The Last Atlantean: The Last Librarian, #3

By John C De Groot

Unzari, the sole survivor of Atlantis following its volcanic destruction, seeks out Amanishakete's help to save the library of Atlantis that he says contains the technological secrets of their advanced civilisation.

 

But his motives are entirely different, threatening the secrets of the Royal Alexandrian Library and putting Amanishakete and Sabine in grave danger, as they journey with an ancient deity to the Forge of Vulcan and then along the Silk Road where they meet warriors and bandits.

 

In 2019 the discovery of what could be the site of Atlantis is splashed on the world news. Will this new discovery finally lead Amanishakete to recover the Atlantean's library and discover who the Atlanteans really are.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John C De Groot
• Release date: Jan 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215847008

John C De Groot

Albert Einstein said that ‘it is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken joy in creative expression and knowledge’. That was certainly the case with my high school history teacher, who brought history alive and started my fascination in Ancient and Early Modern history. There are countless mysteries that still remain unsolved and I have a real suspicion that we have lost or forgotten more knowledge than we have ever gained. After a career in business, business support and as a trainer for Dale Carnegie, I did some consulting. It was a client who once said to me that ‘I was a useful man to have around’, based to some degree on my ability with the written word. When retirement loomed his words, my interest in history and a very patient and supportive wife encouraged me to ‘put pen to paper’ and with heart in hand resulted in my first book ‘The Quest for Eternal Life', the first in the ‘Last Librarian’ Series. That was several books ago in a growing portfolio.

Book preview

Prologue – London 2019

S abine! I called, as I sat at my desk looking at the BBC news on the monitor across the room. Have you seen the news?

Sabine came through from her office.

I was just looking at it, she responded with a small frown. I was wondering if they really have.

She sat on the corner of my desk as we both watched the screen.

Her light brown hair was longer now, framing her pale face in a small cloud of curls. Whilst nothing obvious had changed for over two thousand years, I’d seen her hair change from long plaits when I’d first met her in Bilma in the North African desert, two thousand years ago, to a rather short straight boyish style during most of the Middle or Dark Ages as some rightly called them, to ringlets in the Renaissance, page-boy in the later twentieth century and now this softer more feminine style in the new Millennium. But her pale creamy skin, penetrating ice blue eyes and almost musical voice, hadn’t changed a bit.

‘I suppose’, I thought, ‘that she must think the same of me. It’s only the style of our dress our hair and superficial things that have changed over the centuries’.

She turned and saw me looking at her. Her head tilted slightly to one side and a knowing look appeared on her face.

We are, I hope, also much wiser and more experienced now and there are many things that can’t be seen on the outside, but have changed on the inside.

We shared a brief smile.

‘Yes’ I thought, ‘we have also become much closer and more aware of how we each think."

I turned back to the monitor. The commentator was relating the discovery of what had been leaked to the press as the sunken islands of Atlantis off the west coast of Portugal. On screen rather murky underwater footage appeared of what could be collapsed man-made structures.

Experts have been reported as saying, the commentator was continuing, that there is no obvious explanation for some of their discoveries at the site and they suspect that the settlement was destroyed by volcanic activity even though there is no historical record of such activity in this area. It is also reported that metal objects have been discovered that have no equal anywhere else in the world and appear to be technologically advanced. Apparently, they are as yet unable to define the size or date of the settlement and have played down any sensationalism saying that there is no evidence that this is the fabled land of Atlantis.

It’s in the right place, I said looking at Sabine with a nod and a wry expression.

But we have what we wanted, Amani, Sabine added.

True, I replied slowly, but I had an uncomfortable feeling at the back of my mind, that there was still some unfinished business for us related to Atlantis.

Over the next few weeks speculation, rumour and the sensational media in particular continued to report that Atlantis may have at last been found. The scientific community, as would be expected, was stonily silent their reputations at the top of their list of priorities. It was while the uproar about Atlantis was going on that I received a series of phone and written messages from someone called Nicholas Hunt.

I’d taken the view that his hand-written messages were from a reporter or the like. They arrived in the post and were addressed to; Mrs Amani Waddington, Chief Executive, Batalimus Company Ltd at our offices in Batalimus House in London’s Mayfair. Each message was the same and with just a date at the top said;

Dear Mrs Waddington

I would be grateful for an appointment with you to discuss the recent ‘discovery’ of Atlantis.

