To Live With Ancients (Ancient Atlantis Book 2)

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  January 27th

  Questioning

  The Queen Regent

  His Real Father

  Of Feelings and Cavalcades

  The Return of Luxor

  Princess Marabella

  Luxor's Dilemma

  The Magic Master

  A Church of Atlantis

  A Special Request

  The Healers of Atlantis

  A Meeting

  By Chance

  The Archivist

  Epilogue: A Visit From Luxor

  Stay in Touch

  To Live With Ancients

  Copyright © 2016 Sarah R. Silas

  Cover design by Melody Simmons

  All rights reserved.

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

  No part of this book may be reproduced without express permission of the author.

  All events and characters depicted are fictional.

  January 27th

  Dear Diary,

  It has officially been one week since I’ve been in Atlantis, or as they simply call it: The City. I’m not sure how to describe the past week, as it’s gone by in such a blur of commotion and meeting new people, but not really sitting down with them to figure out who they are. It’s come to the point of just not seeing Cecil at all. He’s always busy with Atlantis stuff, and I’ve been left alone in my rooms.

  That wasn’t a typo, Diary, I have rooms now. The Atlantean Royal Palace is filled with these apartment like chambers, not only for the Royal Family, but for visiting persons or other special guests. The servants seemed neither surprised nor burdened by my presence. The rooms themselves are plush, well furnished, and in three short words: completely fucking amazing. If only Cecil would…ya know…drop by to see me once in a while. I've seen very little over the past week, but it's been nice to sort of wander around the gardens and the palace, stare out at the sprawling city below, and most importantly, try to find my bearings on what I'm going to do next.

  I'm confused. This is the confusion that carried me here and I've been really hoping that it would pass. Do I love Cecil? I think so. Does he love me? It's not certain. Maybe my love isn't certain. Maybe I shouldn't have come. I've been trying to banish these feelings from my mind because they won't do any good. They just won't do any good. Am I going back up over the water? Am I abandoning this beautiful city with its vivid and varied architecture, its foreign language, and hopefully, a vast library? There's nothing left for me up there.

  I stumbled upon a small library, but everything was unfortunately written in Atlantean script. Cecil did mention to me that anyone who works in the palace has to learn multiple languages, including English. What kind of English, or from what era, isn’t clear, but so far I’ve been able to understand most people.

  Cecil says they're already planning his coronation. At least, he says they are, but he doesn't seem very happy about it all. He acts as if he doesn't want this at all, that coming home is a burden, and if I didn't know him as well as I do, I wouldn't have noticed that he's definitely hiding something. Or someone. Or both. Maybe coming down here was a bad idea. Maybe I'm doomed to run into the bride-to-be, or even worse, the bride-that-was.

  But, amongst all those things, amongst all the chaos and the uncertainty, a piece of me still misses home. Another piece of me misses Sharon. Sharon! What could she possibly be thinking? I should probably figure out a way to send her a message. Maybe that would help ease things over so she doesn't call the police or file a missing persons report.

  I can't believe I just up and left! It's an exciting feeling for sure, and it's the best goddamn thing I've ever done quite frankly. Who knew I had such determination and spontaneity in me, or such rashness?

  Diary, I'm going to make the best of what's to come. I have to, because, to be honest…I think this is all I have left. And I'm not going to waste a single minute of it.

  Let’s see what tomorrow brings, till later,

  J.

  Questioning

  Sharon had been trying to get a hold of Juniper for a week. She had even stopped by her house, trying to look through the frosted windows, but found no sign of her. She was getting worried, especially after the special agents from the FBI had come knocking. Their initial conversation had been brief. She had explicitly told them she knew nothing of Juniper’s whereabouts or anything about Cecil. But, she had been extremely hungover that morning, so most of the conversation with them was very spotty. They had called her a few days later to set up another meeting.

  Now, she sat in the lobby of the local FBI field office in Portland, wondering whether or not she should actually go inside and face whatever further questioning they had for her. On the phone they had seemed brusque and commanding and had basically intimidated her into agreeing to show up, insinuating but not explicitly saying that she was involved in whatever their investigation entailed. She sat patiently, flipping through a year old magazine, imagining in her head that she was actually at the dentist, and not possibly in some sort of criminal investigation.

  “The Agents are ready for you, ma’am,” said the curly haired blonde receptionist pointing idly down the dirty hallway to a room labeled I-2 at the end.

  “What does I-2 stand for,” asked Sharon, trying to keep her voice calm and collected.

  “Interrogation Room 2,” said the receptionist, not looking up from the papers on her desk.

  Sharon stood in front of the receptionist, not moving, unsure of whether she actually wanted to walk down the hallway and meet the agents for an interrogation. “Do you think I could reschedule this meeting for another date?” asked Sharon.

  The receptionist looked up sharply. “You’ll have to discuss that with the agents, ma’am.” She pointed down the hallway with her eyes and then went back to her work.

  “Well, alright then,” said Sharon. She proceeded to walk down the hallway, dreading every step she took.

