Christopher Columbus and the Lost City of Atlantis

by E. J. Robinson

  The final ramp descended to a large archway, from which the murmur of a larger crowd could be heard. A nervous tick began to beat inside Columbus’s chest. He pushed the feeling down. He had no idea what awaited them in this Nave. He would need to be ready for anything.

  At last they entered a great hall and froze. Across a ringed plaza was a grand amphitheater crafted of stone. It was gilded in orichalcum that shone despite its wear and age. Two stories of superimposed arcades were filled with marble statues of athletic figures in various modes of combat. Some of these statues were broken or outright removed. Still, there was enough of them to paint a picture of what might have once—and possibly still—transpired inside. Rome’s colosseum came to Columbus’s mind. But he had to wonder if they were to be the guests or the entertainment.

  The escorts drew them to the side as the Atlanteans continued to filter into the amphitheater.

  “This is the Nave?” Nyx asked, her mouth still hanging open.

  “It sure isn’t the bathhouse,” Columbus replied.

  “I smell sulfur,” Vespucci said.

  Columbus nodded. He’d smelled it too. “Might be we’re above some volcanic artery.”

  “Or maybe you have delivered us to hell after all.”

  “If that’s the case,” Columbus said, cuffing Vespucci on the shoulder, “you can make the introductions.”

  As the plaza continued to empty, Columbus and his crew wondered what they were waiting for. Then, Elara appeared. She crossed to them hurriedly and asked a question in Latin.

  Nyx leaned toward Fanucio. “She’s asking about Monday and Tuesday.”

  Columbus played dumb, though the truth was he rarely knew where those two were or what they were up to. With a frown, Elara sent off two of the guards to find them.

  “Good luck,” Fanucio snorted. “Bloodhounds couldn’t find them two when they’re on the hunt. Speaking of which, she say anything about food?”

  Nyx hushed him as Elara spoke on, translating afterward. “She says there are a few rules before we go inside. First, don’t speak to the king unless he addresses you first.”

  “Speak to a king? Wouldn’t know what to say. Hello, Your Worship. Nice place you got here—”

  “And, second, do not approach him for any reason. Failure to obey these rules will result in...” She swallowed.

  Fanucio didn’t need a translator for that. “Why I never learned Latin.”

  Just then, Thetra returned, winded, as if she’d run a long way. In her hand, she carried a dusty jar of black glass. She handed it to Elara, who nodded. Thetra rushed into the Nave.

  Elara turned to the strangers and spoke again in Latin. Nyx translated.

  “She said the jar is very old. And few people know of its existence. It’s said to contain—I’m not sure about this part—slivers of the tongue of Mnemosyne?”

  “What’s a Mnemosyne?”

  “Not what, you buffoon. Who. Mnemosyne was the Greek Goddess of memory, remembrance, and time.”

  “Your school teach you that too?”

  “I had a very thorough teacher.”

  Columbus watched as Elara struggled to open the jar. Once the lid came free, he looked at the murky liquid within.

  “Appreciate the offer,” Columbus said, “but I’m trying to cut down.”

  Near the Nave, a robed man emerged and called out. Elara nodded before turning back, her eyes intense.

  “Columbus,” she said. “Faveo. Juvo.”

  She touched her heart as she said it. Columbus sighed, realizing she was making some sort of promise.

  “Fine,” he said, reaching for the jar. “One sip, but that’s it.”

  She pulled the jar back and shook her head before pointing to his ear. “Audio.”

  “Usually pillow talk comes after the deed is done.”

  Elara raised the jar to his ear and waited. With a sigh, Columbus lowered his head to the jar. He heard nothing. Then, a warm feeling coursed through him. He picked up his head.

  “Am I supposed to hear—”

  Nyx screamed. Fanucio grabbed Columbus. “Cap’n, it’s in your ear!”

  Columbus staggered back, his fingers grasping something eel-like before it wormed its way into his ear and disappeared. He fell, groaning in pain.

  Fanucio took a step toward Elara, asking, “What have you done?”

  Her guards grabbed him. Elara held up a hand, “Patientia.”

