The Broken Sun

by Darrell Pitt

  Yellow light bathed the cavern. The source of illumination for the whole city came from mustard-coloured paint on the cave roof. Here and there it had peeled, but it still lit up the city as if it were midday. Where the cavern walls met the ceiling were stone heads with black eyes and round mouths.

  No breeze moved the branches on the trees. No water flowed in the aqueducts that ran the length of the metropolis. No people trod the avenues. New Atlantis was completely deserted.

  Jack’s eyes strayed to the glass ball at the top of the spire. It was slowly changing colour, from blue to red and back to blue.

  Was it powered by electricity? Had the ancient Atlanteans found a way to harness that dangerous form of energy?

  ‘Jack,’ Scarlet said. ‘Where are all the people?’

  ‘I don’t know. It looks like no-one’s lived here for years. Maybe centuries.’

  A stone altar lay below them, and half-a-dozen steps leading into the city. Blimey, Jack thought. We’re in some kind of temple.

  At their backs, a huge mural of blue and white stars had been painted on the wall. An immense stone statue stood at each side of the temple, the figures clad in a loose uniform and wearing helmets, shielding their faces.

  Jack and Scarlet examined the altar. A dry brown stain, centuries old, painted the stonework.

  ‘Is it—’ Jack began.

  ‘Blood.’ Scarlet confirmed. ‘And lots of it. It’s horrible, but I think there were sacrifices made here.’

  ‘What sort of sacrifices?’

  ‘Human sacrifices,’ someone said from behind, making Jack and Scarlet jump. ‘And many of them.’

  The voice came from a small dark man, wearing a cotton smock, standing on a ledge. ‘The Old Ones turned to human sacrifice in the end,’ he continued, ‘and it destroyed them.’

  ‘You stole the Broken Sun!’ Jack cried. ‘You tried to murder Gloria and Professor Clarke!’ He took a step forward, but the stranger pointed a gun, a weapon that looked out of place in the ancient city.

  ‘That was my brother, Andana,’ he said. ‘And I regret the harm that he caused.’

  ‘Then who are you?’ Scarlet demanded.

  ‘My name is Etruba,’ he said. ‘I am the last of the Atlanteans. My people came here after our city was destroyed ten thousand years ago. We were welcomed as gods by the native people who lived on this island. They helped us build New Atlantis. But we needed more than their help.

  ‘Our gods demanded sacrifices. First we began with the local people. Then we turned to our own. Eventually our beliefs drove us to extinction. Soon there remained only my brother and myself. And now, finally, only me.’

  ‘So your blood rituals destroyed you,’ Scarlet said, giving Jack a quick look that said, I’m playing for time.

  ‘Why are you still protecting this place?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I am awaiting the return of our gods,’ Etruba said. ‘That time is drawing near.’

  Jack looked up at the mural. ‘Are they some kind of sky god?’

  ‘Their names are Tsala and Kaleela. They visited us when we were but a simple people, a savage warrior race like those around us. Then they came from the sky and entrusted us with powerful secrets of science. When Tsala and Kaleela left, we continued to develop their sacred technologies, but our ambition outweighed our wisdom. We tried to open a portal into other dimensions, but only succeeded in destroying Atlantis in a single day.’

  ‘But surely you could have just moved to another place and started over,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘Yes, but my ancestors were already feared and hated by the other ancient peoples. Many of those other races banded together to wipe us out, so we fled across the seas until, eventually, we hid here and built this new city.’

  ‘But you’re still serving these gods,’ Scarlet said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Tsala and Kaleela are soon to return.’ Etruba nodded towards the city. ‘The mighty spire has begun to glow. It is said that when it shines brighter than the sun, the gods will return.’

  As Jack glanced back towards the heart of the city, the ball still slowly changing colour, a gunshot split the air.

  A tall man, flanked by two armed guards, had stepped through the mural entrance. He had a face as hard as granite and a large, misshapen nose.

  ‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ he called. ‘I am George Darrow and I must thank you all. I never would have found New Atlantis without your assistance.’

  George Darrow! The man who visited Clarice’s grandfather.

  But how does he fit into this mystery?

  Etruba stared at the newcomers with hatred. The guards both had their guns trained on him. ‘The secrets of Atlantis must not leave the city,’ Etruba said. ‘That is blasphemy!’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t honour your ancient religion,’ Darrow smirked. ‘I have my own plans and Atlantean technology will enable me to complete them. Now’—he nodded at the gun in Etruba’s hand—‘I suggest you lower your weapon.’

  ‘I had hoped there would be no more need for bloodshed.’ The Atlantean seemed to be speaking to himself. ‘My brother Andana wanted Professor Clarke and the others killed, but I said that too much blood had been spilled over the centuries.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid!’ Darrow snapped. ‘Lower your gun!’

