A Knight in Atlantis Read online

  A Knight in Atlantis

  By

  Diana Bold

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Knight in Atlantis

  By Diana Bold

  Copyright June 2017

  Cover Artist: Kim Killion

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Prologue

  From an Oral History of Atlantis…

  We were here long before you.

  For thousands of years our civilization flourished. Our great island city grew rich on trade and shipping. We ruled the world and thought our reign would never end.

  But nothing lasts forever.

  The first time the fire fell from the sky, the ground shook and the ocean rose in a terrible wave, killing thousands… but our city survived. When it was over, we rebuilt and grew stronger than ever.

  For fifty years, we continued as though nothing had happened, but the great comet continued to circle above, biding its time and waiting. A handful of our greatest minds — scientists, architects and philosophers — read the portents and realized the end was near. We plotted and planned, determined our culture and knowledge would not die.

  Over the next decade, we pillaged the great libraries of the world and recruited the best and brightest to our cause. Darkness and destruction were coming, and it would take all our combined skills to defeat it.

  We left our island home for the safety of frigid northern climes, settling in a great, underground cavern. Deep in the bowels of the earth, we learned to harness the power of our subterranean water supply and channeled it to light our settlement. We found ways to grow crops in this false illumination and waited for the inevitable.

  This time was much worse than before. The tail of the comet nicked the Earth’s atmosphere, bits and pieces exploding across land and sea alike, causing untold death and destruction. As feared, our beautiful homeland sank beneath the sea. The skies turned black, and the very air became a poisonous fume. The water was unsafe to drink, and crops and livestock died.

  We huddled in our cavern, never imagining how long the blight would last. Generations lived and died below the surface while the Earth tried to recover from the mighty blow she’d been dealt. For nearly a hundred years, we taught our children history and philosophy and made new scientific breakthroughs, safe, if not content, in our underground home.

  By the time the sky cleared and the ground became green and fertile, we had advanced immeasurably. But when we finally returned to the surface, we found the rest of humanity had not been so lucky. Millions had died, and those who hadn’t were too busy with the business of survival to worry about preserving their knowledge or culture. The great civilizations of Egypt, Greece, Mesopotamia, and Troy had fallen, leaving behind men who were so full of hysteria and superstition they looked upon our lordly blond scholars with terror and suspicion.

  At less than five hundred in number, we were forced to return to the cavern, venturing out less and less as we became hunted and persecuted. And so, we became myth, and then faded into legend.

  We were called fey and spoken of in whispers until we knew we were not safe even beneath the ground. Fearing for our lives, we left the green shores of Wales with much regret. Beneath the icy waves of the north Atlantic, we built a crystal city, completely self-contained and indestructible.

  For two thousand years, we have waited for those on the Surface to advance enough to accept us, so that we may walk in sunlight once again.

  But some of us grow weary of the wait…

  Chapter One

  Off the coast of Wales – November 1362

  “Wake up, Rhoswen,” Trevelan coaxed. “We’re Surfacing.”

  Rhoswen of Atlantis opened her eyes, then slammed them shut again, squinting against the bright glare of the sun. Though she’d made the trip to the Surface six times, she never grew used to the pure, brilliant light.

  Blinking, she peered through The Dolphin’s starboard porthole and glimpsed the jagged Welsh shoreline in the distance. The white cliffs made a stark contrast to the frigid blue waves crashing upon the pebble-strewn beach.

  “Your father is a genius.” Trevelan maneuvered the small, submersible craft toward a rocky islet, where it would remain anchored safely a few hundred yards offshore while they completed their mission. “The Dolphin handles like a dream, and we made the journey in nearly half the time.”

  Oberon, who was both Atlantis’ leader and Rhoswen’s beloved father, had spent the last few years designing a vessel to replace Atlantis’ aging fleet, and The Dolphin was his first prototype.

  “He’ll be happy to hear that,” Rhoswen answered, her gaze still riveted on the spectacular scenery. The ocean stretched before them like a frothing blanket of tiny diamonds. So beautiful. After a year in Atlantis’ sterile environment, the sensory feast overwhelmed her.

  “You love it up here, don’t you?” Obviously sensing her distraction, Trevelan leaned across the small space that separated the pilot and copilot’s chairs and peered over her shoulder. “Too bad they’re ruining it. By the time they advance enough to accept us, they’ll have destroyed the entire planet.”

  She sank back in her chair and gave him a sympathetic glance. No matter how amazing she found the wind and the sky, these trips to the Surface always disappointed her. She never grew accustomed to the filth, poverty, and cruelty she and Trevelan encountered whenever they ventured out into the world above. Religious fervor and superstition had replaced hope long ago.

  “Why do you suppose Oberon wants us to examine Old Atlantis?” he asked, giving voice to the question she knew had been troubling him ever since her father had given them their mission. “It’s remained hidden for thousands of years. Surely, our time upon the Surface would be much better served in one of the cities. We’ll have little opportunity to report upon the political situation if we spend the majority of our time below ground.”