  Columbus’s pain finally eased. Fanucio and Nyx helped him to his feet.

  “What did you do to me?” he asked.

  The others gasped in surprise.

  Elara looked relieved. “I have empowered you with a gift of the Titans.”

  “Y-you spoke her language,” Fanucio said, amazed.

  “Do you truly understand her?” Vespucci asked.

  Columbus nodded, stunned. “It was like she spoke Spanish. Or Ligurian.”

  “It was definitely neither of those,” Nyx added.

  Elara nodded to the jar in her hands. “Not since the fall of Babel and the conflict between Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta has man been free of the ‘confusion of tongues.’ Use this gift wisely.”

  “Does this mean you can speak multiple languages? Pouvez-vous parler français?”

  Columbus shrugged. “Qui. Bien sûr.”

  “Und Deutsch?” Vespucci asked.

  “Die Sprache fließt durch meinen Geist, als wäre es mein eigener.”

  “Incredible. There isn’t a ruler the world over that wouldn’t give his kingdom for such a gift.”

  Elara interrupted again. “We must hurry. If the others want to share in this, it must be done quickly.”

  Vespucci and Nyx volunteered first. Only Fanucio refused, and no talk of lashings or demotions could convince him otherwise. In the end, one thing did the trick. Columbus threatened to ban rum from all their future journeys.

  “Now, reading,” the first mate grumbled as he rubbed his sore ear, “that’s where I draw the line. I ain’t putting nothing in me eye. Or any other orifice for that matter. You even ask and—”

  He gaped as they entered the Nave.

  If the exterior had been a shock, the interior was a revelation. Several thousand Atlanteans were gathered in the amphitheater’s seats, surrounded by giant columns in the shape of men and women, their raised arms acting as buttresses to hold up an immense ceiling of glass. High above, the blue sky shone down, only the fringes of the storm beyond visible.

  Columbus felt a momentary thrill when he saw that the red banners around the room featured golden tridents, suggesting this truly was the kingdom of Poseidon. But how to find the real trident?

  The crowd hushed as Columbus and crew were escorted to the center of the amphitheater. The floor was strangely cobbled, misshapen stone, three feet in diameter at its center. Next to the newcomers, it was the only thing that looked out of place.

  A hush fell over the room, the current more hostile than before.

  “A hero’s welcome, eh?” Vespucci said.

  Columbus ignored him. He was looking around for this king when a thunderous pounding of drums reigned down from the upper echelons. It shook the banners and spurred the crowd to their feet.

  “Why must it always be drums?” Columbus groaned.

  From a tunnel midway up the seating area, a flock of bannermen appeared, followed by a half-dozen imposing guards dressed in scarlet armor. Dion was among them, his cursed golden stave dangling from his belt. Immediately, the giant locked eyes with Columbus, his sneer flashing like a blade.

  The drums beat to a frenzy before going silent as a lumbering shadow filled the tunnel. The crowd took to knee in unison, heads dipping as their regent arrived.

  “All kneel for King Atlas,” Elara said as she took a knee.

  Columbus and the others followed suit.

  King Atlas was a towering figure. While not quite as large as Dion, he was imposing nonetheless. Barrel-chested and thick-necked, he wore shimmering orichalcum armor and was th
e only man with a sword at his hip. It looked like the one Columbus had found in the caves. He also wore one of those vials around his neck, though again, Columbus didn’t see many others.

  King Atlas also had red hair interspersed with gray and a surfeit of gems surrounding both sides of his eyes. His brow thick, his countenance severe, the man was the very definition of imperious. He used a large bejeweled stave to walk down to a stone throne near the stage floor. As he fell into it, the people sat. A youthful lad ushered forward with a golden chalice for the king. He took a hearty drink. When he wiped his mouth, he spoke, his deep voice echoing throughout the auditorium.

  “Frailty permeates the air!” he bellowed. “Man is in our midst again.”

  A chuckle ran through the amphitheater, swallowed quickly by the tension.

  “Is there one among who speaks for the rest?”

  Columbus moved to stand, but felt a hand press him down as Vespucci marshaled past.

