“Evening, Diana. Have you had a good day? I hear we found some metal icon earlier. Anything exciting?”
“Hi, Rupert. Not bad thanks. The find could be crucial to the context of the site, but it is hard to know. Small religious items can often be found out of context in structures simply as offerings to the local gods. I will be happier with more datable finds attached or in the walls. You know, shells, seeds and carbon deposits. Boring to look at but oh so valuable for us as archaeologists. But the pretty finds are what the public wants of course. How about you?”
“I reckon I can rig up the underwater drone to give us a LIDAR scan of the seabed when we next have a calm day. If you will allow me to deploy our little toy.”
“Oh, for sure. Sounds fantastic. “
Diana wandered down to her cabin. She opened the door and set her bag down onto the large bunk she shared with her husband. It had been an exciting day. It made the concept of an Atlantis more plausible, but not in the classic Plato timeframe. Yet. She sighed and went over to the sink to freshen up. She wondered what the chef would be dishing up tonight. His lasagne was quite excellent. But some of his concoctions were, well, odd. Sausage tandoori, Chinese tortillas and sweet and sour boiled eggs all came to mind.
She quickly changed her top and wandered up to the ship’s galley. There the faded 1980’s decor made her think about big hair and shoulder pads. She chuckled at one of her early memories of Aunt Hilda with her outfits inspired by Elaine Paige from a number of her hit shows in the West End theatre district of London. With her season tickets to Lloyd-Webber shows, Aunt Hilda was their number one superfan. I was just a shame that she had similarly been a big fan of gin which had killed her. “I know him so well". She burst into a quiet song at the thought.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh sorry, Tommy, I was deep in thought.”
“That’s OK ma’am. I know you Brits like your music. I grew up with Oasis, Blur and Pulp myself. Oh and the Spice Girls. If you wanna be my lover...” He ended on a reprise of the Spice Girl song.
“Ah, yes. Lovely.“ She sounded somewhat unconvinced. It was probably his deep resonance, southern drawl and flat tone that spoilt it for her.
Just then Chef banged his dinner gong.
“Listen up, folks. We got Thai Mussaman curry gator balls or nut roast for you vegetable people. Don’t pour the cheesy sauce if you’re vegans. “
So, another strange combination. Diana had eaten both Mussaman curry – one of her favourites in fact – and gator balls. But never in the same dish. It could be another interesting experience. Thankfully she had her charcoal tablets with her if it didn’t agree with her tummy.
She took her tray, grabbed a knife and fork plus a glass of apple juice. The chef served out her plate and gave her a cheeky smile. She smiled back. His leathery skin and missing tooth made him look like he was in his 70’s rather than his rumoured 55 years.
She carried her tray over to one of the bench tables. There she made some small talk with her dig ladies while savouring Chef's latest dish. It was quite tasty if a little odd in its texture.
Around 9 pm, she excused herself and headed back to her cabin. It had been a long day and was catching up with her.
Back in her cabin, she brushed her teeth, changed into her nightie and climbed into bed. The earlier sea swell had calmed now it was dark, and she was soon breathing in tune with the up and down movements of the ship. The dreaming started and took her to a long time ago, not so very far away.
She saw a large book in front of her that had to be an Atlas of sorts with a strange flag on the front of it. That was on a white background with a red cross on the front with the tops of the crosses each divided up into three waves. Each of the arms of the cross was connected by the quadrant of a circle in black. The book was entitled the ‘Chronicles of Atlantis’.
And as she went further into the darkness, the book became sharper in focus before she fell into it. And as she did so, she could read that the book was about a priestess who had lived a long time ago in a nearby continent with an advanced civilisation called Atlantis. Its empire extended from the tip of Peru in the south-west to Alaska in the northwest through to Archangel in the northeast to the top of Africa and Madagascar then encompassing most of Arabia and the Mediterranean.
