Atlantis: The Sacred Orb

By Christopher David Petersen

There are 6 books in the Atlantis series: Hidden Courage; Tomb of Atlantis; Curse of Atlantis; Tomb of Zeus; Atlantis: The Crystal Scepter; and Atlantis: The Sacred Orb (release on December 14th, 2014). Please see recommended order of reading below.

Hidden Courage: is the back story of the main character in the Atlantis series (Interesting, but not essential)
Tomb of Atlantis: is book 1
Curse of Atlantis: is book 2
Tomb of Zeus: is book 3
Weapons of Atlantis: is book 4
Atlantis: The Sacred Orb: is book 5

Atlantis: The Sacred Orb:
Jack Roberts and Javier Arista have found an alien laboratory deep within the Marianna Trench. Inside the lab, its greatest secret has been discovered: the cure for all disease. When Jack and Javi release the formula to the world, their triumph is only short-lived. They learn that data is missing, preventing its development, much to the delight of the world’s most powerful pharmaceutical corporations. With their alien spacecraft lost at the bottom of the ocean, future visits to the lab to obtain the missing data seem hopeless... until Alfred Jameson, CEO of pharmaceutical corporation Anti-Gen, steps forward and offers his “services”. Alfred’s offer to help seems dubious at best, but with little other choice, both Jack and Javi agree to their new partnership.

Their adventure begins with the spacecraft’s retrieval. From the very start, their actions are monitored and the operation goes horribly wrong. Later, after finding their way to the deep underwater lab, they learn the missing data was saved to a small silver sphere: an orb. Their journey now takes them around the world in search of the seven thousand years old artifact. The ride is relentless as they struggle with armed rebels, deadly booby traps and those that would stop at nothing to get their hands on the orb’s cherished data.

When all seems hopeless, Jack has a plan, but so does his enemies. Will he overcome the forces of evil or will they see through his plan and claim the prized orb as their own?

107,000 words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher David Petersen
• Release date: Dec 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311115621

Christopher David Petersen

Christopher David Petersen (1963 - 20??). Born and raised in Connecticut. As a child, I was always daring and reckless. Never one to let common sense stand in the way of a great adventure, my bold feats of stupidity were legendary... Huckleberry Finn would have been proud."Surprisingly", that same spirit carried over into adulthood, as I sought out entertainment that included: scuba diving; ski Mountaineering; mountain biking; Rock, Ice and Mountain climbing; flying planes; golf, motorcycles, the stock market and of course, experimentation with various alcoholic refreshments.Later in life, writing became an extension of my deep desire to experience "new and exciting worlds". I have written several books, but none have been published through any formal channels... I've heard the process is long, painful and laborious, the thought of which sickens me. My foray into e-publishing came after a friend suggested my works could fetch dollars instead of dust inside my sock drawer... a righteous observation. My recent publications are the result of this advice. Further adventure/suspense novels are soon to be released.An engineer by trade, I have worked all over the U.S. and usually write in my spare time... that is when I'm not enjoying a bottle of Scotch and a quality cigar. I am a naturally long-winded individual, so writing is what happens when I can't get anyone to listen to me anymore...I love all kinds of genres but gravitate more towards suspense. There is nothing like the build up to a great climax... What a rush!

Book preview

Atlantis: The Sacred Orb

By Christopher David Petersen

Copyright 2012 Christopher David Petersen

Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1:

Sophocles stood in a weakened state, leaning against his tiller for support. Weeks had passed since they had narrowly escaped the battle with Lempithius. Except for a few fish they had been lucky enough to catch and some rain water they had managed to collect during an occasional storm, Sophocles and his crew had almost nothing to eat or drink in weeks. Some had died; others were dying. The oarsmen could no longer row and the remaining crew could no longer maintain the ship. Most found a spot, lay down, and waited to die.

Sailing across the Atlantic from the city of Atlantis, the tidal wave that destroyed their beloved city was a distant memory. Now their survival was at the forefront of Sophocles’ mind. He had called upon every bit of knowledge he had learned since he began sailing more than forty years before. He was in uncharted waters. No man had ever sailed this deep into the Atlantic and survived. Navigating by stars, wind and waves, he had kept a westerly course and was certain at some point, they would find land. But day after day, the endless seascape stretched out before them, unrelenting and featureless.

