by David Wood
“I don’t want that.” Albator held up his hands and took a step backward.
“What you want no longer matters.” Paisden delivered the words like a slap to the face. “By this time tomorrow there will be no temple.”
“We should fight them.” Albator looked around as if searching for a weapon. “There are more of us than there are of them.”
“Impossible. You know we have nothing with which to fight. For years, under the guise of needing resources in other parts of the empire, the lords have gradually stripped us of our weapons and energy sources. By the time we realized what was happening, we had but one machine and nothing with which to power it.”
Paisden winced. The memory of his own naiveté stung. He remembered the pleas for help from their sister cities—pleas to which he was helpless to respond. Disasters, none of them natural, befell the cities, until only Paisden and his followers remained. He sent envoys to the lords, but none returned.
And then, yesterday, a single messenger, so weak from hunger and exhaustion that he could scarcely walk, staggered into the temple and uttered three words.
“They are coming.”
Paisden sprang into action, ordering everyone to flee inland, taking only what they could carry on their backs, for he knew the weapon the lords would use against them, and he was powerless to stop it. When the messenger recovered sufficient strength, he told Paisden that the lords were, perhaps, a day behind him. And thus, did Paisden finally know the number of his days.
“There is nothing more you can do. Our people will need leadership, and you are their strongest remaining link to the temple. You and the other acolytes must close the door and then go, before it is too late.”
“I’m not a stronger link than you.” The flash of puzzlement in Albator’s eyes dissolved in understanding. “You mean to remain here.”
“I do. I am sworn to this temple. If fate wishes me to live, it will be so.”
“You can’t.” A tear trickled down Albator’s cheek. “Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”
“No.” Paisden embraced the young man who was the closest thing to a son he would ever have. He kissed Albator once on each cheek, tasted the salty tears and perspiration, and then, gently, pushed him toward the door.
Albator stole a single glance over his shoulder as he stepped out into the sunlight. Moments later, he and the others began piling up stones at the temple door. Soon, it would be dark and Paisden would be alone.
Paisden took one last look around the place he had called home since his youth. Though wrought by human hands, the temple was perfect. Every stone fitted together seamlessly, every line was perfectly straight, just as Paisden’s people had taught them. He took one last look at the sun, breathed deeply of the tangy salt air, and then went about his business.
He spared not a glance at the statue that dominated the room, but trailed his hand across the cool, smooth surface of the altar rail as he headed deeper into the temple. In the adyton, he clambered up into the steep shaft that led to his hidden quarters. Despite his years, he still had little trouble making the climb. With his demise looming, he savored every breath, every sensation. The rock shaft seemed alive beneath his hands, each trickle of sweat a living thing dancing along his flesh.
At long last, he crawled into his cell. It was a tiny, dark room, but he found comfort in the close quarters. He wanted to sleep, but he had set himself a task worthy of his final years, and he would see it completed. He lit a taper, plugged the tiny doorway with a stone block, and gathered the tools he would need.
He forsook the hammer, chisel, and stone tablets. There was too little time. Instead, he filled several wooden frames with dry clay, added water, stirred, and then smoothed them. His tablets ready, he found a sharp wooden stylus, settled onto his pallet, and began to write the story of his people.
Chapter 1
Sofia Perez mopped her brow and looked out across the sunbaked flats of the Marisma de Hinojos. Heat rose in waves from the parched earth, shimmering in the summer sun. Sunburned workers chipped away at the baked mud, excavating the canals that ringed the site. The scrape of digging tools on hard earth, and snatches of conversation, drifted across the arid landscape. It was hard to believe the transformation this drought-ridden salt marsh outside of Cadiz, Spain had undergone since early spring. Considering the level of funding their primary donor provided, progress was not just expected, but demanded.
“It’s hot as Satan’s butt crack out here.” Patrick fanned himself with his straw pith helmet. His fair skin was not holding up well under the Spanish sun. In fact, his entire body glowed almost as red as his hair beneath a thick layer of sunscreen. “I don’t know how you handle it.”
“I’m from Miami. This is nothing.” That wasn’t entirely true. She kept going to her backpack for the can of spray-on sunblock to protect her olive skin. She hated sunburns—the itching, the way her clothing rubbed raw in all the wrong places. It was something she avoided at all costs. She noticed the way the corners of Patrick’s mouth twitched and raised an eyebrow. “So, are you going to stand there trying not to smile, or are you going to tell me what’s up?”
“You’re needed in my section.” He stopped fanning. “We think we’ve found the entrance to the temple.”
Now it was her turn to keep her emotions in check.
“No vendas la piel del oso antes de cazarlo,” she said under her breath.
“What’s that?”
“Something my abuela used to say. It means, Don’t sell the bearskin before you hunt it.” She permitted herself a sad smile at the memory. Her grandmother had been so proud when she’d graduated from college, but wasn’t impressed by her choice of Archaeology as a vocation. She’d been hoping for an attorney in the family.
“It’s more colorful than, Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, I’ll grant you that. Now, are you coming?”
