Atlantis Fallen (The Heartstrike Chronicles Book 1)

by C. E. Murphy

  Lorhen suppressed a sigh, wondering for the thousandth time what this man would say if Lorhen told him the truth. "I have tried to keep an open mind and a wide base of studies," he said instead. "I find it's more practical, given my habit of traveling."

  “You travel extensively?” A greater degree of irritation came into Ragar’s voice.

  Irritation, Lorhen thought, or perhaps envy. His evident youth, his knowledge, and his broad travels could be easily envied by someone who had ambition but not boldness, or who had lacked opportunity. "I've traveled ever since I can remember," he replied as politely as he could. Technically, it was true. "Studying the places and people I came in contact with seemed natural. I was lucky enough to learn to write, so I could keep notes on my studies."

  Ragar shook his head. "How do you survive? Most people aren't interested in histories. Most people don't have enough history." He obviously excluded Atlantis from that group.

  Lorhen spread a hand in depreciation. "Nearly everyone loves history. They just call them stories. It's how I survive, by telling stories. Most people are willing to offer a space by the fire and a bit of food in exchange for new stories, or even old ones. It's—" Lorhen broke off as goosebumps raised on his skin, prickles of caution alerting him to an approaching Timeless. His eyes on the door, he said to Ragar, "Please excuse me? There's someone coming that I need to talk to."

  Ragar shot a puzzled look at the door. "Of course. Who—" He, too, broke off, as a shadow appeared in the door. "You must have excellent hearing," the mortal scholar said to Lorhen.

  Lorhen twisted a small smile. "Yes," he agreed. "We'll talk more later, Ragar?"

  Ragar nodded, stepping past the new arrival to make his way out of the grounds. Lorhen stood, examining the man as he entered the room. He was tall, nearly Lorhen's own height, and judging from his coloring, no more of Atlantis than Lorhen himself was. Fine, narrow features were dominated by lively green eyes that added an animated attraction to a face that fell a little short of handsome. Brown hair was held back in a long tail, falling past his shoulders. He wore the sword and long knife at his hips easily.

  "Ah!" He bowed extravagantly. "The great scholar Lorhen. At last, we meet."

  Lorhen's eyebrows lifted, amused but not relaxed. "You have the advantage of me."

  The man straightened, stepping forward to offer a hand. "My name is Karem. I'm afraid I'm only a warrior, nothing to make a fuss about on this island of studies."

  Lorhen clasped Karem's forearm briefly, then stepped back, still studying the other. "You're the one I saw on the ship last week."

  "I am," Karem agreed. "Terribly rude of me to take so long to stop by and visit, but I've been awfully busy. Do you realize this island is teeming with Timeless?"

  Lorhen inadvertently glanced through the door, as if expecting an army of Timeless to stand there. "I didn't. I haven't sensed any since I've been here." He gestured at a chair in invitation.

  Karem sat in a loose, fluid movement. "No, you wouldn't have. They're not like us. Somehow these people have discovered how to make artifacts of immortality."

  Lorhen regarded the other man skeptically. "How?"

  Karem shook his head. "I have no idea. It seems to be common knowledge, but not bandied about. Each of the Houses apparently has one of these artifacts. That means if they're all in use, there are at least a dozen Timeless on this island, including you and me."

  "More," Lorhen heard himself say. "A man and a girl, like us." He sat down across from Karem, intrigued despite himself. "I've seen some of the wonders they've created. They've bred horned war-horses that are possibly the smartest animals I've ever seen. But immortality artifacts?"

  "I was told about them by a man called Methuselah, years ago. He carried a stone, a giant crystal, and he said he'd been alive for nine hundred years. Can you imagine? A mortal, nine hundred years old? I tested him as best I could. If he wasn't older than I am, he was a brilliant liar."

  Lorhen's eyebrows crinkled curiously. "Where is he now?"

  "The islanders say he got tired of living, and gave the stone to his grandson. Apparently the grandson has been down in the harbor for weeks, building a boat. He says the gods have told him a disaster is coming and the only way to survive is to sail away from it."

  Lorhen smiled faintly. "I see. It grants immortality at the price of lunacy?"

