The Atlantis Origins

by S. A. Beck

  “I’ll take care of her,” Otto said, growing serious.

  Grunt laughed, shaking his head and walking away. “You mean she’ll take care of you!”

  Otto grinned at Jaxon.

  “You really like that guy, don’t you?” Jaxon asked.

  “He’s crazy, but yeah, he’s cool. I guess I’m kind of looking up to him as a father figure. He sure is more of one than my real father ever was. Even when he’s chewing me out for doing something wrong, like shooting at those cops, I know he does it because he wants to help me, to teach me stuff. When my parents chewed me out, it was only to make me feel bad about myself so they could lord it over me.”

  “Don’t you miss them?” Jaxon asked.

  Otto felt deep sadness wash over him.

  “No, I don’t. Pathetic, isn’t it? I didn’t miss them when I was in reform school or any of the group homes either. I just felt relieved not to have them around, and I know they felt the same about me. Sad to say, I hardly think about them at all, and I’m sure they don’t think about me.”

  “Oh, come on. They’re your parents—they must love you.”

  “That’s just it, Jaxon. You never had a family, so you romanticize the whole thing. You think that it’s no big deal if families argue, because they still love each other. Well, that’s true for a lot of families, but some families don’t love each other. Some families are enemies living under the same roof.”

  Jaxon hugged him. “No wonder you acted out.”

  “You mean the fires? I can’t blame them for that, certainly not now. I’m eighteen. I’m responsible for my actions. If I keep rebelling against them all my life, I’ll end up in jail or an addict or something. I’m thinking a lot of messed-up adults are just messed up kids who grew up and solved their problems.”

  “I don’t want to be one of them,” Jaxon said.

  “I don’t want to be one of them either, which is why I’m so glad I hooked up with these guys. They all care about each other, and us. You know Edward found a secure way to send a message to my parents? I could write them a postcard that would get sent by courier to the US, and then a contact of his would mail it so it would have an American stamp and postmark. That way it would look like I was still there. Edward figured I’d want to tell them that I was still alive. I thought about it and realized they didn’t really care if I was or not.”

  Jaxon bit her lower lip. “Do you believe me about Edward?”

  Otto grimaced. “I don’t know what to think about that. I don’t want to believe it.”

  “He told me he felt like the Atlantis Allegiance was his family.”

  Otto cocked his head. “Do you feel that way?”

  Jaxon thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure what a family is supposed to feel like.”

  “Neither am I, but I know I feel better being around these folks. Just don’t get to thinking of me like family!”

  Jaxon treated him to a warm smile and tugged on his hand. “Not a chance. Let’s have a look around.”

  They wandered down the dusty street, staring curiously at the stalls and all the people walking by. Otto could tell Jaxon was searching every face for signs of her people. By unspoken agreement, they headed back to the main square they had driven through. It was the busiest spot they had seen, so their chances would be better there.

  As they entered the square, they heard the mournful call to prayer coming from one of the towers of the giant turreted building on one side. Otto smiled. He’d been right; it was a mosque. Funny how he was getting accustomed to being in Africa. It was all so exciting and interesting, but it didn’t seem so strange anymore.

  What did seem strange was the crowd headed into the mosque through its high doorway flanked with pointed adobe towers. Almost half of them were women. In Morocco, he’d only seen men go into the mosque to pray. The people, especially the women, were much more colorfully dressed than the Moroccans too. There was one similarity to Morocco, though, which was that most people didn’t go into the mosque at all. The market and food stalls kept open and busy. He’d heard that in some countries, like Saudi Arabia, there were religious police who went around five times a day making sure everyone stopped working and did their prayers. Not here.

  “I’m hungry,” Otto said. “Up for some lunch?”

  “All right, but let’s be careful what we eat, okay?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ve been in Africa all this time and have never gotten sick. We have stomachs of steel!”

