Dark Tide Rising (Book 1 of The Bright Eyes Trilogy)

by J. M. Rojas

CHAPTER 1: A LITTLE BOOK SHOP

  “My father and I are looking for a rare artefact, a book called To the Ends of the Earth by E. A. Johnson Pasha,” the young English woman said to the Egyptian shopkeeper who peered at her over his spectacles. He was sitting behind a display cabinet, which confined a colourful mosaic of leather-bound books and dusty ornaments, and was pawing through a newspaper that spoke of political unrest in his city: Alexandria. A long straw rested lazily in the left corner of his mouth and ended in a glass bottle of cola on the counter; perspiring in the weakly air-conditioned bookshop. “It contains the mysterious Kitab al Kanuz manuscript. We are willing to pay you handsomely for it.” Her last promise was followed with a wink and a flash of an envelope, which was stuffed with British pounds.

  The wizened man spluttered, dislodging his straw, and began a coughing fit, which quickly turned into a strange gurgling sound that might have been mistaken for choking. The pretty woman started forward in an attempt to help him, but stopped when the choking turned into a dry, croaky laugh that revealed his ridicule of her. Finally he said in good English, “I am sorry, but the book you speak of is a fairytale. A myth.”

  “Oh,” the Englishwoman managed to say through her shock and displeasure at his reaction. The shopkeeper's frank mockery was like a slap in the face. “Well, I—we are not disputing the validity of the book. We are simply interested in purchasing it for our museum back home. My father's interest is purely academic and nothing more.”

  “You believe in some of it, right?” the shopkeeper said with a raised eyebrow. “Just a little?”

  “Well, um... ah...”

  “Be honest,” the weathered-faced man said, turning his newspaper without looking at the next page. He hovered a ring-heavy hand over the arabic words that filled it as if he was summoning something from them. “My country is quite a mystical place. Full of... old magic...” He left her hanging on his ambiguity, baiting her interest.

  “Yes!” The woman's eyes lit up. “Very much so! There has to be some truths to the legends—and by your face expression you are just teasing me.”

  He wondered if her face was scarlet with anger or embarrassment. Stifling his laughter and waving a dismissive hand, he said, “Sorry, I can't help myself. I get a lot of tourists coming into my shop looking for magical monkey paws or levitating rugs, and I tell them all the same thing: I sell old books and trinkets. Nothing mystical at all. Maybe the grave robbers who sell me some of their 'discoveries' think otherwise, and spread the fables to foreigners, but I can assure you you won't find anything here that you can't find in an op shop back in England.”

  “And the manuscript?”

  “Ah... yes. Kitab al Kanuz was in fact an ancient manuscript that spoke of the mythical city of Zerzura and how to reach it through an oasis gate. However it is as I say it is: a myth. Pasha found the manuscript in a Pharaoh's tomb and claimed to have recorded it in his journal, which you mentioned. To the Ends of the Earth, unfortunately, was never published. The book was destroyed in a fire that consumed Pasha's house. That part is true.”

  A frown of disappointment creased the woman's pouty lips and she moved a tussle of curly, brown hair out of her face. “I am Rachael, by the way,” she said, extending her hand out to the man. “Rachael Cuthbert. My father, Cornelius, is still in the markets as we speak, hunting for the manuscript and any other strange artefacts that may be of any value.”

  “Hanafi,” the clerk replied, shaking her hand. “But I don't mind George. I lived in America for some time and picked a strong English-speaking name that was easy to say. Little did I know it was out of fashion.”

  Rachael laughed then said, “Okay, George. Well, I best be going now. Father will be looking for me—oh, I was also wondering what your thoughts are on the local rumours.”

  “Rumours? What rumours?”

  “They speak of—pardon my ignorance—the djinn.”

  Hanafi did not reply, but listened with an unreadable face.

  “An old woman told me in the marketplace of a homeless boy she saw several days ago. He could speak with animals. She caught him commanding birds, dogs and horses to carry out tasks for him. The woman said something about a secret war in the desert that was pushing the djinn into the cities.”

  “Nonsense,” the shopkeeper said, shaking his head. “Pay that gossip no heed, djinn are sand demons of mythology and nothing more. It was probably one of the stall holders wanting to snare a tourist, or some street beggar out of her mind.”

  A sound of old cogs turning and what might have been chains pulling against some great weight suddenly filled the bookshop and Rachael paused by the door. She cast a glance over her shoulder and said, “What was that?”

  “That? Oh, that! Yes, bad plumbing. Egypt is riddled with bad plumbing. It's the old buildings you see. I'd leave if I were you. It only gets worse. The stench is known to kill... rats!”

