Atlantis Endgame (15 page)

The priestess sat in her tree-stump throne, breathing slowly, her eyes closed, her hands lying palms up and open on her knees.

Presently a woman walked in, looking about a little fearfully. Her eyes lifted to the great shaft of light, which now fully illuminated the priestess on the throne.

Good theater, Linnea thought, but the skin along her outer arms felt rough.

"Mother Goddess," the woman said in Ancient Greek, as she mounted the gnarled tree roots and joined the seer on the stump. "O Mother Goddess, why do the crops fail, and the sky fill with smoke, and the ground growl at us like a beast hunting prey? What can we do?"

The priestess did not answer. Her eyes stayed closed. A soft hissing sound emerged from the cone of brilliant sunlight, and Linnea realized it was the seer's breathing. Those breaths were long, each slightly louder than the one before, a hiss that sounded very like a snake.

A snake. Just as Linnea identified the sound, the seer straightened up. She seemed to grow, to expand a little, as she lifted her face up toward the sunlight. Still the hissed breathing, in and out, and Linnea became aware of the older priestesses standing along the perimeter of the chamber breathing in the same slow rhythm.

Then, slowly, the seer began to sway, reminding Linnea of the snakelike swayings of the girls during the purification chants. Her head turned from side to side, almost like a blinded snake looking, seeking, reaching. Listening.

Linnea, realizing that, felt prickles again, but she caught herself up, thinking,
This is just theater. It's good theater
—
the very best
—
but it's all showmanship.

Still, it was three-thousand-year-old showmanship, and as such, it was very well worth watching. And she forced herself to divert from the hindbrain's awe by counting up the elements, one by one, that made the whole seem so unnervingly . . .
real.

The far-off girls' voices, chanting in a mesmerizing pattern; the light; the great aged tree stump that had grown so unlikely in this cavern; the rushing water; even the faint whiffs of sulfur. And then the old seer's rhythmic writhing: despite her evident age, she moved now, graceful and supple as one of those young acolytes out front.

At last she spoke, in a voice that startled Linnea. It was a guttural voice, harsh, loud, and because it was in the local language (or was it?) she could not understand a word.

But the petitioner appeared to understand, for she bowed her head, and her tense shoulders slumped.

A priestess moved forward to help her down, and she walked out slowly, her face drawn and worried.

Linnea turned to the nearest priestess, who saw her movement and touched her fingertips to her lips.

One by one the rest of the petitioners came in, and again and again the seer breathed that hissing breath and writhed, her eyes wide open but blind-looking. Again she cried out something in that guttural voice that clawed at Linnea's viscera, and the petitioners departed in silence, not one of them looking happy with the answers that they got.

There were seven of them. If others waited outside, they had been dismissed. The sun had moved, in the meantime, and the golden shaft now left the seer on her throne and painted the rocky floor instead. The seer, in shadow, seemed to shrink in on herself, and without any words spoken two sturdy middle-aged priestesses moved to the sides of the great tree to help her down.

Her eyes were open, but she seemed to be blind. Her hands, once graceful, now fumbled, looking frail and aged.

The priestesses all moved around the empty tree and followed the seer into that back area. Linnea hesitated, and then joined them, moving tentatively, but no one shooed her away or otherwise paid attention to her.

They each ducked under a triangular archway made by two slabs of pumice cracked and shifted apart by unimaginable forces, and Linnea found herself in a back chamber. It was stuffy here; there was no sky-crack to let in air. Reflected light from the tree chamber was dim, revealing rugs on the ground.

The seer was gently helped onto one of these. Everyone stood in silence as she stretched out, breathing slowly again, but without that awful hiss.

After a time she stirred, made a motion to sit, and again two priestesses sprang to help her, their movements tender with unspoken love and respect.

Someone brought in a little oil lamp and set it down before the seer. Its tiny tongue of flame painted golden color on a worn face that now looked sweet, grandmotherly, and very, very weary.

"Thirst," she murmured—in Ancient Greek.

Someone brought her a cup of water, probably from the stream. Someone else brought dried fish and crumbled goat cheese, and a tiny bunch of withered grapes.

The seer munched her way through these foods with no apparent enjoyment. Her brow was slightly puckered, as if she had a massive headache, and she chewed and swallowed as one performing a duty.

At last the food was gone, and all of the water. She sighed, and one of the women gently massaged her temples.

No one spoke, not until one of the girls came in and said, "Maestra, they are all gone."

The woman who had brought the water turned her head. "Thank you, child. Tell the others they are free to eat their meal."

Others among the priestesses stirred now, some passing out fava-seed bread, cheese, grapes. The priestesses talked in low murmurs as the seer had her head rubbed, her eyes closed now. She was surrounded by quiet now, as before she'd been surrounded by that fierce shaft of bright sunlight, the more fierce, Linnea realized, because of all the particulate matter in the air. The sun here before the volcano began smoking and rumbling must have been pure and clear, as clear as the ocean waters.

At last the seer looked up. Her question was the last thing Linnea expected: "What did I say?"

And the chief priestess shook her head sadly. "Nothing. The spirits are still silent."

CHAPTER 13

"UP THIS WAY," Ross said, pointing.

He paused, gazing up the mountain path. A wisp of smoke haze drifted by, borne on the strengthening breeze. The smoke seemed to leech all the color out of the sparse hillside, rendering it unfamiliar, almost alien.

"Or was it?"

"Can you orient on the peninsula?" Ashe asked, after a time.

Ross felt a hot zap of annoyance at his own stupidity. Yes, the smoke had given him a fairly nasty headache, making it difficult to think, but Ashe probably had one as well.

