The Secret of Atlantis Read online

  The stranger left for a second time and did not come back for a while. When he did, he led a horse up to the cart, harnessed it and set off on his way.

  Paul lay on the rough planks of the cart and gazed up into the pink clouds. Why were the clouds still pink? Why? He could not think of a coherent answer, probably because it had got very cold. Paul could not feel his arms and legs and could not stop himself from constantly drifting off to sleep. His mind became cloudy, his thoughts all jumbled up and repeating themselves as his eyelids became heavier with every passing moment.

  His consciousness finally sank into the fog in its entirety and then faded to black, as if a candle had been blown out.

  B

  WHEN PAUL FINISHED telling his tale, the dark-skinned Abbot carefully topped up his cup with nectar and ordered him to drink it all. Paul obediently did so. The Abbot nodded, with obvious satisfaction.

  “Excellent, brother. You have been of great help to me.”

  Paul carefully lowered the cup onto a tray — he was slow and clumsy when he moved due to the bandages around his shoulders. It would take a long time until he was healthy again. The wounds and bruises would affect him for a while to come.

  The Abbot turned towards the wall, which was covered with a curtain and gestured towards it.

  “If you please.”

  Rick was relieved to get out from behind the curtain. The whole idea of hiding made him immediately uneasy, but he did not want to argue with the man in charge. As soon as Paul saw Rick, his exhausted face went white with fear. The young man's full lips trembled, while his fingers frantically gripped the arms of the chair.

  The Abbot smiled, showing his complete control of the situation.

  “Do you recognize your savior?”

  Paul gave a quick nod. Rick carefully examined his face: the young man was thin, like many in the Retreat, with no distinguishing features apart from two. While the first one was a particularly intelligent gaze that could be explained through a natural astuteness, the second was so strikingly unusual that it made him stand out like a white crow. A literal white crow — Paul's hair looked as white as the moonlight. This was not just the hair of someone who went white with age or the pale straw color of a blond, but the milky white and pearly hair of an albino.

  Rick had never seen people like that. He quietly lowered himself into an armchair.

  “How is your shoulder doing?” the Abbot asked Paul.

  “Thank you, Master Kiernan, it's much better.”

  Two weeks had passed since Rick brought Paul and another pair of brother monks to the gates of the dome which they called the Retreat. One of the brothers had died on the way. The other was disabled until the end of his days. For a time, Paul's life had also hung by a thread — the wounds turned out to be very severe. But he managed to drag himself out of it. It did come at a great cost, however — he had lost half of his weight, walked with a pronounced limp and lost a pair of toes to frostbite, according to the healers. Both of his arms were now tightly bandaged from shoulder to elbow. He could barely straighten them.

  “That's good. We all prayed for you.”

  “Your mercy knows no bounds, my Abbot,” Paul whispered reverently.

  “Stop that. You are like a son to me. Glory to the Holy Maus that you are still with us. The Almighty favors you and it was he that sent this good man to you in your time of need.”

  Rick glanced at Kiernan with reproach. But the Abbot continued with his line of thought, which smoothly grew into a grandiose speech about the Holy Maus and his teachings. Once he finished so he could wet his throat with a drink, Paul asked, “Abbot, what happened to the caravan?”

  He had been isolated from any news while he recovered.

  “We managed to save most of the supplies,” Kiernan's eyes darted at Rick. “Again with a little help from our good friend...”

  Rick moved in his chair, as it was time he broke his silence.

  “That's right. This is why there's nothing threatening the Retreat.”

  The Abbot smiled with satisfaction. His tanned face had an oily shine to it in the light of the fire. The whites of his eyes stood out against his dusky skin, shining like a pair of fireflies. At the edge of his vision, Rick noticed some movement in the corner. It was a yellow canary in a cage. Rick could have sworn that the bird had shown no sign of life over the course of his lengthy conversation with the Abbot until the boy arrived.

  Paul swallowed and asked, “Did anyone else survive?”

  “Unfortunately not,” Kiernan entwined his long fingers. “Had we known that the possessed would attack, this tragedy would never have happened. Accursed beasts! Their behavior is always unpredictable. We will need to look at the mission schedule and reinforce the guard detail.”

  The Abbot thought about something for a few moments and then continued, speaking with great conviction.

  “It is all the devil's work. It is he that tempts man and turns him into an animal. His power over the possessed is great. We must thank the Almighty for having blessed us with intelligence and stopped us from the temptations of sin. Isn't that right, my good friend Rick?”

  “I did not quite understand the last words you said, about the devil.” Rick replied. “Do you consider those creatures to be possessed by evil powers?”

  “That is exactly what I meant,” the Abbot nodded with a satisfied air. “You have understood the very gist of it.”

  “I see,” Rick paused. “I doubt that it is possession.”

  The Abbot's face changed to a strange expression, as if he had misheard something.

  “It truly is demonic possession,” he countered.

  “All right. Does that mean that a demon can be exorcised?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Have you exorcised demons from the possessed?”

  “It is extremely difficult to do,” Kiernan began, caging his fingers. “Firstly, it is very difficult to capture one of the possessed and one that is captured dies in captivity very quickly...”

