by Steven Cook
âSo this could be Atlantis,â said Sarah speculatively.
âItâs certainly unusual. How can an island raise itself from the sea with trees and flowers on it? And how can it have been dry?â Gilling voiced some of the concerns that had been nagging him all afternoon.
âThis place is wrong, it shouldnât be here. I think we should get back on board ship.â stated Arian, the signs of panic appearing in his voice.
âCalm down,â said Gilling, his deep, confident voice silenced the others. âYou all know we canât leave until we figure a means of getting beyond the reef, and a good nights rest will make things seem better in the morning.â He looked at the Captain for confirmation.
âMr Gilling has it right. The morning is soon enough to see how things stand. All of you make the most of a good nights sleep.â
With that he stood and moved over to where Sarah had settled Sophia down. Wrapping a blanket around his shoulders he lay down next to his wife.
The crew sat silently for a while, the crackling of the fire and the leaping of the flames the only sight and sound as full darkness descended. As the flames slowly burnt down to glowing coals the Steward raked them together and threw a couple of large logs onto them to keep the fire going through the night.
Gilling stood and moved away from the fire. He checked Mr Richardson, noticed that he was sleeping, his breathing regular and deep. He knelt and had a quiet word with Mr Head.
âHow is he?â
âHeâs badly scalded but should be alright. He was not in the water too long.â Head was slowly packing away his equipment.
Gilling nodded then moved back to the fire. His eyes were becoming heavy after the exertions of the day.
âBoy, keep watch and wake me in four hours.â He waited for the German to reluctantly nod before moving off to find a level piece of sand to spread out his blanket.
One by one the rest of the crew moved away from the fire and selected places to sleep. Boy wrapped a rough blanket around his shoulders and walked slowly to a large rock that was taller than him. He sat down in the lee of the rock to keep the offshore wind from him and hugged his knees, resting his back against the surprisingly smooth rock.
He looked out into the bay where the ship was bobbing gently at anchor. All signs of the turbulence caused by the island appearing had disappeared, and the gentle surf breaking over the reef gave a gentle roar in counterpoint to the swishing as the waves disturbed the shingle.
His brother lay down nearby, smiled at him then closed his eyes. Boy watched as the crew settled down, wrapped blankets around themselves and dropped off to sleep.
Boy pondered the strange circumstances that they were in. How would people accept the strange tale of an island rising out of the sea in front of them? Were there riches to be found? Was there anybody living on the island? There certainly seemed to be an abundance of life, what with all the birds he had seen whilst collecting the firewood. He smiled to himself.
What had the Captainâs wife said? Atlantis? What if this was Atlantis? He knew little of the legends of Atlantis, but what he did centred on gold and riches beyond anybodies dreams. Slowly, the swishing of the ocean on the beach and the crackling of the fire lulled his senses and he quietly fell asleep, dreaming of fortune and glory.
*
The Island 28th November 1872
Captain Briggs walked through the field, his hands held to his sides, brushing the seed laden heads of the grass. Out of his sight slightly behind him he could hear Sarah and Sophia also pushing through.
Ahead of him he could see Arthur running in circles. Briggs smiled at his sonâs exuberance.
âDonât go too far Arthur,â he shouted after the child.
Arthur ignored his father and continued to run energetically in ever widening loops that took him further away from the more sedate pace of the Captain and the rest of the family.
âCome back Arthur,â he called again.
In the distance he could see a strange haze across the field. Arthurâs running was taking him closer and closer to the shimmer. Strangely the Captain didnât feel concerned.
He continued to walk forwards, now several hundred feet behind the small boy. The tops of the grass had started to obscure the view of the child. The haze came closer.
âArthur, where are you?â The Captain called.
There was no answer. Unconcerned he continued his stroll, the reassuring sounds of his wife and child followed him.
Finally he came upon the haze and saw that it was a barrier stretching across the field and reaching far into the sky. He looked around for Arthur. After a second he saw him. The boy was standing still on the other side of the barrier. There were tears in the boyâs eyes.
As the Captain looked on the boy started to age. The boy matured into a fine looking man before his eyes, then started into middle age. Without feeling any emotion he watched his son quickly wither and die.
He continued to watch as the body was reduced to a pile of bones.
âHeâs gone,â he said to himself. A hand touched his arm in sympathy.
âIt doesnât matter, heâs gone.â He shrugged off the arm.
The hand touched his arm with more force.
âHeâs gone.â He brushed the hand away. âLeave me be.â
âCaptain!â a rough hand shook him on his shoulder. âCaptain, wake up, the ship has gone.â
Captain Briggs jerked himself out of the dream into a sitting position and swung his head to look around. He was still on the beach. The remains of the fire were still issuing a hazy smoke into the still air. He used his arm to push Martens out of the way.
Instead of the horizon stretching as far as the eye could see a blue-green shimmering haze hovered several hundred yards beyond the limit of the bay.
