Atlantis Fallen (The Heartstrike Chronicles Book 1)

by C. E. Murphy

  "I'll order room service," Emma said. "You'll never tell us what your problem is with Ghean and Atlantis if we go down to the restaurant."

  "You know they charge a thirty percent premium on room service," Cathal said dryly.

  "I've seen your bank accounts, Devane. You can afford the premium. Start talking, Lorhen, or I'm going to start drafting my entry about how I shot you. 'It was fine, I'd known for months that he was actually Lorhen, the oldest Timeless, and I was tired of him not getting to the point. The record has now been set straight.' They'll probably run me out for not telling the truth in the first place, but nobody ever actually asked me…."

  "The Book," Lorhen finally burst out impatiently. "That book was two thirds full of things I couldn't understand, five thousand years ago. Information science is just now getting to, Emma, only they were doing it with magic, not science. They were—" He took a handful of long, frustrated strides, pushing past Cathal into the suite's main room, where he could pace. "You don't know anything," he said in a low, snarling voice. "About the Blending, about the power we can manipulate. None of you do. You're all children and you don't understand what power you have."

  "You can dampen your presence," Cathal interrupted quietly. "I know that much, Lorhen. You can mute it entirely, can't you?"

  Lorhen reared back, turning to stare at Cathal a moment, and when he spoke most of the passion had left him. "So you do pay attention."

  Emma, behind them both, said, "Wait, what? You didn't—neither of you told me this!"

  "Why would I," Lorhen said, still watching Cathal. "Someday I'll let you experience what I really feel like, Cathal. What it's like if I don't hold the power back."

  "Like Yama," Cathal said, but Lorhen shook his head.

  "He was never as good as I was. You wouldn't still be alive, if he was."

  "What," Emma said through her teeth, "the hell are you two talking about? How do you mute yourself, Lorhen? There's nothing in the records—"

  Lorhen snapped his gaze to her, then turned abruptly and went to the bar, pouring himself first one drink, then a second before trusting himself to speak. Even then he had to put the tumbler down and brace himself against the counter, head lowered and hands tight on the granite surface. "Of course there's nothing in the records, Em. Only a handful of us can do it, and mortals can't feel it anyway. But I can. I do. Of course I do. It's part of how I hide. It's part of how I've stayed alive this long. I stopped muting it when I met Cathal, because I wanted him to know who I was, but even then, you were as close as across the room, weren't you, Devane, before you knew I was Timeless. And now I keep it at about the same range he has, so I don't draw attention to myself. But he could stand beside me in a crowd and never know I was Timeless, if I wanted it." Lorhen glanced over his shoulder at Emma, and said, softly, "You could stand a city block away and know it, if I wanted."

  "Me? But I'm—" Emma swallowed. "I'm mortal."

  "And I'm very old, and very strong." Lorhen wet his lips, then turned to lean his backside against the bar counter and turned his hands palm-up. "One time offer, Emma. The truth is, I don't know what it feels like to mortals."

  Emma crossed the room to him and put her hands on top of his with such certainty that Lorhen chuckled despite himself. "I doubt I deserve your confidence." He slid his hands under hers until he grasped her forearms, and she wrapped her fingers around his in turn. Cathal, without being asked, came to stand a step or two behind Emma, prepared to offer support.

  To Lorhen, it felt like cautiously opening a carefully wrapped package: loosening a bit of tape here, lifting a flap of paper, folding back another piece, all as if what lay within was explosive and could react unpredictably to the incoming light. It wasn't so far from true, that description; the power wanted out, to absorb or be absorbed. The Blending itself drove their fights, its need for expansion the price of their immortality.

  Cathal's dark eyes turned black as Lorhen unfurled his power, and his hand flexed at his hip, where a sword would normally hang. A corner of Lorhen's mouth turned up, acknowledging the other Timeless' discomfort, but he kept his eyes on Emma, who, as a mortal, was much slower to react. The hotel suite became the walls of Lorhen's world, the space beyond which he refused to allow his power to travel. Almost no one could do that; almost no one was old enough, or had the training, but he certainly had no intention of announcing his presence to all of Chicago, especially when Ghean, five thousand years old and primed to him anyway, was out there, and not all that far away.