The three-pronged trident of Poseidon signified the rule of the three continents of America, Atlantis and Africa. The shield of Atlantis was an equilateral cross on a circular background that represented the island of Atlantis’ four rivers flowing north, east, west and south - the original Tibor, Rhine, Euphrates and Nile. Its capital, Atlán, nestled beneath the hook headed Mount Olympus with its majestic slopes.
The Pyramid of the Light - dedicated to the Sun deity rose majestically over the capital, its shadow eclipsing one side or the other of the bridges crossing the concentric circles of the holy island or its surrounding canals. The histories of the peoples of Atlantis were spoken of all over the globe. It’s ultimate decline, fall and fiery, wet destruction faded from history to become a legend and finally a myth. The Atlantic Ocean, first muddy and shallow then wide and deep still bears its name but little else. No living memory of that vibrant culture remains.
V - Perfect Day
When she awoke from her deep sleep, she discovered that Stan had returned from Lebanon and was now lying beside her in their double bunk. She leant over and kissed him before they embraced for a moment of passion.
At breakfast, the French toast went down nicely. Diana was disappointed to hear from Stan that the Doric columns from the dig were distinctly different from all known examples in Phoenician settlements as well as differing from Roman and Greek columns too. Though there were standard features their dig column shared with all of them. Almost as if it predated them all. She rapidly dropped that thought as she recalled her dream from the night before—surely stress. Renaissance France was one thing, but Atlantis was something else. She might as well have been dreaming of a life in Middle Earth with Hobbits or Elves.
“Stan, as it is the weekend, I think we need a day or two off together. I can ask Jerry to call me up if anything comes up. We can both perhaps sleep ashore in one of the beach huts at the edge of the dig site and chill out in the pleasant weather. What do you think my love?”
“That's a great idea. Let’s grab our sleeping things, plus my fishing spear and catch some fish for supper. I need to unwind after Tyre and Beirut. I am still a bit jet-lagged. “
“I will bring some water along. And maybe an aperitif or two.”
At the beach, the two lovers carried their bedding and bottles over to one of the few remaining beach structures to survive hurricane Dorian.
The beach hut was quite small, but cosy and cool away from the bright Caribbean sunshine. There was a wide bunk, hinge-fronted wall and a cool box to place the drinks in. Stan put the bedding roll on the bunk while Diana put the wine and the pastis into the cool box. The shabby decor with a faded and very dated poster of Madonna indicated that the last time the hut had been decorated was in the 1980s. Stan laughed as the ‘Material Girl’ in her ‘Like a Virgin’ album cover’s wedding dress was now resplendent with a Joseph Stalin style moustache.
With their supplies stowed Stan took his fishing rod and hooked on a piece of bread he had pocketed at breakfast. He cast off with all the expertise you would expect from a seasoned fisherman with an Uncle who owned a fishing boat still actively trawling along the rivers of Czechia.
Diana placed her beach towel down on the secluded stretch of sand. She loosened her bathing skirt and let it drop to the ground to reveal her bikini bottoms. She then tugged off her tee-shirt to reveal her simple yet modest bikini top. She tutted to herself as she looked down towards her waist to see a bit more of a stomach than she was expecting to see. “Those darn pancakes and maple syrup.”
She lay down on her beachtowel to enjoy the golden rays of the Caribbean sunshine. Stan had managed to catch some type of carp, which he smashed against a rock bef
ore putting it in an old bucket of seawater. He carried it up to the hut and placed it in the cool box before heading back down to where his wife was dozing in the sun. A cheeky grin flicked across his face before he lent down over Diana to put his cold, wet hands on her hot shoulders.
“Stan! What the... You git. I can’t believe you did that.”
He ran down the beach towards the water’s edge as Diana ran after him in hot pursuit. As soon as he was deep enough, he turned to splash her.
“No, you don't." She half screamed at him. Then she half-submerged herself before retaliating with a volley of water back in his direction.
“No fair! You are much better at splashing than me. I had to catch our supper!”
“He who lives in glass houses should not throw stones. I got you back!”
