Christopher Columbus and the Lost City of Atlantis

by E. J. Robinson

  “Sure,” he answered.

  It wasn’t enough. Elara gripped him harder. “I would have your word.”

  He saw how important this was to her and how vulnerable that made her. He suspected this was a woman who never showed such emotions, which if he was being completely honest, excited him. “All right, Princess. I promise.”

  Her relief was evident in the smile that split her face; it was like a sunbeam that shed light even in those dreary confines.

  She pulled close. “I knew when I first saw you in the cavern that you were the one. Now, go. It is unwise to keep the Seer waiting.”

  She pushed him toward the door. Columbus knocked, and a scratchy old voice told him to enter. With one last glance at Elara, he entered and closed the door behind him.

  The room was long and narrow with an arched ceiling that sprawled upward. The Seer had lit several candles, which cast shadows on the stone floor and walls. Old wooden shelves lined the walls with dusty relics and glass containers filled with indistinguishable kinds of matter. Some of it twisted Columbus’s stomach, and he refused to let his gaze stay on anything too long.

  In the center of the room was a long table, upon which numerous dusty tomes sat splayed open, the vellum pages brittle and aged.

  At the far end of the room was a window that took up the entire wall, revealing the depths of the sea outside.

  “We are beneath the ocean,” Columbus noted.

  “He’s wise, this one,” the Seer said, dryly. “Let the city rejoice. Our savior has come!”

  She cackled as she said it and a swell of nerves roiled Columbus’s belly.

  He stood silent as the old woman stepped onto a stool and set a black jar on a dusty perch. It was the same jar that had given him the power of languages.

  She was blind, but she had set the jar in the only vacant space without touching anything else around it.

  Once she stepped down, the Seer peeled off her cowl and hung it on a hook next to her walking stick.

  “That’s better,” she sighed. “I dislike wearing that thing, but I have an image to maintain.”

  Columbus nearly laughed but wasn’t sure if she was making a joke. “Is the staff where you derive your power?”

  “My power?” she repeated, amused.

  “Your magic.”

  “Yes. The staff gives me the power to walk and the robe the power to stay warm.”

  She cackled again and shook her head.

  Columbus was confused. “Elara—the princess—says you’re old. Very old.”

  “Any fool with eyes can see that.”

  “And you’re saying you have no magic?”

  “Magic,” the old woman scoffed. “Magic is a conjurer’s word. And conjurers are performers, agents of illusion. Man has no real magic—or none that is inherent to him. But some can gain access to magical things.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The Seer sighed. “Pretty, but dim.”

  She made her way to a large wooden chair and sat. Her eyes closed. Columbus waited, but she didn’t move.

  “I’m sorry, but what are you doing?” he asked.

  One of the Seer’s eyes opened. “Resting. What does it look like? The Nave is a long walk for someone as old as me.”

  Once again, Columbus wasn’t sure if he should laugh or keep his mouth shut. Thankfully, the Seer took pity on him.

  “Since man first crawled from the muck, we believed the earth was ours and ours alone. But it has always belonged to the Gods. Atlantis—and the realm above—is their playground, and we are but their playthings. It is an ugly truth, I know. But it is truth nonetheless. Once, the Gods saw us as children. We entertained them, delighted them, enraged them. They competed for our affections, reveling in our adulation and unleashing terrible fury upon us when we chose another’s favor. But when at last they grew bored—as all Gods do—we were abandoned, and they moved onto new lands and new pleasures. They left us to forge our way alone. Yet, in their heedlessness, a few special remnants remained. These are the relics men like you have sought for ages. Tokens of power. Of real magic.”

  Columbus felt his breath quickening. The trident came to mind.

  “And how does one find these tokens?”

  She cackled again, but those milky eyes never blinked. “Freshly plucked from the arms of death, yet so eager to return.”

  “Right. About that, I never properly thanked you for saving my life and the lives of my crew.”

  “Don’t. The Void is an easy passing. Yours will not be so painless.”

