The Atlantis Keystone

by Caroline Väljemark

  THE

  ATLANTIS KEYSTONE

  CAROLINE VÄLJEMARK

  The Atlantis Keystone

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2014 by Caroline Väljemark

  Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset by wordzworth.com

  Cover design by Thomas von der Luft

  Conversion to eBook by wordzworth.com

  First Edition: June 2014

  Wings Förlag

  ISBN: 978-91-637-5179-0

  From Timaeus by Plato, written 360 BC:

  “Tell us, said the other, the whole story [of Atlantis], and how and from whom Solon heard this veritable tradition.

  He replied: In the Egyptian Delta, at the head of which the river Nile divides, there is a certain district which is called the district of Sais, and the great city of the district is also called Sais, and is the city from which King Amasis came. The citizens have a deity for their foundress; she is called in the Egyptian tongue Neith, and is asserted by them to be the same whom the Hellenes call Athene; they are great lovers of the Athenians, and say that they are in some way related to them.”

  ONE

  Thailand, Khao Lak, Boxing Day 2004

  The lukewarm breeze from the Indian Ocean was pleasant, like a gentle feather sweeping over her skin. Anna Stenbock sat in a sun lounger on the patio of a stilted hotel bungalow with her husband of eight days, Erik Stenbock, asleep in the chair next to her. The Swedish medieval castle of Torpa, to which Erik was the sole heir, was thousands of miles away. Nevertheless, like so many times before in the last couple of weeks, Anna’s mind wandered to its snow-covered roof and dark irregularly-sized windows. She shivered when she visualised the castle tower. In her mind she climbed the stairs and stopped when she reached the second floor landing. She faced the wall on the opposite side and imagined stroking it with her hand, assessing the material and the thickness of it. She knew that behind the plastered surface was a gap between the inner and outer wall; an unexplained vacuum which according to tradition no one had dared to enter for hundreds of years. A medieval legend told the tale of a girl, the daughter of a knight, who was suspected of having caught the plague on a trip to visit relatives in Denmark six hundred years ago. To prevent an outbreak of the disease, the girl’s father buried her alive inside the wall by blocking up the space where there had been a door. Her screams could be heard for three days and three nights. Local folklore proclaimed that any attempt to open her resting place had been followed by someone’s death, resulting in a lack of enthusiasm for further discovery.

  Until recently Anna had believed in the legend and had imagined, like most people who had taken the guided tour of the castle, that if the wall was ever opened they would find a dusty medieval skeleton with a mummy-like expression of fear forever etched on its skull. Although that was a disturbing notion, it was nothing to what she now knew or rather suspected was actually hidden in there. A few days before the wedding she had made a discovery which revealed a shocking truth about the contents of the void. Although the white-rendered stone building was no longer fit for modern habitation, Anna had spent a lot of time in it since she met Erik five years earlier. She found the place intriguing and irresistible, allowing her to make good use of her history degree, researching rare journals left by generations of Torpa occupants. She now wished she hadn’t; desperately wanting to return to her previous ignorant existence.

  She took a sip of her coffee and put down the cup before she glanced over at Erik. It was shortly after breakfast but she wasn’t surprised that he had allowed himself to get lulled into a happy trance-like state. Apart from being lazy, he was perfect in every way. Appearance wise he was as one would imagine a skilled Renaissance artist capturing a Greek warrior god; his blonde hair flawlessly arranged despite having done nothing to it apart from bathing in salty water and leaving it to dry in the wind; his tanned upper body muscular in an almost pedantic way even though he never went to the gym. At present his face was relaxed and partly concealed by sunglasses but she knew that as soon as he smiled, straight teeth and dimples in both cheeks would appear. She found it funny that he remained completely oblivious to his own good looks and as far as she knew he didn’t notice the constant glances and attention he was getting from members of the opposite sex. She loved that about him. In fact she loved everything about him, perhaps apart from his stubbornness… and his dangerous habit of sleepwalking.

  She wanted to tell him what she had found out about Torpa, craved to… but she couldn’t. Of course she couldn’t tell anyone… She moved up and down in the sun lounger, as if she kept adjusting a driving seat in a car. She knew Erik wouldn’t appreciate a reminder of the contentious issues of the old place anyway. It would trigger associations with his unhappy childhood. If only the wall could be opened so that she could have it confirmed. In the end she decided she had to at least ask him. She poked his arm, leaned over him and took his sunglasses off.

  “Erik, there’s something I have to ask you,” she said in a loud voice to wake him up. “It’s very important so you’ll have to listen to me.” He appeared startled, held his breath and looked as if he thought she was about to ask for an annulment of their marriage. She moved his feet and sat down at the end of his chair, taking one of his hands and playing with his fingers as she spoke: “You know the legend about the medieval girl buried alive inside a wall at Torpa…”

  “Yes…” he said with a mixture of relief and confusion, starting to breathe again. “We need to open the castle wall where the girl may have been buried. The reason why I ask this is because I believe the wall is hiding something of importance.”