They navigated the busy work site, waving to workers who called out greetings to them. Spirits were high. This had been a controversial undertaking from the start, and everyone feared it might end up a black mark on their résumés. Sofia had more hope than confidence, but the money was too good to pass up. Since then, her results continued to vindicate her. The circles originally spotted in satellite imagery and scoffed at by almost everyone had proven, upon excavation, to be ringed canals. And at the center…
“The Temple of Poseidon.” Patrick’s beatific smile made him look ten years younger. “I can’t believe we’ve really found it. It’s almost like a dream.”
Sofia tried to ignore the flutter in her chest at his words. “You’re a scientist, Patrick. Be professional.”
“Even if it’s not what we think, it’s still a spectacular find. The architecture is classic, the golden ratio is everywhere. We uncovered a shaft that runs down into the temple at precisely the same angle as one of the shafts in the Queen’s Chamber of the Great Pyramid, except it’s much bigger. A few inches wider and I’d have climbed down there myself. It’s a great find, Sofia. We’re going to be in the history books.”
“We can’t draw any conclusions until we get inside and see what, exactly, we’re dealing with. It would be pretty embarrassing if we told the world we’ve found the legendary temple at the heart of Atlantis and it turns out to be a grain storage building.”
“I’ll bet you a romantic, candlelight dinner that it’s not a grain storage building.”
Sofia laughed. “Even if I win that bet, I still lose. I’m only saying we need to be sure before we tell anyone outside the dig about this. It’s just common sense.”
Patrick’s eyes fell and he turned away.
Sofia stopped in her tracks, grabbed him by the shoulder, and yanked him around to face her. “Tell me you didn’t.” The look in his eyes was all the answer she needed.
“I only sent one text. I was supposed to report in if we found anything promising. You’ve got to admit, this,” he pointed to the peak of the temple roof where it rose out of the
earth, “is interesting.”
She couldn’t argue with him. The temple, for despite her professed reservations, it was clear that’s what it was, was remarkably well preserved. The carving on the pediment, the triangular upper portion of the temple facade, showed an angry Poseidon slamming his trident into the sea, sending ferocious waves in either direction. The supporting columns were massive pillars fluted with parallel, concave grooves. At their peaks, the capitals, the head pieces that flared out to support the horizontal beam beneath the pediment, were carved to resemble the scaled talons of a sea creature, giving the impression that the roof was in the clutches of a primordial beast. The sight of it sent chills down her spine.
“Who did you tell?”
“Mister Bishop. I mean, I told his assistant. That’s the only number I had. They’re staying somewhere nearby, so we can expect a visit.” His voice took on a pleading tone. “Come on, Sofia. They’re practically footing the entire bill for this dig. They’ve given us everything we could want. You think we could have written grants to find Atlantis in southern Spain and gotten anything but ridicule for our trouble?”
“I know.” She hated to admit it, but he was right. “It’s just weird that the Kingdom Church is paying us to find Atlantis. Noah’s Ark, I could see, but this? It’s weird.”
“I don’t care as long as the checks keep coming in. Now, how about you quit worrying and let’s get down there so they can open this door? You said not to open anything without you, and we took you at your word.”
“Good. I’m glad to know you can use common sense when you have to.”
Patrick mimed thrusting a dagger into his heart and then stepped aside so she could be first down to the dig site. A forty foot ladder descended into the pit where the excavation was ongoing. She climbed down, almost losing her footing once as she daydreamed about what they might find inside.
Several people stood around the entrance to the temple. They had cleared the entire front of the temple and back through the pronaos, the covered area that led back to the naos, the temple’s enclosed central structure, and now waited for her to give the word. She could almost feel their excitement as she mounted the steps and approached the doorway. This was the moment!
“The door is weird.” Patrick removed his helmet and scratched his head. “It’s not really a door at all. It’s more like a patch.”
She didn’t need to ask him to explain. The exposed portion of the naos was solid marble. The entryway, by contrast, was sealed with loose stones and mortar.
“Looks like they wanted to keep something out.” She ran her fingers over the rough stones. “Maybe they knew the flood was coming?”
“Or they wanted to keep something in.” Patrick made a frightened face, eliciting a giggle from a plump, female grad student.
Sofia brushed her hands on her shorts and stepped back. “Clear it out carefully. Try to keep it in one piece, if you can.”
The crew didn’t need to be told twice. Clearly, this was what they’d been eager to do since uncovering the entryway. They worked with an efficiency that made her proud. Sooner than she would have thought possible, they worked the plug free.
“Ladies first.” Patrick made a mocking bow and motioned for her to enter the temple.
Sofia paused on the ambulatory, crinkled her nose at the stale air wafting through the doorway, and tried to calm her pounding heart. Was she about to make one of the greatest archaeological finds of all time? Heart racing, she fumbled with her flashlight, turned it on, and directed the shaky beam inside.
The cella, the interior chamber, hadn’t gone unscathed in the disaster that befell the city. The floor was covered in a foot-deep layer of silt and all around were signs of leakage, but it could be worse. Much worse. This place had been closed up tight and must have been quickly covered by dirt and sand, at least, quick by geological standards, to have kept it in such pristine condition. Mother Earth had wrapped it in her protective blanket, protecting it against the ravages of time.
