by C. E. Murphy
A thousand years ago, we began to feel weary. It may be that without constant battle, without the influx of energy from the Blending, that we pall; it makes little difference. We formed a plan, to build a civilization here of a people whose lives were dictated by scholarship, not war. We were never completely alone on the island; dozens of small fishing villages litter the coast. We went among them and chose the wisest, the brightest, the most intuitive of them, and brought them to this valley in the mountains.
We taught them as best we could. After so long apart from mortals, it came as a shock to us, their brief lifespans. Still, they were eager to learn, and we taught them. With them we built the city of Atlantis, and we built the Houses in the hills, and named them for the constellations in the sky. The symbol of Atlantis became a circle, never-ending, with points to represent the Houses. Each House took its sky-sign and rendered it within the circle, and those signed Houses made the government of the city and the island.
None of this happened quickly. In each new generation, more people came to the city, and in each generation some of those newcomers joined Houses, to keep fresh blood and fresh ideas circulating. The building, the studying, the creation of a new way of life took hundreds of years, and through it all we guided them.
I suppose it's no wonder they call us gods. We didn't age and we didn't change, mentors to every generation. When they read this book we'll be gone, and I do not know if they will still call us gods. I cannot explain where we came from, any more than they can, and I wonder if it is not easier to simply call us gods, and forget the rest.
Some four hundred years ago there seemed a stabilization, a sudden cohesiveness that had not been there before. Atlantis had reached adulthood, and no longer needed our supervision so much.
Most of our time since then has been spent writing this book, and creating gifts for the Houses. This book, the greatest of the gifts, will go to the Crow, first of the Houses. In it are notes on everything we have learned about science, about the body, and about engineering, in our centuries of study. We have chosen to not write out our learnings in detail for the Houses; mortal man is a violent and vicious creature, and I fear what might happen if we were to offer them our studies wholesale. Instead there are pointers, enough detail to set them on the right path. They will learn, over the years, how to create the things we have left outlines of, in so far as it is possible to do what we have done, without the Blending. Perhaps it won't be possible at all, but I will not be here to see that.
When they reach the point of being able to understand what we offer—assuming that they do—the other gifts may be useful as examples. The horned horses have a panacea in the horn; it's a compound that can be rediscovered with the right knowledge. The cup is of the same material, though it takes specific liquids to trigger the panacea's properties. Half a dozen of the gifts—all of them that are meant to be worn or carried, including the crystal—prevent the ravages of age and afford a degree of physical protection. The larger the item, the more effective it is in the second half of this; it was a side-effect, not our primary goal. If Atlantis reaches the level of technology to be able to replicate the gifts, they should be able to use the ones we left as guidelines.
My brothers and sisters and I are tired of our long lives. We left the world behind so long ago that I wonder if there are even any more like us still beyond Atlantis. Since we have had no Timeless visitors in many centuries, we think it is likely we are the last.
If that's so, it is time for the last battles, and that, perhaps, explains our weariness. The book is finished, and we've decided who will be the last of us, the one to carry the full power of the Blending, into the future. I will not be that one, and I think in the end I am grateful for that. I've journeyed in this world a very long time, and have helped to create a legacy in Atlantis that should stand through time. It is enough.
Lorhen stared at the last paragraph a long time, rarely blinking. "But it didn’t end," he finally whispered. "We're still here."
"Eh?" Ragar looked up from his papers. "What?"
Lorhen lifted his head slowly. "You've read the introduction? Written by Lonan, about how they were not gods at all?"
Ragar smiled. "What else would you call them? They lived thousands of years."
Lorhen shook his head. "What happened?" he asked. "When the gods decided it was time to leave you, what happened?"
"There was a lightning storm," Ragar replied. "Legend tells us that it fell from the sky for hours, and when it finally ceased, the gods were gone and the city was bleached white." He gestured at the book. "The book actually tells us where the white stone was mined to build the city, centuries ago, but Methuselah swore to the truth of the lightning storm. He was a child then, maybe the last of us to speak with the gods."
