David Gemmell - Wolf in Shadow

'It is you. If what was sea is now land, therefore what was land is now sea. So, Shannow, you wUl need gills to find Jerusalem!'

'Only if you are right, Batik.'

True. I wonder what this city was. I mean, look at the statues; they must have been great men.

And now no one will ever know of their greatness.'

Shannow studied the closest statue in the moonlight. It was of an old man with a tightly curled white beard and a high domed forehead. His right hand was held across his chest, and it carried a scroll. In the left, he had what looked like a tablet of stone.

'I don't think,' said Shannow at last, 'that he would have minded about immortality. He has a look of contentment. Of wisdom.'

'I wonder who he was.'

'A lawmaker. A prophet. A king.' Shannow shrugged. 'Whatever, he must have been a great man -

his statue stands higher than all the others.'

'He was Paciades,' said a voice. Shannow rolled to his right and his pistol levelled at a tall figure standing in a doorway to the left. The man advanced into the hall, holding his hands out from his body. He was some six feet tall and his skin was black as ebony.

'I am sorry to startle you,' he said. 'I saw your horses.'

'What in Heaven's name are you?' asked Shannow, rising to his feet and keeping the gun trained on the man.

'I am a man.'

'But you are black. Are you of the Devil?'

'It is strange,' said the man without rancour, 'how the same prejudices can cling to the minds of men, no matter what the circumstances. No, Mr Shannow, I am not of the Devil.'

'How do you know my name?'

'Ruth contacted me and asked me to look out for you.'

'Are you armed?'

'No, not as you would understand it.'

'If you have come peacefully, I apologize,' said Shannow, 'but we are being hunted and I will take no risks. Batik, search him.' The Hellborn approached the man cautiously and ran his hands over the grey tunic and black leggings.

'No weapons,' he reported and Shannow sheathed his pistol.

‘I’ll check outside,' said Batik.

'If it's clear, gather some kindling for a fire,' asked Shannow, beckoning the stranger to sit. The black man stretched himself out and smiled.

'You are a careful man, Mr Shannow. I like to see that — it shows intelligence and that appears to be a rare commodity in this new world of ours.'

'Why would Ruth contact you?' asked Shannow, ignoring the statement.

'We have known each other for some years. We may disagree on points of theology, but in the main we seek the same ends.'

'Which are?'

The re-establishment of a just society — a civilization, Mr Shannow, where men and women can live together in harmony and love without fear of Brigands or Hellborn.'

'Is such a thing possible?'

'Of course not, but we must strive for it.'

'What is your name?'

'Samuel Archer.'

Batik returned with an armful of dried wood, complaining that he had had to ride from the city to find it. As the fire crackled to life, Shannow asked the black man about the statue.

'I have studied this city for about eighteen years,' said Archer. 'There are some remarkable writings inscribed on gold foil; it took four years of effort to translate. It appears that old man was Paciades, the uncle of one of the kings. He was an astronomer — a student of the stars — and through his work people knew exactly when to plant for the best harvests. He also discovered the instability of the earth, though he didn't understand the awesome significance for his world.'

'Did he live to see the end?'

'I have no idea. His death is not recorded anywhere that I have found.'

'When was the city destroyed?' asked Batik.

'About eight thousand years ago.'

Then for some seven and a half thousand years this was ocean?'

'True, Batik. The world is much changed.'

'What was this city?'

'My research shows it was called Balacris. It is one of supposedly thirty cities that made up the nation of Atlantis.'

Batik fell asleep long before midnight and Shannow and Archer walked together along the statue-lined avenues of Balacris.

'I often come here,' said Archer. There is a tremendous sense of peace to be found in a dead city.

And often the ghosts of previous times join me on my walks.'

He glanced at Shannow and grinned. 'Do you think me mad?'

Shannow shrugged. 'I have never seen a ghost, Mr Archer, but I have no reason to doubt their existence. Do you speak with them?'

'I tried when I first saw them, but they do not see me. I do not believe they are spirits at all; they are images, much as the one you and Batik saw this afternoon. This is a magic land, Mr Shannow. Come, I will show you.'

Archer led the way up a winding hill and down into a bowl-shaped hollow where great stones had been raised in a circle around a flat altar. The stones were black, and towered over twenty feet high. Each was six feet square and polished like ebony.

The sea smoothed them for thousands of years. Occasionally you can still see the hairline traces of carved inscriptions,' Archer told him, moving into the circle and stopping by the altar. 'Watch this,' he said, removing a Daniel Stone-the size of a thumbnail from his pocket. Immediately, all around them Shannow saw swirling figures, translucent and shining; women in silken shifts twirled and danced, while men in tunics of many colours crowded between the stones to watch them. 'And this,' said Archer, covering the Stone. The dancers vanished. He moved the Stone a fraction of an inch and removed his hand; three children appeared, sitting by the altar and playing with knuckle bones. They were oblivious to the visitors. Shannow knelt beside them and reached out but his hand passed through them and they disappeared.

Archer returned the Stone to his pocket. Interesting, isn't it?'

'Fascinating,' said Shannow. 'Do you have an explanation?'

'A theory. I have now transcribed some two hundred thousand words of the Rolynd language -

that is to say, Atlantean. They called themselves Rolynd — "the People of Heaven" would be a loose translation. I myself prefer "the People of Fable".' Archer sat down on the altar. 'Are you hungry, Mr Shannow?'

'A little.'

'If you could choose an impossible food, what would it be?'

'A rich honeycake. Why do you ask?'

'I ask because I am a showman.' Archer stood and moved out on to the grass by the altar, stooping to lift a fist-sized rock. He took the Daniel Stone from his pocket and touched it to the rock. Then he handed a honeycake to Shannow.

'Is it real?'

Taste it.'

There is trickery though, yes?'

Taste it, Mr Shannow.' Shannow bit into the cake and it was soft and honey-filled.

'How? Tell me how?'

Archer returned to the altar. The People of Fable, — they had a power source unlike any other. I don't know how they came upon it, or whether they created it, but the Stones were the secret of Atlantean culture and with them they could create anything the mind could conceive. When you were a child, Mr Shannow, did your mother tell you stories of magical swords, winged horses, sorcerers?'

'No, but I've heard them since.'

'Well, Atlantis is where all fables begin. I found an inventory at the palace which listed presents to the king on his one hundred and eighty-fifth birthday. Each of the gifts mentioned Sipstrassi -

Stones. Swords had Sipstrassi set in the handle, a crown with a central Stone for wisdom, armour with a Stone above the heart for invincibility. Their entire society was founded on magic: on Stones that healed, fed and strengthened. One hundred and eighty-five and he still wore armour!

Think of it, Shannow.'

'But they did not survive despite all their magic.'

'I am not sure about that either. But that's a story for another day. Let's get some sleep.'