by Kage Baker
The electromagnetic anomaly was still unaccounted for, however… I scowled and turned my head, scanning. Now it seemed unclear, diffuse, farther away. Now it faded out. Strange. The fiddle music stopped. The Crome waves intensified a moment, and then the beehive shook slightly as the center mat was pushed aside. A snow-white beard flowed out, followed by the wrinkled and bespectacled face to which it was attached. The hermit turned to look straight at me, though I had been sitting perfectly motionless out of his line ofsight.
“Did yez wish a word with me, then?” asked the hermit.
I blinked. Foolish to be surprised, though, with all the other weird-ness here. “I was only admiring your, uh, art,” I replied. “It wasn’t my intention to disturb you.” We regarded each other for a moment. He wrinkled his brow.
“Have They sent yez to console me fleshly lusts?” he inquired.
Gosh, how sweet. “No,” I answered.
“Dat’s good, then.” He relaxed. “They’re always parading them foreign beauties before my eyes and that last one was more than a man of my years can do justice to, to tell yez the truth of it. Yez’ll excuse me amoment, pray.”
He vanished back into the beehive, and it shook and creaked with his rustling around in there. I wondered if I should disappear and decided against doing so; he might go looking for me, and I’d just as soon he didn’t find my camp. Besides, I was curious. What was a Celticanchorite doing in California, let alone in the vicinity of Pismo Beach?
So I waited, and after a moment he emerged from the beehive and dropped into the willows below, and came across his lawn toward me. I got up and descended the side of the dune to meet him, scanning him as I went. When we got within four meters of one another we both stopped abruptly. He was scanning me, albeit in a very unfocussed and inefficient way.
I don’t know what he perceived, but I saw a tiny elderly mortal whose body glowed and flashed with a surrounding halo of blue radiation. He wore a sealskin loincloth and a kind of tabard of woven eel-grass to which had been sewn thousands of seagull feathers, tiny white ones. His ancient spectacles were tied on with string. Apart from advanced age he was in excellent health, without so much as an infected tooth. He peered at me suspiciously, cocking his head.
“Yez ain’t from Them,” he stated.
“No,” I admitted. “Who are They?”
“Why, the Ascended Masters,” he answered, as though I were crazy to ask. “Them fellows up on Mount Shasta, ye know. The Inheritors of Lemuria.”
Okay. “No, I haven’t heard of them, Sehor, I’m only from Monterey,” I replied cautiously. “My name is Dolores Conception Mendoza, and I have come here on holiday to sketch wildflowers.”
“O, I don’t know about that.” He looked me up and down. “Yez got a look about yez of the Deathless Ones.”
Whoops. So much for keeping a cover identity around a psychic. I thought fast, which is to say I accessed Smith’s History of Mystical Esoteric Cults, Volumes 1-10; blinked, smiled, and said: “The White Fraternity does not reveal itself to all men. You are to be commended on your sharp sight, Brother. But I have come here, as I said, for the wild flowers that grow here in these Dunes, to collect them for their rare properties. Look into my heart and you will see that I speak the truth.” He scanned me a moment and nodded. “So, dat’s all right. Yez ain’t of any Order I ever seen though. What Discipline do yez follow?”
“The Mystical Sisterhood of Orion,” I improvised. “We, uh, live in caves in the Pyrenees and observe absolute chastity. We also preserve the healing arts of the exiled Moors. A traveler brought us word of the rare flowers here, and I have been sent to collect them for our studies.”
“Well!” The anchorite’s thin chest swelled with pride. “Yez couldn’t have come to a more salubrious place for medicines. These Dunes is the best place for the corporeal body yez ever saw. How long d’yez think I’ve lived here, without ever a day of sickness or care? Forty years, I tellyez, forty years since the Lima run aground out there and I come ashore. And in all that time, not one pain nor pang. It’s the superior vibrations, ye know.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I affirmed solemnly.
“The most powerful vibrations in the world, right here in these Dunes, and I have that straight from the Ascended Masters Themselves. Why, They come here all the time to enjoy the beneficial vibrational effects.” He nodded with certainty.
“Really?” I wondered when he was going to ask if I had a piece of cheese about me. “They come here often, do They?”
