Rocks were strewn everywhere and they stumbled, coughing sulfur fumes from their lungs. Their feet slipped on wet stones and mud, and they sank in other places. Their lungs burned, but they ran on.
They reached the boat and threw themselves over the side, choking and retching water, then grabbed oars and pushed off into the water. Waves splashed in over the sides. “Give me your oar,” shouted Edak. The howling wind worsened. “Bail!”
Myreem snatched two wooden scoops that lay in the boat. One hand after the other, she bailed and bailed water into the thrashing river until her shoulder ached. “Switch places with me,” she called. “I will use other muscles until these no long hurt.”
And so they struggled, alternating positions, floundering to keep from capsizing. All the land and water was chaos—violently tossing, pitching, screaming and roaring. Black and red clouds flashed and thundered overhead.
Edak searched the shoreline hard. Was there anything familiar in this eerie twilight? Spots of fires burned, started by glowing ash falling from the sky. Stone heaps that were once villages lay strewn about, remains of thatched roofs smoldering. The wind was hot now.
Water sloshed above their ankles. The boat was sinking!
“It’s too much!” Myreem cried. “Oh, where is our village?”
Edak aimed the craft toward shore and bogged into mud a distance from it. “Hold my hand! Be certain you have solid footing in the water!” he shouted.
The mud came to their knees, the water chest deep here, neck deep there. They locked hands tightly, struggling mightily in the suction of the ooze. One foot, then the other—over and over and over—they made their way until they crawled up on land and lay flat on the warm trembling ground, coughing out water and gasping.
Edak caught his breath and struggled to sit up. The river bent in a familiar twist just ahead. “Look! We are almost to our village,” he shouted. “Can you continue?”
She fought to stand and brushed muddy hair from her face. “We must! We must...”
Boulders shook and rolled, fissures cracked open in the ground and narrowly missed the two running figures. Now, get around the bend, and there will be the village.
Edak groaned loudly.
The village was gone!
Only the partially standing ruins of the temple remained, standing forlorn in the distance. Everything else was rubble. Hot sparks showered the town.
“To the harbor!” he cried.
They raced to the shore. Broken planks of wood trembled where the docks once stood. All else had fallen, or burned, or been washed away.
There was no ship.
They gaped hard in stark realization. “They must have sensed Mu’s end,” he shouted. A thrill of terror paralyzed him. He stared at the waves. Great Force, please calm the land—just a bit, just for a small while—that we too might escape.
But he knew it was too late. He stared with a grisly fascination as the waves lapped and lurched higher, ever higher.
“We cannot be saved!” shouted Myreem. She yanked at his tunic. “The temple is our only shelter!”
Edak blinked and looked up. “Yes, of course!” Again they locked hands and pelted through the rubble, leaping over fissures, around fires and stumbling over stones rolling with the heaving ground. Hot ash fell from the sky and they frantically brushed it from their bodies, coughing and retching from the stinking black wind.
The steps of the temple lay cracked and fallen in places, but they made their way to the top. There they fell onto the shaking platform.
Their eyes met and, for a long moment they didn’t speak.
It was over. All over.
Myreem’s eyes watered. “Why now?” she shouted in despair. “Is there nothing we can do?”
Edak’s terror had faded. There was no more strength, nor determination, nor will, nor hope. “I’m so sorry you must die. I should have sent you on the first ship.”
She shook her head adamantly. “I would have refused. You know that. We belong together—in life, and if we must, then in death also.”
They clutched each other, then struggled to their feet to enter the temple. The darkened interior would be their place to rest.
But there, at the entrance, Edak saw the man in white—calm and smiling, and now Edak saw his face and his heart leapt. “Father! It is you!”
“Yes, son, I’ve come to take you home. Come with me now,” he said, beckoning to the two. “Come home.”
The ground jumped just then, and shook with a terrific magnitude.
Throughout Mu explosions thundered and volcanoes blew apart. Trees toppled. Crevices opened and swallowed everything around.
