The Basingstoke Chronicles (22 page)

A rainbow
before
the storm.

"Whoever mobilized Apterona like this was either dangerously stupid or a genius," said
Pacal.

"In what way a genius?" asked Rodrigo.

"Think of the task at hand," replied the native. "What better way to convince the people
to unite than to address them all at the same time. Gossip and hearsay would have made our
plight impossible. We now have the opportunity to leave them with no doubts--either go with the
fleet or die."

Puma hung his head low. "There are not enough ships to save everyone, Pacal."

"No, but there must be..."

"That's it!" I interrupted, suddenly recalling the old time-traveler's honesty. "We give
them the whole truth and let them decide."

Rodrigo glanced at me through a frown.

"It's simple, Rodrigo," I continued, "tell them why the Kamachej deserted them, and let
them make up their own minds what is best--either to follow him to the high peaks in the east, or
to set sail as soon as possible. From what I understand, a great portion of them will choose the
mountains, as they have no desire to leave their land."

"But that would be sending them to their deaths," said the Cuban. "The old man assured
us the entire land will be destroyed, including the highest peaks. The options you suggest would
not represent the whole truth."

I knew Rodrigo was right. The dilemma must have squeezed the very soul from Puma
Pawq'ar; his first decision as Kamachej was doomed to bring about the deaths of over half his
subjects. He lifted his head slowly, a condemned man coming to terms with the noose, and
announced, "Lord, I need your help. After I say what I have to say to them, you will be the key to
our success."

The remark puzzled me. Pacal, K'achita and Rodrigo each shrugged as I looked at
them.

The prince spun to face me. "Yes, you must help me divide them--you and the bears.
What better way to combat religion than with legend and myth."

What the hell does that mean?

Still they fed into the valley. Old men and women, children, the muscular and the
infirm, strangers from all the villages of Apterona, coalesced around the great ziggurat. Their
faces all turned upward, an expression of need or faith in every visage. They had crossed many
miles during the night to be here. An entire civilization mobilized by terrifying rumors. And now
they looked to their Kamachej for reassurance, for salvation, for the leadership entrusted to his
ancient office.

But Vichama Supay had fled.

Perhaps it was fate that Rodrigo and I, so bold in our jaunt through time, had joined, as
catalysts, this historic turn of the tide. For to kindle the legend of Atlantis, I now realized the
truth.

I had to become an Atlantean legend.

And so it was, more than six months after the time machine had landed us at that
unwelcoming shore, that I, Henry Basingstoke, having never been satisfied with my lot in life,
was given to play the role of a prophet.

Unfortunately, it had to be an entirely sober portrayal. Puma Pawq'ar, the acting
Kamachej, strode by the seven bears and stopped at the edge of the balcony.

The voices of thirty thousand citizens swelled angrily about us.

"Why have you come?" Puma Pawq'ar shouted. "The dawn has barely lifted, and yet you
empty our villages to gather here, where none have ever gathered before. Why have you
come?"

A gruff voice shot up from directly beneath, "We do not want to die!"

Their shared affirmations shook the Palace. It was as we suspected; someone had spread
news of the impending disaster. The Prince raised his arms for silence, then continued, "You do
not wish to die, and neither do we. The
t'ika
revealed the imminent destruction of our
land only yesterday. Those seeds of fate have never been wrong, and there can be no doubt this
time--our homes, our way of life, everything we have worked to produce, will end. It is
incontestable."

I cleared my throat, remembering the disparity of fire and water in our respective
premonitions. Nonetheless, Puma's emphatic opening had them rapt. The young man was a born
orator.

"You each have a difficult choice to make. My father the Kamachej has already left us
for the eastern mountains. According to his premonition, a great flood will destroy the land, and
so he seeks the altitude and safety of the peaks. My friends, if you treasure his judgment, you
may decide to follow his example. Taking enough supplies to those altitudes, it is possible you
might survive such a flood. The path to the mountains is a dangerous one. Migrating beasts can
themselves be deadly. I strongly urge those taking the path to the mountains to go armed and
remain in large groups. I cannot overstate how little time we have left.