  Even he could tell that the suite's air changed, took on a crystalline shine, like it was filling with more than it could hold; the light felt sharper, like it could cut, like it had brightened to an unfathomable degree. The sounds of their breathing clarified, and the blood rushing in their veins, and the subtle brush of eyelashes closing and opening again. Lorhen's grip on Emma's arm turned razor-sensitive, not only the sound but the heat and speed of her blood coming alive under his fingers.

  Her eyes dilated suddenly, pulse in her throat leaping as color scalding her cheeks. Her head and shoulders surged back, but to her credit, her hands tightened around his forearms, refusing to let go or escape the sudden onslaught of Timeless power even when sweat beaded on her lip and at her hairline. For a suspended heartbeat, Lorhen didn't just look at her; he looked in to her, gliding through solitary humanity to forge a brief connection, to see, whether she willed it or not, the things that to her mind, defined her.

  They came in rushes, no especial order to them: the desert war she'd fought in, the guitar lessons taken as a child. A dog pulling her into a creek and her fear; her induction into the Keepers. A birthday party that ran late into the night with friends. The Timeless who died in front of her in the war, and his resurrection. Cathal Devane, and most lately, Logan Adams, who had been her mortal friend and was Lorhen, a conflict she still struggled with, but overriding that, a sense of forgiveness. More came on, but that was enough, too much, already. Lorhen released her arms and pulled the power back inside himself, wondering already how badly he had damaged her.

  A shudder ran through Emma. She fell back a step, and Cathal caught her, offering support. She stayed in his arms for less than a breath, forcing herself straight without ever breaking Lorhen's gaze. "That was…" Her voice cracked and Cathal stepped around her and Lorhen both, swiftly, to pour her a generous finger of whiskey into the tumbler Lorhen had used. She took it and swallowed it in a gulp, still fixated on Lorhen, and said, "That was what you feel when another Timeless comes near?"

  Lorhen shook his head, bare motion. "What did you feel?"

  "Nausea. Headache. The things described in the records. But—" Emma glanced quickly at Cathal, then back to Lorhen. "More than that. M—memories."

  Cathal took a sharp breath of surprise, but Lorhen nodded, still watching Emma. "That was—that was more like the heartstrike, the actual Blending experience. Less violent, but—and it doesn't go both ways, the Blending. Only the victor is empowered, enlightened, that way." Another smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and his voice dropped. "Congratulations, Keeper. You've just given a six thousand year old man a wholly new experience. That…hasn't happened in a very long time."

  "What did you see in me?" Her voice was steady, but there was caution in her eyes.

  Lorhen glanced at her, then at Cathal. "Perhaps that's for another time. What did you feel, Devane?"

  "An eruption waiting to happen. An almost irresistible need to fight." Cathal looked as cautious as Emma. "I've never felt anything like that, either, Lorhen. I fought Yama, but—"

  "I told you. He was never as good as I am. Later." Lorhen hunched his shoulders, knowing it for a defensive posture. "All of this, later. I can't right now. It's too—" Vulnerable, but he would no more say that aloud than he might go on the news and announce his presence to the world. Nor did he need to; the other two dropped their gazes, then lifted them again with uncomfortably understanding expressions. Lorhen flared his nostrils and turned away to find an
other tumbler and pour himself another drink. "The point I was trying to reach before all of this nonsense is that the ancient Atlanteans, the group of Timeless who settled that island, didn't just develop technology far past what anybody else in the world was using at the time. They harnessed the Blending, or the power of it, at least, to create artifacts and healing agents that are beyond even what modern science has managed. I had a thousand years of power and knowledge behind me then, and I didn't even know where to start. I'm afraid today somebody, some human, might be able to translate the concepts into modern science and…" He shook his head.

  Emma poured herself another drink and retreated to one of the couches. "You're talking about the Book? Lorhen, Atlantis sank nearly five thousand years ago. What makes you think it still exists?"

  "Ghean does." Lorhen took his drink and the bottle and dropped into a chair across from Emma. "At this moment, I'm reluctant to discount anything."

