The Search For Tamm

By Jamie.B Ernstein

In this second book in the series, following The Eyes of the Jaguar God, we find our three teenagers wrestling with time itself, in a bid to acquire the three pieces of jewellery before the mysterious Baboso gets his hands on them. However, the price is higher than any of them dare consider.
Finding themselves caught up in one of history’s greatest mysteries, Bakky, Arthur and the fiery Dominica team up again, but this time they are very much on their own. Can they survive the greatest mass movement of people that history has seen and still achieve their goals? There are many who are keen to see them fail. To see that they never return back to their home.....the future.
Using the most current archaeological evidence we have, an ancient civilisation is recreated. But despite its fame and wealth, these are troubled times and the empire is splitting apart. These are not good times for people from foreign lands to be caught. Our heroes have to deal with insurrection, disease, murder and deprivation, that all push them to the edge. And beyond....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jamie.B Ernstein
• Release date: Oct 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9780473220952

Jamie.B Ernstein

Father of two boys who love reading and storiesI work as a Family Doctor by day, writing by night

Book preview

Chapter 1: Mt. Athos

The black waters writhed and chopped around us, as we paddled our way towards the blackness ahead. Only a few tiny yellow dots of light in the distance gave any hint of our target ahead, but these kept moving around as our kayaks dipped and rolled. The clear sky allowed the perfectly full moon to light the landscape with its cool, blue light. Millions of tiny flecks of this disappeared as rapidly as they appeared, giving the seas a strange life force; seemingly endless.

We had been paddling for three hours now and my arms were beyond pain. They were so tired that I doubted I was making any forward progress at all. But the old man in the other kayak kept moving forward, his arms mechanically pushing and pulling the paddle rhythmically. Embarrassment at not being able to keep up with a man old enough to be my great grandfather, forced me to continue onwards.

How I wished Arthur was here with me, but he had been left far behind us now. His anxious face had receded as we had slowly pulled away from the rocky beach. He had desperately wanted to join us and I knew he had felt guilty at not being there for me. He had been by my side for so long now that he felt like a vital part of me. More than a brother or a parent. More like a spare limb. A part of me. And I could feel his absence like an illness. A disease that stopped you functioning properly. A fear. A terrible hole in my heart.

But, it had become increasingly obvious to both of us that Arthur was not going to be able to take this journey. When the letter had arrived telling the two of us to learn how to kayak, we were both thrilled and confused. Why would we need to take a course in kayaking? We discussed this long and hard, but there were no clues in The Professor's short and simple note. As always, it was posted in Scotland and the envelope contained one simple piece of paper.

"Greetings my friends

It seems our paths will soon cross again, but not just yet. In the meantime, learning to kayak might be an interesting activity to pass the hours away.

Till then

TM"

Despite the brevity of the note and the simple initials at the end, we knew it was from The Professor. He was obviously still suspicious about the note being intercepted, so he signed it TM. The Man - the name I had given him when I was a small child and no one but myself, Arthur and The Professor himself, knew this. Or was there someone else? We had all been concerned by the appearance of Baboso, a cunning adversary who had been stalking us on our last adventure in Mexico. Or rather, he was after the Lingua Calculus, the magical scarab amulet that I kept hidden against my chest, that seemed to contain many mystical gifts. In fact, once he had even stolen the amulet from around my very own neck. Or so I had thought at the time. But fortunately, the cunning Professor had already secretly substituted it for a cheep trinket, which the greasy haired Baboso had taken off with.

We all knew, though, that he wouldn't give up. Somehow, not only had he found out about this amazing ancient artifact, but he also knew about us and our whereabouts and this was of great concern to us all. Since his appearance, we had all been much more careful in communicating to each other and more wary of our surroundings. We had already learnt that Baboso was a master of disguise, but even he would have been hard pressed to follow us here without us being aware.