  A familiar wrinkle of irritation appeared between his eyebrows: “How important could a skeleton of a girl buried hundreds of years ago be?” he asked rhetorically.

  “I’m telling you; I have reason to believe that the space between the inner and outer wall where she supposedly died is hiding something else. I’m afraid I can’t tell you more than that but please believe me when I say that the only way to find out for sure is to open that wall.” She stood up in an attempt to emphasise her words.

  Erik was unmoved. “I thought you knew my stance on this. The poor girl’s resting place should not be disturbed. Grave robbery is not my business, that’s for sure. And the legend about the girl buried alive in the wall is a major tourist attraction for the castle,” he added. “To open the wall would ruin this. My mother would simply never allow it.” She could see from his momentarily widened eyes that his own reference to his mother had surprised him. That Erik agreed with his mother was very unusual.

  “Can you please at least ask her?” she begged.

  “No, I know what she’ll say. There’s no point in having this discussion. Can you please drop it and enjoy our honeymoon.” He leaned back in his chair and put his sunglasses back on, pretending that the conversation had never happened.

  Anna sat back down in her chair. She regretted bringing it up. She didn’t want to ruin what had so far been a wonderful holiday. To lighten up the atmosphere she added with a smirk: “Well I suppose so. We all know what’s happened to everyone who has tried to break open the wall.” She paused for effect, waived her hands to simulate ghosts and waited for his reaction. He managed a smile but didn’t say anything until he suddenly got up.

  “I fancy a jog. I’ll be back shortly”,
he said before he went into the bungalow. She silently watched him through the window; put on shorts and T-shirt, come out, kiss her quickly on the mouth, say ‘love you’ and disappear down the steps leading to the beach. Anna remained seated, considering what line of attack she would use to convince her mother in law when they got back to Sweden.

  She had not particularly studied the other hotel guests on the beach; not until they all stood up at the same time as if they had collectively agreed to do so. The distant roaring of the sea changed nature. She glanced down and saw something odd. The water appeared to pull back, leaving several metres of sand, stones and shells exposed, as if Moses had been there with his stick. It was strange. Anna had never seen anything like it and wondered why the tide would suddenly be so low. The water continued to draw back. People were pointing, laughing and some walked down to the exposed ocean floor, testing out the wet sand with naked feet. Apart from the excited voices of the people on the beach everything was peaceful, but this was definitely not right. This was not normal. Somewhere at the back of her mind she remembered something about the effects of earthquakes. There had been an almost imperceptible vibration two hours ago but she was sure it could not have caused the strange behaviour of the ocean now. Anna went down the stairs to the beach to ask what was going on; to see if they knew whether some strange tide phenomenon normally occurred at this time of year. She saw that a middle aged corpulent man boasting a white beer belly and a receding hairline in the neighbouring bungalow was doing the same. She had not spoken to him before but decided to do so now. She was fairly certain he and his wife were Swedish as well.

  The man spoke first: “Look at that! Amazing! I saw something similar on holiday in America once. The surfers went mad.” At that moment someone screamed and pointed further out the sea. Many stayed put but a few started to run inland towards the reception building which was located on higher ground. A couple of young boys with surfboards happily ran out in the water. Anna had assumed everyone was excited about the tide but she soon became aware that an enormous wave, larger than she had ever seen, approached. From where she was it looked like a line in the water; a wall moving at high speed. She got cold from fear at the realization of the possible effects of such a wave. Her first instinct was to run for her life as fast as she could but the man next to her laughed and said to her mockingly: “Ha! Look at those people running.” The man waived to his wife in the hut and slowly walked down to the water’s edge. Perhaps he knew something she didn’t.

  Anna reassessed the situation and decided that she may be overreacting. She went back up the stairs to her bungalow. Perhaps she was safer up there anyway. She was sure the build quality was good. The hotel was expensive enough… On her way up she noted that several birds deserted the beach area and the nearby trees. She then realised that the wave was enormous, gigantic and even taller than she had first thought. She heard terrified high pitched screams in the distance. Panic stricken she had only just reached the top of the stairs when the wave struck the bungalow, showering her with great force. She managed to grab hold of the fence. She had not predicted the power with which the water quickly filled the shoreline. There was water everywhere. A strong smell of fish or seaweed filled her nostrils. She struggled on in what felt like heavy rain over the patio to the door to the bungalow. With a loud cracking noise the bungalow suddenly started to lean violently. The stilts on which it stood begun to break. Clinging on like a leech she screamed for help but the people on the beach had disappeared, been submerged or carried away by the strong current. With horror she saw that the bungalow next door had already collapsed. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion even though it was a matter of seconds. She didn’t even have time to reflect properly on her situation before something hit her hard over the head. It felt as if her head split open. She was barely conscious but understood that the bungalow had crumbled on top of her. It pulled her down under water. She closed her eyes and waved her arms in an attempt to get to the surface.