  Cathal forewent a drink and got the room service menus instead, handing them to the other two before he sat down. "Why are you so angry that she's alive, old man?"

  Emma, beneath Cathal’s question, said, "You said you didn't know what was in the Book."

  "I didn't, when you asked."

  Emma and Cathal exchanged glances and Lorhen's lip curled. "I'm impossibly old, Em. I don't remember most of my life. Not actively. That's why my journals are so important to me. So when you asked, I didn't know. It started coming back when I saw Ghean. By the time we got to that part of the story, I knew again. I'd remembered. Hell of a thing to forget," he added softly, more to himself than the other two, and then to them, again, knowing he was repeating himself, "That's why I keep the journals."

  Emma examined him a moment before shrugging and nodding all at once. "All right. And Ghean? Why are you so angry she's alive?"

  Lorhen closed his eyes. "Why don't you spit it out?"

  "He's touchy, for someone who dances around the point all the time," Cathal murmured to Emma, then lifted his voice again. "She was trapped for four and a half millennia, Lorhen. You sure it's not guilt that's making you angry?"

  Lorhen opened his eyes to regard Cathal. "Yes. They were fighting on holy ground, Devane. I had no idea what was going to happen, but I was certain no one at ground zero was going to survive it. I believed she was dead as soon as Karem cut her down. It appears I was wrong."

  "She was Timeless," Emma said over the edge of her whiskey glass. "But you left her body."

  "Do you think I haven't thought that a hundred times in the last few hours? A thousand times in the last forty-five hundred years? Do you think I haven't what-iffed the situation to death?" He slammed his glass down on the table beside him. "The goddamned world looked like it was ending, and I made a judgment call. Karem and Aroz were fighting between me and her body, and she'd been damned near cut in half. I did not have the time to scoop up the pieces and run. The world is a very simple place, Emma. If it comes down to me or the other guy, I'm always going to chose me. Always. You're thousands of years too late to make me feel guilty for choosing my life over hers."

  "And yet you saved Minyah." Emma’s voice was soft, the words almost a question.

  Lorhen sighed, anger draining away. "She was mobile. She was also in front of me. I had to get her out of the way so I could move, and no, I am not pretending that only my own best interests motivated me. I am not a heartless monster, and I was not a heartless monster then." A smile drifted across Lorhen's face, without humor, without touching his eyes. "That came immediately after. I would have saved Ghean, if I'd thought I could, and still get out of there alive. Now, knowing what happened to her, knowing that she survived all those centuries in that prison," Lorhen shrugged, "I would do the exact same thing."

  "Is it really that easy for you, Lorhen?" Cathal asked, his voice tinged with a sort of faint, horrified admiration.

  "After six thousand years? Yes. It really is. Death before dishonor, come home with your shield or on it: they're concepts that don't belong in my world, Cathal. I can live with dishonor. I can't live without my head."

  Cathal quirked a curious smile. "Does dishonor mean anything to you at all?"

  "No. Someone else might perceive my actions as dishonorable, but my own judgment is the only one I'll accept. There are a few people whose opinion is important enough that I'll alter my habitual behavior for them, but ultimately I'm the only one who gets to judge me."

  Cathal's mouth curved more broadly. "You've risked your head for me and Emma both."

  "So you're two of the ones whose opinion matters. Can we stop this line of conversation before anyone gets embarrassed by the gushing sentimentality?"

  Cathal chuckled. "It might be worth pursuing, someday. The oldest man's perspective on what makes a worthy human being."

  Lorhen snorted. "You should have tried that back in Atlantis, Cathal. I was a lot more introspective in those days."

  "I wasn't there."

  "I guess you've missed your chance, then."

  "Lorhen," Emma asked slowly, "how do you know that what's in the Book shouldn't be messed with? You said yourself that it was over your head, when you read it. It might prove incredibly useful today."

  "Sure," Lorhen said, "and the Unending might have advanced civilization a thousand years by uniting everyone in fear against them, but we didn't. Whatever's in there, Emma, we're just now beginning to understand. I'm not at all enthusiastic at handing over the secrets of eternal life to the masses, not anymore now than I was then."