  “I do, great King,” Vespucci said.

  The crowd gasped. King Atlas leaned forward, brow furrowed.

  “You speak our tongue? How—” His eyes snapped to Elara, who looked down.

  Undaunted, Vespucci pressed on. “It is a great honor to stand before you and to be welcomed into your glorious city. My name is Amerigo Vespucci, and I humbly submit myself to your service.”

  Vespucci bowed deep.

  Bored, the king took another gulp from his chalice. “Eloquent,” he said before belching. “Though you have neither been welcomed nor your service requested, humble or otherwise.”

  Vespucci blinked. “Pardon me, Your Grace. I did not presume to speak on your behalf.”

  “And who’s behalf do you speak on?” the king replied.

  “Spain’s, sir. The Monarchy of Spain.”

  “Ah. Iberia. I remember this land from my teachings. A lazy people, if memory serves. Would this make you their king and my equal?”

  “No—”

  “A prince, then? Or some lesser sovereign?”

  “I am merely a nobleman, sire, who finds himself unwittingly cast in the role of ambassador between our peoples. It is my sincere hope that we might establish relations.”

  King Atlas leaned forward, a dark smile creasing his face. Columbus recognized that look for what it was. One of power looking at one without it.

  “You wish to have relations with me?” King Atlas asked.

  Vespucci nearly shit himself. “N-no. I—”

  Already the man was floundering. Elara looked to Columbus.

  “Help him,” Nyx whispered.

  “Why?” Columbus asked. “He’s doing so well on his own.”

  High above the proceedings, two diminutive figures stole through the shadows, eventually settling into a pair of seats at the top of the Nave. In their hands, a stolen bottle of grog that they passed back and forth.

  “Excellent seats!” exclaimed Monday.

  Tuesday balked. “I can see nothing from here.”

  “But we are the tallest in the room!”

  Tuesday nodded to an Atlantean man a few seats away. “Except him.”

  Monday’s eyes narrowed as he pulled a hidden dagger. Tuesday caught his kinsman before he could make a scene.

  Down on the floor, Vespucci realized things were not going to plan. “Forgive me if I have offended you, sire. I have not spoken in court in ages.”

  “Unprepared as well as stupid,” the king belched. “If these are the traits of a kingdom’s ambassador, one can only surmise their ruler’s prowess.”

  Sniggers ran through the crowd. The king ate them up. When he took another gulp from his cup, liquid splashed his chest. He didn’t even notice. Only then did Columbus realize the truth: the good king was drunk.

  When Vespucci tried to speak again, the king raised a hand.

  “Enough,” he grumbled, his smile gone in an instant. “You come into my city with no tribute and attempt to court me with your silken tongue. Is the art of diplomacy forgotten to your people, or do you think me beneath common courtesy?”

  The amphitheater was silent. Vespucci was visibly shaken. What he didn’t understand—what Columbus knew from the moment they had walked into the room—was that the king had been itching for a fight from the start. The question was why? Columbus was content to let Vespucci fumble along and suffer his ignominy until the truth was revealed, but by then it could be too late.

  “M-my Grace,” Vespucci stuttered. “Perhaps if we spoke in private—”

  Elara called out a warning as Vespucci took a step forward. It was too late. One of the guards struck him across the back of the legs with his stave. Vespucci cried out as he fell to the ground.

  King Atlas chuckled. “That was for approaching me without permission.”

  Vespucci tried to stand. The guard hit him a second time.

  “And that was for trying to stand without it.”

  Vespucci clutched his legs and moaned in pain. King Atlas tsked and shook his head.

  “Look at this craven man. Is this all the upper realm has to offer me? Cowardice without an iota of courage or strength?”

  Vespucci tried to speak again. The guard raised his stave a third time, but it was caught by Columbus.

  “I think he’s had enough,” Columbus said.

  The guard looked to the king, who waved him away, his attention fully focused on this new man.

  “You are the true leader of this rabble,” King Atlas said. “Why the deception?”

  Columbus snapped his finger and Fanucio rushed to pick up Vespucci. “Sometimes a dog must be kicked to know its place.”

