional breaching and pulse of air the surest way to follow. Columbus knew unequivocally that if the creature abandoned him, he would die here. One day, should Atlantis survive, someone might stumble upon his bones. Likely they would mistake him for an Athenian. Would they wonder what events shaped his life? What led to his death? No. They would never know he was an adventurer from the above realm, who risked all to be the first to visit Atlantis in two thousand years. They would never know he’d been named the Star Rider and that an entire nation state had pinned their hopes on him. Or how, in the end, he’d failed them.

  After walking a considerable distance, Columbus passed through the last series of columns and stumbled to a halt. There, in front of him was a temple carved from stone. At the edge of what looked like marble floors, the canal ended. The spotted eldock could go no farther.

  Enter.

  Columbus felt that old dread prickling his senses, but the spotted eldock had already saved him once. He didn’t think it would endanger him now.

  As he scaled the steps, the sound of his footfalls echoed loudly through the building. There, in the dark, something loomed. Or the absence of something, for the closer he crept, the more apparent it became that the statue that once resided here had been toppled, felled by stones from above. The marble limbs and torso were fragmented across the floor, leaving only two legs shorn at the knees and a trident thrust into the ground, a hand still wrapped around its shaft. Poseidon. Here in the depths, he had fallen. Was it a portent of things to come?

  Moving past the shattered remains, Columbus came to another room, two vaulted braziers on either side. He lifted his torch to the first, surprised when it came to life. The chamber was oval with a vaulted ceiling swept with stars. No, not stars. Gems. Enough treasure to make him a king many times over.