The kayaking course had been heaps of fun; challenging, but rewarding. Well, maybe not so much fun for Arthur, but I loved it. I took to the sport rapidly and by the end of the eight-week course, was Eskimo-rolling with ease. Now, when I say with ease, I feel Arthur, if he was allowed to interject, might well do so. You see, we learnt to Eskimo roll to the right, which after having to do emergency exits from my overturned kayak twice, I managed to get the hang of. After that, I loved rolling and was probably the best in the class. Because of this, our teacher, the very cool and very muscly, Max Aventi, showed me how to Eskimo roll to the left. Once again, I seemed to take to this easily. That was until we went on our first big kayak down the Waikato River. Not a particularly rough river by any means. It rolls gently through the heart of the North Island of New Zealand, cutting a small but sharp indentation in the rolling, green, fertile land. So the paddling was easy and pleasant. That was until Max suggested we all do an Eskimo roll. I asked Arthur to push me over, which required no hesitation from him at all. A second later, I found myself floating upside down in the dark grey water, calmly staring up at my red kayak, readying myself to very confidently roll myself back up. But then, I became confused. Should I roll to the left or the right? And if I rolled to the right, which arm did I lead with? Had I only learnt the one way, I'm sure I would have had no problem at all, but now I was all arms and paddle and no idea which to put where. As my breath started running towards empty, I had to bail. I pulled the cord to my spray skirt and rapidly slid out of the oval hole and surfaced with a huge gasp. Arthur, with a look of surprise, burst out laughing and happily signed to me.

Fancy pants! What happened?

I don't know, I replied. I became all confused with left and right and couldn't roll up. From then on, I became less cocky and made sure to practice my rolling more, until it became second nature and I no longer needed to think about what I was doing.

Poor old Arthur, though. He just couldn't get the hang of Eskimo rolling. Even his paddling was disjointed and slow. As hard as he tried, his coordination was just not able to cope with the rolling motion of the paddling. He was able to paddle down the river with relative ease, but as soon as it became the tiniest bit choppy, he lost all control and spent more time getting back into the kayak than actually paddling it. To make matters worse, for the first two weeks of our course, Arthur had a streaming cold. His nose was a continuous tap of clear mucus and learning to Eskimo roll and kayak was not very conducive to keeping this mucus inside his nose. Litres of the substance seemed to be pouring out of his nose in to the swimming pool and a small slick of snot surrounded him. I was thankful for wearing a wetsuit on those days.

However, it had become quite clear to us all that Arthur was incapable of crossing a ten kilometre piece of ocean at night, without drowning. So he stayed and held the fort back at Sarti, the small village where we had based ourselves.

It was certainly no hardship to stay in Sarti either. This small fishing village on the east coast of Greece was a popular tourist destination, due to its magnificent white sandy beach and the beautiful clear, blue waters of the Aegean Sea. So we had already spent a couple of days to acclimatise ourselves to the heat and sunshine by enjoying the beach. Even The Professor had spent some time on the sands, although his pasty white skin was no match for the Greek sun and he soon made his way back to our apartment. Come to think of it, my skin wasn't much match for the Greek sun either, so I had to stay covered for most of the time. Despite wearing buckets of sun cream and a hat, I still managed to get a sunburnt neck. I hated getting sunburnt. It felt like the skin was brittle and might snap at any moment. Right now, the irritation of my life jacket where it was rubbing my lobster red neck was very annoying.

My mother had been vigorous at keeping me out of the sun when I was little. The strong New Zealand sun, coupled with my love of digging in the outdoors, was a dangerous combination. My pale skin took a bit of a battering and I learnt the hard way to listen to my mother's wise advice. From then on, I have always been vigilant with sunscreen and covering up.

The Professor, as always, was prepared. He had already organised the hire of our kayaks from a local kayaking company. He had insisted on a good level of kayak, knowing that we had a lot of ocean to cover. Both front and back of the boat had round, black sealed sections in which we could stow luggage and gear and we had made good use of both of these. We intended to be away for two days, but we had to be prepared for any delay that might slow down our progress.

Prepare for the worst scenario. Then if it happens, you are more likely to be able to deal with it. If all goes smoothly, all you've lost is the effort of carrying a bit of extra gear, The Professor had stated. So the extra food and clothing that we had crammed into the kayak was a sensible precaution, even though the extra weight was killing me.

The land ahead was slowly drawing closer now and the huge cliffs began to tower over us. As I looked up, the skin of my neck crinkled painfully and I winced. How on earth were we going to climb up those massive cliffs? Even in daylight, they looked a considerable challenge, but at night?