  Rachael cringed, her face as white as a ghost at the mention of rats. Waving goodbye, she briskly disappeared out the door, which she slammed behind her, setting off the little bell that alerted Hanafi of customers.

  With a sigh of relief, the shopkeeper hopped off his stool and hastily made his way over to the door and locked it, spinning the “Be Back Later” sign around to face outside. He then made his way to the back of the shop towards the sound.

  Along his path, old, wooden bookshelves towered over him from all sides like sleeping giants in the shop's low light, filled with countless leather-bound books of various sizes and on various subject matters. The shelves appeared to have been haphazardly placed next to each other in a maze of awkward angles, to fit in the small space of the shop; however there was an order to the chaos, and only Hanafi knew its secrets.

  The back wall was made of sand coloured brick and looked as weathered as the pyramids. In its centre was a little alcove that housed a small statue of a woman's weeping head. It gazed back at Hanafi with hollow eyes as he approached. To anyone else it was of ancient Egyptian origin; to him and others who knew its design, it was Atlantean. He ran his hands over the woman's frozen face of despair, tracing lines over the stone tears with his gnarled fingers.

  “Someone is taking the secret way,” he whispered hoarsely. “This can't be good.”

  A rumbling from beneath his feet shook the shop again. Somewhere behind him, a series of books came crashing down from different shelves, and a light bulb on a chain swayed into a wall, shattering and making the room even dimmer.

  Stepping away from the wall, Hanafi watched unflinchingly as white light shone out of the statue's hollow eyes. A large portion of the wall, including the alcove, suddenly sunk inwards and then slid sideways to the right, revealing a yawning passage beyond. Through a haze of dust he saw the silhouettes of two tall beings: a man and a woman.

  “Arai, sah'est usha'tar, Hanafi,” the man's shadow in the tunnel said. “Arai, lore-kin!”

  Then from out of the wall stepped Vesphaeon and his sister Eleena. They towered above Hanafi's bent form, looking quickly about the bookshop for signs of others.

  “There is no one else here, my lord and lady,” Hanafi replied quickly, although his smile was unsure. “Who is chasing you—”

  “Come,” Vesphaeon ordered his sister, pulling her by the forearm. “We must be gone from this place before the rebels find you.”

  “They will find both of us!” Eleena retorted.

  “Rebels? What rebels?” the shopkeeper asked, trying to get the attention of his Atlanteans guests who seemed to have forgotten about him. “There are no rebels in town that I know of! And I hear everything!”

  Vesphaeon flung his hard gaze at Hanafi. When he spoke his voice was stern but his eyes were sad, “They have taken the city. The Library is lost.”

  Hanafi was stunned. Silence passed for a moment before Eleena made a move forward into the bookshop, breaking her brother's hold. A blue light winked from a ring on her right hand and suddenly the woman shimmered like a mirage and shrank in size as she walked. W
hen she was standing two feet away from Hanafi, she was his height. “We need to gather an army of lore-kin and take back the Library,” she said with a furrowed brow.

  “No, it is too risky,” Vesphaeon interjected. “I will find a way to reason with the rabble—”

  “There is no way to reason with Kaelan,” Eleena said, holding her ground. When she turned to face her brother he was her height as well—a swirl of blue light trailed around his body and evaporated into nothing. He wore the same Ring of Illusion as her. “They only know how to destroy. They did it to Avalon and they are now doing it to the Library of Alexandria.”

  “Your guise is very distracting, old friend.” Vesphaeon was now addressing Hanafi, his argument with his sister suspended by his curiosity of the lore-kin's appearance. “Be a little flattering to yourself.”

  Hanafi shrugged and wiggled a ring on his left pinky that looked the same as Vesphaeon and Eleena's. A young, handsome, Egyptian man suddenly stood before them in a swirl of blue light.

  “That's better,” Vesphaeon said.

  “Sorry, I don't like to draw attention to the shop. It is hard as it is trying to turn officials away when they get a whiff of something strange going on. Or when Oreus sends his men to check the books I sell, making sure your people's knowledge is still jealously guarded. Or when the rebels are hunting for lore-kin to recruit or kill. A large list of reasons to remain hidden, really.”

  “Hey, Hanafi!” a voice from the front of shop shouted. “Open up! We know you're in there!”

  “Speak of the devil,” the Egyptian said, a look of defeat on his face. Then his infectious smile crept back on his lips. “I'll get rid of them.”