  Columbus felt his mouth go dry. “You speak of the prophecy?”

  “Call it intuition. Reckless men always die recklessly.”

  “True, but some do it with a smile.”

  He was disappointed she didn’t laugh. Instead, the Seer’s hand latched out and grabbed his wrist. She pulled him close, as if those milky eyes could see into his soul.

  “You have strength and courage, and you have lived much to this point, but there is a darkness inside of you—a hunger—that will not be sated. A time will come—perhaps soon—when you will be forced to choose between those you care for and what you desire most. I fear you will make the wrong choice.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “Say nothing then. Silence is a gift few men are blessed with.” She stood with great effort and pointed to something on a high shelf. “Hand me that basket.”

  Columbus retrieved a basket with a rolled-up rug in it. The Seer took it and ambled toward the wall of glass that illuminated the sea beyond.

  “You spoke of the prophecy. It was written by the Athenians who were bonded into slavery after Atlantis fell. That was their penance for dooming this island nation beneath the sea. They knew they would never escape this realm, but they hoped its inhabitants might one day find peace. The prophecy says one will come from above—The Anak-Ta Eleece.”

  “The Star Rider,” Columbus whispered.

  “Only he can unlock the riddle of the slaves and return Atlantis to greatness.”

  “Am I the one?”

  The Seer pulled the rolled rug from the basket and flung it open. It unfurled on the stones, stopping a few inches short of the sea window. “Let us find out.”

  The rug was aged, torn and fraying, but Columbus found something mesmerizing in its patterns. It seemed to pulse as if it had a life of its own. He had a hard time looking away.

  “Crafted by the three sisters of the Moirae before time immemorial. Thread from Clotho’s spindle, measured by Lachesis’s rod, and cut by Atropos’s shears.” The candles dimmed as the Seer’s voice grew strong. “Christopher Columbus, kneel upon the mat as Zeus once did and let the Threads of Fate reveal your destiny.”

  “Now?” Columbus swallowed.

  The Seer shrugged. “Unless you have somewhere else to be.”

  With a deep breath, Columbus stripped off his boots and knelt on the rug. He rubbed his sweaty hands together before he closed his eyes and said a short prayer.

  The moment stretched. He opened one eye. “Bit anticlimactic, isn’t it?”

  The glass window exploded with a deafening roar and the ocean waters surged in. They thundered around him, swallowing him on all sides as candles were snuffed out and tables overturned. The bookshelves were pulled from their moorings, disappearing as the stones behind were stripped away by the rising waters until all that was left was Columbus, the carpet, and the fathomless sea.

  Columbus sat rooted to that carpet, his mouth filled with cold sea water. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. The familiar convulsion in his chest told him he was drowning all over again.

  And then, a breath. It filled him with air more pure and sweet than he had ever known before. He hadn’t even realized his eyes were closed until he opened them and saw he was no longer in the Seer’s room or even under the sea. He was high atop a mountain in an acropolis of columns and mist.

  A woman’s laugh echoed there, short and sweet. It sounded li
ke music. A shadow flit by in the mist. Columbus called out, but no one answered. Then, another giggle behind him. More forms with shapely curves. He felt a stirring in his loins. The tittering continued.

  “W-who are you?” he managed, breathless.

  A chorus of laughter. Then, three female voices spoke in unison.

  “We are the Fates,” the voices answered.

  Dry mouthed, chest heaving, Columbus felt lightheaded, as if he might swoon from pleasure. Then, a memory. The questions! Just as the first reached his tongue, one of those melodic voices broke through the mist.

  “Ask thy questions, numbered three; heed the answers, if you’re to see. One of past, one of present, and one of thy future you hope will be.”

  Columbus struggled to concentrate. Those damn naked nymphs kept distracting him. He gritted his teeth, opened his mouth. It took everything in him to expel the words.

  “Three questions. Right. In order, then. First, the past. Show me—”

  Lightning flashed, and his body lit with electric fire. The voices laughed, feeding on his pain.

