Atlantis, page 1
part #6 of Dane Maddock Series
Contents
Atlantis
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
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
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Epilogue
From the Author
About the Author
Works by David Wood
Atlantis
ATLANTIS
A Dane Maddock Adventure
By David Wood
Copyright
Atlantis- A Dane Maddock Adventure
Copyright 2013 by David Wood
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
Dedicated to my dear friend Tamara “Myra” Bodrick, the real-life Tam Broderick. Thanks for letting me steal your identity and pithy sayings.
Prologue
“We have emptied the city, Eminence.” Albator shifted his weight and stole a glance at the temple door. “It is only the two of us and a few acolytes who wait to block the door as you instructed.”
“You have done well, my son. Now it is time for you to go.” Paisden pointed a long finger at the exit. “You don’t want to be here when they arrive.”
Instinct battled obligation in Albator’s gray eyes. Clearly, he wanted to get away, but as Paisden’s highest-ranking acolyte, his place was here in temple. His lips formed soundless words and his feet continued their dance of indecision.
“Perhaps it won’t come to war,” he finally managed. “Why would the lords do this to us? We are of their line.”
“We are their greatest mistake, or so they believe.” Paisden’s outward calm reflected the serenity that came with accepting one’s fate. “They feel they never should have let us leave the mother city. We did not hold to the old ways. We interfered.”
“We helped!” Albator swept a shock of stringy hair off of his high forehead. His voice took on a strident tone. “The people knew nothing. We taught them so much. We bettered their lives.”
“The lords do not see it that way. To their minds, the knowledge was not ours to give. And then there were those of us who did not rein in our baser instincts.”
Albator’s red cheeks confirmed something Paisden had long suspected.
“Who is she?” Paisden now regretted the long hours he spent in the temple. Perhaps if he’d ventured outside more often, he’d have known more about Albator’s life.
Albator’s eyes fell. “Her name is Malaya, and she is kind and beautiful. If the lords could only see how much we care for one another, perhaps they could understand that a union such as ours…”
“Will always be an abomination to them. On this, and many other things, they are intractable.” Paisden hated to bring the young man up short, but the sooner this conversation came to an end, the sooner Albator could make his way to safety. “Now, go to your woman. It is not too late for the two of you to build a life together. I hereby discharge you from your obligations to the temple.”
“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 a 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 provide, 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 fee 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 is what they’d been eager to do since uncovering the entryway. They worked with an efficiency that made her proud. Sooner that 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.