  “It may prove interesting,” she countered, wishing her father had given her leave to tell Trevelan the real reason behind his unusual request. Atlantis’ ancient power grid was failing, and though Oberon had engineers working round the clock on a solution, he wanted a complete inventory and assessment done of Old Atlantis. When they returned, she would prepare a report upon the cavern’s viability as an emergency shelter, should they be forced to evacuate. “Just think how much of our history must have been left behind in those caves. Besides, I know how much you hate the crowds and stench of the cities.”

  “The Surface is populated by barbarians.” Trevelan shook his head as they drew abreast of the islet. “I’m tired of watching them squander what they’ve been given, tired of returning to Atlantis year after year with bad news. I want to wake to the sunrise every morning. I want to feel the wind on my face more than once a year.”

  She sighed. Those who remained in Atlantis their entire lives never knew the beauty of the sun and the trees or how majestically the cliffs and mountains stretched toward the crystal blue sky. But for those chosen few, such as Trevelan and herself, who routinely visited the Surface, returning to the city beneath the sea became more difficult with each passing year. The Earth was big and bright and magnificent, and Atlantis, despite its technological wonders, sometimes seemed like a prison.

  For more than five hundred years, the people who dwelt upon the Surface had remained stagnant, making no significant strides either socially or economically. They
fought endless wars, persecuted each other for racial and religious differences, and died by the hundreds of thousands from hunger and disease.

  Still, they fascinated her. They loved and hated with equal passion, seeming to fit so much life into their short years.

  Her own people had also become dormant, though not many of them seemed to realize it. For longer than anyone could remember, they’d argued about when and where to reclaim their place on the Surface, splitting into two very distinct factions. Half were content to remain in Atlantis, while others — mainly those who spent time on the Surface already, engaged in the farming and mining operations that kept Atlantis supplied — wished to take their chances above.

  Unfortunately, their numbers were so few neither side could survive on their own. The ancient city had begun to decay and took constant maintenance. Atlantis’ complex society required that every single citizen do their part — a mass exodus would prove disastrous.

  Perhaps it would be for the best if the city failed, forcing a change whether Atlantis’ people were ready for it or not.

  As he cut the craft’s motor, Trevelan gave her a look filled with pure anarchy. “We could introduce a virus that would wipe them off the face of the earth.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say.” Rhoswen frowned, uncertain whether he spoke in jest. “Besides, they’re too widespread. A virus, no matter how potent, is bound to die out before they do. There’s no way to infect them all at once.”

  “What if there were? What if Marcus could develop one? Would it be wrong to use it?”

  Marcus was their most brilliant geneticist. If anyone could invent such a thing, he could. The thought of so much death was abhorrent, yet she couldn’t stop thinking about what it would mean to her people. To come out of hiding, after so long—

  She cut off the dangerous thoughts. He didn’t mean it, after all. His frustration had simply gotten the best of him. “Of course, it would be wrong. Please tell me you’re just thinking out loud. You and Marcus haven’t actually discussed this, have you?”

  His disgruntled look offered her little comfort. He wasn’t himself. Ever since they’d left the city, he’d been quiet and preoccupied. Now he spoke of genocide with a calm detachment that chilled her soul.

  He sprawled in the captain’s chair with indolent grace, his golden hair glinting in a shaft of sunlight, his fair, perfect features so at odds with the pock-marked disfiguration common on the Surface. A wonder they hadn’t been burned at the stake already.

  “Rhoswen.” His soft, deep voice brought back memories of happier times. Once she had cared for Trevelan very deeply. He’d been chosen as her mate and, when the time was right, they would be expected to have a child together. But during the last few years, she’d grown dissatisfied with their relationship, wishing for something she couldn’t even name. “They don’t deserve it.”

  “Neither do you,” she whispered, horrified. “Not if you’re willing to go to such lengths to take it.”

  His expression grew cold and remote. “I’m sorry to hear that. Given our… association, I’d expected more from you. I thought to have you at my side when we Surfaced for the last time.”

  She shivered. The friend she’d always taken for granted had vanished, replaced by a stranger she no longer recognized.

  Tension seethed between them as he docked the craft on the seaward side of the islet, leaving little visible above the waterline. The Dolphin would remain hidden from anyone on the beach, but they had a long swim ahead of them.

  “We’ll continue this conversation later,” she promised as she slid out of her seat and opened the hatch. The salty tang of the sea filled the air, and she welcomed the sharp scent after so many months of the city’s processed, sanitized ventilation. “Secure the vessel. I’m heading for shore.”

  He glared at her but didn’t protest. Perhaps he needed some time to himself as well. Grabbing her waterproof pack, she pushed through the hatch and leapt nimbly to the rocks a few feet away. She drew a deep breath into her lungs then dove cleanly into the churning surf.

  The swim exhausted her, as it always did. Swimming in Atlantis’ calm, temperature-controlled pool was far different than battling her way through the icy waves of the Irish Sea. The briny seawater filled her nose and stung her eyes as she sliced her way toward shore. If not for her thermal wetsuit, she’d have frozen to death before she made it halfway.

