The Gods of Doomed Atlantis

Unnatural light, blue as the sea but thin as mist, consumed him as it had when he stood before the ash and lava rain back on the island. As suddenly as it had appeared, the light faded, and Wen-eil cupped a handful of useless salt before tossing it over the side. He had magically drawn the salt out of the water, so that they could drink it. When the food began to run low, Wen-eil turned to the sea and raised his arms, magically forcing fish to swim to the edge of the boat, where the hungry survivors could scoop them up and into the ship. Wen-eil even conjured fire from the very air onto the rotten pieces of driftwood they had taken back from the waters around Atlantis, a fire he rekindled day after day on the bare supply of rotten driftwood that never seemed to burn away entirely.

Then, twenty-one days after the destruction of the island, the survivors, sick from malnourishment, listless, and disheartened, at last reached land. Their small boat grounded on a bright yellow beach with soft sand that drifted into a dense jungle. Wen-eil led a hale group off to find fresh fruits and a running water source.

They lived off the bounty of the beach for half a season. Several months later, the survivors established a thriving community fifty miles inland, in a river-valley. The summer had given way to cooler, shorter evenings when a group of newcomers appeared in their half-built city, in the dusty center of the town, where children played and families gathered in the early evening to draw water from the cool well. When the newcomers appeared, Wen-eil drew himself upright from where he stood at the well, where he often aided the older, widowed women in drawing buckets of water.

These newcomers, clad in gold and fine white linen, were not unknown to the Atlanteans, for they were the thirty other priests of the Others, men and women like the man known as Wen-eil, with unnatural powers and fair, ageless faces.

The Others had all mysteriously survived the fiery destruction of the great island.

How the Others had escaped or found the lost priest of their order in such a short time or if they knew that other Atlanteans had survived the great isle’s destruction they wouldn’t say, at least not for general knowledge. The Others spoke openly to Wen-eil amidst the general assembly of the people, but their sacred speech was alien to the rest of the Atlanteans. After a while, however, Wen-eil’s reaction to the words the Others spoke in somber greeting made it clear to all that the high priests had come to retrieve Wen-eil alone, that they had come to take him away from the people he had saved.

Wen-eil stood very still a long time. Then he turned sharply on his heel and left the open square, returning moments later from his dwelling with arms full of tools and weapons, hide garments and flint awls—all that he owned. Wen-eil said not a word as he shared out his few belongings among the people of the city and made ready to leave, but when he spied Aya standing near the well with her son, a flicker of pain flashed through his eyes.

Why it was that he had to leave he could not say, though his heart ached to. To tell Aya or the people of Atlantis who he was, who the Others were, would be pointless. They wouldn’t understand him. They did not understand what secrets lay beyond the stars in the sky.

Ah, but still he loved them.

Sensing this perhaps, the Others suddenly drew together in conference. Then they quickly agreed to remain in the city until the light of dawn the next morning, if only for Wen-eil’s sake. This news was received well by the city’s inhabitants, and a feast was arranged to take place in the open field before the hour of sunset in order to honor the Others and to bid farewell to Wen-eil.