  ‘It is better that Atlantis fall than be handed over to people like you.’

  A weapon fired. Jack dragged Scarlet away from the altar. ‘Run!’ he yelled.

  He felt the sting of rock shards as a bullet rebounded off the altar. Scarlet screamed. Jack urged her down the temple steps towards the nearest building. They scrambled around the corner as another bullet ricocheted off the stonework.

  ‘I advise you to return.’ Darrow’s voice followed them. ‘I will make you suffer if you make me look for you.’

  Jack steered Scarlet through a nearby doorway. Inside was a living room, its ceiling covered in the same paint as the cavern roof. The table in the centre was stone, but the surrounding chairs were made from some kind of glass.

  A quick search revealed no weapon. There was little here in the way of personal possessions. They tore into another room: a bedroom almost as sparse, except for a doll on the bed. A hairbrush made of the same glassy material lay on a stone dressing table. It looked like the owner could return at any moment: it was hard to believe they had been dead for years.

  Scarlet urged Jack on, and they scuttled through to a kitchen made up of a strange combination of ancient and modern features. A stone benchtop. Metal cabinets. Saucepans and pots and a glass cooktop.

  ‘The window,’ Jack said, pointing.

  They climbed through to a small back garden, overgrown with unfamiliar plants and surrounded by a bronze wall. Seeing the vegetation reminded Jack why they had come here in the first place. The Sleeping Death. Phoebe had described it as having a purple thorn and ivory leaves. But nothing here fit that description.

  Another shot rang out.

  ‘That sounded close,’ Jack said.

  ‘We need to get out.’

  ‘We need to find the
plant first. Then we’ll find a way out.’

  ‘I don’t look forward to going back up those stairs again.’

  ‘There’s got to be more than one way out of the city,’ Jack said. ‘We just need to find it.’

  They scrambled over another wall, dropping into a back lane. Their footsteps on the cobblestone streets sounded like a stampede. Zigzagging across several city blocks, they arrived at an outer wall.

  ‘Jack,’ Scarlet said quietly. ‘Look at that.’

  She pointed to a crumpled piece of machinery in the bushes. At first Jack thought it was a sculpture: a strange contraption of metal and bone. Then he looked more closely and realised it was a mechanical frame attached to a skeleton. It had once been a dog. The metal cap now sat loosely on its skull. The outside was smooth, but jagged needles poked from underneath into where the brain would have been. The remainder of the structure was some sort of exoskeleton, a complicated network of gears, pistons and cogs.

  ‘What on earth?’

  ‘It’s what Darrow was talking about,’ Scarlet said. ‘It’s a Living Machine.’

  ‘But isn’t it a dog?’

  ‘It was, but not anymore. The skull cap must form some sort of interface between the machine and the animal.’

  ‘So this is what Darrow is after. But why?’

  ‘You saw those machine men outside. He must be trying to perfect the process with Atlantean technology.’

  ‘But that’s crazy.’

  ‘To us, but not to him.’ She looked past Jack. ‘Is that a doorway?’

  It was a dark crevice in the rock face, nestled behind some orange-leafed trees. Jack and Scarlet raced down the lane.

  A figure appeared from around a corner.

  Etruba.

  He leaned unsteadily against a wall, the gun still in his hand, a patch of blood staining his shirt.

  ‘You should put down that gun,’ Jack said. ‘You’re injured and—’

  ‘I am the last of my people,’ Etruba said. ‘When I am gone, no-one will remain to safeguard the secrets of the city. Tsala will be angry if he returns to find his people gone and their secrets shared.’

  Jack thought it sounded awfully ominous. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It will be safer for our world if he does not return.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Scarlet asked.

  ‘What must be done.’ Etruba nodded to the exit. ‘Go. That way leads out.’

  Jack didn’t want to leave him to die alone. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Go!’

  They didn’t need to be told twice. They ran. Passing an intersection, a shot rang out, a bullet ricocheting off a nearby wall. One of Darrow’s men was behind. Scarlet dragged Jack into a side alley and they kept running, weaving across city blocks.

  Jack was disoriented. ‘Where—’

  ‘This way.’

  Scarlet led him through a house and out the other side. They were close to the cavern wall now where a long pathway stretched in both directions. Trees shrouded an exit. They pushed through the undergrowth and eased the door open to a set of stairs.

  Turning back to look once more at New Atlantis, Jack felt a pang of sadness. This great city had been lost for so long. To leave it now…

  No!

  ‘I completely forgot!’ Jack said. ‘The plant!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Sleeping Death! We need it to save Gloria and Professor Clarke!’