“Indeed They do. I’ll introduce yez, maybe.”
“That would be charming, though I’m sure They’re quite busy. Still, I hope you’ll give Them my best regards.” I made to withdraw. “And now, Senor, I must set about my appointed task. Good day.” Poor oldlunatic.
He bid me an effusive farewell and I climbed away across the sand, giggling to myself. Well, this was one for the cultural anthropologists: a classic California crackpot, years and years before the breed was supposed to be common here. Worth an amusing sidebar on my official report, perhaps. I put him out of my mind and went back to my field lab, where I had a good afternoon’s work undisturbed by weird lights or electromagnetic pulses. Not that there weren’t plenty of both, but now that I knew their origin I could afford to ignore them, couldn’t I? And ignore them I did, though blue lightning came down and danced at the water’s edge as I dug clams for my supper, and blue aurorae shimmered over my driftwood fire as I sipped tequila. When the level in the flask grew low enough I took to singing old Gypsy songs at them. I thought I sounded like a wounded coyote, but the blue lights seemed to like it. They followed me back to my bivvy and flitted off politely when I crawled in to sleep.
“I thought I’d bring yez a few clams for breakfast, there,” sounded a voice close to my ear, as a net bag clattered down before my face. I managed to avoid erupting through the roof of my bivvy and scrambled out on knees and elbows instead. The hermit was inspecting my field lab with great interest.
“Ain’t dat fascinatin’, now?” He held a glass slide up to the light and peered through it. “The Sisterhood’s got all the latest appurtenances, I can see dat.”
“Yes.” I got hastily to my feet. “And thank you so very much for the clams, Sehor, how gracious of you. May I offer you a cup of coffee?” Notmuch danger in a security breach where a looney was involved, but he might break something.
“Coffee.” With a wistful smile he handed me back my slide. “My, I ain’t had coffee since the Lima.
‘Course it’s bad for yez, ye know, or so They tell me. All them alkaloids.” How’d he know that? Maybe he’d been a chemist before he’d gone to sea. “Er—we of the Sisterhood can neutralize all toxins before they harm our, uh, atomic structures,” I told him. Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie.
He looked impressed. “Dat’s a fine trick, to be sure. The Ascended Masters can do that one, but I can’t, ye know, not till I’ve made me transition to the next astral plane. Got any tea?” With a growing sense of unreality I set up my camp stove and prepared his tea and my badly needed coffee. He watched alertly, commenting with little enthusiastic cries and noddings of his head on all the advanced technological marvels I employed.
Having received his tea, the hermit leaned back comfortably into a hill of sand and regarded me over the steaming cup.
“Now I wonder,” he said, “whether the Sisterhood is up on interpreting the ancient prophecies, too?”
“No, actually, Senor.” I sipped coffee very carefully. I have some circuitry close to my eustachian tubes that registers intense pain if exposed to too-hot liquids. “We concentrate on the healing arts.”
“The reason I was asking being,” he continued, as though I hadn’t spoken, “dat I need to get a fix on how much time I’ve got before Lemuria rises again.”
Lemuria? I did a fast access. “Ah. You mean the legendary drowned continent, the Atlantis of the Pacific,” I said.
“Older than Atlantis,” he said firmly. “Them Atl
anteans was no more than colonists of Lemuria, if yez want the truth of it. It was the cook on board the Northerly Isles first told me about Lemuria; he was a man with an education, ye know, before them unfortunate circumstances what sent him to sea. I’m telling you, the Lemurians had it over Atlantis in every way. Their high priests knew more arcane lore, their temples and palaces was bigger, and they sunk first.”
“Really.”
“They did. And see, the Atlanteans (who had got degenerate to start with, which was why they sunk) spread out all over everywhere and forgot their ancient wisdom, but not the Lemurians. They founded a fine city up on Mount Shasta, and from there They’ve kept Their gold and silver vessels together and Their ancient libraries and all.” “You don’t say.” “I do. And I wager the reason They’ve been so careful to keep toThemselves is,” he leaned forward for emphasis, “dat They know Lemuria’s going to rise again, any day now, and They want to be able to move back in without the place getting crowded. Just a select company, ye know. They ain’t said it in so many words—They’re shy that way—but I can tell, all right.”