  “Wait,” Vesphaeon warned. “They may be looking for us. You must prepare my sister's escape should things turn ugly.”

  “We can't be separated—” Eleena started.

  “Don't be stubborn. These fools hold no allegiance to the High Seat. They will kill us both. I can fool them.”

  “Or die a fool yourself!” His sister's face was one of anger and despair. “Be safe.”

  Vesphaeon nodded grimly and quickly moved towards the sounds of the door rattling and muffled threats.

  “Wait in the maze,” Hanafi said to Eleena, stubbornly following after Vesphaeon. “Left, right, right, left. The gold and silver book.”

  Eleena looked confused, but made her way into the maze of bookshelves as instructed.

  “Hold your horses!” Hanafi grumbled, his old disguise concealing him again. He walked up to the door in a slow hobble to fit the part.

  When the door was unlocked, it flung open and a surge of bodies pushed through, nearly bowling him over. Six men in modern Egyptian attire surrounded him and Vesphaeon. All armed with small daggers.

  Hanafi fell to the ground in an act of fear. “Spare us!”

  “We had a deal,” Vesphaeon said, ignoring the lore-kin's performance and staring the newcomers down. “Your master was to hand over the Library to me. Take the son of Thomas and leave!”

  Hanafi gasped softly at the betrayal unveiled, but kept his head down upon the filthy floor. Needs a bit of sweep... he thought.

  “Plans have changed,” the leader of the men snickered darkly. He bore a scar over the bridge of his large nose, which was twisted and bent. “The deal is off.”

  “Kaelan said he would keep his word,” Vesphaeon continued, “I was under the impression he was an honourable man.”

  “Do we look like honourable men?” the thug laughed, and the circle of knives tightened. “Mathias has been captured, and your father is dead. Kaelan killed him for not submitting to his will.”

  A flash of blue light revealed the Egyptians to be rebel Lemurians. Their daggers, glaives.

  “My... father,” Vesphaeon said with eyes wide with shock. He felt as if a battering ram had been smashed into his ribs, crushing his lungs and heart. “He was to be relieved of his duties under my ascension to the chair. He was not to have been harmed!” Then there was fire in his eyes and his sadness fell away. Vesphaeon dismissed his illusion, standing at his full height, his staff appearing out of the blue light.

  “It is too late for grieving, Vesphaeon,” his tormentor said, “death has come!”

  Then they rushed him. Vesphaeon swung his staff into the fray, knocking down his assailants with a mighty wrath born from the news of his father's murder. He had learned well the ways of combat from Rykar and Mathias and was no easy target.

  Hanafi clamoured to his feet and leaped away from the grasping hands and waving weapons of Kaelan's men. It didn't take him long to make up his mind if he should stand and fight with his friend or run.

  Vesphaeon supported his flight from the battle, crying, “Get my sister out of here, fool!”

  Five more rebels came crashing through the door as Hanafi sped towards his bookshelves. Even though the son of Oreus was hard to subdue, it wouldn't be long until he fell to their numbers.

  “There is no escape, lore-kin!” one of the rebels growled, giving pursuit. “Your time in the service of the Library is over!”

  Hanafi shimmered blue and his old man visage was gone. The younger man ran up to one of his towering shelves and pushed it with all of his might, sending the wall of books crashing down on his pursuer...

  Eleena followed Hanafi's directions into his maze of bookshelves.

  Left, right, right, left... Her thoughts trailed away as she came to a dead end: a cul-de-sac of three heavy-laden bookshelves blocked her escape. They looked as if they would topple on top of her from the weight of thousand authors. Worn leather spines and strange titles in strange languages from times long forgot. Where do I go?

  The sound of heated argument and then ensuing combat near the front of the shop suddenly added to her dilemma. She began to panic.

  Then Eleena remembered the gold and silver book that Hanafi had mentioned. Her eyes furiously scanned the walls of literature until they fell upon a book that fitted that description. A golden spine with silver embossed writing in a language she instantly recognised as Atlantean. Hmmm, Hanafi would get in trouble with father for selling this—oh! Upon closer inspection the title of the book read: Of Plants and Herbs and their Healing Properties by Arinaeus Kathan'dar. I know this book—

  Reaching out, Eleena grabbed the book and pulled...

  A heavy groan came up from the ground beneath her, and the bookshelf that bore the book began to sink into the ground. Dust that had settled on top of the shelf for several years undisturbed was now rattled off and descended in a thick cloud around Eleena, causing her to cough fitfully.

  When she could see through the tears in her eyes from the dust she saw that the bookshelf was flush with the ground. A large skylight had opened in the roof, also, letting the evening sun send its last rays of orange glow into the shop.