  She stood in front of the doorway, the handle inches away from her fingers not knowing what horror awaited her inside. When it swung open and she saw the smiling faces of Special Agents Fielding and Tinker, beckoning her to enter, her guard dropped, her shoulders slumped and she walked inside feeling a little safer.

  “Sorry for using this room Sharon, it was the only private room we could find today,” laughed Tinker. “We actually have an office back in D.C., but out here in the boonies it can get a little rough.”

  “This is Portland, this isn’t the boonies,” replied Sharon, taking a seat in the lone chair in the room which sat behind a bare metal desk. A lone light bulb swung lightly from the ceiling as Tinker let the door close.

  “My apologies,” said Tinker, leaning against the back wall of the room and motioning for Fielding to take point and lead the discussion.

  Fielding took the cue and walked over to his messenger bag which leaned against the front leg of the desk. “We apologize for showing up at your door the other morning. Disturbing you was not our intention.”

  “It was no trouble Agent Fielding.”

  Fielding took out a folder and laid it on the desk. He opened it up and pushed a photograph to Sharon. “Do you know who this is?”

  Sharon stared at the photograph. It was a black and white picture and the grains in the image told of its age. “How old is this?”

  “Do you know who that is in the photograph?” asked Tinker. His deep bass tones carried an ominousness that Fielding’s more mellow range did not.

  Sharon looked at the photo again and tried to place the i
ndividual. He looked familiar, sure, but she wasn’t sure who that could be. “No, I don’t know who that is. Ya know, I went to school for photography. That image looks older than I am. I’m sure you guys aren’t doing that for artistic effect. How would I know that person?”

  Fielding took the folder, flipped through it, took out another photograph, and pushed it towards Sharon. “Do you know who this person is? This photograph, as you can tell, is not old,” he said.

  Sharon looked at the new photograph. It was in color this time, and the individual was exiting Jalopy Tavern, this time with another person in tow. The first individual was just exiting and half her face was hidden, but Sharon could tell that it was Juniper. “Well, that’s Juniper,” she said, pointing to her.

  “We know,” said Tinker. He moved forward and pointed to the other individual. “And that’s Cecil. Do you not recognize him?”

  Sharon looked at the photographs together side by side. “I’ll be honest with you two gentleman, I have never actually seen Cecil in person or otherwise.”

  Fielding and Tinker sighed nearly in unison. Tinker perked up then. “But you’re sure he exists though?” he asked expectantly.

  Sharon nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure he exists. Juniper would never shut up about him. It was clear she was in love with him, but Juniper never—“

  “Have you been able to get in touch with Juniper?” interrupted Fielding.

  “No, not lately. I’m sure she’s just angry at me for leaving her at the bar the other night,” Sharon responded. But she wasn’t so sure. Her empty house was an indicator that perhaps Juniper was missing. Was that what the agents were after? “Explain to me this older one,” asked Sharon pointing to the black and white, grainy, photograph.

  Fielding looked to Tinker for a moment before responding, trying to judge whether or not to reveal the information they had. “They’re the same person,” said Fielding.

  Sharon looked at the photographs and tried to compare them. They could be the same person she concluded. But that was impossible. This photograph must be decades old, she thought. “When was this taken?” she asked.

  “1923. July. By a Secret Service agent,” said Tinker, his deep tones again giving what he said an ominousness and finality.

  “I don’t understand,” said Sharon looking at Fielding and Tinker in turn. “What are you trying to say? Are you two some kind of paranormal investigators? Like on television?”

  “No, we’re definitely from the Bureau,” said Tinker.

  “And yes, we’ve been assigned to this case, and I think we’re close to cracking it,” said Fielding. “With your help, we might actually get down to the facts and at least be able to crack it with some modicum of truth, rather than speculation.”

  “What can I do? I don’t even understand what’s going on,” asked Sharon.

  Tinker pushed himself back from the wall and took the folder from Fielding. He rifled through it and found a map which he placed in front of Sharon. “If you look at the red dots, these were locations of either deep sea oil rigs, or the last known locations of Naval warships, from the United States and other countries. These wreckages span over 70 years, Sharon. And we have it all linked back, we think, to one person.”

  “Someone who’s what? 145 years old?” said Sharon incredulously.

  “Yes,” said Fielding seriously.

  “We would like you to find out where he lived. After decades we finally figured out that this man,” Tinker pointed to Cecil’s image in the old photograph, “is not only responsible for these crimes and the loss of all hands in every instance, but also, that he lived quietly in Kurlington for all those years.”

  “I don’t know where he lives,” said Sharon.

  “We need your help to find out. You’re the closest link we have to him,” said Fielding.

  “Honestly, after more than 70 years, you’re the only link we have to him,” said Tinker.

  “Well, now that,” Fielding’s voice trailed off.

  “Now that what?” asked Sharon.

  “Now that Juniper Nesbitt is gone,” said Tinker.

  “Oh.”