“Mm-hm.” I tasted my coffee. “And you need to know exactly when Lemuria will rise? Why don’t you ask Them, Senor?”
“O, I have.” He wrootched uneasily in the sand, causing little avalanches around himself. “But They don’t care to talk about Lemuria much, which is a prudent thing to do, right enough, I can see dat; but, see, I’ve got this school to found, and if 1 know the vast submerged peaks ain’t going to lift clear of the waves for another year or so, why then I’ve got time to get everything ready. On the other hand, if it’s the day after tomorrow-like dat the ancient palaces is rising into view again, I’m in a sad fix.”
“You’re founding a school?” Who did he think was going to attend, clams? “What kind of school, Senor?”
“The School of Lemurian Knowledge.” He put his finger to the side of his nose. “Now, it was foretold in me natal horoscope dat I was to found a great institution of learning. And, me being wrecked here, yez wouldn’t think dat would come to pass, would yez, now? But Destiny’s a mighty thing. It was here I met Them, and They saw at once I was spiritually evolved enough to keep company with the likes of Them. Mind you, it was a while before They’d admit to being the Ascended Masters—made on at first like what They didn’t understand me—but at last They saw I was clever enough to have found out Their game. They put me through a lot of tests to see if I’m worthy, and They has prepared me ever since to be one of the elect what’ll get to live in Lemuria once it’s up again. Why, They’ve had me to visit up there, ye know, I’ve walked in Their golden tunnels on Mount Shasta!
“But, after all, I pity me fellow creatures dat’ll have to stay here and ain’t had the benefit of Their company. So what I been doing is, I been copying down all I seen when I visits Them on sacred tablets, which is to form the library of me school. As soon as I’ve got all the collected wisdom down, pupils will flock to the Dunes from all over the world. So, see, even if I ascend to Lemuria, or row out to it or something, I can still pass on Their knowledge to mankind.”
“So you see yourself as a sort of Promethean benefactor, then,” I said straight-faced, taking a cautious drink from my cup. He drank too and then looked up as the classical allusion sank in.
“Mind yez, I ain’t stealing any sacred fire from Heaven!” he protested. “They’re good fellows, Them Ascended Masters, and I’m sureThey wouldn’t mind about me copying things I’ve seen on sacred tablets, if I’d got around to mentioning ‘em to Them. But I’ve been so busy, what with Them always testing me worthiness and all… “
“No, no, of course.” I looked around at the shifting sand. “But, tell me, what do you do for your tablets? There is no stone here.”
“Clam shells,” he told me. “I paint on the insides, see.” I looked at the net bag, lying where he’d dropped it. I wasn’t quite up to breakfast yet. “Can you get a lot of sacred wisdom in a clamshell?”
“Yez can if yez paint small; but then dat’s another way these Dunes has it over other places, for there’s much bigger clams here. If I had to use them little rubbishy eastern clams I’d have no end of labor.” He shook his head.
“Good point.” There was sand in the bottom of my cup. I tilted it and dumped the last few drops out.
“Well, Senor—I wish I could be of some assistance to you in your generous efforts to spread enlightenment. Though I must say most arcane texts I’ve read hold the opinion that Lemuria won’t rise before the end of this century, so I think you have plenty of time.”
“Do yez tell me so?” He knit his white brows uncertainly. “All the omens I been seeing predict a great change dat’s coming.”
Well, there was the Civil War of the Yankees about to kick off, not that he’d be likely to hear much about it out here. I looked thoughtful and said, “I too have heard of a great disturbance in the affairs of men soon, but most prophets agree it will not last long. Surely, then, they don’t mean the rise of Lemuria?”
