Voyagers: The Drowning Land

CHAPTER ONE

Splash Down

It had felt like an eternity, although it had been no more than four days since Keti, Shakata and Hal, unable to control their hot air balloon, had floated away from Mazuma.

They had searched for somewhere to land but there had been nothing below them except a seemingly endless expanse of ocean.

In the darkness Keti reached for fuel for the firebox. If the fire went out their voyage would end in the sea. It was the heated air in the envelope which kept them up. She was weak from lack of food and dehydrated. There had been no provisions on board when they had left so unexpectedly. It was lucky that fuel had been provided.

Shakata was slumped against the side of the basket. He had fallen into a sleep from which Keti was determined not to rouse him. The giant warrior had not slept for days. Hal had been unconscious for some time and Keti and Shakata were afraid that without water their friend would slip away from them forever.

She blew the dying embers into flame. The little fuel which remained would keep them aloft for a few more hours. The envelope flapped against the rigging. How much height had they lost? Keti peered down. They were still safely above the waves. Moonlight shone through a gap in the clouds and she thought she saw land – wishful thinking? No! Waves were breaking on a strip of sandy beach gleaming wetly below a line of high cliffs. Land – at last!

‘Shakata. Shakata.’ Her throat was so dry that her words were little more than a whisper. She shook the big man awake. ‘Land, Shakata. Land!’

Unable to sleep, Quetal rose from her narrow bed and crept out of the airless, cell-like, dormitory to seek the cool breezes of the night.

To a novitiate of the first rank no part of the temple, other than those rooms occupied by the high priestess of Kaluna, was out of bounds. She was free to wander the familiar corridors and terraces of what had been her home for much of her life. From the highest terrace, where she paused for reflection, the moon, at an early stage in its monthly cycle, was just visible as a thin crescent of light.

She was worried. On his last visit her father had seemed unhappy. Quetal knew that he would have preferred her not to serve Kaluna, but until then he had accepted the situation. Why should he feel differently now? What had changed? Was it because soon she would take her final vows. Surely not, she thought. He must know there was no going back now.

Just then what looked like a huge bird passed before the crescent moon gliding perhaps in search of prey. Quetal followed its flight until she could no longer distinguish it from the distant darkness. Sensing a familiar presence, she turned to her only friend in the temple.

‘Did you see that giant bird, Tula?’

The wise, old, white haired, female monkey, the last of its kind in Monydra, looked up at her. Tula could not speak but, unknown to anyone except Quetal, she could read minds and communicate without words. Tula did not believe it was a bird.

Tonight, of all nights, inspiration had failed him. The fine phrases, which usually flowed so easily from his pen, had dried up. The words with which to accept the proconsulship of Tlaxcala refused to come. The parchment on the desk was as virginal as when he had sat down to compose his speech. His problem was that he could think only of the High Priestess Astarte. Her captivating smile, her long lustrous hair, golden glowing skin, her beautiful face, her perfect figure, her thrilling hypnotic voice. She was enchanting, mesmerising – and not for him. Kukulcan groaned. She was not for any man. Her life was devoted to the service of Kaluna, the Goddess of the Moon.

In frustration, the portly, middle-aged man, soon to become secular master of the island state of Monydra, second only to the high priestess, laid down his pen. He would write his acceptance speech in the morning. At his study window he breathed in a draught of the cool night air and abandoned himself to dreams of his fruitless passion. What was that moving in the sky above the temple? A bat? Surely it was much too large to be a bat. A bird, then. It was huge, frightening, sinister. Kukulcan closed the window to shut out the night. What had it been? An evil omen?

Overshooting the land, their craft skimmed beyond the shore. As the basket struck the water, Keti was afraid that they would be trapped beneath the rigging and the voluminous folds of the deflating balloon. Fortunately the envelope carried beyond the basket before it flopped onto the surface of the sea.

‘Cut the ropes, Shakata. Cut the ropes,’ she croaked.

The air in the balloon would escape after which, heavy with water, it would sink like a stone dragging the basket down with it. The warrior’s sword made short work of cutting the basket free and, as it righted itself the sodden cloth and rigging disappeared under the waves. The basket was now filling rapidly with icy seawater and Keti tried vainly to haul the unconscious Hal upright. They would have to swim for the shore and dry land.

‘Help me, Shakata. Please, I can’t do it alone.’

For an instant, in the moonlight, Keti saw the helplessness in his eyes. The big man could not swim.

‘Help us,’ she cried in desperation. ‘Someone. Please help us.’

CHAPTER TWO

Saved

Preparing to sail to the fishing grounds, the four youngsters were stowing food and water aboard their small craft. Catches were often better in the early morning and they intended to reach their destination before the sun rose. Many changes of course were needed to navigate the twists and turns of the narrow channel which followed the line of the old riverbed under the sea. Although buoys marked the passage to the open sea, it was a real test of seamanship, which few would attempt at night. However, they had no misgivings. From early childhood they had swum, dived, sailed and fished the waters around the island. Each was a skilled pilot capable of guiding ocean-going vessels.