Lorhen closed his eyes. "Did he keep any records? Any written stories of what he saw then?"
Ragar frowned thoughtfully. "Not that I've ever seen, but I've never looked for them. There aren't any in the library, certainly. You could ask someone in the Scorpion. That was his House. If there are any papers, they might have them stored away somewhere. Why?"
Lorhen looked back down at the brief history. "Do you believe they lived as long as they did?"
"All of our histories, all of the old tales, agree they did. I know Methuselah lived hundreds of years himself, with the crystal they gave him. I think it's not impossible. What," Ragar smiled, "you want to live forever?"
Lorhen glanced up again. "Don't we all?"
The other scholar smiled again. "Methuselah said he was tired of living, when he gave his stone to Noah. He said mortal man was not meant to live nine hundred years."
Mortal men, perhaps. Voice soft, Lorhen said, "I can't imagine tiring of living."
Ragar laughed. "You're young, Lorhen. Thirty years, perhaps? I've seen more than fifty, a good long life, and there are days when I think I'm ready to lay down this body and join the gods on their mountaintops."
Lorhen lowered his eyes to hide a smile, and turned the next page of the book. The immortal who'd written the introduction had meant what he said: the notes on the fine paper were cryptic, sketches and brief explanations enough to give a hint of the destination, but not enough to see the path clearly. The stories he hoped for were not there. Instead, there were pages detailing the building of ships, of pyramids; the arts of smithery and warfare, medical practices and plumbing. Beyond that the material grew increasingly incomprehensible, discussing the building blocks of life, too small to be seen, and snakes wound through all bodies, determining their make-up. Lorhen's head began to hurt, but there were glimpses, here and there, that he almost understood; at the very least, it was clear the Blending could be used for far more than he, or any other Timeless since the ancient Atlanteans, had imagined. Finally he looked up at Ragar, clearing his throat to speak for the first time in hours. "How much of this can you understand?"
Ragar glanced at where Lorhen had the book open to, and shook his head. "Turn back about thirty pages. The first third or so we've been able to follow. It's concrete material, building and surgery, things we can figure out. There's a jump, after the section on surgery, though. It goes into topics we can't even begin to understand, things that seem to have to do with the body, but we're not sure what." He shook his head again. "Eventually we'll get there. The gods didn't want us to have the knowledge until we were ready to figure it out on our own, with only a few hints. I'm not sure how much of the information is theoretical and how much is actually tested."
Lorhen sighed, carefully closing the book. "It's humbling, isn't it? Being presented with so much information we can't fathom."
Ragar nodded, smiling wryly, and tucked his papers away before lifting the Book and replacing it in its black stone box. Sliding it back home into the wall, he asked, "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Lorhen shook his head. "No. I should have expected as much, I suppose. I only ended up with more questions."
"That's the way of things," Rag
ar agreed philosophically. "Come. It's a long walk back, and you have a story to tell me."
19
Lorhen left Ragar at the foot of the mountains, the mortal scholar making his way back into the city to digest the tale he’d been told. Lorhen watched him go, then, a little weary, made his way up the hillside to the Hunter’s House.
He'd had no intention of telling Ragar the truth, until he read the story written by Lonan. They weren't gods, he'd chosen to say, in the end, and neither am I. They just had an extraordinary number of years to study in. Almost anyone could discover impossible secrets, given thousands of years of undisturbed study.
And one of them, it seemed, had been chosen to Blend all the others, and go forward. He or she might still be alive, but without so much as a name, Lorhen couldn’t imagine how he might find the sole survivor. Perhaps he could see if the Scorpion’s House had any of Methuselah’s records, assuming that long-lived mortal had kept any.
Minyah greeted him at the door to the house, an amused glint in her eyes. "Ghean has been looking for you," she warned. "Two days until the wedding, and her betrothed nowhere to be found. She has gone down to the city to find you."
Lorhen groaned softly, running his hand back through his hair and loosening the tie that bound it at the nape of his neck. "I haven't missed anything of importance, have I? No unexpected rituals that the ceremony can't be completed without?"