Sophocles closed his eyes involuntarily. His mind ceased to function long before his eyes shut. Propped up against the tiller, his body swayed with the rocking of the boat. As time passed, the soft gentle breezes that had lulled him to sleep picked up in intensity, causing the waves to build.

Suddenly, a large wave rocked the boat and Sophocles tumbled across the deck, waking up several feet away. He rolled onto his knees, grasped the side of the boat, and pulled himself to a standing position.

Working his way back to the tiller, he scanned the horizon behind his ship. At first, his mind refused to register the event, but instinct and self-preservation worked its way into his conscious thinking. Another storm was developing, this one ever more ominous and menacing than anything he had witnessed before.

Sophocles’ tongue had swollen from dehydration, making speech a laborious and painful task, but he overcame his condition and called to his first officer.

Zotikos… Zotikos, wake up. We’re in trouble, he called to his first officer who lay on deck several feet away.

He waited momentarily, took a deep breath and called out in a louder tone.

"Zotikos… you must wake up. We’re in great danger."

Barely conscious, Zotikos sat up and tried to steady himself with his hands on the deck.

Yes, sir, he answered, his voice barely audible.

Zotikos my friend, look behind us. We are in great danger, Sophocles replied.

Zotikos’ eyes snapped open. In all his years sailing under Sophocles, he had never referred to Zotikos as his friend. The simple statement brought a sense of warmth and contentment at a time he felt the most despair. Zotikos smiled at his captain and slowly stood.

Sophocles gestured at the advancing storm which loomed behind them.

Zotikos, I fear this will be the end, he said.

Zotikos scanned the horizon. His body was swept with dread at the sight of the approaching storm.

Zotikos, I’m not afraid to die… you know that, Sophocles continued. But, I am afraid to pass on without righting an injustice. You have sailed with me since you were a boy. You have been as loyal, brave, and intelligent as any man I have ever met. It has been a privilege to have sailed with you. I’d be honored to know you as my friend.

Zotikos stood stunned for a moment. Never had he heard Sophocles speak of anyone with such emotion. He felt the honor and gratitude of a lifetime of friendship.

Thank you sir, you have been like a father to me. If I am to die, it would be an honor to die with you, Zotikos replied.

The two stood for a moment and acknowledged each other, not for their rank, but as good friends.

So what do we do now, Sir? Zotikos asked.

We can’t outrun it. The best we can do is steer through the waves and hold on, Sophocles replied.

Zotikos shuffled along the edge of the boat, and stood next to his captain.

I could surely use a taste of wine, Zotikos said matter-of-factly.

Hmm, yes, Egyptian wine, Sophocles replied.

Zotikos turned and smiled at Sophocles, amused by his answer.

What? Sophocles asked with a humorous glint in his eyes. They’re good for something, I guess.

Zotikos smiled again, then turned his attention to the horizon out in front of them.

Sailing from one and into another, Zotikos said out loud to no one in particular.

Sophocles thought about Zotikos’ statement. In his weakened and confused state, he couldn’t figure out the meaning of it.

Finally, he asked, What do you mean by ‘into another’?

Another storm, sir… one behind us and the other straight ahead. Maybe we should try to steer around it, Zotikos replied.

Sophocles looked out on the horizon. He squinted hard, wiped his eyes, and squinted again. A small smile crossed his face.

Great sons of Zeus! That’s no storm, my boy. That’s land! he blurted out, his voice becoming strong and clear.

Zotikos stared for a moment. I do believe you’re right. So close, yet so far away.

Don’t give up, Zotikos. We’re not dead yet. Rouse the men. There’s no time to lose. Assemble them here immediately, Sophocles ordered.

Yes, sir, Zotikos replied.

Within minutes, the crew assembled on deck and listened to their captain’s instructions. With little time to spare, he made his order short.

Gentlemen, out there in front of us is life. Behind us is death. We are descendants of the mighty Zeus and were born to greatness. On that piece of land there on the horizon, we will carry on our line. We will thrive and rebuild our great nation once more. But, before we can rebuild, I need all your strength. You can do it… one last effort. Do you want to live or do you want to die? Sophocles bellowed.

In one loud unanimous roar, the crew shouted, Live!