Raising his eyes the Captain looked up into the sky to see that the haze extended up, over and beyond the beach and the immediate area.
He looked up at the strange sky and tried to focus on the strange motions beyond it. Blurring patterns seemed to swirl and dance at fantastic speeds.
Slowly he stood up and turned in a slow circle. Ending with his eyes looking into the bay where the ship had been anchored the night before. The ships boat was still securely lashed to the spike in the beach.
âSheâs gone.â
It was true. His ship had disappeared. The Mary Celeste was gone. He, his wife, daughter and crew were now marooned on a strange shore with no way of getting home.
*
Chapter Two â The Return
The Streets and Catacombs 3rd May
It was well after midnight as the small contingent of three hooded and cloaked figures moved stealthily through the dark streets of the city. The sky above was moonless and without clouds, it shed no light on their careful progress. The only light to aid their passage came from the weak lanterns suspended from ten-foot high poles located every fifty feet or so along the streets.
Secrecy was paramount, and they each wore heavy cloaks to conceal their identities from chance viewing by any late night pedestrians. They had also carefully wrapped any loose items to prevent them making any inadvertent noise.
Although the group were deep within the territory protected by their colleagues they were still treading carefully. Their mission was of such importance that additional resources were roaming openly ahead to divert anybody out on an early walk away from their path; they had no wish to advertise their presence to anyone.
If the identity of one of their number were discovered then all the months, even years of preparation and subterfuge would be in vain. The general population would be roused immediately, and bloody revenge would be taken, even though the three believed beyond doubt that they were acting on behalf of those citizens.
The small group came to the edge of one of the numerous plazas located within the city and
huddled in the darkest shadows at its perimeter. They chose a location midway between two of the regularly placed lanterns spaced around the edge. The dim lights picked out the shapes of the various trappings and stalls associated with the market that filled this plaza during the daylight hours.
âWait here,â hissed the one who was leading them. He slowly edged forward and scanned the open area and their next target from the shadows of an empty market stall. The other two shrank back deeper into the shadows and stayed perfectly still, effectively disappearing from sight.
Across the wide plaza were the footings of an unusual shaped bridge. Instead of spanning a single water course, the bridge had been engineered to span where a tributary joined the main branch and joined the three banks of the waterway running beneath.
The element they approached left the bank at an angle to cross the tributary, where it was joined by the span from the opposite bank. These two combined to stretch across the main course of the wide canal below.
Across each side of the longest bridge span a pair of stout tower fortifications provided security and protection for a small garrison, ensuring that individual sections of the city could be sealed off. A small commotion could be seen taking place at the nearest pair.
A detachment of ten guards was in the process of ending their eight hour shift to be replaced by another. The lead watcher smiled as the exchange was made. Although he was too far away to make out details, he knew that the new guards would let them pass without checking who all their identities were. They were slightly ahead of schedule.
As the previous guard detachment marched out of sight he looked back over his shoulder in search of the others. He finally spotted his crouching companions as one of them moved slightly, causing the shadow to shift. He waved them forward with a curt motion of his hand.
Abandoning caution he stood and strode directly through the stalls and across the plaza, sacrificing security for bold speed. The two followed, staying several yards behind him, heads turning, constantly scanning the area between the stalls and the periphery of the plaza. As most of the buildings in the plaza housed businesses there was little chance of being spotted. It also helped that the lighting surrounding the plaza didnât shed their dim light far into the open space. The gods had been kind to provide a moonless night.
The guide approached the guards, who had spotted the movement and were watching warily. He stopped a short distance from them, hoping the darkness would disguise his companions. He gestured for the detachments sergeant to approach him.
The non commissioned officer walked forwards cautiously, opening the shutter on his lantern and directing the beam at the guide.
âCover that light,â snapped the guide brusquely.
The sergeant hastily clicked the shutter back in place and stood to attention as he recognised the commanding voice.
âSergeant. Send your men into the towers. They are not to interfere with our passage. If I hear that they have seen anything there will be severe repercussions. Do you understand me?â
The sergeant looked uncomfortable. The implied threat hadnât gone unnoticed.
âYes Sir.â He saluted and quickly jogged back to his post and began issuing orders for his men to get out of sight. He then ran across the bridge to the matching forts at the far side to repeat the orders.
Satisfied, the guide waited for the guards closest to them to secure the gates to the towers before he moved forward, followed by the two others. They strode through the well lit area near the gate house then picked up the pace as they saw the sergeant join the guards inside the building at the far end of the bridge.
Once over the bridge they ducked back into the safety of the shadows and moved quickly down a short, wide street to the corner leading onto an even larger plaza, this time empty of stalls. Dominating the centre of the open area was a huge temple.
The majority of the building was hidden in the darkness but the side of the temple facing the trio was faced with massive, lifelike carvings. The flare of the burning oil torches at the foot of the carvings and the glint of precious metals gave the reliefs a semblance of life.