  The ground began to shake. It felt like an earthquake, but it did not subside. Jack’s eyes searched the cavern until he spotted Etruba at a temple on the far side. The small man stood in front of a mosaic of a winged chariot, his hands pressed onto one of the hubs.

  ‘He must be activating some sort of machine,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘To do what?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. It’s not to play music.’

  A distant roar shook the cavern, growing louder with each passing second. Water shot from the stone heads set high on the walls, the streams crashing into the city like high-power fire hoses, annihilating thousands of years of civilisation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ‘I need to go back,’ Jack said. ‘You go up the tunnel and find the others.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ Scarlet said. ‘I’m a woman. Not a potted vase.’

  They charged back into the streets. The water was now rising dangerously. Thousands of gallons were pouring in every second. New Atlantis would be swamped within minutes.

  ‘Do you remember seeing an ivory-coloured plant?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Scarlet said. ‘Was it growing at one of the city squares?’

  At the end of the alley they spotted a fountain.

  ‘There!’ she yelled. The noise in the cavern was louder than ever. ‘Let’s try that one!’

  Jack cautiously stepped around the cascade of spraying water as they searched the plants at the base of the fountain.

  An ivory-coloured plant, Jack thought. With thorns. An ivory plant with thorns.

  ‘There’s nothing here,’ he yelled.

  ‘There’s another square!’ Scarlet pointed.

  They raced to the next fountain. It was like running along the beach at low tide, the water pulling at their ankles. Crossing an intersection, they spotted one of Darrow’s men, who shot at them. Scarlet dragged Jack into an open doorway and through the house to another back lane.

  After more zigzagging, they reached the city square. By now the water was up to their knees, making every step a struggle. Scarlet’s arm shot out.

  ‘There! At the base of the statue.’

  They were lucky. A few more minutes and the plant would have been underwater. Its stalks were long and thin, covered in purple thorns. The same used to poison Professor Clarke and Gloria. Jack was no judge of plants, but right now it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  He grabbed handfuls of leaves and stuffed them down his shirt.

  ‘Come on!’ he yelled.

  As they took off towards the exit, the lighting system failed, and for one horrible instant, Jack thought they would forever remain in this underground tomb, swallowed by darkness and drowned by rising waters. Then the ceiling flickered back to life.

  The water was at their waists as they climbed steps to the crevice in the rock, heading back towards the passageway.

  Craaack!

  A section of the roof—as large as an elephant—fell, crashing into the city. The light flickered alarmingly, this time only returning to half-power.

  Jack looked back to where Etruba had started the self-destruct sequence. The small man lay motionless at the foot of the mural as the water rose around his face and he disappeared under the rising tide.

  The chamber shook again, a massive crack forming across the centre of the ceiling.

  ‘Come on,’ Scarlet said, grabbing Jack’s hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  She dragged him up the stairs. The earth shook v
iolently. What if the tunnel ahead was already collapsed?

  Jack gripped the compass in his pocket.

  ‘Almost there,’ he said, as much to Scarlet as himself. ‘Only a few more feet.’

  The lights brightened once more then failed, drowning them in darkness. Jack crashed into Scarlet.

  We’ve still got matches, Jack thought. We can use them for light. But what if there’s no way out at the top? What if Etruba was lying?

  Scarlet nudged him. ‘I can see light,’ she said. ‘Over there.’

  They scrambled up the remaining stairs into a small cave, strangely quiet despite the chaos below. Vines and plants shrouded the entrance. Jack and Scarlet tore a hole in the foliage and pushed through into the outside world, fresh air against their faces.

  Jack cried out in relief. Bright daylight streamed through the canopy. The smell of the jungle was intoxicating after so many hours underground. Jack felt dizzy with elation as he hugged Scarlet. They were safe.

  ‘Jack,’ Scarlet murmured.

  ‘Yes?’ He drew back from her.

  She was looking past him, her face filled with horror. Jack turned to see armed guards with guns trained on them, the two machine men behind. George Darrow stepped from the shadows.

  ‘Good,’ he said, smirking. ‘Some new specimens for my experiment.’

  Jack and Scarlet were bound and helpless on the ground in minutes. Jack stared up at the machine men. Then he saw dried blood on their arms.

  ‘Where’s Mr Doyle?’ Jack demanded. ‘What have you—’

  One of Darrow’s henchmen cuffed him across the face and placed a sack over his head. A punch to the stomach then drove the air from his lungs. Desperately trying to breathe, Jack felt metal hands lift him as he was thrown unceremoniously over a machine man’s shoulder.

  He blacked out. When he next woke, he felt blood on his face and in his eyes. The sack had been pulled off his head. He saw a floor, metal bars and a timber ceiling.