  "But you went after the Lazarus crystal.”

  Lorhen gave her a sharp look. "To keep it out of anybody else's hands. If it hadn't been shattered, if I could pick and choose who got to use it, without ever risking my own head, sure, I'd do it. But I can't, and what I said then still stands: people with immortality at their fingertips are eventually going to notice us. Whether it's because we survived a mortal blow while not wearing one of their precious artifacts, or if it's because someone realizes we're not filling ourselves with the cocktail of drugs that keeps everyone supple and youthful, eventually the top's going to be blown off the whole mess. I want no part in furthering that. It'll happen sooner or later. It doesn't need my help, or the Book of Atlantis' help. If the Book is still in one piece, I want it contained, and I'm the only one I trust to contain it."

  "Maybe Ghean doesn't want it," Emma suggested.

  "I don't know what Ghean wants, and that makes me nervous. She knows where it is now, though, and I'd just as soon I was the first one who got to it."

  "How?" Cathal demanded. "Do you have a submarine stored somewhere?"

  Lorhen pressed his lips together. "Unfortunately, no. I suspect there's going to have to be a rather large donation to the Atlantis research fund by a historian who would like to join the team on their dives."

  Cathal eyed Lorhen suspiciously. "And just who is providing this rather large donation?"

  "Aren't you the skeptical one?" Lorhen chuckled softly. "It'd be a lot more in keeping with Logan Adams if you provided it. I can transfer the money into your account."

  Cathal glowered at Lorhen. "Are you saying you actually have money?"

  "I'm six thousand years old, Devane. I have more money than God. Logan Adams is usually broke, though. I wouldn't borrow really significant amounts of cash from you, but one must keep up pretenses."

  Cathal turned an incredulous look on Emma. “Did you know about this?”

  “I didn’t.” Emma finished the last of her drink and regarded Lorhen over the edge of the tumbler. “I haven’t done any digging into Logan Adams’ history. Maybe I should have.”

  “You wouldn’t find much. I’m good at building lives, Em, and I’m very careful about not overlapping. Come on, Cathal. You’ll get a chance to see the ruins of the world’s greatest ancient civilization. You joining us, Emma?"

  "I joined the Army for a reason, Lorhen. I like keeping my feet on dry land. You can tell me all about it if your submarine doesn't implode."

  "We'l
l tell you all about it anyway," Cathal said. "Wouldn't that be a nicely dramatic way to die, Lorhen? Sudden compression? You could burst to the surface in agonized awe, trembling with relief to be alive."

  "It's not polite to make fun of your elders."

  "Would I do that?" Cathal grinned. "Then I could go back and tell Emma how you handled your first death, and how proud I was of you, and how I planned to walk you through those first uncertain days while you became accustomed to being more than mortal."

  Lorhen hid his face in one hand. Cathal's grin grew wider as he warmed to his topic. "We could invite Emma, the old friend of the mortal Logan Adams, to your first sword lesson. She could write up a lengthy tribute to my astonishing skills and your child-like awkwardness. She could comment on my never-ending patience, and your clumsy attempts to emulate me. 'If only Logan will turn out like Cathal,' she'll write. 'The world would be a better place to have two such men.' And I, modestly, will share my meager knowledge, and send you out in the cruel world to fend for yourself against men and women a hundred times your youthful years—"

  "Enough! I don't think I've ever heard you accolade yourself so outrageously, Cathal. With any luck, I never will again. Shut up, man, and go to sleep."

  Emma grinned suddenly. "I think I'll put a passage in it about how I've always thought of Logan as a son, and how it gladdens my soul to see that this child of mine will endure through the centuries. How does that sound, Cathal?"

  Cathal nodded solemnly. "Very good. Very touching. We'll have to add something about how his boyish charm is tainted by the sudden cynicism of death, and how we hope a few years will give him the acceptance he needs for that roguish sense of humor to re-emerge."

  "Maybe comment about how he often seemed alone, and how we're afraid that this new difference in him will set him further apart from his fellow man—" Emma broke off with a burst of laughter.