Our target was a peninsula on the northeastern coast of Greece called Mount Athos. Although theoretically governed by Greece, Mount Athos was left to its own devices by the government and people actually needed a passport and visa to visit this strange part of the world. Mt. Athos was run solely by monks. But not just any monks. These monks were the most orthodox Christian monks anywhere in the world. When you joined one of the many monasteries scattered over this peninsula, you left the modern world to live like the monks have lived there for centuries. There was no further contact with the outside world and you would spend most of your day praying. Food was minimal; just enough to keep you alive and no more. Apart from praying, the monks would spend time tending the fields and fruit trees, clearing the hundreds of paths that wind their way up and down the forested peaks and the general upkeep of the monasteries.

This monastic life hasn't changed since Byzantine times, many centuries ago. Indeed, many of the monasteries still run on Byzantine time, which is six hours different to that of standard Greek time. The other remarkable feature of Mt. Athos was the complete ban of all females. It was over 600 years since any women had set foot on the Peninsula. Even female animals were banned!

So getting onto Mt. Athos was not easy and living on Mt. Athos was extremely hard. Most who tried the lifestyle failed. Those who succeeded had incredible devotion and were never again seen in the outside world. They lived, and died on Mt. Athos.

We stopped for a well-earned rest, our two kayaks connected by our paddles, to make a temporary raft. The Professor unscrewed the front porthole where he had placed some water and bread to give us some energy for the last part of our sea paddle.

Not too far now, Bakky. Half an hour more maybe and we will make the shore. Then the hard work will really start, stated the old man, his slight panting putting me to shame as I my bursting lungs slowly caught up on their oxygen craving.

What do you mean, the hard work will really start? I asked incredulously. He looked up and pointed to the huge dark cliff in front of us. Half way up, two tiny yellow lights shimmered in the darkness and I shuddered at what he would say next.

Those two lights are our destination. The Holy Monastery of Simonos Petra. It has been sitting there, clinging to that cliff 330 metres above the sea, for nearly eight hundred years. Tonight, we are to climb up to the monastery.

But why? What are we going to do there, I asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

There is something we need to obtain there. Something that has been kept there safely, for four hundred years. Something that I never thought I would need, but I can see no alternative. Bakky, what we are going to get is so valuable, that no money could ever buy it. It's beyond worth. It's because of this value that we have to come to this place so secretly. If it was to get into the wrong hands, then....... His words trailed off into the salty blackness. Come. Let’s pack up and head off again.

I quickly downed my last bit of water, before we packed all the gear away again and separated our boats. The paddling restarted, but this time I was able to better sense our progress as we neared the land. The closer we got, the rougher the sea became. It was as if someone or something was trying to make it harder for us to get there. The moon’s reflection disappeared from the water as the increasingly choppy sea darkened around us. Part of this was due to the huge towering cliffs above, that now hid much of the sky from our view.

It was quite sudden when we reached the land. We had spent so long slowly crossing the strait with seemingly no progress that the last few strokes seemed to accelerate me towards the end at quite a speed and my kayak scraped along the concrete jetty unpleasantly as I briefly lost control. I managed to avoid tipping myself in, but the kayak was bobbing up and down against the rough wall. I pushed off it with my paddle back into the choppy waves and bobbed up and down while I tried to figure out how we were going to land safely.

The Professor suggested we form a raft again and one person alighted while the other held the raft stable. It seemed as good a plan as any, so we made a raft and gently approached the jetty again. This time we were much more stable. The kayaks still scraped against the side, but I managed to scramble my way up onto the jetty. It felt ridiculously hard after being on the water for so long. I reached down and stabilised the raft myself while the grey haired man also scrambled up onto dry land. We both sat on the hard but stable jetty for a few seconds while we gathered our breath.

Emptying our gear out was the next chore. I was quite amazed how much stuff we had squashed into the four small compartments, but we managed to squeeze it all into our two backpacks. Now, we had to deal with the kayaks. The Professor knew we had to hide them somewhere but I just couldn't see anywhere that would be safe and hidden. But the answer, as he pointed out to me, was staring right at us. He opened the compartments up and let the kayaks fill with the salty water until they both tipped up and sank to the bottom. It was hard to tell how deep the water was there as the two boats disappeared into the dark depths, but I just hoped that they were retrievable for our return journey. But for now, they were gone and there was only one direction for us to go. Up!