  They found a food stall made up of four wooden tables set in a square around a cooking pot set over an open fire. A woman sat next to it, ladling out stew into the bowls of people seated at the tables. The smell of the stew filled the air, making Otto’s mouth water.

  “Let’s try this place,” Otto suggested.

  They sat down at a pair of empty stools. Otto smiled when Jaxon sat close, her leg pressing against his. Things had been a bit tense between them on the ride down from Morocco. Now that they had made it here, it looked as if they were still cool.

  The woman, who wore a brilliant-yellow headdress and robes, asked them something in her own language. Otto pointed to the stew, which seemed to be the only item on the menu.

  The woman said something else, plunked two wooden bowls and a pair of old spoons in front of them, and filled the bowls with stew. It had some red spice and pieces of meat floating in it.

  The woman said something else. Otto figured she was asking for payment. Not knowing how much it was, he held out a one-thousand-West-African-franc banknote. The woman took it and then returned with some change.

  “Well, that was honest!” Otto chuckled, counting his change and estimating that he had just treated Jaxon to lunch for about eighty cents. “She could have taken twice that, and I would have thought I was getting a good deal.”

  The stew was delicious. A bit spicy, Otto thought, but he could handle spicy. As they ate, they attracted curious looks from the other diners and passersby. A couple of people tried to talk to Jaxon in Arabic and what sounded like Tamasheq, the language of the Tuareg. They looked confused when Jaxon apologized in English.

  “They’re wondering why a local like you would be hanging out with a Yankee like me,” Otto said.

  Jaxon looked around the bustling plaza.

  “You know, it’s weird, but I kinda feel like a local. I mean, it’s all really different, but more like a place I haven’t been in a long time rather than a place I’ve never been to, if that makes sense.”

  “Life hasn’t made sense for a few months now. I say roll with it.”

  The next person to come over and talk to them, however, changed everything.

  He was a tall, middle-aged man in a loose white djellaba, with dark skin, a flat face, and sparkling blue eyes.

  Jaxon perked up in her seat. Before the stranger could even get out a greeting, Jaxon blurted, “Oh, please tell me you speak English!”

  The man smiled. “A little, yes. Where are you from?”

  “America.”

  The man looked surprised. “There are People of the Sea in America?”

  “A few, yeah. I don’t know where my parents came from, though. I…I was adopted.”

  “Adopted—what does this word mean?”

  “My parents gave me up.”

  The man’s face turned grim.

  “So it happens there too,” he whispered.

  “What do you mean? What happens?” Otto asked.

  The man looked Otto up and down and gave him an unreadable expression before turning back to Jaxon.

  “My name is Salif Amar. I am from this place. This is your first day in Timbuktu, yes?”

  “Um, yes. How did you know?”

  Salif grinned, showing even white teeth. “Because you have not been introduced to our people yet. I am lucky that it is my honor.”

  “We’ve heard there’s lots of Atlanteans in Mali,” Otto said.

  Salif stared at him a moment. “More now than before.”


  As Otto puzzled out what that could mean, the Atlantean turned back to Jaxon.

  “I must go back to work now, but I wish you to meet our community. Could you come back when the muezzin calls for sunset prayer? We will meet right here. I will take you to a home of some of my friends, other People of the Sea.”

  “That would be great! Do you mind if I bring my friends? They’re studying our people and have been helping me a lot. I would have never made it here if it wasn’t for them.”

  Salif paused for a moment and then replied, “Of course! We need all the allies we can find. It will be an honor to meet them. We have a white man who is our friend too. You must meet him. He work in the library many years.”

  “You mean the one with all the ancient manuscripts?” Otto asked, wondering why he got the impression Salif didn’t really feel as enthusiastic as his words indicated.

  “The same.”

  “Then we definitely want to speak with him.”

  “So we will meet here at sunset,” Salif said. “My friends will be so happy to meet you, Jaxon. Welcome home.”

  After shaking her and Otto’s hands again, the Atlantean left.

  Jaxon turned to Otto, her face beaming. “I knew it would work out! We’ve only been in town an hour, and I’ve met one of my people.”