  “Jump on!” Hanafi's voice exploded behind her. “Quickly! They are right behind me!”

  Eleena leaped onto the top of the bookshelf and spun around to see the young-faced shopkeeper almost knock her down. He dropped to the ground, fumbled with his hands until he found a hidden lever and pulled it. The bookshelf rumbled again, this time moving upwards to its original height.

  They were almost in reach of the skyline when three rebels raced into the dead end. One threw his glaive spinning up at the pair, which morphed into the shape of a circular blade. Hanafi pulled Eleena down and the blade sailed over their heads and disappeared out the roof and somewhere beyond.

  “Missed! You dotard!” the lore-kin taunted the cursing rebel as the bookshelf stopped at full height. It was only a step onto the flat rooftop from the bookshelf, so they made fast their escape, running towards the adjacent building—a pet shop—less than a couple of breaths away. A narrow alleyway separated Hanafi's shop from it, which connected to the main street below. The hubbub of evening traffic and people heading home from work filled their ears. “You can easily jump over that gap—”

  “No! Its too far!” Eleena protested.

 
; “You can make it! Trust me.”

  A loud clamour came from behind them and Hanafi guessed they were scaling the bookshelf and would soon be on the roof.

  He threw a pleading look at her.

  “Okay,” The girl said, nodding her head. The tears in her eyes no longer from the dust. It was her sorrow for her brother that was slowing her down, not the fear of falling.

  The lore-kin grabbed the Atlantean by the hand and pulled her towards the precipice. They ran, then jumped. Hanafi landed first, but Eleena stumbled and fell. Holding her fast, he turned and fell to his knees. Eleena swung down hard against the wall of the alleyway, almost crushing her ribs. She gasped in pain, but Hanafi refused to let her fall. He heaved and pulled her onto the roof of the other building. When they were standing again they saw the rebels rushing to meet them.

  “Run!” He shouted.

  Eleena ran, holding her chest in pain. The fire inside of her threatened to pull her down in a gasping heap; but she stubbornly refused and kept her legs moving.

  For a brief moment the girl thought that Hanafi had stayed behind to slow the rebels' pursuit. To sacrifice his life. But his jagged breath was soon puffing behind her.

  “The market place is just over that wall!” he cried as they approached a low set brick wall skirting the rooftop. “Get ready to jump again—”

  Cornelius and Rachael were driving their hired car away from the market square when they saw two bodies fall from the sky, landing in a nearby pond.

  “Good gracious me!” the old man with a black and white peppered beard exclaimed, swerving the car to an abrupt halt. A large map of the city that had been unfurled across the steering wheel tore in half from his sudden and forceful grip. “Who was that?”

  “A man and woman,” Rachael said, leaning out of the window of the passenger seat and gazing in the rippling surface of the pond. “Oh my! Its George from the bookshop!”

  “George?” her father said with a raised brow. “Who is George?”

  “The owner of Oasis Books. I asked him about the manuscript and Zerzura.”

  Before either could continue their back-and-forth questions and answers, Hanafi had stumbled out of the body of green murky water, soaked and cursing. He was at the driver's window in the blink of an eye, reaching wet hands for Rachael's arm. “Save us!” he cried.

  “George! What happened?”

  “Thieves! My shop is under attack by thieves!” he lied.

  “Well, shouldn't the police be called?” she answered.

  The wizened man held his tongue, revised his plead and finally said, “I have the book you want! I have To the Ends of the Earth by Pasha!”

  “You do?”

  “Yes! If you give my friend and I a ride out of the city, I will give you the book. Take you straight to Zerzura.”

  Eleena was stumbling up beside Hanafi when she heard his pledge. She gave him a worried look, but he winked, silencing her fears.

  “Deal!” Shaking Hanafi's wet hand, Cornelius agreed to the terms without hesitation. He didn't know who these people were, but understood well the value of their bargain. “If you can take us to the hidden city, we will give you safe passage to anywhere. I have a plane...”

  Hanafi flashed a devious grin to Eleena and yanked the back door open, climbing in. She quickly followed suite; but her gaze was behind them, scanning the tops of the buildings for their pursuers who seemed to have disappeared.

  There is a garrison left in Zerzura. The lore-kin spoke in Eleena's mind. Maybe our last chance at retaking the Library. Our last chance at freeing your brother.

  The daughter of Oreus nodded grimly, did one last scan of the nearby streets for Vesphaeon or the rebels, sighed and closed the door of the car.