Ross turned around, staring down through the haze toward the peninsula that stretched westward from below Akrotiri. The pre—Kameni Island was barely visible through the murk of smoke and steam, but one thing he could see was the purple clouds headed their way. Even if he hadn't felt fitful puffs of cooler, moisture-laden air pushing through the hot, humid haze, he would have sensed a major storm on the way. From the tightness at the base of his skull, the way the hairs on his arms prickled, it was a storm that carried a full load of artillery in the form of lightning and hail.

"We're going to have to find cover," he said to Ashe.

The man shrugged. "Let's get as high as we can. Maybe dive into some crevasse if we don't find your vent first." Ross nodded once, ignoring the corresponding pang in his head, and turned around again. He remembered orienting himself several times on that previous journey. "Yes. That way," he said, pointing up to the left. They trudged on.

——————————

THE STORM CAME on with energetic rapidity.

Eveleen and Kosta dropped over the side of the boat away from the coast, so that no one who happened to have field glasses, or the alien equivalent, would see their scuba gear. Stav had erected a tent onboard, which was common enough, especially when the weather was as fierce as it was now.

They undipped the sled from the hull of the boat and hung on as the small but powerful electric motor pulled them away and down. A strong sense of relief shot through Eveleen as they moved steadily downward. The wind had been getting up, and the water had formed little whitecaps; though they couldn't see beyond the mountain blocking the northern sky, Stav had said with Greek stoicism, "Storm on the way. I'll batten down once you two get under the surface."

Out this far from any others they could speak English, which was a relief. Though the Greek agents still called the mysterious Fur Faces
Younoprosopoi,
and they also called the Baldies
Falakri,
or
Exoyinii.
Eveleen found these nicknames more elegant, even though the first one simply meant "bald ones" and the second "aliens." The sobriquet "Baldies" for the hairless aliens of the future sounded kind of silly, but it had stuck over decades.
Rather like the way we still call Native Americans "Indians,"
Eveleen thought as she swam downward, laughing inside.
Which probably thoroughly confuses any aliens who spy in our time.

The light changed abruptly. They'd reached the level where shafts shifted and changed, but suddenly they faded and vanished. Eveleen flipped over, holding on to the sled with one hand, and saw the remarkable effect of hail and rain pockmarking the surface. It was a beautiful sight, but she forced herself to turn back.
Some day,
she resolved,
if we get back all right, I will have time to watch a storm from below.

Next to her Kosta turned on his forehead lamp and started surveying the depths in its beam.

Eveleen turned hers on as well and then pulled out the device that Ashe had given her. They couldn't use sonics for this search; there was too much area to be covered and the returns were confused by the water. Ashe's device wasn't much better, but it worked underwater. About all it could do was detect the presence of alien tech within a range of twenty yards; as one might expect when dealing with a technology far beyond most theories contemporary scientists could come up with, it could tell little more. But after much research, and the invention of a different way of looking at quantum mechanics, the brain boys had realized that the power source for Baldie tech involved some sort of temporal distortion, and some smart lab jockey had figured a way to use a piece of the Baldies' own tech to home in on its brethren via that signature. Unfortunately, it was active detection, so they were announcing themselves to the Baldies by using it. But that couldn't be helped. At least they knew where they were—and maybe their actions were causing the devices to be turned off. That was enough, for now.

She and Kosta reached the cliffs supporting the island. Dramatic striations of rock and great upthrusts of ancient pumice testified to the terrific volcanic activity of the past millions of years.

She flicked her device on and held it out. A faint signal responded, pretty much the same signal the men had gotten on their first preliminary cruise.

Now to get a vector on position.

Kosta took the sled—he was far more practiced in its use, and it was difficult to steer when it was going slowly. Eveleen swam away from him until they were just in sight of each other. She checked the detector: still a good signal, if weak.

She turned Kosta's way and saw him gesture toward his device, confirming that he, too, still had a signal.

By hand signals they divided up the immediate terrain, and Kosta dove down to explore parallel to Eveleen. They would continue to do so until their air ran low, occasionally syncing the machines for a pattern comparison that, they hoped, would locate any Baldie tech.

Curious fish swam slowly by as they proceeded along the silent rock face with its dotting of colorful plants. Eveleen looked at those plants with their astonishing variety of waving fronds, tentacles, and cilia, and frowned, thinking of what was going to happen to them all before long. These were the plants that scientists would eventually find fossilized by burning lava three thousand years up the line.

She shook her head. Plenty of time to brood later.

A faint flash of purple caused her to roll over. Another flash of purple beyond the surface, which was otherwise quite dark, gave evidence of a truly violent storm going on.

Eveleen turned back to work. They proceeded along the rock face for an hour, Kosta zooming over to her every fifteen minutes to link the devices, just to discover that the detectors still couldn't localize the signal. Strange. Eveleen watched her device. Either it was defective or it was insufficiently sensitive.

A faint signal without locale . . . could that mean bits of low-end tech all over? Or was it the opposite? A great concentration of alien tech, but at a remove?

A little while longer, and she started checking her tank every ten minutes. About four checks later, Kosta maneuvered the sled up to her, indicating that this was the place they were to go up. He had the compass, and they'd planned out the exploration with Stav in the boat.

They arrowed up. Eveleen was relieved to see that the color of the sky was once again blue, that the surface was visible.

Her relief was short-lived.

When they popped up and removed their masks, Stav and the boat were nowhere in sight.

——————————

LINNEA WATCHED THE water shaft down through the crack in the ceiling as the priestesses went about their business. The girls, given permission, danced about in the waterfall, cooling themselves off. They giggled and splashed water on one another, so much like girls of modern times—like Linnea's own daughter had at that age. The sight smote her heart.
We have to save them,
she thought. And again,
Why am I here?