  Karem shrugged. "The old man seemed perfectly sane."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "I want to learn how they're made. You're already an established scholar. They'll be more receptive to you than me." Karem leaned forward, eyes bright and eager. "Can you imagine, Lorhen? The ability to grant immortality to our loved ones? Never losing the people we care about?"

  Thinking guiltily of Ghean, Lorhen murmured, "It's not our decision to make."

  Karem spread his hands expressively. "Who better? We have experience at immortality. We can pick and choose those who would be best suited for it and bestow it upon them."

  "A world full of Timeless," Lorhen retorted. "Do their artifacts, if they work, prevent children? How long until the births so far outnumbered the deaths that there was nowhere to live? How would you feed everyone?"

  "The world's a big place, Lorhen! We wouldn't have to worry about it for generations."

  Lorhen rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers. "You sound like them. Thinking of now instead forever. You could live forever, Karem. How long do you think they'd let you live if they realized you were born to live eternally, while they had to depend on trinkets and toys?"

  "If I gave them the toys, why would they be anything but grateful to me for sparing them from death?"

  "Because men are remarkably dense, Karem. They will kill what they fear, and they fear that which is different. They'd kill you, and me, and any other Timeless like us they could find."

  "So I'd choose my children carefully." Karem leaned forward again, strands of his ponytail falling over his shoulder with the movement. "It's what they'd be to us, Lorhen. Think of it. Children of our own."

  "We can't have children," Lorhen said impatiently. "Not Timeless ones. At best any mortals would be disciples, students, to whom we'd be mentors. And sooner or later they'd turn on us."

  "Not if we kept how to make the artifacts a secret."

  Lorhen let out an explosive sigh. "Which gives you power over them, which they will resent, which will turn to fear and hatred, which will lead to your death, Karem! The pattern is the same, can't you see that? Besides, what has been discovered once will be again. If your old man was telling the truth, Atlantis has had the secret of immortality for nearly a thousand years. They've kept it secret, too. Take heed from their counsel, Karem. Let it die. Let them die."

  Karem sat back, clearly unconvinced, yet unwilling to press the issue to a fight. "Bah! I'll convince you yet, but I've no wish for quarrel with you. Are we still at peace?"

  "We are. Think abou—" He trailed off, lifting his eyes to the door as the chill of warning came over him for a second time in the afternoon. Karem turned to face the door, dropping his hand none-too-subtly to the hilt of his sword.

  Seconds later, Aroz appeared in the door frame, expression as wary as both Lorhen's and Karem's were. Lorhen relaxed slightly, back into his chair, and gestured at the Timeless sitting across from him. "Karem, Aroz, bodyguard to the mistress of the Hunter’s House. Aroz, this is Karem, an itinerant troublemaker, I think." Lorhen grinned apologetically as Karem shot him an amused, mock-offended glance.

  Aroz looked over Karem with apparent disapproval. "A friend of yours?" he asked Lorhen.

  Lorhen tilted his head. "Time will tell. I doubt you're here for my company, Aroz. What do you need?"

  "Ghean is not here."

  “Ghean is not,” Lorhen agreed drolly. “I presume you didn’t drop by to tell me that.” Not actually eager to pick a fight, he relented at Aroz’s darkening scowl, finishing. "When it became apparent I was going to spend the entire afternoon discussing obscure histor
ical texts with Ragar, she went down to the market. Wait a moment," he said as Aroz turned to leave, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. "You've been a part of Atlantean society a while. "Did you know a man named Methuselah?"

  Aroz stopped, looking back over his shoulder. "He's dead now."

  "But you knew him," Karem interjected. "Tell Lorhen about his crystal, his immortality stone."

  Aroz cast a look down the walkway toward the distant market, and, sighing heavily, came back into the room to stand in a wide-legged stance, arms crossed over his chest. "I met Methuselah when I was very young," he admitted. "Nearly two hundred years ago."

  "Hah!" Karem barked triumphantly. "You see, Lorhen? They do have the gift of immortality."

  Lorhen ignored Karem, frowning studiously at Aroz. "Why doesn't everyone here have artifacts that extend their lives?"

  "Don't they? What's the average mortal lifespan, Lorhen?"

  Lorhen waved his hand. "Thirty, thirty-five years."

  "Atlanteans live an average of sixty."