  “Answers only for questions posed,” the second of the Fates tittered. “To err again is to taste thy woes.”

  Columbus cursed himself. He needed to pose his queries in question form. Quickly, he gathered himself and asked his first. “What is the true history of Atlantis?”

  The mist began to swirl and coalesce. All at once, the clouds dissipated, and Columbus found himself in a free fall. The wind roared over him as he tumbled down. Hot tears streaked his cheeks. He clenched his fists, expecting to strike earth at any moment. Then he turned and saw the glorious sun-lit sea below. As he neared the water, his direction changed in defiance of gravity until he found himself hurtling across the surface of the water, cool spray wetting his face, his feet quickly finding purchase on the hull of a mighty ship.

  The third of the Fates spoke next, her voice, wispy and sonorous. It rose above the sound of the waves smashing against the hull.

  “Once there was an island kingdom,” the voice said. “Gifted by the God of Sea and Wrath. Powerful beyond measure. Home to a city of exiles, the wisest of all men.”

  As the island neared, it became more sprawling and radiant than Columbus could have ever imagined. The glistening towers and long-reaching tendrils that fed to smaller islands harkened of something beyond Columbus’s understanding. He was awed by its magnificence. Now, this is heaven, he thought.

  Almost instantaneously, the skies darkened, and the voice of the Fates returned.

  “But another God grew jealous, and war was waged.”

  Columbus’s point of view changed as he flew forward and spun around. He wasn’t aboard his ship, but the attacking army’s. Black hulled, with green trimmed sails, more formidable than anything seen upon the sea before or since. And there were thousands of them—so thick they blotted out the very blue of the ocean waters beneath them.

  “Man’s future hung in the balance.”

  A barrage of drums accompanied the shouts of one hundred thousand men. They stood at the rim of their ships in golden armor, weapons poised. They were lean, hardened, fierce. Spittle flew from their mouths as bloodlust overtook them. Each in turn, knowing in their heart: This is the moment I was born for.

  At the bow of the foremost ship, their commander roared, “Athenians! To war!”

  The army answered. Their cries once again filled the air, deafening.

  The battle of the ages had begun.

  “From a high hill atop a distant isle, the old God watched as his beloved children answered the call.”

  The silhouette of a powerful figure twisted in the swaying grass, his feet sandaled, his muscles robust. But it was the tip of the golden staff hovering a few inches above the earth that set Columbus’s heart churning.

  “Though the Athenian forces were superior, the exiles of Atlantis had mastered crafts far beyond their foe’s imagination. Chief among these was the power to call upon the creatures of the sea.”

  From high towers, men and women in flowing red robes blew mighty horns. From beneath the waves, their call was answered. Some were recognizable. Whales and sharks of impossible size. Others were creatures of lore. Leviathans like the one that attacked Columbus’s ship. Krakens awoken from slumber far below the earth’s crust. They met the Athenian armada head on, rolling their ships, crushing their spines, and tearing them apart until the sea ran red with blood.

  “Atlantis might have survived then had its fate been left up to men, but their enemy had also been armed with weapons not of their making.”

  Another horn blasted—this one from the Athenians. Their front vanguard gave way for ships with black-trimmed sails. These bore enormous, orichalcum guns that dominated their hull. The lead ship fired, imploding in the process, but not before it unleashed a magical sphere of green fire that sailed across the distance and struck the towers of Atlantis with unfathomable destruction. Successive shots decimated the city, leaving its citizens to flee in terror or die in waves of green fire.

  “The God was enraged. He had been deceived, but he wouldn’t accept defeat so easily.”

  The sandaled figure bellowed. From across the sea, the Athenian captain watched in horror as the God grew and grew until his form filled the sky. He held his mighty scepter aloft and lightning lit the heavens. With a deafening roar, the earth rumbled, and the seas fell. A tsunami of epic proportions appeared, speeding toward the enemy ships…and Atlantis.

