Dark Tales Of Lost Civilizations (15 page)

In the chaos that ensued, Master Leus shouted at Mistress Siboea. “You want to know why I keep Thoth safe beside me? The prophecy is coming to pass.”

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Thoth sat on the uncomfortable high-backed chair and tried his best to ignore the tremors and the black ash that spewed from Mount Olympos at the northern part of the island. Before him stood Master Leus, Mistress Siboea, the Oracle, and twenty high sages and master priests. Isis stood looking worriedly at him from near the entrance of the circular chamber where she had earlier that day passed her test. Thoth was used to being ignored, in the shadows of Master Leus. He found the attention he received now highly disconcerting.

A loud crash came from the east after a strong quake. One of the great pyramids had crumbled to the ground.

“Thoth, stay focused.”

He turned to face Master Leus. “Is it true? Has Poseidon forsaken us?”

“It is we who have abandoned Him.” The Oracle’s voice was gentle, but tinged with sadness. “We have angered other gods. We have angered Zeus with our constant warfare with His beloved Greece. They turn their wrath toward us, and great Poseidon can no longer shelter us from harm.”

“Can’t we flee to safer grounds?”

This time Master Leus answered. “Most of the ships have perished, swallowed by giant waves. I hope those few that made it out reach their destinations safely.”

“Demos and the other emperors are up at the Great Temple, leading others in prayers.” The Oracle shook her head. “He is a fool, as all men are. Poseidon can no longer hear them.”

Thoth was close to tears. “Surely there is a spell that can protect us.”

Master Leus waved his fingers in a four-patterned Gesture. Thoth saw the blazing trail, and recognized the simple spell of lighting a candle, but nothing happened after Master Leus completed the spell. “Our spells no longer work. Not all the time. Even if we could gather all the sages and cast a spell powerful enough to save us from this cataclysm, the spell may backfire and destroy us all much quicker.”

“Then what are we doing here?”

“Years before you were born, the Oracle told a prophecy, one that not many took heed, much to our shame. The death of our land has been foreseen, and in the child who can witness all Powers but not use them, hope lives on.”

“I don’t understand, Master Leus.”

“It means,” Mistress Siboea interjected, “you are our only hope of keeping this kingdom alive, in your mind.”

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Thoth had never imagined he would be able to remember every single Gesture his elders showed him. One after another, hours on end, they demonstrated different Gestures of varying complexity, from the mundane to the obscure, from common to forbidden, and Thoth drank them all in, feeling each blaze burning into his mind. Through magical Gestures, both sages and priests embedded the accumulated knowledge of philosophy, architecture, military, agriculture and others into his memory. Isis stood beside him, clasping his hand, lending him strength the only way she could.

As the island shook and crumbled around them, the masters fed Thoth with more Gestures in increasing desperation. Over a thousand years’ worth of wealth in knowledge had to be compressed within the span of a few days.

At the dusk of the fourth day, with half the city in ruins, Master Leus and the Oracle both articulated the last spell for Thoth to learn.

“Young Thoth,” the Oracle said, “When I received the prophecy that foretold the destruction of our civilization, great Poseidon inspired me with a spell only you can cast. I do not know what it is, but you will cast it when the time is right.”

“How will I know it?”

“Poseidon will guide you.”

Thoth nodded and turned to face Master Leus. “What now, master?”

“Now we send you off to the outside world and hope that the knowledge of our people lives on.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere safe.”

“Master Leus, let me be his guide.” Isis clasped Thoth’s hands with strength and determination.

“How do you propose to do that, child?” Mistress Siboea stood beside Master Leus. In the past few days, the severity had left her face, and she looked handsome and matronly.

“I saw you showing him the fire bird spell, Mistress. It is almost similar to the one I casted during the test.”

“Do you know what the spell implies?”

“Yes. My life will be forfeit.”

Thoth whirled toward Isis. “No, I will not let you do that!”

“I will die one way or another, Thoth. Please, let me have this.”

“But you have just passed the test. Being an elementalist has always been your dream.”

“A dream that will die with this land. Let me be there for you as you have always been there for me since we were little.”

“I—”

“Please.”

Thoth reached out and enveloped her in a tight embrace. “I will miss you.”

Isis was shaking, but she hugged him back.

Master Leus led Thoth, Isis, Mistress Siboea and the Oracle down a secret tunnel to an enclosed canal where a single-mast boat bobbed with the choppy waves. Mistress Siboea took Isis’s hand and led her away.

“It is a shame you were born at the end of our age. Your Power would have surpassed mine. You honor me with your courage, elementalist.”

Isis wiped back her tears. She stepped back and followed the high sage’s articulations as she Gestured the forbidden spell. Mistress Siboea stopped at the final pattern, but Isis had been instructed how to complete the spell. Yellow flame sparked on her white tunic and spread rapidly throughout her body. She clenched her teeth and kept her peace at first, but soon, as the flames fully enveloped her, she screamed.

Thoth lunged to help her, but Master Leus held him back and locked him in a strong grip. Thoth kept his tear-filled eyes on Isis. He forced himself to stay rooted where he was as she writhed and finally slumped onto the floor, silent.

From her charred remains, a heron made of fire emerged. It flew gracefully and landed on the bow of the small boat. Its flames did not burn, but it gave off a comfortable heat. Its amber eyes glinted with the same intelligence Isis had.

Master Leus enveloped Thoth in a tight embrace. “Quickly now, onto the boat.”

Thoth wiped back his tears and nodded at his master. “Master, thank you for raising me after my mother passed away. Thank you for believing in me when others did not.”

“I should be the one thanking you. Watching you grow up has been a privilege that I will carry to my grave. Now go, before it’s too late.”