  "Yes, I know. I assumed their lifestyle, their knowledge—"

  "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't think they're sitting on a well of spring water that lets them live forever, but they live twice as long as the rest of the world, and some of them do have objects that appear to protect them from death."

  "How?" Lorhen shook his head.

  Aroz split an ugly grin. "I don't know. Maybe they're right, and the gods did favor them."

  "Why only one for each House, then, if that's how it works? Why not for everyone?"

  "There are at least two Houses whose artifacts aren't related to immortality, least not directly. The war-horses, though I'm told they don't age and I know they don’t breed. They’re a lot like us,” Aroz said sourly. “They can die, but it takes a lot of effort to kill one. There’s also a box of bones, which are supposed to transform into warriors when planted in the dirt."

  "That seems unlikely," Karem said.

  "So does Methuselah's crystal," Lorhen said. Karem conceded the point with a brief nod. "But why not one for everyone?" Lorhen repeated.

  Aroz lifted a thick shoulder and let it fall. "Legend says that the final artifact was hundreds of times more powerful than any of the others, that the gods poured far more into its creation than any of the others. There was nothing left to make smaller gifts with."

  "How careless of the gods," Lorhen murmured. "What was it?"

  "A book."

  "A book?"

  Aroz nodded. "That's what they say. It was created and lost at the dawn of Atlantis' history."

  "How can a book grant you immortality?" Lorhen demanded. At the same time, Karem asked, "What was in it?"

  Aroz spread his hands. "Who knows? The secrets of alchemy, science, the Scorpion House’s secret recipe for bread. It doesn't matter. It doesn't exist anymore."

  "What if the book explains how to make the artifacts?" Karem's voice was eager.

  "Then it's better off lost.” Lorhen stood. "Enough of us handle Immortality badly. Giving it to all mortals would be disastrous."

  "Who are you to make that decision?" Karem snapped.

  Lorhen paused at the door to slip his sword-belt on, looking back at the other two. After a moment he stepped through the door, heading for the market, letting his answer linger in the air behind him. "I am the oldest living Timeless."

  Karem's eyebrows elevated slowly, and he looked at Aroz. "Is he?"

  Aroz shrugged, standing to follow Lorhen. "Ghean says he claims to be a thousand years old. Do you know anyone that age?"

  Karem shook his head as he, too, came to his feet. "No. Who's Ghean?"

  Aroz's face shut down. "Lorhen's betrothed."

  A thin smile spilled across Karem’s face as he waved Aroz ahead of himself and they left Lorhen's suite. "I see that you love her. Perhaps she was intended for you, before he arrived?"

  Aroz stopped at the head of the garden path, watching Lorhen as he grew smaller with distance. "No. Never through anything more than an unspoken hope between her mother and myself, at least."

  "Why not just kill him?"

  "I tried," Aroz answered without emotionless. "I lost. Ghean stopped him from making the heartstrike."

  "He has weaknesses, then. He can be swayed by her. Maybe that can be used against him to your advantage."

  "Why my advantage, and not yours? A thousand years of power would make someone very strong."

  Karem stepped down the path toward the city. "I want his influence with the scholars in Atlantis more than I want his power. Once I've obtained that, who knows?"

  Aroz followed, letting out a sound of bitter amusement. "I won't wait if I have the chance for the heartstrike."

  "She'll only die, you know. Is it worth it?"

  "She's one of us," Aroz said, "or she will be. We could have eternity."

  "Really," Karem breathed. "How very interesting. All that untapped potential. You'll have to introduce me to the girl. Does she know?"

  "No. She knows we exist, but not that she's one of us."

  Karem nodded. "What does she know about Atlantis' history?"

  Aroz shook his head. "She's studied to be an architect, not a historian. Her mother, Minyah, is the one you'd want to talk to for history."

  "Mmm. Let's find a drink at the marketplace, Aroz, and you can tell me about Minyah."

  17

  To Lorhen’s surprise, the scholar Ragar did return the next day for another conversation, and then again the following day, until days turned into weeks and camaraderie grew between them. Lorhen, more intrigued by Karem’s stories of immortality artifacts than he wanted to admit, guided Ragar into telling him the history of Atlantis, and into the topic of the artifacts. There were as many as there were Houses, and if they didn’t all grant immortality, the tales certainly indicated they were all imbued with magic.

