Atlantis Fallen (The Heartstrike Chronicles Book 1)

by C. E. Murphy

  She lay in the nest of her hair for days, images of a world she could not fathom holding her captive in the prison that was her home. We didn't choose prison, the patient one whispered eventually. Sea and stones, captured forever, captured because of his actions, his inactions, not ours. Outside is different. Outside is frightening, the patient one agreed. Outside is freedom.

  Strands of hair drifted across her face, brushing her mouth and nose, and the patient one made her shake her head at the feeling. Outside is better than being mummified by our hair. Languages can be learned. Give us the chance. If we stay, we accept his prison. If we stay, we can't make him pay.

  The wash of courage was tenuous at best. She twisted free of her hair, the strands unwinding in graceful slow motion. Foolishly, she dove again, and located her wedge of stone, dulled now to a much smaller size. Clutching it in one hand, she pushed up to the wall, and through the hole as quickly as she could, before her grasp of boldness eluded her again.

  Several feet beyond the wall of her prison she stopped. Endless hair billowed out after her, clouding around her like a blanket of fog.

  The blackness was still complete. She could not see even the ruins of the city. For a while she drifted in the darkness, and then, tentatively, she tilted her face up, and began to kick toward the surface.

  Very gradually, she became aware of light. It stopped her where she was, hovering in the water, trying to define the nebulous changes in the sea around her. Only when a fish darted by her face, a shadow in the shadows, did she realize vision was beginning to return. A cry of delight broke free from her, and she began to kick upward again.

  The next fish that swam by brought to mind a sudden, vicious hunger. For time unknown, she hadn't eaten. Further thought was delayed until she chased down one of the slippery animals and smashed its head in with her stone. Floating in the water, she gobbled it down, sucking the blood from her fingers before it had time to wash away.

  For hours, she stayed at the faintly grey level, chasing more fish with wild shifts and twists in the water, snatching them by their tails and bashing her stone into their brains. While she ate she sat in a protective cross legged position, her stone resting between her thighs.

  Later, she suspected she'd stayed at that level of the sea for weeks, swimming after fish of all sizes and eating them raw, leaving only the bones for the water. Eventually, her body stopped demanding the food, and she was able to think again.

  The nutrients in the water must have been bare, she realized, and long blank periods of time ending in pain were many deaths and rebirths. This Timeless body of hers must have taken what it could out of the waters, over years of time, recreating life out of death. Hunger was such a way of life that until food was directly presented to her, she had not recognized the sensation.

  "Gods above," she whispered into the sea. "How long?" Waking memory was far too long. If immeasurable time had been spent dead, trying to eke life from the water…how long might it have been? Once more, she looked up through the murky water. There was only one way to learn how long it had been. She began swimming up again.

  It took longer than she expected, partly due to convulsive hunger pains that would send her after schools of fish. After a while she noticed fish would nibble on the long strands of her hair that drifted by. She started drawing them in that way, sitting silent in the water, her rock in her lap, waiting until she'd pulled her hair close enough to bash the fish's head in. It was more effective than chasing them. Once sated, she would begin the journey up again.

  The light also slowed her. The slow increase never quite pained her eyes, and she realized abruptly that she could see herself when she glanced down. It was a young woman's body that she saw, painfully thin. She was relieved she hadn't seen herself before her gorging in the deeper seas, before her body was able to add and redistribute some of the weight that had wasted away over the years of captivity.

  Her fingertips were scarred, which surprised her. Perhaps the healing skills of her Timeless body had their limits. Certainly the trauma of scrabbling at the stones in futile attempts to escape had left their mark. The bronze of her skin had faded to pasty white, emphasized by the dead-colored scars.

  Even as the light grew brighter, she could not really see the end of her hair. It drifted too much, and seemed to fade into the water instead of stopping. The vague plan to sell it had formed in her mind. In Atlantis, wig-makers created wigs out of real human hair. Surely the world would not have changed so much that she could not find someone to buy the masses of endless hair that was her legacy of imprisonment.

  It could have changed so much, the frightened one whispered. She thrust it away, kicking up.