Yours faithfully

Nicholas Hunt

Then there was a phone number.

It wasn’t until I received the last message, delivered by hand, and marked Private & Confidential to my name and title that I took more notice. Inside the plain envelope there was a hand-written note, but this time the note was addressed in a different way as well as bearing a date:

Mrs Amani Waddington

Chief Librarian

Royal Alexandrian Library

Dear Mrs Waddington

Two years ago you chartered a research vessel that spent several days near the site of the recent ‘discovery

of Atlantis’.

I would be grateful for an appointment with you to discuss this.

Yours faithfully

Nicholas Hunt

Then there was the same phone number.

I buzzed through to Sabine who quickly joined me and passed her the note. We looked at each other and nodded.

I called the number and put it on loudspeaker.

Nicholas Hunt here Mrs Waddington. Thank you for calling. His pleasant educated English voice, was that of a youngish man, I guessed in his thirties.

Who are you Mr Hunt? I asked in a business-like voice.

I am a private individual and also a qualified forensic scientist specialising in historical artefacts and documents. You can find me in the records of Cambridge University and in the membership list of the Chartered Society of Forensic Sciences.

Something sounded right about Nicholas Hunt. I looked up at Sabine and we nodded.

Alright, I’m prepared to hear what you have to say.

Well actually I’m right outside opposite your offices if you could see me now.

Sabine went to my office window that looked out onto the street below where she watched a man standing immediately opposite for some moments, before turning and nodding.

I will have someone meet you at the front door. I said to him.

Sabine went down the stairs and with two Guardians of Knowledge behind her opened the door. Looking down from my window I could see the man called Nicholas Hunt, now on the pavement on our side of the street, at the bottom of the short flight of steps to our building. He ran lightly up the steps. I watched the heavy black Edwardian door close behind him on my monitor, as the security camera in the reception area covered his arrival.

Mr Hunt, my name is Sabine Malik. One of these gentlemen will need to check you for weapons. I heard Sabine say. Nicholas Hunt smiled.

I’d expect nothing less. he responded.

A minute or two later Sabine showed him into my office.

Nicholas Hunt was around six feet with broad shoulders and athletic build, a soft check open neck shirt under a blue wind-breaker and jeans. Dark brown curly hair over a high forehead, deep set brown eyes and square chin. He squinted slightly, as I stepped forward from the window, where the sun was at my back. I held out my hand which he shook with a strong grip.

Sabine had gone to her own office after she’d shown him into mine and now rejoined us.

I am Amani Waddington Mr Hunt, you’ve already met my colleague Sabine Malik.

You have become a little controversial according to members of the Chartered Society Mr Hunt, Sabine said provocatively.

He responded with a sardonic smile, but was unfazed by Sabine’s observation.

They seem to be unhappy with some of my findings. Some members can be a little conservative.

Hunt came across as a professional who was perhaps more worldly wise than purely academic.

Please take a seat Mr Hunt, I said, and you can tell us why you have been so persistent in wanting to meet us. I indicated one of my comfortable black leather tub chairs at the coffee table where Sabine and I joined him.

Thank you for seeing me, he started. If I may, I’ll explain some of the background.

He received expressions from us both that encouraged him to continue.

"Last summer I was in a small Portuguese fishing village where some local fishermen had brought up in their nets what they thought were some ancient artefacts. A friend at the University of Lisbon asked me to look at what they’d found and send him a report.

Most of the items were of little interest and came from a Roman shipwreck, but there two items that were more puzzling. I speak a little Portuguese and I enjoy the local restaurants that aren’t filled with tourists. I got speaking to some fishermen while we had our plates of the communal seafood paella stew they cook in a big steel pan. They told me of a research vessel that had been off the coast of their village for several days the previous season. I thought little of it at the time, until that is, the recent news broke of the possible discovery of Atlantis. The site of that is in the waters some distance offshore from the same village. It didn’t take a lot of investigating to discover that the research vessel had been chartered by the Batalimus Company."

So you put two and two together, as they say. Sabine responded. Hunt smiled.

And the two puzzling items, I asked.

He reached into a pocket of his wind-breaker and retrieved a small cotton bag closed with a drawstring. Opening it, he took out two objects wrapped in tissue. He unwrapped the first, to reveal a small, flat square metal box. Then he unwrapped the other, it was identical to the first.

