by Collin Earl
Understandably, many of the cameramen and reporters seemed just as enthralled by the cheerleading “practice” as the male members of the student body. Predictably and more than once, Monson caught these gentlemen ogling the girls. There were just too many wealthy, beautiful girls at this school to avoid making an event of this. Again, thought Monson, leave it to the rich to make something bigger than it deserves.
The tryouts, the media, the cheerleading squad—all of it came as a great shock to Monson, who had never seen anything resembling this before. His astonishment reached a new level, however, when Taris and Indigo, both wearing cheerleading attire, seemed to compete for his attention after their practice.
“So what do you think?” Indigo asked him as she twirled in a circle, holding the skirt with the tips of her fingers. “I look good, don’t I?”
During the cheerleading performance, Monson had found himself thinking how good she did in fact look. It was just difficult to answer when Artorius was so obviously affected by her.
“Uhh…yes, I think you look rather nice.”
She beamed.
“Monson! There you are!”
All three of them turned in unison and spotted Taris Green.
“Where have you been, Grey? I’ve been looking for you.”
Monson gave her a confused look. Where had he been? He had been there the entire time.
“Taris, what—”
Taris cut him off. “And who is this?” She glared at Indigo.
Indigo gave her a very nasty sneer but did not answer.
“Anyway,” said Taris, continuing as if Indigo wasn’t even there, “Monson, what were you saying? Oh that’s right. You were telling me how good I look in my outfit.”
Indigo prevented Monson from answering. “He was telling you, or you were forcing him to do so?”
The conversation devolved from there. Finally Monson and Artorius were able to extricate themselves from the polite yet furious girls. Monson made a mental note to try to keep those two away from each other in the future.
*****
The hours flew by. Before Monson knew it, evening was upon them and the sun began to descend between two of the four mountains that made up Coren County. Sunlight broke through distant rain clouds, creating a colorful, shadowy show upon the ground.
Perched on one of the grass knolls surrounding the Yard and Battlegrounds, Monson looked around as the sky darkened. The tryout venue was a very different sight now that all the reporters were gone—and presumably now partying at one of the reception halls. Monson wasn’t sure why he himself was still lingering around the stands. He needed to leave; Casey and Artorius were probably waiting for him. But he was reluctant to do so. The breeze was slightly scented and refreshing, and while he had every reason to get up and leave, he had all the more reason to stay. It was quiet here.
Voices interrupted Monson’s musings. It sounded like an argument. Curious, Monson stood up and followed the sound. The voices were…musical, unlike any he had previously heard. They drew him to them. Unable to resist, he walked slowly away from his spot on the hill away from the lighted stands.
He stepped from the path, using the glint of the full moon through the foliage as guidance. A spot of light loomed on the path in front of him. The voices came from that spot.
“It is my place to act. You know this; it is the task that has been set before me,” said a female voice.
A gruff and cold reply, one that made Monson cringe, followed. “You are but a fragment, a whimsical sliver without greater purpose. I will not—”
A third voice echoed, distant yet firm, “We have no choice—you know that we have no choice. Such circumstance is unknown—the barrier is strong, but not strong enough.”
The gruff, cold voice became angry. “Then let us bear down upon this barrier, let us destroy it with our own hands so that all may become whole.”
The female voice interceded. “He is not ready, he would surely die—just like the last instance.”
“He is of the House of Grey! I shall not tolerate—”
Monson had had enough. Feeling compelled to do so, he rushed towards the voices, crashing through several yards of thick vegetation.
They are on the other side of this clearing, thought Monson, just on the other side of this….
He broke through into the clearing but the only thing he saw was trees and moonlight.
Chapter 16- Atlantis
After the season openers for football, volleyball and variety of other sports, life settled down again and students fell into a routine. By the time they noticed, a whole month had passed.
“Please study these pictures for a moment,” said Mr. Gatt on a cold Friday afternoon in mid-October. “What do you see?”
The class looked at the blackboard in concentration. A picture, similar to the one Mr. Gatt displayed the first day of class, sat in the center. A gorgeous painting depicting a male and female in the act of a romantic embrace became the focus of the class' attention. The setting was a ripe yet foreboding forest with the duo in the exact middle of the frame.
The man wore a torn, bloody shirt and although thin, an ample amount of muscle with rippling biceps and defined shoulders was visible through the shirt. His skin was a sickly looking dark grey and his eyes were a deep blood red. These eyes were finely detailed, and while the color threw the viewer off just a bit, you could see that they were soft and compassionate, maybe even humble. His disposition seemed passive, almost apprehensive, like he was unsure of the righteousness of the current embrace. Nevertheless, he held the woman close, cradling her like she was the one thing he held most dear. He loved her, of that Monson was certain. This man, or whatever he might be, loved this woman with all his heart.
Even with the detail of the grey-skinned man, the woman could not be forgotten. She was amazingly beautiful with long, silver-black hair and icy blue, proud eyes. The expression she wore seemed to reflect an emotional conflict, though the reason for this was a mystery. Why was she looking at him like that? What was she feeling?