  Not until the sea begin to glow blue with the sun's light did she suddenly appreciate the visual acuity immortality had granted her. She had no idea what depth Atlantis had descended to, but her vision had begun to return at a level she was sure no ordinary human would have been able to see in. To discern such detail in such complete darkness had been a marvel; what would full light bring? She looked up at the sun, a distorted ball of white fire that colored the ocean and her hair. Schools of fish flitted above her, shadows against the blue.

  How long had it been?

  She kicked upward. A moment later her head broke through the surface and she inhaled, fresh sea air, for the first time in centuries. Instinctively, she squinted her eyes shut against the light bouncing off small waves, wincing with small pain, but it was not as bad as she had feared. She could still see, the light coloring her vision crimson until she dared peek through lashes pushed almost all the way closed.

  Wherever the currents had brought her, it wasn't close to land. Quiet, open sea filled all the horizons, brilliant white and vivid blue, the sky scarred with thin, idle clouds.

  Nothing at all, the frightened one hissed. Go home. Go back to Atlantis. It's safe there. Go back. There's nothing here.

  We're in the middle of the sea, the patient one said. Of course there's nothing here. Swim. We'll find land and people again. We'll rebuild a life and then we will find the one that did this to us and we will have revenge.

  Go back to Atlantis, the frightened one said plaintively.

  Revenge, she thought, and then Atlantis reborn. That will be the way of it. She lifted her stone, her single legacy of her drowned home, out of the water to inspect it.

  It was quite ordinary, white, wedge-shaped still, and scarred around the edges, much as her fingertips were. She hugged it to her, and then turned around in the water, tangling herself in her hair. No land was visible in any direction. With a glance at the sun, she judged which way land might be. Turning on her back, the stone protectively resting on her chest, she began to kick her way south.

  A few hundred miles to the north, Europe fought a war they called the Great War, and the War to End All Wars, and, in time, World War One.

  8

  "Your what!" The exclamation came in outraged stereo, slightly louder than was prudent for a quiet lecture hall. Heads turned irritably, and Emma and Cathal both sank deeper into their seats, ashamed but also staring openly at their companion.

  "It's a little complicated," Lorhen muttered, without taking his eyes off Mary Kostani. "I think we should get out of here."

  Emma shot a glance at the stage, then back at Lorhen. "We just got here. She's just starting her speech."

  "You don't need to hear it," Lorhen growled. "She found Atlantis for them. I really think we need to go, Emma. Now."

  "Don't you think it's bizarre to run out at the start of the lecture?" Emma whispered.

  Lorhen shook his head. "I don't care. She shouldn't be alive. I had no idea she was alive. I'd rather have the whole audience stare at us as we leave than have her walk up to me at the end of the seminar. I need some time to think this through. She shouldn't," he repeated, with soft intensity, "be alive."

  Cathal looked at Emma, who shrugged. "All right."

  Lorhen lurched to his feet, offering a hand to Emma, who put her
hand in his without thinking, then frowned at their joined hands. Lorhen pulled her past Cathal, tugging her toward the far end of the aisle. "Closest exit," he hissed. In a slow wave, everyone in the row stood, expressions ranging from mild exasperation to outright indignation. Lorhen kept his face averted from the stage as he climbed over expensively shod feet, and Emma cast apologetic glances at a few of the more offended people. Behind them, Cathal murmured, "Excuse us," and followed after.

  On stage, Dr. Kostani arched her eyebrows at the disturbance. "I didn't think I was that boring," she said dryly. "Perhaps I should arrange a three-ring circus next time."

  "Or a bull to sacrifice," Lorhen said, under the ripple of laughter that went through the crowd. Emma pushed the exit door open and the men followed her out, Cathal turning to catch it so it closed quietly. Emma squinted against the bright hall lights, then at Lorhen. "What the hell was that about?"

  "Not here," Lorhen said flatly. "There must be a bar or a coffee shop nearby. Anything. Just not here."

  Cathal and Emma exchanged glances again before Emma shook her head, but gestured down the hall toward the main doors. "This had better be good, Lorhen."