  The Queen Regent

  The Queen Regent strode into the palace dining room. She wore a simple dress with a floral pattern and a circlet around her temples to indicate her rank. She carried herself regally, as if floating gently across the marble floor, rather than actually taking any steps. Her dress flowed behind her, and as she turned, Juniper could see that it was elegantly tied above her waist in a lattice pattern that went up to her neck. Juniper was nervous to meet the Queen Regent. She’d been in Atlantis for nearly a week and not having met Cecil’s mother for all this time seemed rude. But, the few moments she’d had with Cecil, he had assured her this was completely normal. His mother was ruling now until his own coronation and she wouldn’t waste time on such formalities at the moment, he had reminded her. The Queen Regent finally took her seat at the head of the long dining table.

  The long dining table was set for three although it could hold hundreds more. The high table sat unused a few yards away. Cecil had explained to Juniper, as they waited for the Queen Regent, that it was only set when there was a King to sit in it. And until then, no formal palace dinner would occur.

  “Good evening mother,” said Cecil.

  “Good evening child,” said the Queen Regent politely. She spoke with a soft voice, just loud enough for the three of them to hear it. “You must be Juniper,” she said.

  “Yes your highness,” said Juniper. The few moments Cecil decided to spend with her had been filled either in bed or he gave her lessons about etiquette and royal courtesy. Sometimes they even went hand in hand.

  “Are you enjoying your visit to Atlantis?” she asked Juniper.

  The words stung for a moment and Juniper didn’t know how to respond. Was she just visiting? “Yes ma’am. It is a wonderful city.”

  “I hope Cecil is showing you an appropriate time. The City is beautiful this time of year. The merchants should be out in full force. Please consider leaving the palace at some point and taking in the city. I’m sure Cecil will be able to either provide you company or at least a guard regiment to ensure your protection.” She motioned for the servants who lined the room and the food was brought in.

  “I’m sorry to hear of Augustus’s passing, Mother,” said Cecil. “We haven’t had a chance to talk, the two of us. I was hoping you’d talk to me about what happened.”

  The Queen Regent’s face dropped for a moment and she stared at the plate of food which had just been placed in front us. “It was an unfortunate accident. It’s been hard on the people. To lose two Kings in such a short amount of time, just awful.”

  “Yes, Mother, but could you please speak to what happened?”

  “A terrible accident Cecil. Let’s not dwell on it.”

  “How did Father pass?”

  “Peacefully, in his sleep. Horace was getting on in age.”

  “You two are the same age.”

  “Different bloodlines, thankfully. You’ll hopefully age as I do.”

  “But not Augustus.”

  “It was a terrible accident. Cecil, leave it be. The Guards have done their due diligence. Let it be now.”

  The two of them sank into themselves and paid attention to their plates. Regardless of their royal nature they were still just mother and son, thought Juniper. She had watched the exchange as if it were a tennis match.

  Finally, she used the silverware in front of her to figure out what was on her plate. It was clearly some kind of vegetable, a kind she had never seen, and what appeared to be a meat dish and possibly some mashed potatoes of some kind. She took a bite of each and found them to be passable as food. Cecil had explained that the brilliant fare of Atlantis was only served in the dining hall when there was a King on the throne. Otherwise, the cooks didn’t take the time to serve anything special, even to the Royal Family.

  “Juniper,” said the Queen Regent, turning her attention, “do you plan
on joining the Guards if you stay?” The Queen’s question was pointed, as if she expected a direct, and specific, answer.

  Juniper was thrown off by the question. “I…I’m not sure ma’am. I will have to think about it. I'm not even sure what it entails."

  "I'm sure Cecil will get Lord Manfred to run through the details with you. And if you'll be staying with us, please feel free to attend Court. I'm sure it will be an educational experience for you." The Queen Regent returned to her food, completely absorbed with what was on her plate. She didn't seem to have taken Juniper’s response in any particular way. That at least eased Juniper into a sense of calm. She was desperate to make a good impression. Perhaps the invitation to court was a good sign, she thought.

  "What of Luxor?" asked Cecil. His voice spit out his younger brother's name as if it were poison. The animosity was clear and Juniper was taken aback by the emotion. But the Queen Regent didn't even move a muscle. Finally, she quietly put down her fork and looked into Cecil's face.

  "What of him dear?" she asked lightly, her face blank.

  "News and the like."

  "He has your old position."

  Now it was Cecil's turn to freeze. He hadn't expected that answer. He put down his fork and stared back at his mother. "I see. And?"

  "And, nothing. He is doing fine."

  "Any issues?"

  "Should there be?"

  "Mother, please."

  "Your dislike of your younger brother has always been a thorn in my side Cecil, but please, if you're to be King it will be time to put these puerile machinations aside. Is that clear?"

  "We shall see."

  "I said, Cecil, is that clear? Grow up dear."

  Cecil leaned back in his chair, looking as if he'd been whipped. Which, Juniper thought, he clearly had. "Yes, Mother, as you wish," was his only reply as he began eating again.

  The rest of the meal went in silence, with each eating at their own pace. The Queen Regent finished quickly, quietly stood up, and stalked out of the dining hall. Cecil didn't look up from his food for the rest of the meal. Juniper stared at him as she ate hers. She hoped he would look up at some point and she could say something in comfort, or perhaps to hint at how she hoped he would join her in bed that night, but Cecil's silence seemed to echo in the large dining room, making it hard for her to even consider interrupting his thoughts.