With packs on our backs we headed up the steep path. It slowly wound its way up the black cliff and soon we were engulfed in forest. The air smelt sweet and fresh and was alive with the sound of a million cicadas calling out into the night. It was almost deafening in its loudness, but also refreshing after the hours of swishing and slapping water and wind. The path was rough, tree roots continuously crisscrossing it and I can't recall how many times my shoes caught one of these and sent me hurtling forwards. It amazed me how The Professor always managed to avoid these embarrassing trips.

The forest wasn't thick, as the slope was too steep to hold any giants, but it was enough to darken the night and shield us from any moonlight. I pulled the Lingua Calculus from under my top and it immediately illuminated the path ahead with its dull but effective glow. It made us both feel more confident as we sweated our way up the windy path. The sound of the sea soon disappeared as we rapidly climbed. My back was dripping with sweat and we stopped frequently for water and rest. One rest stop was different. We seemed to have reached the top of the cliff, only to see even more land ahead and above of us, but this land wasn’t as steep or severe and the moonlight was back to light the view. There seemed to be the slightest hint of an orange glow in the sky ahead of us and dawn was not too far away.

Then round the next corner was truly one of the most remarkable sights I will ever see in my life. Perched atop a steep cliff, almost hanging impossibly in the air, was a huge, white, multi-story hulk of a building. It seemed to be out of a film set in some Indiana Jones movie. Perhaps carved out of the very cliff on which it was perched, its vertical rock walls towering into the dull orange glow of the sky. The uppermost levels seemed to have wooden balconies or perhaps walkways stuck onto the stone facade. Small, black rectangular windows were placed intermittently amongst the plain white exterior and now I looked closer, some of them had a faint glow inside them, suggesting a dull light.

I gasped as I saw this apparition.

I've dreamt about this place, I explained with eyes wide in awe.

Welcome, declared The Professor, to the Holy Monastery of Simonos Petra. Yes, I could certainly believe that this was a monastery. It was certainly no ordinary building and its setting was extraordinary.

As we climbed higher, the monastery seemed to tower ever more over us until, standing directly below it, it felt like it would topple right on top of us, dragging itself and us down into the hungry Aegean Sea below us.

There were definitely several dim lights on in the windows now and I could sense some movement above me, though I couldn't see any specific figures. Then out of the silence came the sound of a bell. It was just a single, loud and clear chime, whose echo seemed to cascade around us from the rocks and cliffs.

Come, said The Professor. It's breakfast time and soon the monks will be at prayer. I would like to catch Father Aristopolou before then. He picked up the pace as we wound our way up to the building. Before long, our sweaty bodies arrived at the entrance. Although the sun had still not risen, there was enough light to see clearly. And what a view. It was like we could see for hundreds of miles. The sky was crystal clear and I could just make out the dull grey of Sarti in the distance. It seemed like a million miles away.

Now what? I asked.

We wait. He'll know we are here. He will have known for a long time. Father Aristopolou, you see, is one of us Bakky. He dreams. He always has. But he chose a different life to us. One might say an even more important life. The monks on Mt Athos are the most devout monks anywhere in the world. They shun the rest of the world and most will never again leave these shores to rejoin society. They spend most of the day praying. Any spare time is spent doing jobs like maintenance on the monastery, cleaning, cooking or tending the gardens. They are completely self sufficient; growing all that they need. They live here and they die here. I thought about this for a while as we watched the sun struggle up and over Mt. Athos. I found it hard to comprehend the kind of devotion that these monks must have, to separate themselves from their lives, their families and their friends and hide themselves here for the rest of their lives. I was awed by this thought and felt rather weak and pathetic as I knew I didn't have this kind of inner strength and devotion.

A door creaked open behind us and the sight of an old man in black robes greeted me. At first he reminded me of Tezcatlipoca’s high priests that had been removing people’s hearts, but there the similarity ended. Hidden behind one of the longest, greyest beards I had ever seen, was a face of calm serenity. There was not an ounce of maliciousness in those dark green eyes and I think there was a warm smile grinning at us, but the bushiness of that beard made this difficult to be certain. He moved gently towards us and hugged The Professor ever so briefly.