  "Oh, it is." Lorhen's voice sounded thin. "Come on." He stalked out of the building, shoulders hunched, and walked silently for several blocks. Emma and Cathal trailed behind him, taking turns watching his tense walk and regarding each other from the corners of their eyes. Eventually Lorhen ducked into a bar labeled with a badly stenciled sign, the letters worn to illegibility.

  Emma stopped beneath the guttering streetlight that lit the sign and glanced over the street. “Do you have any idea where we are?"

  "No." Softly, the better to not give anyone any ideas, Cathal added, "You told me he was hoping to get himself killed."

  "Looks like the right place for it. Are we going in?"

  “Do you want to see what's the story?” Cathal held the door for her, then followed Emma inside.

  Orange and olive glass light fixtures, decades out of fashion, barely lit individual booths, their small pools of light coloring one end of each table and leaving the far end dimmed. A scent of ancient cigarette smoke pervaded the place, although the air itself was clean enough. A few people sat at the bar, and a handful of others in the poorly-lit booths, and what little sound there was fell away as the trio entered.

  Lorhen ignored the silence that flooded in front of him, and a hubbub picked up behind him as he pushed his way to the back corner of the bar. He stood a moment, hands shoved in his pockets, and scowled at the back wall. Two bathroom doors, both marked 'Men', hung slightly open, and around a corner, another door was nearly lost in grime. Emma and Cathal hung back, watching him, as he went down to the third door, twisted the knob, and pushed it open on a dank alley. He hesitated there, then turned back, closing the door and coming back to sit in a grungy booth, fingers steepled against his nose and his gaze locked on the pitted table. Emma exchanged one last glance with Cathal, then sat down with Lorhen to engage in a silence that lasted several minutes before Emma, impatiently, said, "Well?"

  "Did you know," Lorhen said from behind his hands, "that they had coffee in Atlantis? I don't know who went down into Ethiopia to find it, but someone did. I didn't have coffee again for four thousand years. They guarded the plants jealously. No one knew where they'd come from. There are people who would argue that Western civilization wasn't, not until they rediscovered coffee."

  "Lorhen," Cathal said deliberately. "What about the woman?"

  "Who is she?" Emma asked on the tail of Cathal's question. "We don't have any records of a Mary Kostani."

  "Her name is Ghean." Lorhen shook his head, not bothering to look up as Emma drew a protesting breath. "She won't be in the records, Em. She shouldn’t be alive."

  Emma, through her teeth, said, "I believe you mentioned that,” as Cathal, incredulously, said, "She's your wife?"

  "Well, probably not any more. Even in Atlantean law a separation of four and a half millennia probably constitutes an annulment." Lorhen flagged down the barman, muttering, "I'd better start at the beginning," as the man made his way over, then said, "A couple pitchers of whatever you've got with the highest alcohol content," to the man, and went silent again until the drinks arrived.

  Heat seared down, thickening the air. Lorhen grinned at the woman clinging to his arm. "You'll have to let me go," he said. "I can't go talk to your mother while you have a death grip on my hand."

  Ghean loosened her fingers. "I'm nervous."

  "Why? You're not the one who has to go present a case to your mother why you should marry a penniless scholar she's never met instead of a well-employed bodyguard whom she's known for twenty years."

  The worry faded from Ghean’s face, turning to mock severity. "You're making fun of me."

  Lorhen grinned. "Maybe a little bit. I'm sure it'll be fine, Ghean. A kiss for luck?" He bowed his head, touching his lips to hers, and she smiled into the kiss. "I'll meet you in the market later, all right?"

  Ghean nodded, and let his hand go, watching him turn into the sun, down between the sandy streets of the tent town. The borders of the town were not far apart, and a few minutes' walk brought Lorhen to Ghean’s mother's tent. He bowed in greeting to the guard, who scowled benignly. "Would you tell the lady Minyah that the scholar Lorhen is here to see her?"

  "Come in," a voice called from inside. "I can hear you quite well."