"But there is something you should know. As many of you are aware, we have in our
company a great traveler from the ends of the earth, a lord among men, who achieved two things
unprecedented in our land for an age. Firstly, he befriended a great bear from the east, who stands
magnificently beside him now. Then, to prove his arrival was no accident, this undaunted traveler
braved
and
survived that deadliest of ordeals, the Tongue of Deceit. He is here to assist
our survival. Alas, he cannot prevent the destruction of our land, but he has promised to take
from these shores all who do not wish to remain. The Kamachej has consented to this. As soon as
you are able, all those wishing to undertake this voyage should make their way along the Kuti
River, to the western cliffs.

"Whichever path you choose, east or west, take as much food and water as you can
carry. Remember, neither choice guarantees survival, but each choice presents a chance. His
Majesty awaits you on the slopes of the highest peak, as do boats at the ocean to the west. For my
part, I am bound to follow this messenger from afar, in the hope that we can congregate like this
once more, on whichever shore that may be. Farewell, my friends, and fair fortune to us all!"

I thought my admiration might grow wings. Puma Pawq'ar had not only conjured two
ingenious choices for survival, his portrayal of each consisted of crafty half-truths that he knew
would polarize the populous. Without mentioning the fleet, he had given the go-ahead to those
complicit in its secrecy to fulfill their ambition of leaving Apterona, without the need for risky
rumors and whisperings. Those loyal to Vichama Supay had the opportunity to join him. The
decision was clear, the time constraint well presented, and all that now remained was to load the
fleet with supplies and depart.

If only it were that simple.

Rodrigo forced a smile as I caught his eye. K'achita looked out in panic over the crowd.
Pacal Votan visibly shook as swells of anger broke below. Only Puma Pawq'ar, the young man of
royal blood, whose body language remained steadfast, had any right to be there on the steps of
the ziggurat. As I waved to the audience with a trembling hand, I observed the tall Prince of
Apterona truly become the King of Atlantis.

It was now my turn to act. Puma's address had, in the eyes of the populous, filled my
presence with messianic purpose. Lord Henry Basingstoke was now nothing short of a deliverer.
Indeed, if my conduct in the next few minutes was to be a persuasive force, I had to be utterly
plausible. Convincing even one extra person to follow me would be an extra life saved.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. Before the plunge. I looked skyward to the
gathering clouds, a gesture at which the crowd suddenly fell silent. Darkly now stood by my side,
his snout thrust high toward the horizon; he was an animal of myth, alerting me to the many
dangers facing us. We were the mythic symbols.

Electricity seemed to rend the crowd apart as we descended. A tangible buzz of whispers
coursed through me until all I heard or felt was thrumming excitement. My eyes watered. Puma
and the others followed close behind, yet for the duration of that long walk it was just Darkly and
I, scrutinized by all. I stroked his glistening neck and back, to which he replied by glancing up,
letting his mouth slide partly open in approval. Beneath the fur and awkward walk was a might
that few would wish to test. I decided to pick up the pace, and strode rapidly once we reached the
outskirts of the crowd.

The journey back to Yaku lasted no more than an hour. The moment we passed through
the palisade was the first and only time I looked behind us. Unbelievable! Two thirds of the entire
population streamed into the other two villages as if they had been let loose by the sudden
bursting of a dam. The recent floodwater paled in comparison.

Darkly and I made straight for my home on the edge of the market ellipse, where
Rodrigo, K'achita and the six bears joined us. Pacal Votan and Puma Pawq'ar went straight on to
the underground fleet. The rest of us were due to rendezvous there and embark before
sunset.

Flocks of great condor-like birds with enormous wingspans flew westward over the sea,
their arrowhead formations pointing toward an empty horizon.

Rodrigo let it be known that he wanted command of the first ship to sail, citing his
maritime expertise as a definitive example to the other captains. His idea was to create a convoy,
and, by compass and sextant, lead the way to the American continent.

"What shall we do with them?" he asked, nodding to the bears.