Fire, pumice, gas, steam and ash covered the Earth and rose in depth.
In the little harbor village, the roof and walls of the beautiful temple cracked into pieces and toppled, and buried instantly Edak and Myreem.
Under the wreckage, under the weight of tons of polished stone, their still-clasped hands told a mute story of two noble companions.
Far out at sea in every direction, all ships within two days’ voyage were lost, surrendered to the violent wrath of the sea.
For another day and night the holocaust raged on, until the once-glorious and beloved continent sank beneath the waters.
Mu was gone, forever.
* * * *
Chapter 22
Ketzah awoke with a start. Someone had called out. Had it been his own cry—or was it Edak’s? It still echoed down the marble hallway. He lay in bed staring into the near-black room. It was silent now, save for his labored breathing.
He stretched and looked out the window. Dark shadows cast eerie forms down Poseidl’s streets. Far off a light glowed from the Firestone building. The stars’ positions told him it was after midnight. He waited while his pulse and breathing slowed to normal.
He remembered his dream, shook his head and groaned. His companion through life was gone. Pain welled into his forehead. He rolled to his side, his chest cramped with grief.
But then something came to him, and he sat up again. He rubbed his eyes on a blanket edge and wondered: Is this my fate also? To struggle so nobly, only to die ungallantly in a pile of rubble? And for what?
He sighed heavily and the tightness of his chest eased. Everyone must die, he decided, so the struggle may as well be noble. But, do we invent these causes, or is there a Divine Plan? What is Truth, and what is our own self-made delusion?
He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin in his hands. As he had done countless times in the past days, he tried to make sense of what was happening. Edak lived selflessly. His people came before himself, right up to the end. Do I have such courage and strength—and nobility?
“Oh, Divinities!” he moaned aloud. “I don’t want to know! I implore you, do not test me!”
A gray dawn slowly lit the sky. He forced himself out of bed. Maybe if I go to the temple, I can better pray. I need courage for whatever happens.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and the floor wobbled slightly. A small earthquake shook Poseidl yesterday also. This was theory no longer; whatever the ordeal would be, it had started.
He dressed quickly and left for the temple.
No one was on the streets yet, and even the birds were silent under the hazy green-gray sky. A glint here and there of dew on the vegetation hung like tears. The silence magnified his aloneness. He wrapped his cloak tightly about him, but still felt the chill.
Tomorrow his group would leave for Og. We’ve all been trained for this. We’ve been taught to be in control, of ourselves and our lives. Why then, am I so very frightened? I‘m not a boy!
Fears, begone! I must concentrate on today’s work. He raged at himself for this pitiful lack of bravery. With steely resolve he insisted, I shall pray for strength, then gather my belongings for the boat.
He thought of their small galley. Unbidden, the image changed in his mind, and he saw a different ship?
??one of Edak’s day—floundering in the stormy sea. His pulse quickened, and sweat beaded on his brow. No! Stop it! I’m not Edak! My life is not his!
He strained again to contemplate the day’s duties, but the cold wave of fear returned. “Great Forces,” he pleaded, “allow me to live a while longer. I am only twenty-four years old. I’m not ready to die!”
So was Edak—just twenty-four! We tread the same path! He shook his head until it hurt and he refused to think further of Edak.
He was at the temple now, and he plodded up the steps. His knees were weak. He forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply.
The rooms were empty and silent; all the priests but Atel and Mot had gone to the new lands. Mot was spending these last days with his family nearby.
Atel must still be in bed. Let the old man sleep. The journey will be long, and he needs his rest.
In the back of his mind, he was relieved Atel didn’t see him so upset.
Ketzah’s sandals patted lightly on the polished floors, echoing in the large temple room. He tried to absorb the beauty of every frieze, every pillar and adornment. The new world is wild and will have none of this. He went to the eternal flame, smoldering under a night’s white ash. He stoked it, adding aromatic pitch and wood to it, standing back at last to inhale the sweet scent.