I was starting to feel the hairs on the nape of my neck rise and looked at Nicholas Hunt with narrowed eyes. He said nothing as we sat around the small table almost riveted by the two small objects in the centre.

Have you opened them?I asked flatly.

Yes, he said picking up one of them and with some effort managed to open it. Inside was a square object made of a dark blue crystalline substance with a thin silver frame around the edges. He tipped it out its box onto his palm. On one side, were thin gold angular lines around a small circular depression in the centre. He tipped it over and on the other, a silver disk was fixed to the middle of the square.

He replaced the object in its box and sat back in his chair.

And the other one? Sabine asked.

It’s empty, he replied.

The look of relief on our faces must have been obvious.

You know what this is don’t you. He said sitting forward again with a puzzled expression.

I looked at Sabine. There was a look of grave concern on our faces. We knew exactly what the object was.

PART ONE

Chapter One – Atlantis

It was before sunrise as Unzari looked towards the West. Usually it was a beautiful sight beyond the harbour of the town where the swell of the ocean was brought alive by phosphorescence and from the indigo sky above the reflection of brightly twinkling stars and a sliver of setting silver moon. Today he hesitated as dark unnatural clouds, encroaching from the West, seemed to be slowly eating the stars and moon. He took a deep breath before turning to face the new day that should be just over the horizon in the East.

The pervasive smell of sulphur had become worse in recent weeks since the island of Xenadi had erupted as well. Today, like many days before, there would be no sunrise. At least not a normal one. The sun would be shrouded in a blood red cloud, suffused by dense black eruptions and spouts of flame and debris from Terranos, an island just out of sight to the west. Terranos had been the first to erupt. The darkness there still pierced by flashes of red and yellow flame, flaring and dying.

He stood on the parapet of the temple of Anu, his hands on the low wall as if to support him. It was one of the few buildings so far unaffected by the recent eruptions and quakes from Xenadi, but many others had succumbed and now lay in ruins, or were in danger of collapse. His head sank upon his chest as he let out a deep sigh, more expressive of his despair at the destruction than any words could describe. Sensing the presence of someone approaching, he stood up straight. It was his faithful assistant Arazid.

It is time, Lord Unzari.

Then let us go, Arazid, he replied quietly, as he took his staff of office from Arazid, who’d brought it for him. Looking briefly into Arazid’s eyes, he saw the same look of despair as must be in his own eyes. It must go deeper for him, Unzari thought, remembering that all of Arazid’s family had perished on Terranos.

They descended the stairs to the ground floor and stepped out into the street where the darkness and shadows cast by the buildings was relieved by photon lamps. They each took a citizens chair from the rack of bays and guiding them with practised movements of their bodies, glided over the wide paved road towards the Place of the Keeper. The road under their chairs no longer smooth and flat as before, but now undulating slightly from the eruptions and movement of the ground.

As they dismounted at the entrance to the Place of the Keeper the chairs automatically parked themselves in bays against the wall. A guard let them in.

There were fifty seats in the triangular shaped Converse of the Keeper, the room being divided into three segments by two aisles, the seats already filling as Unzari and Arazid entered. There were some nods of welcome, but no smiles. Arazid retired to the back of the Converse as Unzari took his seat in the front row. Behind him the tiers of seats were each raised like a theatre. After a few minutes The Keeper came on to the small platform at the very point of the triangle, and the room fell silent.

Unzari knew that The Keeper was already one hundred and eighty Orbits old. Unzari himself would be two hundred and two Orbits in another Orbit’s time. He wondered fleetingly whether he would still be here when that happened.

I do not need to tell you that we face the prospect of losing our home. The Keeper started seriously, his voice carrying easily to the back of the triangle.

He was not the oldest in the community and there were many present who could tell stories of being alive in the ‘early days’, before The Keeper was born, but the position of Keeper was agreed by a majority vote and not by longevity.

He stood tall and straight a simple white robe falling unbelted from shoulders to ankles. His straight white hair, matching his white beard and moustache, fell to his shoulders. Apart from signs of office or trade, like Unzari’s staff, symbols of status had long since been abandoned. The Keeper’s blazing, blue eyes, in his small-featured mahogany-coloured face, were his most striking feature, until you saw that almost everyone in the room had similar features, even if they were wearing robes of differing colours and styles.

As we had agreed, he continued, our records and heritage have been sealed in the floating vaults and now we must decide what we are to do next.