Thoth buried his tear-streaked face in the folds of his master’s tunic one last time before he huddled onto the boat and held on to it as it bobbed to the sides.

“I will call upon the oceanic currents to follow Isis, and Siboea will ask for the winds to speed your way. May Poseidon keep you safe.”

“You have never left Poseidon, child,” the Oracle murmured. “The Lord of the ocean deep will never leave your side. May the waters be calm, may your journey be safe.”

The fire bird let out a shrill cry and took wing. Thoth watched the blazing trails as both the high sages Gestured their spells. At first, nothing happened. After the second try, the boat nudged forward and gradually picked up speed. The boat made its way out of the canal and into a raging tempest. Angry waves slapped its sides, and hailstones pelted at Thoth. But the boat sped eastward despite the storm.

Thoth felt the large tremor as Mount Olympos spewed forth fire and ash. Burning rocks flew from the sky and crashed upon the island. Thoth heard the wails of his dying people, he felt the tears of his God Poseidon, and he wept until there were no tears left to cry.

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The gentle lapping of waves against his boat roused Thoth from his fitful sleep. The sun had not yet risen, and a thick cover of ash stretched across the heavens. His homeland was dead; Thoth had nothing to return to.

When he finally found the strength to move, Thoth sat up and peered at his surroundings. The fire bird flew around the boat, illuminating the golden hue of the sandy beach. Thoth crawled out of the boat and lay on the cool sand, and listened to the ebb and flow of the waves against the craft and the beach. The death-throes of Atlantis seemed so far away.

The reverberations of hooves on sand told him of approaching company. Three men on horseback, in white headdresses and dusty tunics, waved their curved blades but kept a safe distance from the fire bird that landed beside Thoth. Amongst his people, Thoth had been considered small, but the tallest of these men only reached his shoulders.

“What is this place?”

No reply. He tried again twice, the first using the language of the Greeks, the second using the guttural language of the desert nomads.

“Sa el-Hagar,” one of the men replied.

Thoth tried to recall the name his people had used for the place, near the tip of Nile Delta. “Saïs.” He knew this would be his home from that day onward. He thought about how he would pass on the knowledge, the memory of his people, when the final spell he learned burned in his mind.

Thoth sank to his knees and Gestured the only spell he knew he could ever cast. The fingers of his right hand articulated the Power of the priests, while his left fingers moved to invoke the Power of the sages. The ground beneath him trembled, and the horses reared back in terror.

Great columns made of sandstone shot up from the desert sands, and walls formed around the columns. Sand sifted away and flew in great tan clouds, and the earth shook and groaned. Before long, a great temple stood proud where there was once only sand and stone. Thoth shuffled into the temple with the fire bird on his shoulder, illuminating the cavernous chambers. He traced the first Gesture he learned onto the inner wall of the largest chamber. The inscription burned itself into sandstone, the first of many he would inscribe on the walls of the temple.

The three men sank to their knees and planted their foreheads on the floor of the temple before Thoth. They uttered the word “gods” over again, but Thoth was too weary to correct them. He also knew he was alone and defenseless, and he could use their reverence to his advantage.

With the first spell safely recorded, Thoth sighed in relief. He turned to face the men. “Nomads of Kemet, I am Thoth, bringer of knowledge, and this is Isis, sacred bird of rebirth. Help us guard this temple, and may the knowledge of my civilization help build yours. Help me guard Saïs. Help the world remember my people . . .

Help the world remember Atlantis.”

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Fadzlishah Johanabas
was born and raised in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. When other boys played flattened-coke-can football (soccer), he sat at a secluded corner, lost in the worlds of Krynn, Middle Earth, and Faerun. And when he started exploring worlds of his own, he wrote about them. Being a doctor, pursuing Neurosurgery, has not stopped him from venturing deep into these worlds. Not when he’s operating, though. No sir. Fadz can be found tweeting as
@Fadz_Johanabas
, or at his website
http://www.fadzjohanabas.com
.

Curtis James McConnell

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I like this next story a lot. It’s very sharp and quick and, as Curtis James McConnell likened it when submitting to me, “it’s a sort of palate-cleanser for the other stories.”
Bare Bones
is a humorous little anecdote, which goes to show that good writing can transcend any genre constraints. In a book of dark and ominous discoveries, the author reminds us that revelations can be found anywhere, whether in the ancient Arctic glaciers or the endless shifting deserts or simply an innocuous research office.

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I had been with the skull eleven days when Jenkins walked in at five minutes to eight. He had been on vacation. I hoped he enjoyed it. He sure as hell wasn’t going to enjoy what I was about to show him.

“Hey, chief, whacha got there?” Jenkins piped. Ignorance is bliss. He poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Two-million-year-old skull,” I informed him dully.

Jenkins made a face and a sound like he was bringing up a hairball. “Well I hope it’s the guy who made this coffee. If so, justice has been done.” He poured it out. I said nothing as he got a fresh pot going. Then he strolled over and looked at the skull.

“Nice skull. Sulfur overdose? Where’s the one you called me about?”

“This is it.” I wouldn’t look at him.

“No, I mean the one Josiah sent us. What’s up?”

I stared into the skull’s eye sockets. Here it comes, I thought. I tried to keep my tone even. “This is the skull Josiah sent us.”

Jenkins still didn’t get it. “I thought he sent us one as old as—”

“He did,” I said.

“Right. So where is it?”

I took a breath. “This Homo sapien skull, Dr. Jenkins, is, as near as I can determine, two million years old. Give or take ten percent.” I waited.

“Pull the other leg,” Jenkins said blithely, “it rings.”