My friend. I doubted these old bones would ever see you again. It warms my heart. I see you now look younger than me, he laughed gently.

Ah Dmitri, replied The Professor. You charmer you. How fare you?

The Lord cares for all of us here. I am well but getting old. I feel next winter I will be lucky enough to join our Lord in the Kingdom of Heaven and I look forward to it.

I could not understand how anyone could look forward to their death, but he seemed quite at ease with the thought and was genuinely unconcerned by the possibility of his passing away next winter.

The Professor just nodded his head slightly and let the moment drift by. He then pointed his hand to me.

Dmitri, please meet Bakky. Bakky, this is Father Dmitri Aristopolou. I shook the old monk by the hand. It was frozen with cold, yet I felt his heart was warm.

I'm pleased to meet you Bakky. Welcome to Simonos Petras.

Thanks Father. I'm pleased to meet you too. How long have you lived here?

Ahhh. I came here when I was twenty-one years old and I have been here for forty seven years. So, I suppose that would make me....um.....

Sixty-eight' I enthusiastically interrupted. Wow. That's a long time.

It seems like yesterday actually. The time has flowed fast and I could not imagine any life different to that which the Lord has chosen for me.

Speaking of time, Dmitri, I think you know why we are here. Is it safe?

Of course, old friend. There is nowhere safer on the planet. But you knew that already.

Will you guide us to it, Dmitri? asked The Professor. The old monk laughed warmly while shaking his head.

No. I'm far too old and stiff to make it that far up. No, tonight, you will be led. You will see. Some of my oldest friends will take you. Maybe, if your lucky, Simonos Petras himself will lead you. I looked at him, my face frowning in confusion. If Simonos Petras was to take us, that would make him over seven hundred years old! Mind you, judging by some of the amazing events that have happened to me in the last few months, anything can be possible.

Come. I am missing prayers and I will be missed. I will show you to your room where you can rest till nightfall. You must be tired from your journey. He was right. I was exhausted and now that rest became a possibility, I was looking forward to putting my feet up for a while.

We were led down plain, whitewashed corridors and eventually shown into a spartan room. I could hear singing, the sound coming from all around. It was the sound of men singing what sounded like religious songs and was hauntingly beautiful.

The room was plain by any standards. Whitewashed walls surrounded two simple wooden beds. There was no mattress, just wooden slats to rest on. A small window let in the bright morning light that lit the room. Peering out through the glassless hole, I scanned the stunning view. A heat haze was already rising up and Sarti was now invisible; lost in the blurry blue of sea and sky.

Tonight I will come for you at dusk, advised the man in black robes. "I suggest you get all the rest that you can, as you will need your energy for later.

I lay on the hard bed, using some of my clothes as a pillow. This had to be the least comfortable bed I had ever laid on. Yet the calming chanting filling the air and my exhaustion relaxed me. I felt safe and amazingly at peace as my eyelids grew heavy and I descended into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 2: A Ghostly Ascent

The narrow streets were lined with small, low buildings made solely of dried mud. The sun was high in the sky, casting sharp shadows all around, the shadows hidden in an eerie blackness. But nothing could take away the smell. The terrible reek of death. As I walked carefully down the uneven surface, dead bodies lay all around me. Most were huddled up in a foetal position, their faces hidden in the ground, tangled hair matted against their lifeless skulls.

The body of little girl, no older than six or seven lay ahead. Though her lifeless eyes were closed, her pale face was staring up at the blue sky. Suddenly, the eyes opened. They stared right at me and made me start.