The woman’s hand was touching his chest, skirting edges of deep lacerations on his upper torso. Their clothing was tattered, as if this meeting was accidental in the midst of a battle. Specks of fiery red, Monson thought it was blood, trickled down massive white wings that flared from the woman’s back like billowing clouds. Who were these people? Or better yet, what were they?
A girl two rows down from Monson raised her hand to answer. Mr. Gatt pointed at her and she gestured toward the left side of the painting.
“I don’t know about anyone else, but he looks like a goblin or something.”
Snickering rippled through the class as people pondered the statement. Mr. Gatt smiled.
“You are not completely off, Mindy. However, not exactly what I am looking for. Yes, Simon? ”
It was one of the twins that hung around with Mauller.
“Well, I don’t know about the goblin-looking thing, but the woman looks like an angel.”
“Well done Simon,” Mr. Gatt nodded in approval, “but why do you say that? Why do you think this woman looks like an angel?”
Confused, Simon answered, “The wings, of course; the woman has angel wings.”
“No, you misunderstand. How did you know that the woman with the angel wings is in fact an angel?”
Simon shook his head. “I don’t really know.”
“Exactly.”
If there was a punch line, Monson definitely missed it, as did most of the class. Mr. Gatt did not explain his statement but turned towards the rolling board and pushed it out of the way. Bending down, he reached for what looked a digital projector. He hooked it up to his MacBook as he started to speak again.
“This painting was discovered in an underground tunnel system on the outer reaches of Carthage in Northern Africa. The entrance remained hidden for almost two thousand years due to the shifting sands and winds of that region. The tunnel system, covering many miles, contains hundreds of Punic doc
uments. Can anyone elaborate on the significance of this?”
No one answered.
“Mr. Garrett, how about you?”
Mr. Gatt gestured toward the boy in the wheelchair. The boy went pale as he looked around at the class. He shrank back in his seat, but answered in a soft voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m sorry Mr. Gatt. I don’t have the slightest clue.”
Mr. Gatt looked disappointed, as that was the boy’s response every single time he was called on to speak.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the students. Monson, however, thought he knew the answer. He raised his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Grey.”
“Wasn’t the city-state of Carthage destroyed by the Romans in 146 B.C.?”
“Please continue.”
“The historical records were all destroyed by the Romans, making it difficult to study the history of the Carthaginians. This is a problem. Carthage was one of the largest and longest-lived empires in the Mediterranean, and yet we know very little about it.”
“Excellent, Mr. Grey. Very well done.”
He looked around at the rest of the class.
“This discovery is one of the major finds of the last century, marking not only the end of a very long silence concerning the Carthaginians, but it may also show some indication that they may not have been as lost as originally thought.”
Silence. Mr. Gatt continued.
“Mr. Grey, will you answer another question?”
Monson hesitated. "OK, shoot.”
“If I asked you to date this painting, what would your educated guess be?”
Monson glanced at Taris. She shook her head. Apparently, she did not know any better than he did. Monson narrowed his eyes and with all his might, gazed at the painting. Something about it just seemed…off. He thought he knew what it was.
“It looks a great deal like the one that you showed us the first day of class. I would guess that it’s from the same time period.”
Mr. Gatt smiled at this.
“Do you have any basis for your assumption?”
Monson shook his head. “Nope. Just a hunch.”
Mr. Gatt laughed this time. “Well Mr. Grey, your hunch is precisely accurate.”
Monson paused at this.
“Wait. Mr. Gatt?”
“Yes, Mr. Grey?”
“How could these be from the same time period? If the picture of Merlin was seventeenth-century and this painting found in a Carthaginian stronghold, how on Earth could they have been done around the same time?”
Most of the students looked confused at his words. Whispers broke out as he started to speak again.
“The timeline is screwed up; if that tunnel was sealed in the B.C. era, how could a painting from A.D. appear in it?”
“That’s a very good question,” replied Mr. Gatt. He stopped talking and simply smiled.
Monson stared at him. Mr. Gatt was not looking at him, but rather was fiddling with the MacBook and Monson could tell it was starting to frustrate him. His eyes were narrowing as he played with the keyboard and his taps on it were becoming progressively louder with each stroke.
“I do apologize for this.” He looked at the class, his expression rueful. “I have many talents; however, computers have never been one of them.”
The class was silent as they continued to watch. Suddenly, Mr. Gatt stepped back from the MacBook and stared at it. He looked as if he was trying to decide something.
“Derek, will you please go and flip that second light switch for me?” Mr. Gatt waved toward Derek and then the wall where the light panel was.
Derek stood up and walked over to the switch. His glance shifted back towards Monson and Taris and he gave Monson a sour look before turning off the lights.
“Thank you, Derek. That should do it. Please turn the lights back on.”
Derek flipped the switch again, turning on the lights, but as soon as he did, a flash came from the front of the room, as if one of the lights burned out. At once, they heard the chime of the MacBook, and light shot out from the projector.