----- ----- ----- -----

Deep in the hold of the ship, the oarsmen strained against starvation, dehydration, and fatigue. Seated on benches that held two oarsmen per oar, they rowed to the cadence of the striker who drummed the speed of rowing with each blow of his mallet. They worked in perfect unison and propelled the ship to a blistering speed of eight knots per hour. Racing against time, they needed to travel the fifteen miles it would take to reach land before the much faster storm overtook them. With the storm moving at nearly five times their speed, it would be a near impossible task.

On deck, Sophocles ordered his men to tighten the sail and throw overboard all ropes, anchor and anything deemed non-essential. As the men worked, the winds intensified and the seas raged, tossing the ship from crest to trough while Sophocles feebly tried to negotiate the waves. Far in the distance, the land loomed larger and more distinct with each passing minute.

Sophocles didn’t need to look behind him to know the storm was close. The crests of the waves were now nearly half as tall as the mast and the winds streamed in, ripping at the sail, nearly tearing it from its rigging. Over the roar of the storm, he could hear his ship bending and creaking as the violent waves and winds punished his boat. Looking up at his taut sail, he wondered nervously if the mast would hold.

Sophocles felt continuous moisture on his arms and face. At first, he ignored it, considering it just the spray from the ocean swells. As the drops of water began to build in momentum, he realized rain had begun. Seconds later, the sky opened up and the light rain turned to a powerful deluge of water that at times, moved sideways across the ocean, driven by the wind.

He was now in battle with the elements. As the ship rolled up to the wave crests, the oarsmen could no longer make contact with the water, losing control of their forward momentum. The winds caught the sail and thrust the ship from crest to trough, out of control and nearly capsizing with each downward plunge into the valley of unforgiving water. Sophocles worked the rudder wildly as he clung to it in desperation.

Suddenly, a rogue wave slammed the side of the boat, crashing over the top and washing a man overboard.

Throw him a line, Sophocles screamed over the roar of the wind.

He watched as the man passed by the boat, struggling to stay afloat, then disappeared under the white, frothy waves.

Zotikos looked over in sad desperation, nodded to his captain in sympathy, then continued his work.

Another large wave struck the front of the boat as it floundered in the trough, dousing the deck with a tremendous plume of water. This time, the men grabbed whatever they could and held on. The force of the water ripped several men from their grasp and rolled them down the rear of the deck toward Sophocles. Instinctively, he let go of the rudder and grabbed one of the men before he was launched over the side. Both men grabbed the rudder and held on, as another violent wave rolled over the top of them from the other side. As the water cleared the deck, Sophocles looked around him. Three more men were gone.

Deep in the hold, the oarsmen continued their work. Although tied to their benches, they could not maintain balance, and toppled over with each violent wave that broadsided the ship. Great streams of water rushed in, flooding the hold, and momentarily threatening to drown the inhabitants. Continuing to row, they held their breath and hoped for air, as the water slowly drained out of the side ports and back into the sea.

As time passed, the men weakened, and so too did the ship. Sophocles began to hear the unmistakable sound of wood cracking. Through the loud roar of the storm, he tried to pinpoint the location of the sound.

Suddenly, a wild and violent gust of wind burst through them, knocking men off their feet and sending them rolling toward the side. Sophocles watched in horror as the sail twisted beyond its constraints and cracked the mast.

Zotikos, cut the ropes. Release the sail! Sophocles screamed over the wind.

Zotikos raced for the rigging and began to cut. On the other side, men were attempting to do the same.

Sophocles battled the rudder as he anxiously looked on.

Moments later, another gust charged in and snapped the mast at its base. Sophocles looked on in horror as the long wooden pole toppled into the sea, dragging another man with it.

Quickly, cut the ropes. It’s dragging us under! Sophocles screamed out again.

As the mast began to sink, its weight and size acted as an anchor and began to overcome the effects of the rudder. It quickly began to pull the ship sideways in the water. Sophocles had now lost control of his ship. Clinging to the rudder, he watched Zotikos desperately sawing through the last of the ropes.

Without warning, another violent wave broadsided the ship, nearly capsizing it and snapping the rope to the sunken mast. A great wall of water rushed across the deck and Sophocles watched helplessly as Zotikos was washed away.

Nooo! Sophocles cried out in anguish.

As the boat righted itself, Sophocles searched the seas in desperation. His shipmate, his friend, was gone.