  “Of course,” Rick agreed. “But even being behind the walls of the Retreat does not guarantee salvation from the affliction.”

  The room sank into awkward silence for a while. Paul was even more afraid — he carefully glanced over at the Abbot. No one dared to doubt his teachings. Rick calmly weathered the grim stare of Kiernan. The Abbot turned to Paul.

  “By the way, did you see anything unusual in the way they attacked? Perhaps they behaved in a strange or special way?”

  Paul frowned, trying to think hard.

  “No. Apart from the fact that there were so many of them.”

  “How many?”

  “A couple of hundred. Maybe more.”

  Kiernan nodded.

  “That's what I was discussing with our friend Rick as well. The beasts never gathered in packs of that size before.”

  “Maybe it is a migration,” Rick suggested. “Or some other natural cause.”

  “That could be. As I already said, it is difficult to understand the ways of demons. Anyhow, Brother Paul, I invited you here to have a different conversation. Are you prepared to help me to resolve a certain issue?”

  “Of course, Abbot,” Paul nodded fervently.

  “Good. You see, brother mine, while you were recovering me and our friend Rick spoke much about various subjects. I offered him to be a guest at our humble Retreat and our friend Rick acquiesced. It is an honor for us.”

  Kiernan paused, staring at Paul.

  “Do you know which day it is?”

  Paul bit his lip. His eyes suddenly shone with the realization.

  “We are serving the Autumn Mass today.”

  “Yes. Our friend Rick wanted to see it before setting off to take care of his own business. This is why I would like to ask you to accompany him throughout this evening until its very end. Tell him everything you know, and you know a lot. Answer any questions he may have.”

  “I will perform the task you set me,” Paul replied readily.

/>   “Thank you, my young brother,” Kiernan drawled ingratiatingly. “You may go now. My advisor will give you a ticket for a double dinner. Take a while to feed yourself properly.”

  Paul bowed clumsily and set off towards the exit. He stumbled a little as he passed through the doorway but kept his balance and confidently left the room.

  “He was born under a lucky star,” Kiernan said a minute later. “I would never have thought he'd make it.”

  “A young and strong body,” Rick shrugged. “And a thirst for life.”

  Kiernan gave him an appraising glance.

  “You are also rather young for such dangerous journeys.”

  “That's right. I am a victim of circumstance.”

  The Abbot nodded. Rick did not want to make his job any easier and waited for the new questions that immediately followed. First came the attempts to find out as much about the outside world as possible. However, Rick was in no hurry to tell him everything and mainly repeated the same things that he shared on his first day in the Retreat. That was obviously not enough for Kiernan — he wanted to know more and never stopped trying to glean just a little more information ever since. It was obvious that it was difficult for him to stop himself from applying pressure directly. Kiernan was a man used to issuing orders, but not in a situation where he was next to an outsider with a weapon who had managed to miraculously send a hundred possessed on the run.

  They were both fully cognizant of this fact.

  Kiernan kept smiling, showing two rows of magnificent, strong teeth and expressing his goodwill. Rick did so too, whilst keeping his hands on the stock of his blaster.

  “You are never away from your weapon even for a minute,” the Abbot noticed.

  “This thing saved my life in the wastelands many times.”

  “But there is nothing threatening you here,” Kiernan wheedled. “I vouch for every brother in the Retreat. I gave my word to do you no harm from the very beginning.”

  “I truly appreciate your concern, Abbot,” Rick nodded. “However, carrying a personal weapon at all times is part of the culture of my people.”

  “The Holy Maus takes all of the peoples of the world as they are,” Kiernan agreed. “It is your right to do so. Our teachings are the epitome of tolerance and peacefulness. We stand upon the foundation of several indomitable truths, but we are prepared to accept people as they are...”

  Rick barely listened to him.

  They conversed for about half an hour more and then Rick left the Abbot's chamber. He came out into the inner courtyard of the Retreat and curled his lip at the sharp smell of paint. The locals were standing on scaffolding and painting some warehouse containers nearby. The stink tickled his nose and Rick could not help but sneeze.

  What a vile odor! He tilted his head back, gazing sadly at the twilit sky above through the protective dome and dreaming of a breath of fresh air. The construction was well designed — arcing metallic struts covered a great area, with a clear material occupying the spaces in between them. The Ancients truly knew what they were doing. However, this place was as deathly cold as any of the expiring shelters occupied by mankind.

  Even though the dome protected those inside from sudden temperature changes, the locals did not have sufficient fuel to heat the whole Retreat. They spoke of technology and generators with hatred, of course, using slaves for heavy labor. According to Kiernan, the people hid in the monastic cells of the temple and descended into the disused mine to sleep so they could find a warm corner.

  Rick stood there for a while, looking at the metallic structure leading to the shaft which had been rent asunder by an explosion. Well... What must it be like for the slaves that live in the cages which stand in the yard? No wonder that one of them dies every day.

