Table of Contents
Titlepage
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Pronunciation
Synopsis for Tides of Change
The Canons
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Copyright © 2017 by Susan MacIver
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by Monica Haynes; thethatchery. com
Interior Graphic Design by Colleen Sheehan; wdrbookdesign. com
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Susan MacIver
Visit my website at www.susanmaciver.com
FaceBook.com/SusanMaciverAuthor
[email protected]
Twitter@SusanMaciver
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing: 2017
Published by MacIver Publishing, LLC
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9991782-1-8
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017911158
To my son, Eric MacIver, a beautiful gift of tremendous joy, eternal wisdom, and infinite kindness. These attributes, coupled with your dry, fall-on–the-floor-laughing sense of humor, have kept me going through times the tunnel seemed never-ending. Thank you for coming into my life.
Always and forever.
I have said before that no one writes a book by themselves; our family, our experiences and friends, all play a part. However, by virtue of the incredible women who have stepped into my life when I didn’t know where to turn, the truth of that statement has never proven more true. Their talents are as big as their hearts and each of you have made my vision and my words take flight.
Monica Haynes of The Thatchery, your cover designs are more beautiful than anything I could ever have imagined. The covers alone have beckoned readers that might never have given my story a second look.
Colleen Sheehan at WDR Design, your humor is infectious and the emails we’ve shared have provided many moments of LMAO! Your graphics have given the interiors of my books the feel needed to artfully reflect the stories.
Tammi Labrecque with Larks and Katydids, your editing skills are kind, thoughtful and write on! You have elevated my words to a much higher level, (dare I say it?) to rival the beauty of the lark song.
To each of you, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
And finally, once again, to the one man, the alchemist, who has turned my dreams into reality. My Duke, you have always made me feel like your Duchess. I love you with all that I am or ever will be.
Susan
9/17/17
Aris – AIR/iss
Cleito – klee/ATE/o
Daria Caiden – DAR/ee/uh KY/den
Ennael – uh/NEEL
Eumelus – Yoo/mue/les
Kai-Dan – KY/dan
Kalli-Kan – KAL/ee/dan
Kyla – Ky/la
Marik – MAIR/ik
Na-Kai eva Evenor – na/KY ee/va ev/uh/nor
Ni-Cio evaw Azaes – NEE/shee/o ee/va UH/zays
Oia – EE/ya
Oomi – OO/me
Peltor – PEL/tor
Poseidon – PO/sy/den
Rogert – RO/jer
Travlor – TRAV/lor
Ylno – IL/no
Tides of Change, Book One of The Atlantis Chronicles trilogy, takes place beneath the Aegean Sea where a band of one thousand Atlanteans survived the cataclysmic wrath unleashed by Poseidon thousands of years ago. Through the ages, remarkable evolutionary gifts have appeared in the offspring of the original colony and in present day, the small community thrives in their hidden underwater sanctuary.
Na-Kai, Atlantis’s Most Sovereign Healer, has kept her people in health and by doing so, extends their lifespans to the specific age of four hundred and eight. At that special moment, the Atlanteans do not taste physical death, but their bodies begin to give way to the spirit, until, in the blink of an eye, they transcend to the other side of life.
To her disappointment, Na-Kai has found no one in Atlantis who exhibits the healing gift necessary to inherit her position. If another healer is not named before Na-Kai transcends, her people will face another extinction event. With no other choice, she unleashes a terrible thought-form; a powerful telekinetic energy the use of which was forbidden by the ancients. Na-Kai’s thought-form rises to the Greek island of Santorini and traps a “topsider.”
Daria Caiden, against her will, is forced from the jagged cliffs into the depths of the Aegean Sea. As she releases her last breath she is rescued by an Atlantean. Bringing her safely to Atlantis, Ni-Cio is horrified to learn that an emergency council meeting has voted unanimously to eject the topsider at depth, ensuring her death and their continued anonymity. As the angry mob gathers, Na-Kai intervenes revealing the true reason Daria was brought to Atlantis. Daria is the only person who has the gifts that will enable her to become Atlantis’s Most Sovereign Healer.
Accepted as one of their own, Daria, taught by Na-Kai, awakens her healing powers. Finding her place in Atlantis, Daria is irresistibly drawn to Ni-Cio. Both topsider and Atlantean fall in love and take each other as lifemates.
When Daria meets the reclusive and mysterious Travlor, he gives her a deadly potion supposedly designed to help her acclimate to the strange Atlantean food. With each surreptitious sip, Daria ingests a poison meant to kill her as it is absorbed into her system.
