The Secret of Atlantis (Citadel World Book #2)

by Kir Lukovkin

  Rick fell silent. His throat had gone dry and he took a swig from his flask.

  “What happened to him next?” Paul asked.

  “He had condemned himself to a long time of wandering. He lost those close to him and he must now do all he can to get them back. Are your parents still alive?”

  “My father is. He lives in a domed settlement. My mother went away to the Almighty when I was very little.”

  “Any brothers or sisters?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you go to the Mausites?”

  “I had a talent for learning. Kiernan was looking for children like that in the settlements. My father fetched a good price for me. I think it's better to work with papers than to dig around in the dirt.”

  There was logic in Paul's words.

  Rick took out some wire and used it to make some rough repairs to the hole made by the sickle and then started to make himself comfortable on the ground.

  “I always liked it in the Retreat,” Paul continued. “It has high walls, the rooms are clean and you get the chance to read there. I love reading. I like to work out the letters and see how they make up a word and then how words come together in a chain and how different words appear when you combine the same letters. There is a deeper meaning to it. The same as with drawing. You saw that I can draw. I could even draw you, Rick. It's not hard for me. I even like it. If I could, I would write and draw all day.”

  “Yes. You did a great job drawing White Worm and Black Ant.”

  “I used to draw on pieces of wood, on walls, on everything that was hard and smooth enough. I can draw all sorts of things — animals and birds, the sky and the earth, the sun and the stars. I can also draw people, trees, houses and various things. Sometimes, the drawings seem to come by themselves and something very unusual and special comes out — strange, bizarre creatures that couldn't exist in reality. I never showed drawings like that to anyone. There is something both unnerving and important at the same time about them. I don't understand what it is yet.”

  “Please describe one of these pictures.”

  After thinking for a moment, Paul said, “For instance, a creature with a horn on its head. It's a massive animal that looks like it is covered in armor. It has tiny eyes and giant, thick legs which it ambles along on. This animal is slow but it is incredibly strong.”

  Rick chuckled — it looked like he was talking about a rhinoceros.

  “So you think that this animal is made up?”

  “Of course!” Paul fell silent for a moment. “And do you know why I decided to come with you?”

  “No, but it's obviously not because of the cold.”

  Paul breathed out as he gathered his thoughts.

  “Something happened on the day that I went to your cell to talk to you. They had brought some captured possessed to the Retreat. There were many of them this time, five of them. Two females, a really old man and a pair of offspring. The females were very sick and obviously ill, while the children were emaciated. They were overgrown with hair, filthy, and they barely resembled humans at all. The hunters said that they dig themselves holes in the ground and live there like rats. The Abbott ordered for these possessed to be used instead of horses — he decided that they should pull carts until they fall down and die. Then, new ones would be caught to replace them.

  I observed how the hunters stopped in the yard, fixed the cart with a cage on it in place and started to force the possessed to come out. They were whining and squealing. The hunters were merciless with them as they beat them with their whips. I wanted to look away and go and do my job, but something made me watch against my will. The adults were taken to the latrines and the children to the winter garden. The possessed started to howl louder.

  One female stretched her arms out towards one of the children and the child tried to wrench himself away from the brothers' grip. They had almost been taken apart from each other in different directions when the boy twisted and slid out of their hands and ran towards his mother's embrace. The hunters then started to tear them away from each other, kicking and whipping them at will. It was a long struggle until they managed to separate them. The female became hysterical. The child was having a fit, fighting and kicking out with his feet. They knocked the female out with a club to the head and dragged her away from the yard. They took the child away as well. The blacksmith that stood nearby just said, “There's only one thing to call them — animals!” and went off on his own business.”

  Paul took a deep breath and added, “That child was Black Ant.”

  “Now I understand why he wants to kill you,” Rick replied. “He saw how you were watching and did nothing. Sometimes, inaction is worse than violence. I understand him. I would have done the same in his place.”

  “Yes,” Paul agreed, “I understand that now.”

  “Is that the reason? Have you begun to feel sorry for the possessed?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Rick decided against continuing and closed his eyes. After a while, he heard Paul's quiet voice.

  “Drawing does not bring me any joy now. I wanted to draw a sparrow warming itself on the edge of the mine shaft. My hand refused to obey me. The lines were skewed and the features were all wrong. It was some sort of ugly chicken instead of a sparrow. I threw the coal away. And now I have something to draw with again...”

  Rick drifted away to sleep for a moment. He woke up for a moment, saying “Let's talk about this tomorrow.”

  “My body is in pain,” Paul complained. “I feel all twisted up inside.”

  “Just bear it and pray to your Maus. Who knows, it might help.”

  Rick turned away, hid the sickle that he confiscated in the folds of his clothing, gripped his blaster tight and fell asleep.

  He was the first to wake up in the morning. Rick climbed out of the dugout and looked around. The ground around him was covered with a thin blanket of snow and he did not see anyone else's tracks on the ground. The sky was covered with thick clouds and a pale sun was rising in the west.