They both laughed hysterically until Stan swept her up in his arms to carry her back into the beach hut. A little bit of ‘afternoon delight' was in order as they embraced gently before settling back onto the bunk bed together.
Around an hour later the couple emerged from their temporary home. Stan picked up his rod, popped another piece of bread on to its hook and cast off once more. Diana decided to freshen up with a swim a little away from the fishing rod.
The water was refreshing after the heat they had generated together and the outside air temperature. Diana swam parallel to the beach towards the dig site. She waved at Jerry, who was sitting to chat with one of the local men who had been assisting with sifting the soil and taking it away from the area. Jerry waved back, winking and smiling. It seemed that archaeology was not the main thing on her mind this weekend.
As Diana turned away from the dig site to swim back, the image of two dolphins entered her mind. Just as she looked up towards the direction she was swimming; she glimpsed two dolphins splashing up ahead of her. Another case of synchronicity. She swam back on toward Stan who was standing on the shore by the beach hut.
Once in front of her beach towel, she put her feet down and walked up on to the shore, gesturing to Stan that she would splash him if he tried to splash her again. She shook her shoulder-length hair and sat down on her towel, admiring the view and her husband.
As she lay down to sleep in the early afternoon spring sunlight, she began to dream.
She saw her father – not the father she had in this lifetime- lying limp in her arms, with dolphins swimming around her, and a cave of crystals above her head as she bathed in a large, warm seawater pool. The pain and pent up anger she felt was palpable. “Father, no. Why, why!”
When Stan woke her up an hour or so later, Diana was more than a little disorientated. “Father!” she cried. Stan replied. “No, he’s in England. You spoke to him last night. You are with me, Stan on South Bahama island.”
“Bahama? Atlán?” She replied.
“Diana, stop messing with me. “
Diana snapped out of her trance and glanced at her husband.
“That was some dream I just had. I wonder what it means.”
She recounted the details of her dream as Stan listened open-mouthed. “Not again, my love, surely?”
Stan had caught enough fish, so started on gutting them while Diana set to work collecting wood for the fire over which to cook the catch. With all the flotsam that had been loosened by Hurricane Dorian, the task was relatively easy. With Stan's boy scout skills with lighting a fire and Diana’s cooking abilities from her many camping trips with her family around Dorset and the West Country of England the fish was soon sizzling away on its multiple spits.
When the food was ready, the couple devoured it with arms entwined, trying to repeat the romantic scene from ‘Lady and the Tramp' but without the pasta. They laughed and cried as they easily ate their barbecued carp.
Afterwards, Diana and Stan watched the sunset together sat on the beach arm in arm, occasionally kissing and soaking up the atmosphere of a Caribbean spring evening. It was idyllic.
“Shall we have a moonlight dip my love?” Asked Diana.
“Definitely!”
The lovers ran into the sea hand in hand, splashing their way through the surf.
They were swimming away from each other when a pair of jet skis rounded the headland. Diana just glimpsed the inner one as it hit her head with a glancing blow.
Everything went dark.
As Diana succumbed to the darkness, she saw herself falling into the large book she had seen before. As the light returned to her eyes, her form had changed into that of a woman in a blue robe. Nothing looked familiar to her, and yet...
VI - Messima
Messima, daughter of Oriel, Priestess of the Light and the Water lives in the city of Medina on its southern tip above the rocky cliffs at the entrance to the Nile on the western side. Her residence is the Tower of the Light and the Water – a modest yet imposing structure with unobstructed views of the South Atlantic to the south and the plains of Atlán to the north.
The Priesthood is forbidden to marry but often takes companions. Messima’s companion, her concubine, is Néma. The petite olive-skinned, brown-headed, brown-eyed, concubine contrasted strikingly with the tall, slim, pale blonde-headed, 35-year-old Priestess. Bonded by trust Néma in her pure white robe often accompanies Messima on her journeys in her aquamarine robe adorned with symbolic gold right bracelet and left anklet.