  Ghean’s House had a cloak, said to be from the Hunter himself, and, both fascinated and bemused at his own fascination, Lorhen asked Minyah if he could see it. She looked at him thoughtfully before bringing him into one a small, unused room in the house. It was filled with wool cloaks, dyed through a spectrum of yellows, all hanging on small racks set into the walls. "Can you tell which one it is?"

  Lorhen pursed his lips, walking around the room. His footsteps on the stone floor were muffled by the wool that virtually lined the walls. After several minutes, he returned to Minyah's side. "Not at all," he confessed. "I thought I would be able to."

  She crossed the room unerringly, to select a mid-length cloak dyed pale gold. "This one." Folding it over her arm, she presented it to him.

  He took it gingerly, half expecting some sort of backlash, but it looked, and felt, like a perfectly ordinary cloak. "You're sure?"

  Minyah nodded. "Quite. It produces no special feeling, nothing like your sensation that warns of other Timeless?"

  Lorhen shook his head, inspecting the cloak more carefully. "Nothing. I would never be able to choose it out of a room full of other cloaks."

  "I thought not." Minyah sounded smug. "Our gifts of immortality are utterly unlike yours."

  Lorhen looked up from the cloak. "Did you know Methuselah?"

  Minyah nodded. "Certainly. In truth, I never thought to test our cloak, despite knowing his crystal worked. Many of us saw him as something closer to the gods than we are, a protector left from the early days of the island. That the gift could be passed on did not occur to me. Shall we test it?"

  "Test it?" Lorhen looked skeptical. "How? It won't work for me. I'm already Timeless."

  Minyah took the cloak back, slipping it over her shoulders. "It is supposed to protect the wearer from harm." She nodded at his sword. "Strike at me."

  Lorhen's eyebrows went up in horror. "And if it doesn't work? I really don't want to explain to Ghean that I accidentally chopped her mother in half ten days before the wedding."

  Minyah laughed, extending her hand. "Give me your knife, then. I will test it myself, in the same fashion that you sho
wed Ghean your healing ability."

  Reluctantly, Lorhen unsheathed the little blade and placed it in her palm. "Don't cut too deep," he warned. "If it doesn't work, I'd hate to see you crippled. A scholar needs her hands."

  Minyah nodded, shifting her grip on the hilt, and considering her other palm. "I find this somewhat alarming," she announced, then took a quick breath and curved her fingers around the blade, pressing it into her skin. A sharp cry escaped her, and Lorhen caught her wrist to turn her palm toward him, flinching in anticipation.

  Her palm was whole, not even creased by the blade's path. Shocked, Lorhen looked at the knife, which remained unbloodied. "Dear gods."

  Minyah stared at her palm with as much surprise as Lorhen. "By the gods," she agreed softly. "So it is true. It protects the wearer."

  "Minyah," Lorhen said slowly. "May I try it? Our power doesn't stop an injury from happening, it just heals it faster. It might work."

  Minyah, still looking wide-eyed at her hand, pulled the cloak off and handed it to Lorhen. He swung it on and took his knife back from Ghean's mother. With less trepidation than she had shown, he drove the knife toward his palm.

  Both mortal and Timeless startled violently at the sharp crack of the blade shattering. Lorhen lifted it to study the jagged pattern where the tip had broken off, then turned his hand up to gaze at the unbroken skin. I could be invincible. With a shiver, he pulled the cloak off again and handed it back to Minyah. "That is not for me," he said softly, intently. "Not for any of my kind. If it fell into the hands of the wrong Timeless, if he were the last one—destroy it, Minyah, before handing it to an Timeless again. Destroy it."

  Minyah folded the cloak over her arm. "The last one," she repeated. "You battle to the death, but why?"

  Lorhen turned away. "Put the cloak away," he asked quietly. "I don't want to watch you do it. I don't know why we fight," he said, answering to drown out the sound of her soft footsteps, to lessen the chance he might somehow accidentally learn where the cloak was placed. "Something in us compels us to. Not always, not constantly. It can be overcome. But the impulse is there, any time we meet another of our kind. The desire to conquer and command their power." Despite his speech, he heard her cross the room, shifting cloaks aside as she hung the artifact. "Some of us believe that the last of us will become gods, or be given the world to rule."