  TWO

  London, England, June 2005

  Erik Stenbock looked around and wondered if the other passengers in the crowded tube carriage had noticed his frustration. Unlikely, he concluded after having observed the tired and empty faces surrounding him. He was in a foul mood and had a headache. The fact that he had been forced to travel across London during the five o’clock rush hour made him even more angry with his mother. She normally handled all matters relating to Torpa but this time she had involved him just because he happened to be in London for the day. She clearly hadn’t grasped that he had a demanding job as a lawyer and that he would be tired after an early start, a journey to England and an all day meeting with one of his worst clients. Ignoring the feelings and wishes of others, in particular his, was his mother’s specialty. Without first checking with him, she had agreed for Erik to meet up with as she put it: ‘a very persistent professor from Oxford University’. This professor apparently had a particular interest in an ancient artefact which had been donated to the British museum in the nineteenth century by a previous Torpa owner. His mother had been thrilled to find out that the artefact in question was referred to as “the Torpa tablet” after its place of discovery. She had seen this information and new important academic contact as an excellent opportunity to get some publicity and perhaps stir up some media attention around Torpa, something which she constantly craved. Interest from Oxford University was not to be ignored in her view. Consequently she had been most helpful to the professor and had already provided all the material requested; in particular copies of historic journals from the estate. Apparently the professor and his team had found something of interest in the journals and had requested a meeting to discuss it.

  Erik took off his tie, put it in his pocket and undid the top buttons of his shirt. He was relieved when the tube voice announced that they were in Holborn. He squeezed out on the platform, noting the approving glances from a woman by the door when he took off his suit jacket. Leaving soaring temperatures and sweaty armpits behind, he walked along the yellow line towards the escalators. Glancing at his wristwatch, he realised he was fifteen minutes late and started to run up the stairs and outside. While walking briskly following signs for the British museum he tried to compose himself as best he could for the meeting with the professor. He attempted to shake off his bad mood and to overlook the fact that he lacked any interest in, or knowledge of, ancient history. It was difficult to ignore that he was as excited about the meeting as he would be over an eyelash stuck in the eye. He viewed it as an irritation which would hopefully go away if he blinked sufficiently. Unfortunately, he feared blinking would not help in this case.

  He had never been to the British Museum before and as he entered the gate he found an impressive building littered with tourists. It wasn’t difficult to spot the professor in the crowd. He was standing on the stairs together with a short, plain and pale young woman, who Erik assumed was one of his students. As he approached them, putting on a forced smile, he was surprised to see that the professor appeared younger than expected, in his thirties, not much older than himself, although still with typically professor-like features. He didn’t have a beard but his face showed traces of early stubble. His glasses were outdated and scratched. His hair was almost laughable. It appeared that he hadn’t touched it since getting out of bed that morning and had obviously slept on his left side, hence the flattened appearance on that side of his head. Erik smirked and shook the professor’s hand, introducing himself.

  The professor smiled back and announced: “Paul Simmons, professor of linguistics at Oxford University. Pleased to meet you.” He then turned to his colleague and continued: “This is Emma Johnson, one of my most brilliant students, who is writing her dissertation on Linear A and its various theories of decipherment.”

  The young woman blushed at her professor’s flattering words, making the spots on her cheeks seem even redder. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Mr Stenbock,” she said. “I’ve spent some
time studying the Torpa tablet and have read a lot about Torpa, so I almost feel like I know you, or at least your childhood home.” She laughed nervously and glanced at Paul as if she wondered whether she had said too much. Erik was just about to say something in response when his eyes met hers. He was stunned. Although not much else in this young student resembled his late wife appearance wise, their unusual eyes were almost identical. In addition to the rare colour combination of one eye which was brown and the other green, it was something about them; possibly a slight twinkle, an air of intelligence or insightfulness or the way they were formed and the brightness of the colour green. She had Anna’s eyes. It was almost absurd. She was so unlike Anna in everything else; her complete opposite. Erik had never been speechless in his life and he found the sensation embarrassing. He quickly composed himself and muttered something about how much he looked forward to finding out what they had discovered. He hoped that he had managed to conceal his inner turmoil. They didn’t appear to have noticed. This reminder of Anna had come as a complete shock to him and he had a hard time focussing. In a blow, he saw Anna in her wedding dress, smiling, the tang of salty water in his mouth, the rumbling noise from the water almost submerging the screams, his own scream of powerlessness at the unfairness of the forces of nature, the disappointment at being saved and his squirrel-like search for Anna that followed. Anna’s body had never been recovered and she had been declared dead shortly after the tsunami but her eyes had remained in his consciousness day and night ever since. Seeing this woman’s eyes had opened a wound which had only just started to heal. He resisted an urge to shake her hard; so that the student’s mousy hair, spotty pale face, unplucked eyebrows and generally boring appearance would be exchanged for Anna’s striking radiance, freckled nose, captivating smile and tall slender body. God, he missed her so much.