Why did flicking the lights off and on turn the computer on? wondered Monson. He stared at Mr. Gatt, who looked annoyed for some reason, though Monson couldn’t figure out why. The computer was on, wasn’t it?
“Unfortunately, this building is very old,” stated Mr. Gatt without looking up from the computer screen. “The electrical system at times prevents electronics from working properly.”
The bell abruptly rang, but not before Monson caught a glimpse of the image projected on the screen. A skeletal humanoid figure propped against a grainy wall in a dark, sandy-looking room flashed across the screen. The picture looked like it was underground. He thought humanoid rather than human because the skeleton looked like it had extra limbs. Maybe it was deformed. He looked more closely at the image. It reminded him of those human-looking monkeys that scientists claimed were ancestors of the human race— the whole missing link thing. Maybe this was another long-forgotten race of early humans. He cocked his head as he took in the picture. He was not one to put much stock into that whole evolution thing, but maybe there was some truth to it. Who knew?
Students started to pack up their things. Taris, like always, lingered for a moment…until Derek came striding over. It was like clockwork. Derek would show up, she would smile as he attempted to engage her in conversation, all while letting the fingers fly on the keypad of her phone. Seconds later, a text would appear on Monson’s phone about how distasteful she found him. Texting had become the primary mode of communication for Monson and Taris. In fact, ever since Artorius’ tryout, it was nonstop. He still needed to change her name in his phone.
His phone buzzed. He read her message.
FROM: My Princess
u coming to practice today?
2:19 pm
He thought a moment before typing.
To: My Princess
ya i guess
2:20 pm
FROM: My Princess
good…i will c u later…
make sure u miss me!
2:21 pm
Monson did not have an answer for that and watched Taris walk away. He laughed at the look on Derek’s face as she moved rapidly away from him; Derek was obviously upset by the abrupt dismissal. His attention quickly turned to Monson and he snapped, “What are you laughing at, Grey?”
Monson smiled pleasantly at him. “Just the voices in my head, Derek.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed. “You and your mouth are going to get you in trouble.”
“Don’t I know it.” Monson continued to smile.
Derek leaned towards him. “I hope you're enjoying yourself. I don’t suspect it will last much longer.”
Monson placed a hand to his temple as if he were coming down with a headache. More of the same. Monson had to wonder: Had he wronged Derek in another life? Was Derek ever going to get over whatever it was that put his panties in such a twist?
“I believe we’ve had this conversation before. What is it now, Derek?”
Derek’s smile looked slightly deranged. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.” He walked away before Monson could answer.
Monson was not scared of Derek. Really, there was no reason to be. After all, there was not much he could do about the whole thing. There were already enough rumors to keep most people away from Monson, so unless Derek could figure how to effectively incite the rest of student body against him, there was really no reason to be afraid.
Monson stood up and started to gather his things, moving slowly to make sure he was the last person to leave the classroom. After several weeks of harassment he realized that if he simply waited, most of the undesirable altercations could be avoided.
“Forgive my intrusion, Mr. Grey, but you look troubled.”
Mr. Gatt spoke to him in a conversational tone. Monson, almost instinctively, steered himself away from the door and towards Mr. Gatt at the front of the room.
“Not really,” said Mon
son, “Just your normal high school stuff.”
Mr. Gatt’s smile faded, replaced by a look of concern. “Normal high school stuff, you say. You know, Mr. Grey, just as a reminder, you can depend on your teachers. We are fairly trustworthy people.”
Monson laughed. He really did like this man. “I appreciate the offer Mr. Gatt, but I’m not one to count on other people. Besides,” he paused for emphasis, “There isn’t a great deal you could do, anyway.”
“You might be surprised what I am able to accomplish,” he said very quietly, with a wry smile.
Monson did not hear him. “What was that?”
“Never mind, Mr. Grey.”
Monson changed the topic of conversation. He had to know what that picture was. Gesturing toward the projection screen, he said, “I hadn’t heard that the Carthaginians’ records were found. An underground tunnel system in the middle of the North African desert? Who would’ve thought? Something this big, you’d think that would’ve been all over the news.”
“It was.” Mr. Gatt smiled gently as if he were trying to soften the blow he was about to dispense. “It made national news, when you were in the hospital.”
“Well, that would explain it.” Monson did his best to keep any emotion out of his voice. “What about the mutant-looking skeleton? Where is that little lead taking us?”
Mr. Gatt smiled as he shook his head and murmured something that sounded similar to “mutant”; apparently, he found Monson’s use of this word very amusing.
“The mutant, as you put it, is leading us to a lost part of history, a legend that is as much a part of humanity as the Roman Empire.”
Mr. Gatt was shifting into his sermonizing voice, the one that attracted attention like flies to, well, flypaper. He obviously wanted Monson to listen to what he was about to say.
“Atlantis.”
“Atlantis?”
“Yes, Atlantis.”
Monson stared at Mr. Gatt in surprise. “That’s not what I was expecting.”
Mr. Gatt looked sympathetic. “I do not doubt that, Mr. Grey. It was surprising even to me.”