  Rick listened to his feelings — his head seemed to be clear. He swung his arms energetically several times, warming up the muscles that had gone stiff from sleeping on the cold earth and started to blow on the glowing embers in the hearth so he could heat up some water. Rick picked up the pot and set off to gather some snow and get the lay of the land. After about a minute, he understood that the plain was lifeless as far as the eye could see, with frozen ground strewn with boulders which had a dusting of snow on their shadow side. It was time to return and strike camp.

  However, once he took two steps, he stopped and crouched behind a boulder, watching Paul get out of the tent. His recently awoken companion shivered, blindly looking around and started to rub the sleep from his eyes. Then he hesitantly called out, “Rick?”

  Paul's eyes surveyed the landscape, without noticing Rick in his hiding place. He was stamped his feet as he stood there, rubbing at his shoulders in a futile attempt to get warm.

  Silence. A frosty wind blew across the plain, carrying snow from stone to stone. Rick chuckled. Come on, you fool, sit down by the hearth, warm up and throw the remains of the wood into the fire. But Paul had other things to do — he walked around the dugout, had a look inside and then started to frantically look all around himself in fear. He finally thought of adding some fuel to the fire, warmed up a little and walked around their camp again.

  “Rick!” he cried out in despair. “Rick, where are you?”

  All he heard was silence again. Day had finally broken. Paul swore quietly, returned to the dugout and got inside. Rick shook his head. What an idiot.

  Paul soon climbed back out and tried to roll up the cloth over the dugout. Rick was sick of watching him fumble around. He quietly sneaked up to Paul and pressed the sickle into his back. Paul froze.

  “Rule number one,” Rick declared. “Always be alert.”

  Paul swiftly turned around and his eyes were full of happiness and anger. Rick shoved the sickle
into his hands.

  “Just in case, you should have it at the ready. Let me help.” He placed the pot on the fire, took hold of the edge of the cloth and started to carefully roll it up so that it would fit in the bag.

  “Where did you appear from?” Paul finally wheezed. “You were not here at all!”

  “I you opened your eyes wider, you would have seen me,” Rick cackled. “I was here all of this time and looking right at you.”

  They finished with the sheet. Paul fixed the sickle behind his belt, his lips set in a line.

  “I was walking through the wasteland once,” Rick began, “and wolves started to follow me. A whole pack, around twelve of the beasts. They were lean but you could see that they were fierce. I was walking along the plain and they padded along after me. They were not in a hurry, they did not approach me and they kept their distance. They knew that their time would come. I kept walking and looking back, waiting for them to attack. That's how I walked for the whole day and when night came, I reached the edge of a forest. I started a fire, leaned with my back against a tree and watched them. Their eyes shone like embers in the darkness. And that was when I understood the foundation of their diabolical plan — they were waiting for me to fall asleep. I sat under the tree and stared into the darkness, until the darkness reached inside my head and I realized that I was lying on my side. I did not make any sudden movements. I just opened my eyes. The pack leader was right in front of me, saliva dripping off his fangs. I looked death straight in the eye.”

  “What do you want to say by that?”

  “Nothing. Only a pair of seconds saved me from death. I was lucky enough to wake up just in time. I was off-guard and nearly paid for it.”

  Rick pushed the rolled up cloth into the travel bag, collected the rest of their belongings, filled the flask with warm water and they set off on their way.

  “The wastelands are full of predators,” Rick said. “If you do not kill them, they will kill you. Remember this.”

  “What happened to those wolves?”

  “I killed them. Not all of them, to be honest. The most cowardly ones, or perhaps the most cunning and weak ones ran away. The ones that were at the back of the pack. Cowards are usually more cunning than those who are brave. They say that the strong survive, but somehow fail to mention that strength is sometimes in being careful and cunning. That's why the cowards survive sometimes.”

  They kept walking east along the plain and saw tall pillars appear ahead.

  “Border markers,” Paul said. “You can see them from the Retreat if you climb on the roof of the temple. The territory of the Tombs begins beyond them.”

  Rick and Paul reached the pillars by midday and saw that the surface was pitted with holes and iron reinforcing bars stuck out on every side. Each pillar was as tall as ten residential levels in Thermopolis. Rick touched the rough surface at the bottom of the pillar.

  “Ancient concrete. Interesting.”

  “Concrete?” Paul asked.

  “It's a mixture that fixes things together.”

  “Oh, I see. And the iron bars are there to reinforce the structure.”

  “That's right.”

  They both glanced upwards at the same time. It seemed that the pillar was supporting the clouded skies. The pillars stretched out in a line towards the edge of the horizon.

  “I wonder, why did they put them here?” Paul muttered.

  “I have no idea.”

  Rick took a Geiger counter out of the bag and switched it on, circling the pillar. The counter whispered and crackled weakly.

  “What is that?” Paul enquired curiously. “What are you doing?”

  “This device detects rays invisible to the eye that can kill anything that lives. But there are none of those rays here.”