She played her light around the room, and what she saw took her breath away. Twin colonnades, the columns shaped like the twisting tentacles of a sea serpent, ran the length of the room, framing a magnificent sight.
“What do you see?” Patrick had hung back, like he knew he was supposed to, but his anxious tone indicated he wouldn’t wait much longer.
“Poseidon!” A twenty-foot tall statue of the Greek god stood atop a dais in the middle of the temple. Like the image on the pediment outside, this was an angry god, driving furious waves before him. Unlike so many modern interpretations, he was not a wise, grandfatherly figure, gray of hair and beard, but young and virile, with brown hair and long, sinewy muscles. Wait! Brown hair?
“You can still see some of the paint!” Through the use of ultraviolet light, researchers had determined that the Greeks had painted over their sculptures, sometimes in bright primary colors, other times in more subdued, natural tones. Thus, the classic marble statues seen in contemporary museums did not accurately reflect their appearance in ancient times. This sculpture appeared to have been done in the latter style. Besides the traces of brown in the hair, she could see hints of creamy skin, as well as flecks of silver on his trident. The waves beneath his feet were speckled with aqua and the crests streaked with white. Had leaks in the roof eroded the paint, or had the pigments faded over time? One of the many questions they would doubtless try to answer as they studied this fabulous place.
Her crew could wait no longer, and crowded in behind her, adding their own flashlight beams to the scant light hers provided.
“Whoa.” Patrick, focused on the Poseidon statue, stumbled on the soft, uneven dirt. “It’s just…” Words failed him, so he shook his head, continuing to gaze at the sculpture of the god of the sea.
“What’s the Stonehenge thing?” The grad student who had been so amused by Patrick indicated a circle of stone that ringed the statue. Though the stones were marble, and their lines sharp, the thick bases and circular arrangement did suggest Stonehenge in miniature.
“I guess it’s an altar.” Overwhelmed by the temple, Sofia found thinking a challenge.
“And there’s an obelisk where the heel stone should be.” Patrick rounded the statue, kicking up a cloud of dust as he went. “Hey, wait a minute.” He froze. “Sofia?”
“What is it?” She joined him on the far side of the statue and followed his line of sight. The back wall that divided the cella from the adyton, the area to which only priests were admitted, sloped away from them, and each layer of stone grew progressively smaller, giving the illusion of…
“A pyramid,” Patrick whispered.
“Why not? We’ve got an obelisk here. Perhaps Atlantis was, in some way, a cultural forerunner to both the Greeks and the Egyptians.” She wanted to kick herself for uttering such an unexamined theory. Such speculation was unscientific and unprofessional. She turned the beam of her flashlight into the adyton and almost dropped it.
The light gleamed on a contraption of silver metal supported on four stone pillars. It was a pyramid-shaped frame made of a metal that looked like titanium. Suspended beneath it was a metal bowl shaped like a satellite dish. The pyramid was capped by a grasping silver hand. Only the hieroglyphs running around the cap just below the hand looked like something from the ancient world. Otherwise, its appearance was thoroughly modern…
…and thoroughly alien.
Chapter 2
“What the hell is that thing?” Patrick’s words, whispered in a reverential tone, gave voice to Sofia’s own thoughts.
“Everybody stay out until I call for you.” She wanted to make a complete photographic record before anyone else entered the chamber. But more than that, she wanted to experience it by herself, to get the feel of the space and let her intuition speak to her. It was something she’d always done—her way of communing with the past.
She circled the odd contraption wondering just what in the world it was. She’d never seen its like in an ancient world sit
e, but here it was, inside a temple that had spent the last few millennia buried under twenty feet of silt. She took a few minutes to photograph the chamber before turning to a tiny doorway in the back wall. She ducked through and found herself in a small room that was, surprisingly, faintly lit by sunlight. She identified its source as a shaft high in the opposite wall above a stone shelf that might have been a priest’s bed. Moving closer, she looked up and saw a square of sky at the far end. This was the shaft her crew had uncovered. Patrick was right. It looked like a larger version of a pyramid’s air shaft.
“Sofia.” Patrick called, soft but urgent, from the cella. “Mister Bishop’s here and he’s brought armed men with him.”
“What?” She whirled around. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would they need to be armed?”
“I don’t know. A few of them are Guardia Civil, and others look like Americans.”
Just then, gunfire erupted somewhere outside, reverberating through the stone chamber like thunderclaps. A final scream pierced the air, cut off in an instant by a single shot.
“You’ve got to get out of here!” Patrick hurried up to her. “The shaft. I’ll give you a boost.”
Before she could argue, Patrick scooped her up and lifted her toward the opening. She struggled to find handholds in the smooth stone, but Patrick kept pushing. He was stronger than she’d imagined. A few more shots rang out just as Patrick got his hands under her feet and shoved her the rest of the way in.
“What about you?” She felt like a coward, fleeing this way.
“I’ll be fine. He likes me.” His words rang hollow. “You just climb as fast as you can. I’ll stall him.”