"No," Minyah said, "but she will want a magnificent apology. You may wish to begin thinking about it."
Lorhen glanced over his shoulder, back down the hill he'd just climbed. "Have you had the evening meal? Maybe we could share dinner and look for her together."
Minyah smiled. "I would enjoy that, but if you think my presence will curb Ghean's tongue, I believe you will be greatly disappointed."
Lorhen offered his arm gallantly. "I can only hope. Meanwhile, I'll practice my apology on you."
Minyah laughed. "A moment." She retreated through the door, re-emerging a few seconds later with a neatly woven satchel slung over her shoulder. A glance inside showed Lorhen a bundle of parchment, bound together at the top of the bag.
"You anticipate my company to be so dull that you bring papers along with you?" he teased as she slipped her arm through his.
"No. I intend to listen to your practiced apologies, and write down the parts that you should keep. Did you find the Book?"
Lorhen blinked. "Am I that transparent? Does Ghean know I went looking for it?"
"Ghean," Minyah said placidly, "is not as much a study of human nature as I. At worst she thinks you are, hm. Engaging in activities only a bachelor might be permitted to do, for the last time. At best, and knowing Ghean, this is probably her thought, she thinks that you are out searching for the perfect gift for the ceremony."
"Oh dear," Lorhen murmured. "And what might the perfect gift be? I only have two days to find it."
"Something symbolic of the House, perhaps. She is very proud to be the last daughter of the Hunter."
“Most of the Houses seem larger,” Lorhen said after a moment. “Why is the Hunter so small?”
“We adopted too little new blood,” Minyah replied frankly. “Too caught up in our own explorations and studies, I suppose, and perhaps a little surprised to only have one or two children in a generation. I imagined Ghean might be the mother of a large brood, although truthfully I cannot imagine why. And now suddenly we are all but gone. It is the way of the world, that nothing carries on forever.” She glanced up at Lorhen and amended, “Almost nothing.”
“Not even the Timeless go on forever.” The conversation died away as they entered the busy town market. Lorhen peered over heads in search of Ghean, finally chuckling at himself. "She's so small that there could be a single person between us and I wouldn't be able to see her." Only sense her. Ghean's potential Awakening didn't have the radius of a full Timeless' warning circle, but if they passed by each other, the peculiar tingle would alert him to her presence.
"I would suggest we try the Bull's Tavern, then," Minyah said, turning down a side alley. "It is her favorite place to eat. She and Aroz often go there."
"You couldn't have said that in the first place?" Lorhen demanded, half dancing around the crowd to regain Minyah's side.
She smiled. "I could have, but I would have missed you bobbing around the people like a tall seabird. I deemed the spectacle worthy of a short delay."
Lorhen couldn't stop the laugh that spilled out. "I see where Ghean got her sense of humor."
Minyah inclined her head with a modest smile, then, without warning, stepped to the left, disappearing into a suddenly coalescing group. Lorhen blinked down at the sea of dark hair, recognizing Minyah several seconds later by her satchel. Weaving through the throng a second time to catch up with her, he said, "That's twice you've abandoned me. Am I to take this as a repri—"
Nausea swept over him, a quick rush that left him chilled. Lorhen straightened, momentarily blessing the height that allowed him to scan the mass of people with an easy glance. Karem's head, light among the darkness, moved off to the right toward a table, without looking to see what Timeless approached. Lorhen looked ahead, following Karem's path to its end, and touched Minyah's shoulder. "I've found Ghean. This way."
They circled toward Ghean's table, Minyah using the satchel to swat someone out of the way, and looking wide-eyed with indignation when he frowned down at her. Lorhen laughed as the fellow looked startled, then, with an apologetic and sheepish grin, stepped out of the way. Minyah's eyes danced as she glanced at Lorhen. "The trick," she said, "is making them think it was somehow their fault."