  “Let’s go back and tell everyone the good news. Besides, it’s been a long day, and I’m feeling a bit tired,” Otto said.

  “Yeah, and I need some quiet time to think about how to handle this,” Jaxon agreed. “I have so many questions to ask.”

  “He seemed a bit suspicious of me, though, don’t you think?”

  “They must be scared of outsiders. Moustafa, that Atlantean healer I met in Marrakech, warned me that outsiders only end up hurting our people.”

  “Well, he doesn’t have to judge me like that!”

  “Oh, don’t take it personally, Otto. It’s just that they’ve been hurt so much, they close themselves off.”

  Otto looked at his girlfriend. Yeah, Jaxon could relate to feelings like that.

  They returned to Hotel Caravane. The dim interior seemed almost pitch black after walking around in the brilliant African sun. The man at the battered front desk didn’t speak any English but must have known who these two foreigners were, because without any hesitation, he handed over two keys.

  They walked down a bare but clean concrete hallway and found their rooms were right opposite each other. After kissing Jaxon good-bye, Otto opened his door with a creak and found a tiny room that reminded him of his jail cell back in the States. The place couldn’t have been more than ten feet to a side, the only furniture being a bed and a wobbly nightstand. It did have a bathroom, though, with a clean toilet and a suspicious-looking shower he hoped would work. His luggage had already been set on the bed, so Otto started unpacking. He stopped when he realized there was nowhere to put anything and settled for putting his open suitcase in the corner.

  Otto’s stomach gurgled, and he felt a slight cramp. He paused and felt his belly, but the sensation passed. He shrugged his shoulders and lay down to take a nap, easing into a contented sleep. The excitement of the day had worn him out.

  About an hour later, Otto woke to a knock on the door. He got up and opened it. Jaxon smiled at him and entered.

  “Nice that you got your own room,” she said, looking around.

  “Such as it is.”

  “Mine’s just as bad, but at least we have some privacy.”

  Jaxon grabbed him and planted a kiss on his lips.

  “Well, hello to you too,” Otto said and laughed.

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m so glad we finally made it. For a while, I thought we would die in that desert.” She gave him an intense look. “Makes me appreciate what I have.”

  Otto grinned. “Does that mean you want to kiss again?”

  “I want more than that,” Jaxon replied, pulling him closer. “Just a little more, all right?”

  “All right,” Otto said, his heart racing as he wondered what a “little more” would be.

  Jaxon sighed, and her lips parted. As their tongues embraced, Otto slid a hand up her side and under her shirt. He paused for a moment, his hand resting on her warm skin, and when she didn’t object, he started moving it up.

  Jaxon sat down on the bed. Within a moment, they were lying on it together.

  A low gurgle emanated from his stomach. Otto ignored it and kept kissing her. The gurgle sounded again, louder this time, along with a rushing sound like water running through a pipe.

  A moment later, his gut felt as if he had swallowed a thousand razor blades. He rolled off Jaxon, doubling over in pain. That horrible rumbling came out of his belly again, loud enough that Jaxon opened her eyes and stared at him.

  “What’s the matter?” Jaxon asked.

  “I think I might have eaten something that disagreed with me,” Otto said. At least, that was what he tried to say. It came out more like, “Aaargh, ugh, eeeeer, gah!”

  Otto leaped off the bed and, still doubled over, rushed into the bathroom.

  He barely got the lid up and his pants down before a gallon of liquid, his last two meals, and what felt like half a dozen major organs poured out of him with a sound somewhere between a freight train blaring its horn and ten thousand pieces of paper being torn all at the same time.

  “Oh my God, what are you doing?” Jaxon’s voice called from the bedroom.

  Then the smell rose up from the toilet in a toxic cloud.

  Once, on a summer road trip through Arizona with his parents, Otto’s family had gotten a flat tire and had to stop by the highway to change it. A road crew was working nearby, and while they didn’t help change the tire, they did let Otto use their Porta-Potty.