Daria and Na-Kai are thrust into a critical healing session when a mortally wounded Atlantean is brought to them. Weakened by the poison she has ingested, Daria falls into a coma as the healing nears its conclusion. Na-Kai orders Daria taken to her quarters. Depleting her own precious reserves of energy, Na-Kai finishes the healing. Once the Atlantean is out of danger, she asks to be carried to Daria’s side.
Severely weakened, Na-Kai sacrifices her life in order to heal Daria. In their last exchange, Na-Kai teaches Daria everything she must know in order to become a Most Sovereign Healer. She also reveals that Travlor has been imprisoned in Atlantis for many years and is responsible for her poisoning.
As Na-Kai transcends, Daria is too weak to keep Travlor in Atlantis.
Fleeing to Santorini with the aid of his son, Evan Gaddes, Tr
avlor is determined to wreak vengeance. His aims are to destroy Atlantis, but his ultimate goal is world domination. Repulsed by his father’s maniacal schemes, Evan undergoes a change of heart and decides to help the Atlanteans.
In the horrific aftermath of Travlor’s invasion, Ni-Cio realizes that Travlor has kidnaped Daria and again disappeared. Poisonous gas, released by Travlor’s mercenaries, causes the immediate evacuation of the remaining Atlanteans. Ni-Cio and Evan lead the small band of survivors to Travlor’s abandoned compound. There, they must teach the Atlanteans how to survive in the strange topside world, locate Travlor’s whereabouts so that they can initiate Daria’s rescue, rebuild Atlantis and avoid another Travlor-inspired war in which the entire planet could be annihilated.
And so begins Currents of Will, Book Two of The Atlantis Chronicles
I
As children of Poseidon you are granted the paradise that is Atlantis
In the purity of your actions will it remain thus
II
The healing power descends through my lineage
Live that you flourish
Attend not and you will surely weaken
III
No matter the form
All life is held sacred
IV
Whether in the heavens or the earth
We are bound by the same essence that creates life
Hurt another and you ultimately hurt yourself
V
Behold the miracle that is You
Cherish this offering
VI
The sacrament of love is inviolate
Written in the heavens before your time
Heart, mind and soul will bring you into awareness of your life mate
Act not until they speak as one
VII
Love is manifested within the smallest detail
Living thus will your life be enriched
VIII
Let your essence be filled with the joy of life
And spread that joy to those you touch
Breathe in, breathe out. He could not talk; his heart still beat and blood still pulsed through his veins, but the words would not come. With each contraction, a band of grief constricted around his heart, strangling it, so that Evan didn’t think it could expand again, and yet it did. Heartbeat, eye blink. Still, no words.
With practiced skill, Kyla piloted the craft through the turbulent water. Behind her, Evan watched her movements. They had not spoken since their evacuation of Atlantis, but he felt the breaking of her heart as if it were his own.
Kyla set course for his deserted compound, then navigated the biosphere with mechanical detachment. Her normally fluid motions were too quiet, too contained. She moved as though the weight of the dead, like remora, had attached themselves to her limbs and might never leave.
Evan reached to stroke her hair, then hesitated. He had no right; her life had been shattered because of his father. And though he had tried to thwart Travlor’s invasion, he had been stunningly unsuccessful by every standard. He dropped his hand and, worried about her physical wellbeing, spoke instead. “Kyla, when we are clear of this vessel, grab handfuls of sand and scrub it over yourself and your bioskin as hard as you can. It will help neutralize the gas.”
A slight tilt of her head was the only acknowledgment he received. At last she spoke, but her voice was thick. She cleared her throat. “Evan, are you all right? You must have inhaled some of the gas. Do you feel any effects?”
He didn’t answer. The ocean floor had risen to meet them and he braced himself as the craft decelerated. In the shallows, Kyla halted the biosphere and Evan clambered out as soon as the hatch dematerialized.
He gasped from the sudden blast of frigid saltwater. An incoming surge washed over his chest while he helped Kyla out of the craft, and though he tried to shield her body from the worst waves, she was already soaked. He ducked underwater, grabbing handfuls of sand. He scoured her back and shoulders with the abrasive grains, then gave her a nudge, prompting her to move. “Do this all over your body, and keep scrubbing until I tell you to quit!”
Kyla followed Evan’s lead and scrubbed her body with the sand. “What about you?”
Evan did not break rhythm. “Ni-Cio reacted so quickly that I’ll be all right, but I don’t want you to take any chances.”
During their ascent Evan had searched his memories for anything he knew about nerve gas. Although he wasn’t sure what agent had been released, he knew that copious amounts of soap, water, and vigorous scrubbing helped neutralize most poisons. He continued to scour Kyla’s back, hoping the saltwater and sand would stave off any immediate effects. He needed to get everyone to the compound as soon as possible; the ominous skies threatened storms and it would be dark soon.