There was an immediate clamour of voices wanting to be heard. The Keeper pointed to Unzari and the clamour stopped. Unzari stood.

Thank you Keeper, Unzari responded, and turned to face the assembly. Whilst we have protected our material records and relics, he said in his commanding voice, honed over the years in the temple, if they are to be of any value in the future then some of us need to ensure our survival, even when the land beneath us slips away and our homes are lost. Some of us must live on to ensure that our great civilisation is neither forgotten, nor our knowledge lost. We should therefore decide who and how that should be done. Most of our ships have been destroyed and those that remain are at risk of destruction from further eruptions. We should choose now who will board the remaining ships and sail away, before there is no choice.

Who is in agreement with Lord Unzari’s words? The Keeper asked. Every hand in the room was raised in acknowledgement. There are only nine ships, The Keeper stated. Let the process of selection begin.

After a few minutes, two men advanced down each aisle into the room, each holding a cloth bag. The bags were passed along the rows and each of the fifty, when it was their turn, placed their hand into a bag and drew out a small ball before passing the bag to the next. Eventually nine held up a white ball. Unzari was one of them.

Chapter Two – 114 AD Amanishakete's Story Begins

It was 114 AD, nearly fifty years since we'd sailed across the Mediterranean Sea from Carthage in North Africa to Iberia and established our first base on the island of Kothinusa in Gades Baetica off the south eastern corner of Iberia from where we could still travel the Mediterranean Sea to Alexandria. That was after our adventures to find the ingredients for the elixir of eternal life and said our said goodbyes to Tariq ag Boula, his sister Malika and our friends in his Berber clan.

Our new home was on a hillside facing west with a wonderful view of the ocean. Sabine and I stood on the balcony one evening looking out across the dark ocean.

Did you see that! Sabine declared.

I hadn't, but looked to where Sabine was pointing.

There! she cried and sure enough this time I saw the sudden glow of fire on the horizon. It flared and died and flared again.

Perhaps a ship is on fire, she suggested.

But it has gone now. If it was a ship, perhaps it has sunk and the ocean has extinguished the fire. It is strange that it flared and died instead of being a continuous fire.

There, again! Sabine pointed.

That was the last flash of fire we saw. We weren't to know then that we were possibly the only ones on land to see the final destruction of Atlantis.

A few days later, Sabine was woken one night to find the room filled with a pale light. In the corner of the room was Iken Malik, Sabine's father, dressed in an all encompassing white robe, his hair and beard as white as the robe. Sabine called me and after we’d greeted him we waited for him to speak as we knew he would only visit us if it was important.

You must go to Alexandria. The Royal Alexandrian Library will soon be in danger, he said solemnly. There will be a threat from afar that will severely test you. He uttered his last words as the image of him started to fade, it is most important that you do not travel the sea together. Then he was gone.

We knew from past experience with Sabine’s father that there would be no more information only the basic call to action. What we might discover, or be confronted with, we’d have to deal with as it happened.

With the stark warning from Iken Malik, we weren’t going back to sleep as he’d said very clearly that the Library was soon to be in danger. With no more information than the need to get to Alexandria we had to decide if only one of us went, or we simply travelled separately. Our discussion was quite brief as we shared an immutable mental bond and often found ourselves processing the same thoughts and arriving at similar conclusions. We soon agreed that I would go to Alexandria alone and that we’d stay in touch using our Moon Crystals.

The urgency to act was increased as winter was fast approaching and we knew that winter was the season when ships stopped sailing during what was called mare clausum, the winter period, when storms made it too dangerous to travel by sea. 

Neither of us were to know then, that we were wise to act on Iken Malik's warnings, but we were not prepared for some of the consequences.

Chapter Three - Shipwreck

Shortly after dawn the next day with a small pack that I could carry easily on my shoulder I walked the Gades waterfront looking for a ship, either going to Alexandria, or one that could at least take me part of the way.

Three hundred and twenty years previously the Romans had taken the town of Gades from the Carthaginians since when it had prospered. It’s strategic position on the islands of Erytheia and Kothinusa, at the very tip of the Iberian Peninsula, had proven to be beneficial economically as well as strategically. There was also a long history of shipbuilding that added value to the Roman naval base. I could just see the mast tops of the naval liburnians off in the distance. Across the water of the channel, that divided the two islands, was the island of Erytheia. Most of the lucrative local production of garum, the ubiquitous fish sauce found in all corners of the Empire, took place there. The many fishing boats that were tied up alongside would be delivering their catches of tuna and other fish. The smell of fish and the saltings permeated everything.