Medina is very much a provincial town, unimportant in the vastness of Atlantis, but a renowned centre of healing. As a priestess of the light and the water, healing is Messima’s principal role. Beneath the white pinnacle of the tower is a vast warren of caverns accessed via a deep spiral staircase with accesses off at different angles and different depths. The two main healing chambers are the dry chamber and the wet chamber. The large dry chamber, with its imposing 100-metre diameter aquamarine crystal-encrusted roof 30 metres high at its height point with its great resonance is ideal for sound healing with light and the crystals themselves. The smaller wet chamber with its cosier 30-metre diameter and the 20-metre-high amethyst crystal-encrusted surface is partly submerged with sea water-filled through subterranean tunnels leading out to the South Atlantic. Through the tubes come the dolphin healers powerful with their range of knowledge on acoustics and resonant balance. The dolphin visitors are mainly bottlenose dolphins.
Messima’s favourite task is to swim with the dolphins and share in the healing process of another patient in the warm and refreshing ocean pool. But on this occasion, she took little pleasure in the swim. As she dried herself and dressed back in her robe, her memory kept going back to events of the previous week.
It had all started as a simple piece of rebalancing of her father’s light body. She had taken him into the dry chamber with her three apprentice priests and priestesses. They had performed the prescribed healing ritual. The resonance had been good, and Oriel had responded well. But there had been an extra, deeper resonance that Messima had not sensed before. She dismissed it as a probable earth tremor elsewhere on the island, but her unease was palpable.
The next day Oriel had gone into a rapid decline. His body had been limp, and even with the help of her dolphin friends in the wet chamber, she had been unable to save him. His passing into the shadows had been unstoppable. Despite Néma’s comforting Messima’s sorrow had been insuperable. She blamed herself for his death.
VII – The Funeral
Oriel had been a dignitary in the area around Medina. The Mayor himself had insisted that the main antechamber of the major town meeting house be made available for her father’s eulogy and wake.
In Atlantean tradition, the bell of the ancestors of her family was rung as the funeral procession carried Oriel's body in its open-topped casket from her family home to the meeting house. Crowds of well-wishers lined the streets throwing and dropping poppies, lilies and scented roses on to the coffin. Oriel had been a just, noble and generous man in his life, and the people of Medina were responding to his death.
As family matriarch upon her mother’s and aunt's deaths, the task of reading
the eulogy fell to Messima. With crowds gathered in the meeting house and eyes streaming with tears, Messima read to the expectant throng. Using her Priestley calming technique, she was able to begin. “Oriel, my father, was a great but gentle man. We look forward to his next incarnation. My family have lost a loved one here on Atlantis, but we have gained a star in the heavens. Praise to the deity who gives us all of our sustenance. Amun-Ra”. The people all responded with “Amun-Ra".
The funeral gong sounded outside to indicate the start of the wake. Messima found the whole wake experience both upsetting and strangely uplifting at the same time. Many friends and neighbours of her father had held him in such high regard. Yet she had become more distant from him since she had joined the priesthood. Now nearly twenty years later she regretted the many upsets since her happy family upbringing. It was far too late in this lifetime.
All too soon, it seemed to her; the funeral gong sounded again. Messima hurried to the door of the meeting house to lead the procession out of the town to the small hilltop where a funeral pyre would be lit. Again, the well-wishers who were not following the casket were lining the street. Walls of people in their brightly coloured and shimmering white robes masked the shining white walls of the buildings in the town.
The low, flat rooves of the settlement had been here for aeons, yet the rich autumnal sun made everything seem bright and new. As the casket passed them the bystanders turned their faces and backs to the body as a mark of respect.
The procession wound its way along the twisty lane that led to the hilltop. As Oriel’s body took its final journey towards the fire, the Priestess could see the pile of wood for the funeral pyre. Néma moved forward and briefly clasped Messima’s hand before dropping back behind the casket. At last, they arrived. The casket bearers scooped up and placed Oriel’s body onto the funeral pyre.
The Priestess Page 2