  “Only after unleashing his fury did the God of Sea realize he had doomed his own people too. Calling forth all his power, he did the only thing he could to ensure their survival.”

  The God stabbed his trident into the earth—three prongs into stone. A barrier rose around the city, the churning waters capsizing any ships close to land. The Void solidified moments before the tsunami descended. As the waves settled, the Void disappeared into the fathoms, lost forever beneath the sea.

  Amid the cries came a light—the manufactured sun. The firmament turned blue as the underwater kingdom was born.

  The citizens of Atlantis rejoiced.

  “Life began anew,” the Fates said, “separate from the realm above. Populated with man, beasts, and creatures of the sea; all meant to shape a new kingdom together.”

  Mountains, forests, meadows, and deserts appeared. Ordinary creatures turned into magical ones. From the whales and dolphins came the eldocks. From the birds of the sea, winged women sang hauntingly beautiful songs.

  The Atlanteans rejoiced. Paradise had come again.

  “But much time passed,” the Fates continued, “and allies born of a common bond became foes.”

  A war broke out between men and the winged women. Aided by the Athenian slaves, the Atlanteans ripped their enemies from the sky and sheared their wings. They scrambled for the safety of underground caves. Eldocks were captured as Atlantis became a war machine.

  “As the old God’s children grew asunder, his once powerful kingdom aged. They had rebuked his gift, and in return, he abandoned them.”

  The Void began to shrink, eating land, darkening the sky until it hovered over the very heart of Atlantis, leaving the fragile, decadent city of today.

  “And a civilization borne of the noblest of ideals…”

  Columbus once again found himself rushing over the surface of the water, the sun about to set on the horizon. There, at last, he came upon a small island with that golden trident perched alone in a familiar stone.

  “…was lost with a god’s favor.”

  The trident disappeared. Only the rock remained. Then, the mists swirled in and claimed him again.

  “The first is answered,” the Fates said. “Answered and past. The second is present, yours to ask.”

  Columbus was still dazed by all he’d seen. “The present? Right. How can I see the trident today?”

  A golden light appeared out of the darkness, revealing the trident lying atop a velvet dais in a chamber full of jewels.

  “No!” Columb
us shouted. “Not the room! Where? The structure. How to get there.”

  But the Fates only laughed. They had tricked him!

  Elara’s warning came to mind....the Fates are tricky and cruel. You most pose your queries carefully…

  Columbus grit his teeth. The mist was starting to fade. Time was running out.

  “One final question,” the first of the Fates tittered.

  “Third of three,” the second added.

  “Of the future,” the final teased. “Ask wisely to see.”

  “Wisely,” Columbus repeated. “Fine. How—?”

  Elara’s words reached out to him again.

  …of the future, I beg of you, ask this and this alone: How might Atlantis be saved?

  Columbus struggled. “How can I…?”

  “The final question,” the Fates said in unison.

  “I’m thinking!”

  Elara’s voice again. I would have your word.

  “I…”

  The kingdom of my people depends upon it.

  “The future,” the Fates whispered as their shadows faded.

  Columbus gnashed his teeth before he looked up with pure clarity and asked the only question his heart would allow.

  “How can I obtain the Trident of Poseidon?”

  From the mist, a pair of giant underwater gates appeared. The Fates’ voices rose above them.

  “The Trident of Poseidon rests in his temple, protected by his Immortal Guard.”

  Two rows of six mammoth golden warriors stood frozen in a great hall.

  “To enter the temple,” the Fates continued, “three keys bearing three marks are needed.”

  Three images appeared in the mist. The first was of a book. The second of a snake biting what looked to be an apple. The third of an egg.

  “Only one who proves worthy of uniting the three can gain the keys and the trident.”

  As those images faded, so did the whispered laughter.

  “Wait!” Columbus shouted. “How do I find the keys?”

  A moment of darkness. Then, Columbus opened his eyes. He was back in the Chamber of Fates, the Seer by his side.