Closer to me on this, the Kothinusa side of the channel, the docks were lined with what was the almost standard Roman cargo ship, the corbitas. Sabine and I had seen huge corbitas vessels in Carthage, perhaps four times the size of those here in Gades, which was a much smaller and shallower port.  These vessels plied goods backwards and forwards between the many ports around what the Romans called the Mare Nostrum. As the Roman Empire had grown to completely encircle what had previously been called the Mediterranean Sea, I thought briefly that it wasn’t unreasonable for them to call it ‘Our Sea’.

The waterfront around me was alive with people from all over the Roman Empire thrown together in this noisome and transient space. I stopped beside a stone bollard, the murky water of the channel below me on my left and looked around, finding the scene fascinating.

Most people were intent on their work whether they were merchant sailors, land based traders, warehousemen, or labourers. I realised that the scene in front of me was a microcosm of the huge mix of people that now comprised the Roman Empire.

Many were Iberians, or Hispani, as the Romans called them. Short, strong men with square faces, dark hair and eyes and complexions not much different from the Romans themselves. Many wore round caps and long aprons. They were the ones mostly operating the tall wooden cranes lifting cargo from the vessels, from where it was loaded onto carts, or taken straight to warehouses behind the dock. There were a few Berbers in long their robes, their heads swathed in scarves, whom Sabine and I knew well after our travels with them in North Africa. Men with African features, dark curly hair and rounded noses; others with blue eyes a high forehead and mostly light brown hair and no caps, probably from the more northern parts of the Empire in Germania or even the very north of Italy. Dark Arab looking Numidians from North Africa. There was even a small contingent of armed and armoured Roman soldiers, making their way resolutely towards the Naval base, people moving quickly out of their way. The soldiers too reflected the mix of provinces in the Empire.

Almost everyone was shorter than I was, but then a small group of Gauls arrived and were obviously looking for a particular ship. Of a loftier stature, they were taller than most, fair haired and skinned with ruddy complexions. They were armed and held themselves with great pride to the point of appearing domineering and insolent. One of them had obviously spotted their vessel and, despite their height, they were soon lost in the crowd. Many eyes followed them, as they disappeared, perhaps knowing how quarrelsome and quick tempered they could be.

I was wearing a long grey hooded robe tied loosely at the waist. It was useful to cover the weapons I habitually carried when I was out and to reduce the attention my height attracted, being as I was taller even than the Gauls, but even so and despite the broad mix of people I always seemed to attract more attention that I wished. Sabine said that I couldn’t hide my Royal ancestry even if I tried. Perhaps she was right.

But it was time to find a ship myself and, after making some enquiries, I was able to find passage on one of the last cargo vessel that was bound from Gades to Alexandria. The captain of the ship was a jolly fellow who said he was always happy to take passengers, particularly late in the season, as there were fewer people looking to travel and indeed there were only a few passengers who, like me, had to sleep on deck without cover.

The vessel I was to travel on was also a large full-bodied corbitas and, according to our captain, was carrying one thousand amphorae of garum fish sauce. The captain was keen to get under way and we were soon being towed out of the channel towards the ocean. The crew manned the two steering oars, one on each quarter, and which in strong winds and high seas required as many as four men on each oar to control the vessel. As we approached the ocean they raised the single large square sail on a mast amidships.

The captain explained that the voyage to Alexandria would take around thirty days, with an extra couple of days in Carthage, on the way. We made good progress with the stronger late Autumn winds and the two raffee topsails were often set above the yard together with a small square sail on an artemon mast over the bows.

Being on deck was to save my life as the ship was struck by a fierce storm as it reached the straight between Sicily and Carthage. The ship was dis-masted and taking on water as it was driven east by the force of the storm. I'd lashed myself to what was left of the base of the mast, while the captain and some of the crew were able to use the rudders to avoid the vessel from being broached and capsized, but the ship was suddenly swamped by a huge wave breaking over the stern smashing the rudders and sweeping the captain and several people off the deck. Then we were entirely at the mercy of the storm.

The noise of the storm and the sound of the sea crashing around and onto us was so loud that it was impossible to hear anyone and, just as I thought the storm was easing, cliffs suddenly appeared out of the spray and darkness and the ship was thrown