Sophocles wept openly, the pain too much to bear. He clutched the rudder in one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other. Holding his tears in his hand, he lifted his head in sadness and searched once again for his friend.

Through his blurred and teary vision, he spotted a hand, then an arm on the edge of the boat. Quickly, a leg was thrown up over the side and Zotikos pulled himself to safety. He rolled to the middle of the deck, stood and clung to the shattered base of the mast. He flashed Sophocles a humble grin and raced off to help the other men.

Sophocles roared a triumphant laugh, relieved by the saving of his friend. He watched Zotikos for a moment, then refocused on controlling what was left of his ship.

As the hours passed, the land that had been a gray shadow was now a lush green mass. Less than a half mile away, they could see the white sandy beaches that lined its shores. They were almost there. The feeling that they were going to make it sent a steady rush of adrenaline through their bodies, invigorating them, giving them the energy to go on.

Sophocles began to feel relief. Although they were still fighting for their lives, he was almost certain the fight was about to end.

Abruptly, the ship came to a violent halt. All men were flung forward, including Sophocles. The oarsmen in the hold were ripped from their benches and piled on top of each other. A large wave rolled in and slammed the side of the ship, spinning it around and positioning it broadside for further punishment.

Abandon ship! Abandon ship! Sophocles screamed.

He ran to Zotikos and gave further instructions.

"Zotikos, we’ve run aground. The waves are going to tear this ship apart. Get everyone off… Now!" he ordered.

Yes sir! Zotikos shouted.

The waves rolled in as the evacuation unfolded. One by one, the men reluctantly jumped into the water and began to fight the savage waves as they swam towards shore. Those that could not swim drowned. As the last oarsman jumped into the sea, Zotikos and Sophocles took one last look at their precious vessel which had carried them to safety.

She was a good ship: tough, strong. I have no complaints, Sophocles said with sadness.

Just then, another large wave crashed over the deck, knocking the two into the sea. The force of the water rushed over them and carried them away from the ship. Zotikos swam to the surface. Looking around, Sophocles was nowhere in sight. Suddenly, he felt something hard bump into him. A moment later, Sophocles appeared next to him, out of breath, but safely treading water.

Sir, you made it, Zotikos said, smiling.

Not yet, my friend. It’s a long swim to shore, Sophocles warned.

A worried look came over Zotikos. Looking into Sophocles’ eyes, he said, The crystal keys, the scrolls… I have to go back.

Sophocles shook his head.

Zotikos, it’s too dangerous. You have to save your strength. We need to swim now or we won’t make it, he responded.

But sir, it’s all we have left, Zotikos replied.

No, Zotikos, what is left is what we make of it. Let’s swim, he ordered.

FOURTEEN HOURS LATER:

The day broke bright and clear. The great storm had passed and all but four of the crew had made it to shore. Sophocles stood on the sandy beach and scanned the horizon. He breathed in a deep breath of fresh air, let it out slowly. He had made it.

Any sign of it? Zotikos called out from behind Sophocles.

Sophocles turned and greeted his first officer.

Well, good morning, Zotikos. Good to see you’re in fine spirits, Sophocles said with a grin. Then his expression turned serious. No sign. The ship’s gone.

Do you think it could still be stuck on that sandbar? Zotikos asked.

It’s possible. It could have broken up and sank right there or it could have been carried out to sea with the storm, Sophocles replied.

Hmm, sad. It would’ve been nice to carry on here with our treasures, Zotikos said, his expression somber.

Sophocles put his hand on Zotikos’ shoulder and smiled.

We haven’t lost all our treasures, he said cryptically.

Zotikos stared at him in confusion, his mind still not functioning fully amidst his exhaustion.

I don’t understand, he responded.

Sophocles smiled and held out a wet leather pouch. By its spherical shape and size, Zotikos guessed its contents.

Sir, is that what I think it is?

Sophocles nodded energetically. He opened the top and emptied the contents into the palm of his hand. Zotikos stared with amazement at the four inch diameter globe. Silver in color and perfectly smooth and shiny, the simple-looking object was the impetus of their existence on Earth. Thousands had died in defense of the unassuming orb. They crossed four thousand miles of ocean, guarding its secrets. Although they had lost other important valuables at sea, they had managed to save the single greatest treasure known to those on the planet of Arae (Pronounced: uh-ˈrī): the secret to sustained life. Inside the four inch globe, detailed files containing the research and development of the secret antigen were saved.