“0, no, I suppose not,” he agreed, draining his teacup. “For when Lemuria escapes Ocean’s mighty bosom, its next great cycle will last seventeen million years, ye know.” It took nearly that long to get him to leave, with gentle hints and tactful shoves; but at last he vanished over the top of a dune, waving cheerfully, and I was able to relax in blessed silence. And without mortal distractions I got so much work done that day, hangover notwithstanding, that by nightfall I was able to transmit preliminary results on my field credenza to the relay station on the nearby mesa. Things were looking good for Laurent’s sufferers everywhere. With the cellular map and the holoes I included the following smirky communication:
SPECIAL NOTE: AUTHENTIC HOLY MAN LIVING IN DUNE REGION! ELDERLY MALE
CAUCASIAN EUROPEAN ORIGIN, SPONTANEOUS CROME GENERATOR ESTIMATE
FORCE 10. CLAIMS TO HAVE BEEN CONTACTED BY ANCIENT LEMURIAN MASTERS AND
IS CONFIDENTLY WAITING FOR SUBMERGED CONTINENT TO RISE. IS COMPILING
LIBRARY OF TEACHINGS OF ASCENDED MASTERS! GREAT SCHOOL OF PHILOSOPHY TO
OPEN HERE ANY DAY NOW!
I signed off, crawled out of the tent and stood stretching, looking up at the stars. All the black heaven sparkled and shone, and the Milky Way streamed out to sea like smoke from a ship’s funnel. Too nice a night to waste on sleep. I strolled off across the sand, following the sound of the night ocean. Cresting the top of a dune unmarked by any print, I looked down on the white circle of a shell midden. It gleamed under the starlight, perfect in its circumference. How many generations of Chumash had picnicked here, before the Europeans came? The thing must be fifteen meters across.
“But it wasn’t the Indians put it there, ye know,” observed a voice at my elbow.
I screamed, leaped into thin air and reappeared on the other side of the midden. Heart pounding, I stared across at the hermit, who was standing where I had been a second before. He waved pleasantly, apparently quite unsurprised by my teleportation.
“It was Them,” he called to me.
“What?” I gasped. What was wrong with my approach warning sensors? I ran a hasty self-diagnostic.
“They put it there, as a marker for when They come sailing down from Mount Shasta to visit. Helps
‘em navigate in,” he explained. He strode down the dune across the sand to me, sturdy knees and elbows pumping. I watched him in disbelief.
“Out for a breath of fresh air, are yez?” he inquired. “I come out meself, on fine nights. These Dunes is also the best place to watch the celestial movements, ye know.”
“No city lights to dim the stars,” I found myself remarking.
“There are not,” he agreed, looking heavenward. A green iiredrake crackled down the southern horizon. “Almost a pity that Lemuria’s coming up so close by. They had towers in Their grand cities for the spreading of light focused through jewels. All them emeralds and rubies and sapphires winkin’ away must have been a rare sight, and lit up the streets a deal better than lan
terns, wouldn’t ye think? But very bright.”
“I suppose it would have been. Look, you don’t think Lemuria’s going to rise with the buildings all intact and everything in working order, do you? I mean, how long has it been at the bottom of the sea, for heaven’s sake?” I cried in exasperation.
“Twelve million years,” he informed me imperturbably.
“Well, there, how could there even be any ruins left after all this time?” I drew a deep breath, attempting to get a grip. The electromagnetic weirdness must be affecting me somehow. “It’ll just be one big muddy unimproved… landmass.”
“So was San Francisco,” he pointed out. “Nothing to speak of when the Lima put in there, and look what the Americans has built there now. I hear it’s fit to rival Paris or London, though of course it’s nothing so grand as what They’ll build once They’ve got Their own back. Think of all them water frontage lots! And building’s no trouble at all for Them, ye know, because They’ve got the secret of countermanding the forces of gravity.”
“They have?”
“They have that. They’ve got a device uses cosmic rays to move great blocks of stone. Just floats ‘em in as though they weighed nothing at all. I daresay Their builders taught the Egyptians everything they knew. Why, the pyramids ain’t nothing to what you’ll see being put up once Lemuria rises.” He nodded in the direction of the sea as though he could glimpse it there already. My eyes followed his gaze involuntarily. I shook my head, as if to clear away the fog of mystical nonsense surrounding me.
“What a fascinating thought,” I said, summoning every ounce of courtesy. “I have no doubt I shall dream about Lemuria’s jewel-studded towers as I sleep. To which end, Senor, I must wish you good evening.”