  “You go in there, and you’re a brave man, kid,” one of the workers had said. “The company hasn’t changed it for two weeks. It’s been baking in one-hundred-degree heat all that time.”

  Otto remembered the stench in that place had nearly knocked him unconscious, but compared to what he smelled now, it had smelled like a rose garden. If just the stench alone threatened to kill him, what had it done to his body?

  “Eeeew!” Jaxon shouted.

  The smell had reached the bedroom. Otto could hear her stomping around out there, the sound of her feet temporarily drowned out by the gushing of another waterfall emptying out of his body.

  “I’m going back to my room. Open a window!” she shouted.

  The door slammed. Otto put his head in his hands and groaned.

  Chapter 20

  August 11, 2016, TIMBUKTU, MALI

  7:15 P.M.

  * * *

  “You sure Otto is going to be all right?”

  Jaxon was walking with Dr. Yamazaki and Vivian to meet with the Atlanteans. Grunt and Yuhle had wanted to come too, but she figured that the Atlanteans might feel less threatened if only women came.

  Despite her excitement, she still spared a thought for her boyfriend, who was laid up in bed, groaning and making regular sprints to the bathroom. She felt bad about not staying by his side, but the smell from his bathroom was more than she could be expected to endure. Their relationship hadn’t progressed to that point.

  “He’ll be fine,” the scientist reassured her. “I’ve given him some rehydrating drinks to counteract the effects of the diarrhea, as well as some medicine. It’s just an intestinal parasite. Probably something he picked up from that market stall you two ate at. Good thing you didn’t get it too.”

  “Do you think that’s because of the magical water I drank the day before?”

  “It’s not magical, Jaxon. Magic doesn’t exist. But the water could be having a continuing effect on your immune system.”

  Salif Amar stood in the plaza, waiting for them. Next to him stood a man in his midtwenties with an open, smiling face, blond hair, and deeply tanned skin.

  “Hello, Jaxon!” Salif said. “I want you to meet Dimitri Rublev. He is the man I told you about. He studies
and preserves the manuscripts. He also speaks Arabic like he was born here!”

  “You’re too kind, Salif,” Dimitri said. “Actually, I’m still trying to work out some of the tricks of your dialect.”

  “Ah yes, Dimitri studied Arabic in Damascus before the war made him leave. He speaks with a Syrian accent. It is very funny to hear that accent come from a white face. Everyone here calls him the Syrian.”

  “I’m a linguist specializing in Arabic,” Dimitri told them. “I’ve also learned Tamasheq, Ge’ez, Mandinka, and a few other African languages.”

  “Wow, if you’re as good at those as you are with English, you must really fit in here. You barely have an accent,” Vivian said.

  Dimitri smiled at her, obviously happy to get a compliment from such a striking woman.

  Salif led them down a dusty side street lined with adobe buildings. Jaxon noticed that the windows were all closed or screened with wooden latticework, and the doors never stayed open for long. People liked their privacy in this culture.

  “So where are we going?” Jaxon asked.

  “To the home of Daouda Ndiaye, a famous griot of our people,” Salif replied.

  “A griot? That’s a storyteller, right?”

  “One of the best I ever met.” Dimitri nodded. “I’ve learned so much from him.”

  Jaxon wondered about this guy. Salif had been suspicious of outsiders, but Dimitri seemed to be accepted. Working in the manuscript museum and speaking the local languages must have helped.

  They stopped at a house that looked just like all the others they had passed. Salif knocked, and a young woman opened the door. She was dressed in flowing green robes and had the features of an Atlantean.

  “Jaxon!” she cried and followed up with some words in rapid Arabic. She embraced Jaxon and kissed her on both cheeks then ushered her inside.

  They came to the house’s front room, covered in carpets and with pillows arranged around the walls. There was no other furniture. Jaxon stopped and gasped. Seated around the room were more than a dozen of her people.