‘Stow the water forward, Assur.’ Cloris, the only girl in the crew, enjoyed her role as so-called skipper. Her brother Chanes and his friends, Lobus and Assur, older than her, played the game.

‘Aye, Aye, Captain,’ Assur responded. The burly youngster clasped the clay amphora to his broad chest and made his way to the prow.

‘Lash it down tight, Assur.’

On the jetty, Chanes prepared to cast off. Some instinct made him look at the sky above the roofs of the cottages around the small harbour. Some sort of flying creature was headed for them, looming out of the night. ‘Get down,’ he yelled. ‘Get down!’ They felt the draft as it flew over them. Chanes, first to recover, ran to the end of the jetty. He heard cries of distress. He pulled off his tunic. ‘Follow me in the boat,’ he called to his companions. Plunging into the water, he swam towards the sound of people in trouble.

Reaching the basket just before it began to sink, he realised that it was an aircraft of some kind which had crashed into the sea. His companions had rowed the boat close. Assur and Lobus leaped into the water to help two of the survivors. Cloris pulled them into the boat.

Chanes was fighting for his life. The survivor had frustrated all Chanes’ attempts to help him and they had sunk, limbs entangled, below the surface of the sea. They had come up only to sink again until, lungs bursting, Chanes had managed somehow to subdue the big man. It took all of them to get him into the boat. By the light of a lantern Cloris examined the survivors. The boy lay in the stern, hardly breathing. ‘This one’s close to death, Brother. Leave him for Toltec. We may do more harm than good.’

‘This one’s all right.’ Assur knelt by Keti. ‘Who are you? Where do you come from?’

Keti did not know what he was saying. She assumed that he was asking who they were and where they came from. She tried to speak but all that emerged was a croak.

‘This isn’t the time for questions, Assur. They’re in a bad way? Some water, girl?’ Chanes held out a cup of water. ‘Not too much now. Sip it, don’t gulp.’

‘Please give some to Shakata.’ Chanes guessed what she was asking.

‘Of course,’ he replied, turning to the giant who lay gasping, on the bottom of the boat.

‘Let’s get back to shore.’ Cloris was worried about Hal. His fair skin was cold to the touch. His lips were blue. He was barely breathing. ‘Come on boys, put your backs into it.’

‘Aye, aye.’ Lobus and Assur were at the oars. Chanes took the tiller.

CHAPTER THREE

The Scholars of Monydra

Toltec believed that the earthquakes, which had devastated Monydra, were caused by pressure from below the earth’s crust. When the pressure grew too high the earth’s surface split apart along a fault line under the sea, creating huge waves. Most of Monydra now lay below the sea. A small island was all that was left of what had once been a vast area of fertile land, home to a great civilisation.

Toltec knew that disaster was certain to strike again and he had seen the slow flooding of more and more land as the level of the sea rose. Of late there had been less loss of land, which the devotees of Kaluna attributed to their worship of the moon goddess, controller of the tides. Toltec feared that the forces which swelled the waters of the ocean, forces beyond his comprehension, were only temporarily inactive. The sea would rise again. The pressure, which had caused the last earthquake and the overwhelming wave, was building again.

A desire to understand these natural disasters had become an obsession. His pupil, Cerebral, an awkward young man, shared his enthusiasm. Cerebral had developed ways to measure the pressure below the earth’s surface. He had determined where it would fracture the surface below the sea. He predicted that the next quake could strike soon.

They worked by the light of oil lamps. Toltec was tired. At times like this he felt his age. His wife was dead and his grandchildren, Chanes and Cloris, were his only living relatives.

Cerebral was working on his latest calculations. ‘No! No! No – Oh - No!’ The youngster jerked upright, upsetting his chair. He fell backwards, arms and legs comically outthrust. One foot collided with his desk, knocking over his inkwell. Toltec set it upright.

‘Thank you, Sir.’ Flat on his back, Cerebral looked up at Toltec, a bewildered expression on his face. Getting to his feet, he pitifully rubbed his head.

‘What’s the problem?’ Toltec inquired.

‘We need to take more measurements.’

Toltec frowned. ‘How many more?’

The youngster sat down, still rubbing his head. ‘Not too many, Sir.’

‘I’ll speak to Chanes, tomorrow,’ Toltec decided. ‘He’ll take you. What the -’

They heard someone taking the stairs two at a time.

‘Help, Grandfather. There’s a boy. I’m afraid he’s dying.’ Cloris, burst into the study. ‘Please hurry. Lobus and Assur are carrying him here from the boat. Chanes is with the others.’

‘Who - who - who are they? Where - where are they from? Is – is it a shipwreck? Are – are there – are there more survivors?’ Cerebral’s stammer was more pronounced when he was excited. ‘Is it one of our – is it one of our ships returned from - ?’

‘First things, first.’ Toltec interrupted the stream of questions. ‘Let me attend to this boy. Then we’ll find out what’s happened.’

When the day