"Well, after all they've done for me, I can't very well leave them to become extinct," I
replied. "They're coming with us, even if I have to commandeer my own vessel."

K'achita agreed wholeheartedly. "Heroes deserve nothing less. In saving your life, Lord,
they inadvertently saved ours; and in saving ours, they have, in turn, given everyone a
chance."

Packing a few slices of meat and as much fruit as would fit into my plastic carrier, I
suggested Rodrigo and K'achita do likewise. A few doors along the promenade, I heard the
protestations of an old couple I was friendly with. They simply refused to heed their sons' advice,
instead choosing to stay together in their ancestral home. It touched me to hear their farewells, as
I knew the old couple would certainly die there in Yaku, and that families all across Apterona
were being ripped apart in the same way. But the old time-traveler was right. I couldn't save
everybody, and not everybody wanted to be saved.

Hardly prepared for a sea voyage, we left the chaos of Yaku and raced westward along
the bank of the Kuti. It was still early morning. A lingering veil of cumulus clouds robbed us of a
perfect sunrise, while the tips of lime grass daubed our shins with heavy dew. Scattered figures
lined the river behind us, gradually growing in both number and proximity. By the time we
reached the forest border, we estimated that five or six thousand had left the villages and taken
Puma Pawq'ar's advice. The vast majority, though, had headed northeast to the mountains and
their beloved Kamachej. The Prince's artful deception had torn his people apart, bitterly.

"Baz, what was that the Romanian said about carrion crows?" asked Rodrigo, in
English.

I remembered the conversation instantly. "Something about us trying until the carrion
crows caw--he was rather pessimistic, wasn't he?"

"
Mierda!
Just a little." He laughed. "I wonder, if he was with us now, could he
point those crows out to us; no doubt we've proved his point about time travel."

"No doubt. But who is he to give advice? Nobody learns anything with caution, except
how to be cautious. It could've been a lot worse, Rodrigo."

"
Sí
, it could. We might've ended up at someplace about to be obliterated
by fire. Just think what that could do to your suntan, Baz."

He grabbed hold of my forearm and lifted it high, in a kind of desperate celebration. And
in a way he was right, for not only did my skin have a noticeable tan, I had not mentioned or even
thought about the warm climate for over half a year.
At least that's one thing I've
conquered.

Plumes of smoke rose like languid chimney columns from the canopy, at more or less
equidistant intervals across the forest. Their locations approximated the route of the river, and I
wondered what folly might have caused them. Was this the start of the great fire from my
premonition? Were we walking straight into the heart of disaster? Then a solitary figure
appeared, bearing a naked torch.

"Lord! Good, you are the first," said the stranger. "We have protected your path with
fire; all beasts fear it, so none shall trouble you if you stay close to the river's edge. How the great
bears will fare I do not know, but good luck. I will remain here to pass on these instructions. Six
more of us have been posted along the route to ensure guidance and safety. Fair fortune, friends,
and a fine journey."

We thanked the fellow and set off along the route I had only before glimpsed in ominous
darkness. Apart from the widening river, the only distinguishing feature of this forest was a
thorough tangle of webs which clung from tree to tree, fifty yards or so from the opposite bank. I
recalled what happened that night in the boat.
Huge webs and giant scorpions--let's get a
move on, shall we...

Each checkpoint we reached spurred us on, though after about twenty miles of rapid
walking I was weary. Darkly and the bears took the entire journey in their lumbering strides. By
the time we reached the top of the sea cliff, it was midafternoon, and the roar of the waterfall
muffled our speech.

The final guide, an extremely tall man with a spear to match, beckoned us to the safety
of the staircase inside the rock. He was breathless and urgent. We didn't stop to wonder. We
sprinted to him, finally sliding across the slick moss. No sooner did the twelve of us tumble
inside the hollow when a terrible explosion shook us to our feet.

"That was close by!" exclaimed Rodrigo. "What the hell was it?"

"Ha! Not dead yet, then. Still without a clue, though!" A tiny little man ran by us up the
steps. He moved so quickly he was barely a blur of bedraggled cloth and hair.