Zotikos looked around at their primitive setting. They had lost everything in the storm and as the two stood on the barren beach with nothing more than their clothes on their bodies, the advanced technology that was hidden inside the silver orb now seemed useless. The men who deciphered the secret panacea, Zeus and Poseidon, were dead. The only laboratory with the technology to exact the data and produce the elixir was far beyond their reach, sitting forty-two thousand feet beneath the ocean surface.

Seems superfluous now, doesn’t it, he said to his captain.

Sophocles shook his head with conviction.

Nonesense, Zotikos. We may not have the ability to use this great measure of science, but that does not discount its significance. This is of the greatest development ever conceived, he responded. He paused a moment, then added, …and we will guard it with our lives.

Zotikos nodded respectfully. He looked around at their desolate setting once more, his mind now refocusing on their survival.

What will we do now? he asked, looking worried.

Sophocles stiffened his resolve.

We will rebuild, he said with conviction.

Zotikos shook his head, unconvinced.

With what? We have no tools or weapons.

The great Zeus and Poseidon were stranded on this planet with only Zeus’ crystal scepter. From that, they were able to build an empire. We shall do the same, he said confidently. He looked past Zotikos, toward the surrounding jungle. Pointing to a fallen tree with cut marks at its base, he said, Somewhere nearby, there are people waiting to help us. We have only to find them.

Help us? Zotikos asked.

Sophocles nodded.

From Greenland to Egypt, Zeus and Poseidon conquered the people and built the great city of Atlantis. We too will do the same. Soon, will we have a magnificent city of our own and the people will bow to our greatness.

You are destined to greatness, my captain, Zotikos said, in awe of his confident leader.

Honduras, Latin America

Northern mountains

Five years later…

Sophocles stood at the edge of the clearing and watched the final blocks of stone being shifted into place. Although the limestone pyramid stood only two hundred feet high, far shorter than those of Greenland and Atlantis, it’s shape was uniquely different. He stared at it with pride, knowing the design was all his. At the wide base, it measured two hundred feet square, rising gradually and capped at the top by a grand altar. A set of stairs rose from the base to the altar, allowing access to the ceremonial platform. On each side of the pyramid, engraved in the one of the massive blocks of stone, was an intricate symbol. Sophocles stared at the rectangular-looking hieroglyph and nodded in satisfaction. His artisans had done a remarkable job.

While studying the great sight in front of him, Sophocles envisioned himself standing at the top and commanding the tribes he’d conquered. In the years after the great shipwreck, he and his men moved through the Caribbean Islands, crossing Cuba, then settling on the shores of Latin America. As they warred with and conquered the weaker indigenous people along their path, the strength of his forces grew. Within three short years, he had established a small empire that stretched from Caicos Island to Honduras. Now, as he watched the tribesmen toil under the direction of his subordinates, he smiled approvingly at his accomplishments. Like Zeus and Poseidon, he too was now a great and powerful king.

Sophocles felt the dryness of his parched throat. In his hand, a small porcelain urn was half filled with wine. He raised it to his lips and took a long, satisfying drink. Holding the urn in front of him, he studied the single hieroglyph molded into its side: the same symbol engraved on each side of the pyramid. He rubbed his fingers over it and suddenly his mind flashed to Poseidon and his crystal coffin that sat atop a large rectangular altar.

They’re almost finished, my lord, came a familiar voice from behind.

Sophocles turned and smiled at Zotikos.

I’m very pleased. You’ve done a remarkable job.

Zotikos nodded in appreciation.

The savages resisted at first, but they now work with great speed and efficiency, he responded.

You’ve learned to command well, my friend. Someday, you may be a king yourself, Sophocles teased.

Zotikos beamed with pride at Sophocles’ remark, then shook his head in modesty.

Thank you my lord, but my wisdom and virtues are but a fraction of my king’s. It was your vision that brought us here, he countered. In the beginning, all seemed hopeless. When we were filled with doubt, you filled us with hope. We were only a small lot, yet you taught us to overcome superior numbers with tactical advantage and skill. Now, five years later, we are a great empire once more, like that of Atlantis. You truly are a king.

We haven’t surpassed Atlantis yet, Zotikos. There are still many more worlds we must conquer, but I do believe Zeus and Poseidon would approve, he said in a jovial tone.