Why did you let me die? she asked, her white lips cracking with the movement. Why? Then her face returned to its limp state. Moving off rapidly to get away from her, I turned a corner and came face to face with a huge crowd of people. Their eyes betrayed a deep anger, yet they chanted in unison, the deep sound resonating all around, without direction. Perhaps they would be better described as a mob, with many carrying makeshift weapons, like rocks or wooden clubs and they all seemed to be looking at me! I couldn't make out the details, but they seemed far from friendly. The only thing stopping them from marching forwards was a line of soldiers, holding them back. Each wearing simple leather armour and a sword held in its scabbard, they were desperately trying to force the crowd back. Trying to protect me. But the line was failing. A man managed to break through, his mad eyes wide with hate. Then another. The soldiers became swamped as the crown surged forwards and I backed off as quickly as I could. But there was no escaping. I was about to be lynched. Then a gentle voice above said Bakky. It's time, and the crowd disappeared.

It was already dusk when The Professor woke me. I had slept all day. Yet, the chanting that had so lulled me to sleep was still gently vibrating the very walls around me. The monks were still at prayer, or had returned to prayer after a day’s work. I would never know, but now I had to gather up our belongings. I was sweating all over from the dream but I decided not to tell The Professor. After all, I had had this dream several times before and frankly, I really didn't like it. It always ended the same way – without a resolution, yet the terrible smell always stayed with me for a few minutes after I awoke and left me disorientated.

After the second time I had had the dream, I had discussed it with Arthur. He felt that it was a message of some sort. We were being warned. He asked me in great detail about the dead bodies and the smell, so I described them as well as I was able. It's hard to really describe a smell but the reek of rotting bodies is both pungent and repulsive. It fills your nostrils and your brain instinctively wants to get you away from it. But this smell had another component. It was only once Arthur was questioning me that I realised what the other smell was.

If you've ever had a stomach bug that gives you diarrhoea, then you'd recognise the smell, because that's exactly what it smelled like. The worst, most acidic diarrhoea that you could imagine.

Okay, signed Arthur. "That would suggest that the people were dying of some sort of diarrhoea disease. That gives me something to work on. And work on it he did. He read some of his father's medical journals, he asked some of his father's doctor friends. I think Arthur became some sort of teenage diarrhoea expert. But since then, neither of us had had diarrhea even once, the knowledge was so far, wasted. We would see.

*

It didn't take long to reload our packs. We both had another bite to eat and some fluids before Father Aristopolou arrived. He showed us where to refill our water supplies, advising us that there was nowhere on Mount Athos to fill our water again. Or not where we were going. I drank my fill and then we were ready. The two of us were dressed for a long hike but Father Aristopolou was still dressed in his plain black monk’s cassock.

It would seem that you're not going to join us Dmitri? asked The Professor. He was answered with a gentle laugh.

No Professor. I have more than enough of my fellow monks to guide you tonight. They will show the way.

But won't they be missed? I mean, there's not that many of you living here, I added.

You’re quite right Bakky. But the monks that will be guiding you don't really live here anymore. Not in the true sense. Come, I will take you to the back where you can wait for them. I was yet again very confused, but The Professor gave me one of those looks of wait and see. So I closed my mouth and my mind and followed the two old men down the ancient corridor.

Before long, we came to a large black wooden door. As we passed through the doorway, we emerged into the Greek sunset. It was almost dark but the last rays of sun where just dipping down below the hills and mountains above Sarti.

We were standing in a small courtyard with two wooden structures holding a large number of grey, round objects.

Good luck gentleman. May the Lord grant you success in your mission here. He looked at The Professor with a sad face and gave a single nod. Then the two men hugged. They both knew this was likely to be the last time they met on this earth, although, I suspected at least Father Aristopolou believed they would meet again in a better place. I was ignorant as to what The Professor believed. I wondered to myself and urged myself to ask him sometime. But I knew that time was unlikely to ever happen. He was, as always, a hard man to get much information out of.

The old monk turned and headed back towards the large black door. As he opened it, a yellow candle lit corridor was revealed behind it. He never turned back to see us. As the door closed behind him, leaving us blanketed in darkness, curiosity over took me. I wondered what the round things in the wooden structures were, so I wandered over and picked one up. It was the size of a small football and surprisingly light. Its surface was rough and dry and full of holes. I lifted it up into the half-light revealing a human skull.

Aaarh, I shouted in surprise, dropping the skull back into the wooden structure. It made a hollow crack as it landed and re-nestled amongst the other skulls.

"Those are the skulls of all the monks who have lived and died here Bakky. For them, it is a great honor to be left here and they look forward to