  A smile cracked King Atlas’s face. “And to give its master the lay of land. Now, you have it…?”

  “Columbus. Christopher Columbus.”

  “Columbus does not sound like a name of Iberia. Are you an ambassador for Spain as well?”

  “No. I was born in Genoa to the east, but these days I make my home upon the sea. My kingdom begins with the deck of my ship and ranges as far and wide as the ocean will carry me.”

  “A mariner,” King Atlas said.

  Columbus smiled. “Some say sailor, others privateer. I prefer adventurer.”

  At this, King Atlas laughed. “Well, adventurer, welcome to my kingdom. In Atlantis you will find adventure in no short supply. If you live that long. Now that pleasantries are out of the way, why don’t you tell me why you’ve come to my city.”

  “Interesting story that. You see, there was a storm. Something between a squall and a tempest. And in the chaos that ensued, the mast of my ship was damaged. When I cut the sail to repair it, a serpent rose from the depths and dragged us asunder.”

  King Atlas’s eyebrow rose. “A serpent rose from the depths and dragged you asunder?”

  Columbus nodded. King Atlas looked around and began to chuckle. The chuckling turned quickly to laughter.

  “Man has not set foot in my kingdom for two thousand years. And when they do finally return, it’s not aboard an armada of warships, but as the unwitting passengers of a sea serpent.”

  The laughter grew until it filled the entire amphitheater. Then the building shook with an unexpected jolt, sending dust falling from above. The laughter died in an instant. The king’s smile vanished. Only when the quake subsided did the king signal Columbus forward.

  “Come closer, mariner,” he said. “I have a question for you.”

  Columbus took a deep breath before striding forward. He kept his head high, his eyes locked on the king. He didn’t want to betray any weakness. He stopped a few feet away. The king beckoned him closer. When he was within reach, the king’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat.

  “Do you take me for a fool?” he snarled. “Who really sent you? Was it the Athenians? What forces align against us?”

  “None,” Columbus croaked.

  “Lies! I am descended from the Gods themselves! I know a threat to my throne when I see one.”

  “Only if you share it with a queen,” Fanucio mutter
ed.

  “Father, please!” Elara cried.

  Columbus’s head snapped around. Did she just call him father?

  Fanucio grumbled. “A princess. I spoke too soon.”

  King Atlas pulled Columbus closer, his face turning purple. “You saved my daughter’s life. If not for that, you would already be dead. But I cannot allow interlopers to run free in my kingdom. I will give you one final chance. Tell me why you are here!”

  Columbus shook his head in defiance as a cascade of black stars blotted his view.

  Suddenly, Nyx bounded forward, blurting out a single word, “Treasure!”

  King Atlas’s gaze shifted to her. “Treasure?” he repeated.

  Columbus shook his head, but when Nyx saw his eyes flutter, she continued.

  “Columbus—our captain and leader—found a disk, great king. A bronze disk whose map led us across the ocean above, to this very place.”

  “A map, you say? To what reward?”

  “Gems. Gold. Precious objects. In return for joining his crew, we were offered whatever we could carry.”

  “He even promised me a golden foot!” Fanucio yelled, his peg leg raised in the air.

  King Atlas shook his head. “For ages we’ve feared the footfalls of man, and when they finally return they are not warriors or spies, but thieves.”

  He heaved Columbus to the floor before falling back in his throne. He reached for his chalice only to find it empty. He growled before turning to the strangers once again.

  “No shortage of gold and gems will you find here, child, little good they will do you. All of it is useless in this accursed place.”

  Color returning, Columbus stumbled back to the others. The king continued.

  “The disks you speak of were created long ago by the First Tribe, yet they are more than a map. They are also a vessel to bridge the depths between our worlds. We once sent emissaries above to protect our interests, but few returned. The disks were thought to be lost.”

  “Is it possible, your Highness, that the leviathan was part of this mechanism?” Columbus said, his voice raspy.

  “Possible?” The king mused. “Anything is possible. Our ancestors had many boons at their disposal, among them a knowledge of how to communicate with the beasts of the world. Only our way with the eldocks remain. Do you have it still, this disk?”