The guide sneered unconsciously as he looked at the statues. The founding fathers and mothers of the city had been so short-sighted. It was no wonder that people like his colleagues and he had to right the mistakes they had made.
They paused briefly and searched the shadows along the perimeter of the temple forecourt for almost a minute to ensure they werenât being watched. After detecting no movement they breathed deeply and strode directly towards the main doors of the Temple.
The guide reached the recessed doorway and motioned for the others to take cover in the deep shadows thrown by the ornate architecture. Raising his fist from under his cloak he thumped on the thick wood.
An echoing boom rolled through the temple, abruptly drawing the attention of a neophyte who was sitting dozing inside the door. He woke with a start and scrambled to his feet, tugging his arms from the warmth of his body and pushing them back out of the sleeves of his thick woollen white robe.
After rubbing his eyes he stepped to the door and opened a small hatch at his eye level. Looking out he saw the shadowed face of the hooded guide, who nodded at him.
The neophyte closed the hatch and started to man-handle the heavy beam keeping the door secured. He stifled a yawn as the well worn beam slowly slid easily back into the wall of the temple. Taking a secure grip he leant backwards and heaved on the thick door. Once the inertia was broken the door moved freely on surprisingly quiet hinges.
As soon as a thin crack appeared between the two halves of the portal the guide started pushing. After creating barely enough space he signalled to his hidden companions, and they slipped through sideways one after the other.
Quickly they joined the neophyte to stop the swing. Working quickly the door was pushed shut and a soft thud could be heard as the beam was slammed easily back into place by the largest of the cloaked figures.
The neophyte picked up his shrouded lantern and led the trio back into the darkness of the temple. The dim light barely gave enough illumination for them to see their feet, but the smooth cool flagstones gave even footing. The boy angled towards the huge statue that dominated the centre of the huge building. He resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder at them.
Upon reaching the statue the boy stood on tiptoes and reached carefully behind part of the scenery built into the plinth of the statue to pull a hidden lever. There was a muted click as a bolt was released. The boy pushed part of the plinth with one hand and part of the base rotated inwards and down silently on oiled hinges. He stood away from the base and averted his eyes.
The three figures swept past him in their concealing robes, lowering their heads to duck through the narrow opening. As the third, largest figure passed him the boy caught a thick, earthy stench emanating from beneath the heavy folds of cloth.
As the sounds of their footfalls faded away he turned to check he was alone. Quickly he pulled the opening closed and heard a click as the lever re-engaged. He coughed then breathed deeply to clear his lungs of the smell and prevent himself from gagging.
He remembered the instructions he had had drilled into him earlier that day and hurried into the dark, holding his oversize robes high to avoid tripping. He headed directly to the dormitory he shared with the other neophytes, ignoring the freedom to explore the temple as he would normally have done. The lantern bobbed and weaved like a drunk as the neophyte put as much distance between himself and the three strangers as quickly as possible.
Putting the neophyte from their minds the three figures moved carefully down the steep spiral rock staircase beneath the statue. Light from below was transmitted through veins of clear crystal running through the rock walls. It barely provided enough pulsing illumination to let them see the steps beneath them.
After descending over fifty deep steps into the bowels of the earth the stairway exited into a subterranean cavern.
The light was surprisingly bright and constant, illuminating a perfect dome of pale brown rock and a smooth, level floor. The clean white light emanated from a set of six pillars evenly spaced around the chamber.
The light pillars surrounded a square metallic dais standing nearly four feet up from the floor. The dais reflected the light in waves of orangey red. Casually surrounding the dais were twenty white robed priests and a tall man who stood head and shoulders over them.
His confident bearing betrayed the plain leather tunic and plain sandals he was wearing. His light brown hair was long and was pulled back from his strong intelligent face into the nape of his thick neck by a leather cord. He stood stock still with his well muscled arms crossed over his broad chest, legs braced. Attached to the wide belt at his waist was a scabbard containing a broad bladed short sword with a well worn hilt.
He patiently watched the three figures look warily around. The leader of the priests timidly shuffled up to him and looked up at the haughty face nearly two feet above him.
âMy Lord, are you certain you wish us to perform the ceremony? It should not be performed until another thirty-eight years have passed.â queried the priest.
âHigh Priest, it is time for us to resume our place. The time to permanently leave our exile is now. You will carry out your ceremony tonight.â The man didnât look at the man as he replied.
âI understand My Lord, but I alone can carry out the ceremony. There is no need for my colleagues to be here.â
âThis is an important day. All of the priesthood must be here to bear witness to the power of the gods.â The man speared the priest with a penetrating gaze.
âYes My Lord.â The priest lowered his head in deference and backed away to organise the other priests.
The man stood waiting as the three figures walked towards him and stopped a short distance away. He nodded in greeting at the guide then turned his gaze on the other two, his eyes narrowing as he did.