"I think women have been doing that since the dawn of time." Lorhen guided Minyah to a halt at Ghean's table. Hidden in what amounted to a corner of the open tavern, she sat across from both Aroz and Karem, the latter just settling down with three mugs of the sweet ale that the Atlanteans drank almost as much as they did coffee. "I see you're able to entertain yourself in my absence, beloved Ghean.”
Ghean came to her feet in surprise, hugging him and stealing a kiss. "There you are! Have you met Karem? And Mother! We've been talking about history. You'll be a great help. Lorhen, Karem is as interested in the House artifacts as you are. Perhaps you should pool your resources and try to find the Book together."
Lorhen struggled to keep dismay off his face. "Perhaps," he agreed, "though Karem claimed to be no scholar, and thus without hope for studying the artifacts. We’ve met," he added, and inclined his head to Karem in greeting.
"Ghean tells me you've been staying up late reading about the artifacts," Karem said, words belying the glint of steel in his eyes. "Not holding out on me, old man, are you?"
"What ever would I do that for?" Lorhen asked dryly, swinging a long leg over the bench to sit. "I haven't found anything useful at all."
"You spent half the day missing and found nothing useful?" Karem's skepticism colored his tone, now.
Lorhen arched his eyebrows. "Telling your woes to strangers? The unbearable trauma of a missing betrothed?"
"He's not a stranger." Ghean sat on one side of Lorhen as Minyah took the other. "He's a friend of Aroz's, and Aroz is family." She smiled across the table at the dark man, whose face went bleak.
"Perhaps I should get the newcomers something to drink," he offered, standing. "Minyah?"
"A cup of coffee, please. Lorhen?"
Lorhen, all too aware of how little Aroz desired to bring him anything, hesitated. It had been hours since he'd had anything to eat or drink. "Ale, please," he said after a moment. Aroz, barely refraining from a scowl, nodded, made his way across the busy tavern.
Karem studied the three across from him with open interest. Ghean all but vibrated with life, chattering merrily back and forth with Lorhen and her mother. She was lovely, dark eyes large and long hair swishing over her shoulders as it framed her animated face. Energy poured out of her; the effect was child-like, compounded by her small size and easy trust. He let a smile crease his face and an
swered a question absently as he watched the young woman.
Even more than the enthusiasm for life that radiated from her, the power of her potential Awakening enthralled Karem. He had met very few women Timeless, and those he had met were vastly different from this woman. They had certainly been bigger. Karem doubted the little Atlantean's ability to wield sword or ax well enough to defend herself against a larger opponent, even with the best of teachers.
Which Lorhen would no doubt be. Karem's eyes narrowed as he turned his regard to the Timeless who had claimed the title of oldest. He looked the part of a scholar, paler than Karem himself and with the long black hair tied in a tail at the base of his neck. An unpleasant grin slid over Karem's features as he considered the exposed neck. So very polite of him to get his hair out of the way for a clean blow, once the heartstrike was made. With the Blended power of a thousand years in him, Karem would hardly need any of the Atlantean artifacts to ensure his own eternal survival.
But the chances of obtaining any of those trinkets—especially the legendary Book—seemed slim, without Lorhen's help. The ancient Timeless had been accepted into Atlantean society in a way Karem had yet to achieve, although the other woman sitting across from him presented an intriguing possibility.
Minyah was more delicate than her daughter, with high cheekbones and a small pointed chin. Torchlight lent a hint of red to her hair, clasped away from her face in curls by a golden headband. She disputed the theories that were put forth about the Book with easy logic, apparently unaware of Karem's eyes on her.
He very much doubted that was the case. Karem suspected she was entirely aware that he watched her, perhaps even flattered by it. She would be far more useful than Lorhen, being long accepted in the halls of Atlantean scholarship. Karem knew from Aroz that Minyah was a widow of more than a decade, and after the shock of Aroz’s death—he would have to arrange for it to seem Lorhen had killed him—Minyah would no doubt require comforting. If he couldn’t make a grieving mortal desire him, he would be embarrassed to look at his own face in a mirror.