  There were many cages and slaves in the yard. Rick's eyes met those of a dark-haired, brown-eyed boy that stood transfixed by the bars of his cage. They spent a while studying one another, until voices could be heard nearby. Rick turned his head and saw Paul standing nearby and chatting to one of the locals, so he slowly made his way towards them, remaining in the shadow of the Abbot's house. The local stranger quickly finished the conversation and left, while Paul remained with a pained expression on his face, trying to stretch the stiffness from his bandaged arms. Rick stepped out of the shadows and Paul flinched. Rick did not hurry to start talking, as he was interested in seeing Paul's reaction to his appearance. Paul shifted hesitantly, stepping back a little and coughed.

  “Have you already had the time to explore the Retreat?”

  “Yes.”

  Paul waited for Rick to continue, but he stayed silent.

  “Hmm, in that case, there is no need to lead you around the yard and show you all the buildings, is there?”

  Rick nodded.

  “That's great, that's excellent,” Paul muttered, obviously avoiding looking straight into Rick's eyes.

  Strange behavior. Rick gave the yard a quick once-over. It was as if the boy was afraid of something. Or someone.

  “The Abbott says that you work as an archivist,” he enquired.

  “That's right.”

  “Are you literate?”

  “Why?”

  Rick waited for an answer.

  “I know how to add up ancient letters into words. But I don't always understand their meaning. I know how to write and copy.”

  “That's sufficient,” Rick concluded.

  “For what?” Paul did not understand.

  “To explain the meaning of your religion to me.”

  “Ah, oh, yes,” Paul agreed and looked at the huge clock hanging from one of the separator struts under the dome. “Midnight approaches. The Mass will begin soon. It's best to come to the temple early.”

  He touched his chest by reflex to feel the item hanging on a string around his neck under his jacket.

  “We'll do as you say,” Rick nodded and bent his head forward a little to try to see what was so valuable about the item that Paul was hiding in the folds of his clothing.

  “This is the medallion of the Holy Maus,” Paul said when he saw the curiosity in Rick's eyes, reaching inside his jacket to take out a shiny round object, which was actually a universal electronic key of the kind used in Thermopolis. “A gift from the Abbot.”

  “Yeah,” was Rick's only reply, as he added to himself that if the boy only knew the true purpose of this gift, he would never ever have shown it to him.

  Paul started to hesitantly walk away from the house of the Abbot. Rick walked by his side. They walked around ten paces, when Paul asked, “Where did you come from?”

  “Far away,” Rick replied. “From the west.”

  “From the domed cities?”

  “From far further away.”

  “There is nothing there, apart from the Abyss.”

  “How do you know?”

  “This is what the Revelation of the Holy Maus teaches us.”

  Rick chuckled to himself bitterly. It was the same every time. They did a really good job at brainwashing them here.

  “That's a lie,” he said.

  Paul was so shocked that he froze. His lower lip trembled. Finally, he managed to force himself to speak.

  “If that's a joke, it is a very flat one, Master Rick. Otherwise, such words can lead to...”

  “I know what such words can lead to,” Rick brushed him aside. “Your Abbot told me. But this does not change the truth. And the truth is that there is no Abyss beyond the domed cities. If you like, I can tell you what is there.”

  “No,” Paul cut him off in a hurry.

  “As you want,” Rick shrugged. “But remember, that if a man that looks at the sun closes his eyes, the sun will not disappear as a result.”

  They continued towards their midnight destination — a gallery of steel pillars that reached deep into the yard from the western side of the temple. The gallery gently arced in the direction of a structure that was roofed with a mesh-like spherical construction with a steeple at the top. The f
ires were already lit inside. People from the whole Retreat were beginning to congregate at the place of service. Their arrival was completely silent. Before Rick and Paul entered the gallery, Paul asked, “Could you please listen to me now? It is forbidden to speak during Mass, because it is the one and only Great Maus that speaks through his medium, the Abbot. You must stand, listen and obey everything that the priest orders.”

  “I understand.”

  “Your consciousness must be open for the sacred spirit of Maus. Do you understand?”

  “Completely.”

  “Well, let's go then.”

  They ascended the stairs and entered a long rectangular hall. The congregation slowly progressed through it, removing their clothing and footwear on the way.

  “It is customary to remove everything apart from your underwear,” Paul whispered and started to take off his boots to set an example.

  Rick watched him in confusion for a while, looked around and walked over to the wall. Paul was waiting for him with his boots in his hand. Rick thought it over for a moment or two and then made his decision. He deftly removed his robe, revealing his old jumpsuit underneath.

  They undressed.

  “No one will touch your things,” Paul told him.

  “Excellent.”

  “You will have to leave the weapon as well,” Paul pointed out.

  Rick looked around. It seemed that everyone was completely preoccupied with the preparations for the service. No one paid attention to him. Paul had already put some distance between them. Rick still gripped the barrel of the blaster. He hesitated, but then wrapped the weapon in his robe and put everything down by the wall next to his bag and hurriedly followed Paul.

  The people were thin and scrawny to a man. It would be hard to call even the toughest of them healthy — their pale and filthy skin was covered with scars and abscesses. It seemed that the brotherhood rarely took care of its personal hygiene either — there was a strong smell of sweat and unwashed bodies in the air. Life was harsh here.