  Lorhen's eyebrows lifted a bit, and he stepped inside, idly glancing at the thickness of the cloth woven into the tent. It was not unusually thin; Minyah apparently had excellent hearing. He bowed a second time as the tent flap fell shut behind him and blinked to adjust his vision to the relative darkness inside. Minyah sat at a neatly crafted desk, surrounded by thin paper of unimaginable quality. Lorhen's eyes widened and he took an avaricious step forward before catching himself. With something of an effort, he looked up at Ghean's mother.

  Taller than her daughter, but with the same smoky skin and dark hair, Minyah had none of Ghean's impetuosity; instead she gave the instant impression of contained serenity. Her eyes were hazel, almost gold, to Ghean's brown, and gave her a slightly alien aura that conveyed the impression she could look through someone in the first moment she met them. Lorhen shook his shoulders unconsciously, as if warding off that gaze. Minyah stood, brightly dyed and finely woven linens swirled around her, loosely cut to keep cool in the desert heat. A silver pendant shifted between her breasts, catching the light for a moment. "Ghean calls you her giant. I see why. Would you like water?"

  Lorhen inclined his head. "Please. Thank you for seeing me."

  "I could hardly wait," Minyah countered. "Ghean has been writing home about you for months. Even if I had not planned to visit Egypt, I would have been obliged to come and see her giant."

  "Has it been that long?" Lorhen frowned as he accepted the water.

  Minyah settled back down at her desk, comfortably, in a rustle of fabrics "It has." She considered him silently for a few minutes, the disconcerting hazel-gold eyes intent. He let her study him, faintly amused at the thin thread of nerves that made his shoulders rise higher than usual. He had been inspected by parents before, but somehow that never made it any easier. With a twitch of a smile, Minyah said, "You love her."

  Lorhen's own smile brightened swiftly enough to make him feel silly. "How could I not? She's so vibrant, so full of life."

  "Are you really penniless?" Lorhen, startled, began to reply, but Minyah cut him off with a short gesture. "Never mind. I am almost certain you are not." For the second time, she slipped off her stool, coming around to frown deeply at him from a foot or two away. Lorhen returned the look, one eyebrow rising quizzically. Just as he was about to speak, Minyah murmured, "Ah."

  “Ah?”

  "You are like him, are you not? Like Aroz. You do not die."

  Lorhen took a sharp step backward, hand closing on the knife he wore at his belt too instinctively to stop, though a wince ran through him at the action: nothing co
uld have signaled how right she was more obviously. But no mortal had ever guessed that, and there was no sense of Timeless power about her, nothing at all out of the ordinary. "What are you talki—"

  Minyah shook her head. "Do not try to dissemble. It is in your eyes. I have seen it in Aroz for a very long time, and I think it is stronger in you."

  Lorhen stared down at her a long moment, astonishment and curiosity warring with caution. Curiosity won, and he slowly backed up until he found a seat among pillows piled on the floor. "…how did you know about Aroz?"

  Minyah waved a hand dismissively. "He saved my life once. I wept over his body, and he rose up again. I thought the gods had answered my prayers, but he told me a different tale. I have seen it again since then, and I have come to believe the story he told me was true, and that he cannot die."

  "He can," Lorhen said automatically. "But not unless someone takes his head."

  "Ah!" Minyah clasped her hands together. "So he has said. I am right, then. That is always satisfying." She turned, collecting her own cup of water and lifting it to her lips. "Do you wish to marry her?"

  Lorhen blinked, taken off guard by the return to subject and his own hesitations. Minyah, too observant, lifted her eyebrows. "You do, but there is some doubt in you. Tell me of it."

  "Marriage is not lightly undertaken," Lorhen said slowly. "Not in any case. Especially for my kind. There is always the problem of…truth. Whether to confess what we are, or to keep it hidden away, to save our lovers pain. This time it's more difficult than most." He lifted dark eyes to the tent's ceiling, weighing his words, then spoke again. "Has Aroz told you that Ghean has the potential to become immortal, as we are?"

  Minyah's eyes widened. Lorhen cast his gaze downward a moment. "I didn't think so. Minyah, your daughter is intelligent and beautiful, and if she were wholly mortal, I would wed her tomorrow. But she isn't, and I don't know what to do or say, to either you or her." He stood to pace uncomfortably, water cup in hand.