“Kyla, I think the saltwater will be enough to neutralize the outsides of the biospheres, but your people don’t have much time. As soon as they start surfacing, get them out of the vehicles and out of their bioskins. Show them how to scrub each other down.”
He stopped and looked at her. Sadness and fear dulled her beautiful topaz eyes. More than anything he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until her grief subsided and she was able to smile again. Instead, he blinked hard and raised his voice over the sounds of the surf. “The saltwater and sand should be enough for initial decontamination, but I have to go to the compound for extra clothes. Once the bioskins are off don’t let anyone touch them. Use a stick to put them into a pile, then wait for me!”
He turned to leave, but couldn’t help himself. He cupped her beloved face in both of his hands and kissed her full lips. He tasted salt and tears and longing, and was astonished to feel her arms wrap tightly around his shoulders. Kyla clung to him and her body trembled—whether from shock or cold or grief, he didn’t know, but it took every ounce of his willpower to pull away. Evan held her quivering chin and used his other hand to brush the wet hair from her eyes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Kyla nodded and dropped her gaze. Though Evan would have given his heart to stay, he turned and grabbed the biosphere, then slogged through the surf and carried the craft onto the beach beyond the high water mark. Once he had secured the biosphere, he allowed himself a backward glance.
Kyla stood alone, watching him from shore break. He couldn’t leave her, but when he started back, Kyla’s thoughts poured into him. “Go, Evan … Please, we must help the others … I will wait here for you . . .”
Evan turned and sprinted up the rocky, cliffside trail.
At the summit, he stopped and sucked in a few lungfuls of sea-tinged air, then raced toward the compound in an all-out run. He leapt over the withered branches of the defunct vineyard and slid down the hillside until he pounded into the courtyard in a cloud of dry, red dust.
Rounding a corner, he flew past the kitchens, where he sighted the sagging, faded red truck that had been used to ferry supplies. He skidded to a halt beside the vehicle and yanked the door open. He jumped into the cab and, fumbling blindly, heaved a sigh of relief to find the key still in the ignition. The starter ground and he pumped the accelerator, praying that the old relic still had some kick. But the truck was stubborn and tired. A string of curses gathered force, but Evan refrained and tried yet again to cajole the vehicle to life, rubbing the dashboard and pleading. He ground the reluctant starter once more and it faltered. Cursing, Evan cranked the key again. The truck hesitated, belched blue smoke, and rattled to life.
Rusty gears protested when he rammed it into reverse, but Evan backed the truck into the lifeless courtyard without another problem. He swerved toward a set of cabins, jumped out of the cab and was through the door of the closest cabin before the old vehicle jittered to a stop.
Searching the empty room, he found exactly what he had suspected: two army-issued duffels lay abandoned in a corner. He crossed the cabin’s squ
ealing floorboards and hoisted the bags over to the beds, then upended the contents onto the lowest bunk. Seizing all of the clothes, he crammed them back into one of the duffels, slung both bags over his shoulder, and bolted from the room. He repeated the process until he had ransacked all the cabins and commandeered every article of clothing.
At last, he rested against the side of the antiquated clunker and pulled massive amounts of air into his lungs as he surveyed the mountain of duffels he had launched into the truck bed.
Ragged gusts of frigid wind whipped through the compound and Evan eyed the black clouds roiling overhead. Their bloated underbellies warned of the ominous birth of a monster storm. He had to move.
With one final glance at the skies, he vaulted into the cab and slammed the truck into gear. He urged it forward, alternating between vitriolic threats of destruction and promises of resurrection, and the old jalopy bounced its way through the vineyard. It wheezed to a stop at the edge of the cliff and Evan pushed the door open, jumped out, and ran around to the back of the truck. Without breaking stride, he grabbed an armful of bags, reached the edge of the cliff, and hurled them over the side. His thoughts roared through Kyla. “Grab the closest bag and get out of that bioskin!”
Drenched in an icy prelude of the approaching storm, Kyla shivered. Her life had turned surreal and Evan felt like her last link to reality. His strong arms tightened protectively around her and she could tell that he did his best to shield her from the stinging nettles of ocean spray.
They stood, arms around each other, long after Evan returned with the supplies. The wind had whipped the surf into a frenzy and they struggled to remain upright. Evan urged her to go ashore, but Kyla refused. She had a terrible feeling that if she did, she would never again see any of her family or friends. She would be the last and only survivor of the horrific holocaust that had been visited upon her people. That, she would not be able stand. So, she remained. The surf battered her as she desperately scrutinized the horizon for any indication that someone—anyone—from Atlantis had followed them topside.
“I’m so sorry, Kyla … I couldn’t stop him . . .” Evan’s thoughts were heavy with remorse as his words faded away, echoing a lifetime of unshed tears.
Currents of Will: Book Two of The Atlantis Chronicles Page 1