  Once she reached dry land, she sank to her knees and struggled to catch her breath. Unfamiliar scents and sounds assaulted her senses as she searched the water for Trevelan, wondering what was taking so long. He should have finished securing the submersible by now, but she saw no sign of him.

  She hoped he didn’t plan to be difficult because of their disagreement. Even though their intimate relationship had ended years ago, she still considered him one of her very best friends. They’d never argued before.

  Surely, his earlier comment had been a very poor jest. She refused to believe he would every truly even think of implementing such an abhorrent plan. No matter how much he hated the people who inhabited the Surface, he could never condone genocide.

  “Christ’s blood, men! We’ve found ourselves a selkie!”

  The deep, booming voice took her by surprise. She whirled toward the sound and found half a dozen armor-clad barbarians on the beach behind her. Panic swept through her, and she cast another desperate glance toward the rocky outcropping. Where was Trevelan?

  “Look at her.” The nearest one’s eyes widened with a mixture of fear and lust. “She’s bewitched for certain.”

  She backed away, her gaze darting from one hulking man to the next, trying to decide which one was their leader. How had they gotten so close without her hearing them? She hadn’t yet changed from her wetsuit to something more appropriate and knew no Surface woman would ever wear such skintight fabric. Worse, one of the men picked up her pack and rifled through the contents.

  What he found would be impossible to explain.

  “Grab her,” ordered the man with the pack, making a quick warding sign in her direction. “Be she selkie or witch, Lord Simon will want to see her.”

  Fortunately, none of the men seemed eager to act upon his order. Instead, they stared at her as though they feared her nearly as much as she feared them. Knowing she’d never have a better chance, she took advantage of their momentary lapse and dashed toward the water.

  She wasn’t fast enough. One of the men tackled her from behind, his tremendous weight sending her sprawling face first into the rocky sand. Pain and terror ricocheted through her. To her knowledge, no one from Atlantis had ever been captured before. If they interrogated her, she might break and say something about her mission. If she told them about Old Atlantis, it would put her entire civilization at risk.

  Her only hope was Trevelan, but what help could he be against these uncivilized brutes? He was a scholar, not a warrior.

  The man who’d caught her dragged her to her feet. “We’ll take her back to Hawkesmere,” he told the others. “Lord Simon will know what to do with her.”

  * * * * *

  Five days later…

  Hawkesmere Castle, a great fortress of stone rising out of the dense forest, perched upon a cliff overlooking the River Clwyd. Six white towers gleamed against the azure sky; pale sentinels of safety and protection in a land that had seen far too much of war.

  The southeast tower, with its smooth, circular walls and vaulted roof, had stood upon this site for centuries, long before the rest of the castle had been commissioned by Edward I in 1286. Some claimed the strange building to be of Druid origin, some said Titania, Queen of the Fae, had once dwelt within.

  The current earl, Lord Simon, had considered tearing the haunted place down. But when his younger brother, Sir Sebastian, had returned from years of war and imprisonment to claim the tower for his own, Simon had offered no protest. In fact, he’d ordered the priest to ignore the southeast corner of the castle, leaving Sebastian free to pursue his intere
st in alchemy and other blasphemous pursuits. The earl had hoped that given enough solitude and time, Sebastian’s wounds, both physical and mental, would heal.

  Today, however, Simon’s patience wore thin. He’d sent his page to fetch his brother hours ago — much to the lad’s chagrin — only to find the boy cowering in the Great Hall, having been refused entrance. Simon could have sent someone else, but acknowledged that the result would probably be the same. His resident ‘sorcerer’ retreated further into his world of potions and elixirs with each passing day.

  So it was that he found himself standing upon the tower steps, begging entrance into a part of his own holdings. “Sebastian!” he bellowed. “Open up! I know you are within.”

  On the second floor of the tower, Sebastian of Hawkesmere glanced up at his brother’s demanding shout, then returned his attention to his experiment. Transmutation. Alchemy in its purest form. Lead to gold. Water to wine. If only he could transform the dark recesses of his soul—

  “Sebastian! Open the door.”

  With a sigh, Sebastian pushed away from his chemicals and powders, depressing the hidden latch in the floor that allowed the ground level door to swing open. The simple trick—a door seeming to open on its own—usually managed to scare the superstitious people of Hawkesmere away.

  Unfortunately, Hawkesmere’s lord was not as feeble-minded as the rest. Simon had every right to demand entry into Sebastian’s tower, yet he seldom did. In truth, Sebastian only saw his brother on those rare occasions when Simon wished to impress some visiting noble with his wisdom and magic. The system worked satisfactorily. Sebastian did not mind putting on an occasional show, as long as Simon left him alone the rest of the time.

  Simon entered the tower, slamming the door behind him before he strode up the stairs and into Sebastian’s workspace. A long sable cape swirled about his broad shoulders and obvious irritation flickered in his hazel eyes. “You ignored the page I sent to fetch you. And now you reduce me to begging at your door?”