  Rick turned off the counter and explained that the battery was almost at zero and that he did not know if he could find a new one anywhere.

  They moved on and started to come across various odd shaped buildings — a half ruined stone pyramid, with a field of steel cones upon square bases behind it. Rick took out his Geiger counter once again and switched it on to check the background radiation levels. Once he was sure it was safe, he nodded and turned to Paul.

  “Tell me what is known about the Tombs.”

  Paul did not reply immediately, thinking how to begin.

  “This place is considered to be cursed. Animals give it a wide berth.”

  “Why?”

  “They say that ghosts walk around here in the night. Sometimes, human voices were heard from here when the weather was calm.”

  “What, could they be heard in the Retreat?”

  “Yes. I heard them a couple of times in the night. I woke up and listened to them. Someone laughed, sang, then laughed again and it went on for at least an hour.”

  “Right. What else?”

  “They say that this is a cemetery of the Ancients. A single mass grave where countless people are buried. There are so many of them that the bones stick out of the ground.”

  “Why did this happen?”

  “A great war. Or a disaster. Something like that.”

  “Did any of your people come here?”

  “It is forbidden. Anathema awaits the violator.”

  “So you know about this place from other people's words?” Rick clarified. “But no one checked if it was true?”

  Paul shrugged.

  “Usually such things were taken on faith. It wouldn't cross anyone's mind to come here alone.”

  They passed a depression and once they got out of it, even rows of gray concrete blocks appeared before their sight. For a moment, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, glinting on the glass of the windows that had miraculously remained intact in several buildings.

  “It's a very ancient city,” Rick reported. “This is the way people lived before the epidemic, before they started to build domes and underground shelters.”

  A road stretched out from the city to the east, snaking along the plain. Rick waved at Paul and they set off into the abandoned city, walking between the empty and deserted buildings and their gaping, empty windows. The wind blew trash around the street.

  “What's that?” Paul pointed at a large, teardrop shaped metallic object, which had wheels on its sides. “Some sort of cart?”

  “It's an automobile.” Rick approached the machine and slid his hand along the bonnet, brushing away dust. “I have come across some of these before. This one is quite well-preserved. The Ancients used to ride these along the roads. It was very convenient.”

  Rick raised his blaster and adjusted the power switch, before shooting a weak charge into the door and climbing into the cabin to have a look around. However, he did not find anything useful inside. Once he climbed out, he looked at Paul, who was examining the time-faded signs hanging above the bottom floors of the building.

  “Tools and materials,” Paul read out. “Hairdresser. Bar. What's a bar?”

  “A place where people used to spend time. Like your temple, but without the prayers and much more fun.”

  “There are more signs there.”

  “Wait.”

  Rick walked through the door under the “Tools” sign. He was gone for several minutes and Paul could hear rattling and clanging noises coming from inside, until Rick appeared back out on to the street with a satisfied expression on his face.

  “I found batteries for the radiation counter,” he showed Paul some clear packages. “I will check them in the evening. What if there's some charge left?”

  They moved on, looking around carefully. Paul read the signs out loud and Rick commented on them.

  “Seeds.”

  “Hell with them.”

  “Furniture.”

  “No.”

  “Clothing.”

  “Now, that will be useful.”

  When they entered the building Rick took everything that he thought they needed. In the end, Paul changed into a warm jumpsuit and got himself a backpack, where
Rick put coils of rope, a flat box of tools and the same kind of folding pot and glass that he had, as well as attaching two rolled up blankets at the bottom.

  It was not a big city, they noticed as they crossed a square with huge darkened screen panels along its sides. Rick told Paul that moving pictures had once been displayed on those kinds of panels. Paul listened with great interest and read what was written on every sign he came across.

  “It seems that people left this place very suddenly,” he noted. “I haven't seen any human remains.”

  “That does not mean anything,” Rick stated. “However, I have to admit that it all looks quite strange. If we suppose that the bodies had been chewed on by animals from the wastelands, there should at least be some skeletons or at least separate bones left in their place, but there is nothing like that here. It really does look like a city which the Ancients suddenly abandoned. But it is nothing like any of the other ancient cities I came across on my travels. Not even close.”

  “Why?”

  “The ancient cities of our ancestors were special. There were never even two buildings that looked the same. Every building was built in its own special style, while here everything follows the same model and the buildings look like identical twins.”

  Suddenly, Paul grabbed him by the sleeve and pointed to the edge of the square. A man was sitting with his back to them on one of the benches. The figure seemed immobile. Rick raised the blaster, Paul drew his sickle and they lowly approached the bench and started to circle around on both sides. The stranger calmly sat there, observing the dirty statue in the overgrown public garden behind the square. He turned his head towards them.

  “Hi!” the stranger smiled.

  “Hello,” Rick replied, quickly looking around. He did not see anything dangerous, so he turned back to ask, “Who are you?”

  “What a wonderful day,” the stranger said with a pleasant and lively voice. “The weather is so lovely.”