He dropped to his knees, and touched his forehead to the floor in humility and desperation. “Give me strength. Give me courage. Let me live, O Forces, let me live!”
A part of him wanted to run and hide, but he knew the supplication would be in vain if he didn’t focus all his energies calmly upon it. He sat up and breathed deeply, calming himself, then lowered his head to the floor once more. Again, whispered prayers escaped his lips—harder, more fervent this time. He was desperate. “Help me, Divinities! Help me!”
He pleaded and wept until he weakened and his voice was silent. There was no comfort, no answer, within or without. At last he arose, numb. “I am a dead man, yet still I breathe,” he groaned. He dragged himself out into daylight, desolate, knowing the Highest Force in the Universe had indeed forsaken him.
From the shadow of a marble pillar near the antechamber of the temple, a stooped figure lingered, his aged face furrowed with profound compassion. Atel had been on his way to matins when the hoarse pleas and cries of his young friend reached his ears. His first thought had been to interrupt and soothe, but experience and wisdom told him Ketzah must grapple with his soul in his own way. He sighed heavily, observing the despondent figure descend the steps outside; then he turned and shuffled to his place for morning prayer.
He would pray especially hard for Ketzah this day.
* *
By early afternoon Ketzah had gathered his belongings and headed out to the boat. He took the long way through the city to drink in each sight. Children played ball in the street and their shouts and laughter filled the air. A man and woman argued. A middle-aged woman sold fresh bread from her doorway. It smelled good, and he thought of his mother. A hum overhead caused him to look up at an airship passing. Down the street two politicians debated issues as a small crowd fed them questions. Two sweethearts sat on a bench. Normal life, on a day that was anything but normal.
The ground suddenly rumbled and shook and he struggled to keep his balance. All around he heard screams and cries. The tremor lasted only a short while but it was the third one that day.
Now it was still and, for a moment, silent. No one was hurt; nothing had crumbled. Nervous tittering arose as people realized it was harmless and over.
Ketzah shivered, then was angry at his cowardice. “I know my work and I will do it!” he growled aloud. He made his way to the bay.
The boat, a small galley, bobbed in the water at the far end of the dock. It was old, but it had been well taken care of. Its wooden hull shone with wax and polish, its red and gold striped sail folded carefully. Three pairs of oars lay neatly, ready for use.
He climbed aboard and lay down the bundles. The others had been there before him; their personal belongings and articles of food, fresh water, compass, sextant, blankets and maps nearly filled the small cabin built near the stern. He would bring the Records tomorrow while getting Atel.
He studied the equipment and was reassured. These were the most modern instruments they could afford with their meager wages. They would most certainly get them to Og.
His dream popped back into his thoughts—a ship sinking in the roiling black waters. He shoved it away.
He unpacked and rearranged the items in the cabin. His hands trembled uncontrollably.
Then he sat in the boat until twilight—just sitting and staring at the city. The descending sun behind him painted the stone, marble and stucco buildings and fountains a deep rosy pink. Then the sun was gone and the city turned blue-gray and shadowed. Tiny sparks appeared throughout the city as lamps and torches were lit.
He got up, sighed and walked home. Somewhere nearby a lone cricket sounded, searching for a mate in the night air. Smells of cooking wafted out of homes, and the muffled chatter of families inside made his heart hurt.
That night in bed, he lay awake. The air in his room smelled homey and familiar. He must remember it. He caressed his blanket. This would be the last night in a bed for a long while—maybe forever.
He couldn’t sleep. The night was devoid of stars and he didn’t know the time. Ages seemed to pass but it stayed dark. His bed was too hard, too soft, too lumpy. No positions he rolled to satisfied him. His neck was stiff. He itched. His head was tight, and it ached. “Forces, I beg of you—don’t forsake me! I’m so afraid. Where are you? I need you! Help me!”
The words caught in his throat. At last he lay exhausted, disconsolate.
He stared into the darkness, his mind devoid of all thoughts. He couldn’t move, nor think, but he simply lay there, inhaling and exhaling, inhaling, exhaling.
Then, as if from nowhere, a deep calmness wafted over him, a cooling, loving glow like nothing he had ever known. It was as if a cloud of cold fright shrouded him, permeated him, crushed him, and now it simply dissipated. His terrors vanished, and a magnificent, wonderful comfort of joyful peace enveloped him.
And then he knew—with an absolute knowing—that he would survive. He would survive!
He basked in this pure essence, and drifted off to a sound sleep.
He slept until dawn.
A beam of sunlight forced its way into his dream and awakened him. He opened his eyes and looked around, then stretched. The problems still existed before him—nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. He was confident, and realized he could accept the fate of Atlan, tragic as it was. He gave thanks to the Great Forces.
He dressed, and for the last time drank in every corner, every item, every wall. He picked up the pouch holding his panpipes and attached it to his waist cord. Music would be a good thing to have in the days ahead. Then he walked outside and, without turning around, closed the door behind him.
The temple was completely silent. He walked down the halls to the back room to get the Records. They sat on a shelf, two thick stacks of golden leaves, engraved with as much of the wonderful wisdom as the priests and students could think of that was important enough to be handed on to the future.
He gathered the heavy bulk, then put it back on the shelf, deciding to look around one last time.
He walked through favorite rooms to sense each precious sight, odor, sound and feel. He wanted to remember everything.
But there was work to be done and time was short. He returned to the back room and gently wrapped the golden leaves in a linen cloth, placed the heavy bundle in a canvas sack and strapped it onto his back, then went down and entered Atel’s quarters.
The aged priest sat on a cushion near his bed, legs crossed, hands on knees, his eyes closed.
Ketzah cleared his throat and Atel looked up. “Honored Master, I’m sorry to interrupt your prayers, but it’s imperative tha
t we leave now. All preparations are finished and the boat is at the dock.”
Atel gazed quietly at Ketzah, a faraway look in his eyes. A strange and sad smiled crossed his face. “You must leave without me. I am a very old man. I would only be a burden to you.”
The words struck like a thunderbolt. “Master Atel! You must come with me. I can’t leave you here. I need you!”
“No, my Brother. You need only yourself. You are best able to carry out this journey without me. You are most capable.”
He looked around the room. “I have lived in Atlan all my life, most of it in this very temple. Here I wish to remain and die. Do not deny such a simple request of your old teacher.”
He gazed at Ketzah and smiled serenely. “Go now. Farewell, my greatest of pupils and gentlest of friends. The Great Forces will guide you, now and forever.”
Ketzah heard, but could not grasp. He struggled to speak but was hushed by Atel, who held out his wrinkled old arms, and they embraced.
Low rumbles—a tremor—caused Atel to break the grip. He looked into Ketzah’s wet eyes. “Go,” he said. “Do not look back.”
Ketzah stared at his beloved mentor a few seconds longer, then turned and hurried from the temple.
The sky was a hideous orange-gray. It stunk of sulfur. Black clouds rolled from the volcanoes toward the city. Ketzah hurried toward the dock. The Records were heavy, but he didn’t notice. He did note the uneasiness of the people nearby, so slowed to a walk to feign nonchalance. As he passed, he heard bits of their nervous chatter.
A woman studied the sky nervously. “What’s going to happen to us? The shaking is getting worse!”
“They’re just pockets of pressure being released from the Earth,” said a man. “Like a child who’s eaten too much fruit, Earth must get the gas out of her system.”
Catcalls and guffaws sounded at the comparison, but a young woman with a small boy and girl fretted. “Where can we go to be safe until this is over?”
“Go home,” said a man. “Stand in a doorway. Or take your children to the country where there are no falling objects, though I doubt there’ll be more tremors.”
An older woman patted the small girl’s cheek. “This is only a temporary thing,” she reassured the mother. “It will subside and your children will be safe.”