Sophocles held out the urn of wine to Zotikos, offering him a drink. Zotikos smiled energetically and took a long swallow. With barely a drop left, he drank down the last of it and tossed the empty urn to the ground. As the two stood together and watched the workers in silence, they both felt the energy of friendship between them. A moment later, Zotikos turned to Sophocles and spoke.

My lord, now that you have proclaimed yourself as king, have you decided yet on your queen?

Sophocles stared thoughtfully at the great pyramid and considered Zotikos’ question. He watched a man work in the open field near the pyramid. He was regarded as a common worker, yet his efforts were not like the others. This man seemed to move with dignity. Although he was indeed one of the workers, his colorful leather and ornate jewelry left little doubt that he was a man of importance.

Sophocles nodded in satisfaction, having made his choice.

I’ve selected Munani to help carry on the bloodline of Arae, he answered firmly.

Waqaya’s daughter? Zotikos asked curiously.

He is a king, is he not? That would make her a princess. Seems a befitting choice, he said.

Zotikos stared at the colorfully dressed worker, Waqaya. He considered Sophocles’ choice once more, then spoke.

Have you discussed this with him?

I haven’t. I see no need, Sophocles replied.

Zotikos now turned directly to his king. His stare was purposeful and concerned.

He might protest, he said. He may only be a worker to us, but he’s still a king to his people. He’s a proud man. You taking his daughter without his approval could anger him. It’s possible he could start a revolt.

That would not end well for him, Sophocles replied in cryptic tone.

Zotikos swallowed nervously at the implication, then turned his stare back toward the pyramid. As the two considered the previous exchange, a man hurried in their direction.

Sir, the pyramid is finished. The final stone has been placed. All that awaits is your blessing, the man said respectfully.

Sophocles smiled in satisfaction.

At last, I can put the orb to rest, he said to no one in particular, then he turned to his subordinate. Good work Perses. Now gather the people. We will use this momentous event to announce my queen.

Your queen, my lord? Perses asked curiously, a slight smile crossing his face.

Sophocles nodded.

Yes Perses. I’ll be selecting Munani, he answered.

The king’s daughter? Perses asked. He then nodded approvingly and added, A fine choice sir: she is attractive and of royalty.

Thank you, Perses. See to it that Waqaya and his daughter are at the front of the assembly, by the stairs, Sophocles commanded.

Yes, sir. It will be done, Perses responded obediently, then darted off.

Sophocles shot Zotikos a reassuring smile. The two headed for the pyramid.

An hour later…

Sophocles stood on the altar atop the great pyramid. He raised his hands above his head, calling for silence. Beside him, Zotikos watched over the crowd, searching for any disturbances. With all voices now quieted, Sophocles spoke:

Today is a momentous day. Will we end one journey and begin another. With the completion of the pyramid, its purpose will be fulfilled. Today, the great orb of life will find its proper setting in this pyramid, inside the sacred chamber.

Sophocles pulled the silver orb from a pouch that hung from his waist and held it out for all to see. King Waqaya and his people stared up at Sophocles, unmoved by his words and unimpressed by the round nondescript-looking object. He turned to his daughter and spoke in his native tongue:

King Sophocles is a fool. We slaved for years to build him a shrine and this is his purpose: a round stone barely large enough to use as a weapon, he said.

Munani nodded to her father in agreement. She then shook her head in disgust and spoke in a low tone that only she and her father could hear:

Where are his sacrifices to the Gods? His disrespect is shocking, she said angrily.

This man brings shame amongst his people. Soon, the Gods will have their revenge for his insolence and we will be free once more, he vowed.

Munani nodded again.

That will be a great day for us, she said in a hopeful tone.

Sophocles stared down at the two as they quietly spoke, reminding him of his next order of business. He lowered the silver orb and placed it back in the pouch on his waist. Looking back to the crowd, he focused his attention on Munani. She noticed his gaze, sending apprehension through her body.

My people! Sophocles announced with great zeal. Today, we will all share in a new journey. Today I will choose a queen from amongst you.

Munani’s stomach churned as he stared directly at her. She glanced at her father with apprehension. He glared up at Sophocles with contempt.

Waqaya, Sophocles called down to the King. Today, I bestow a great honor upon you and your family. I have chosen your daughter, Munani, to be my queen.

Munani turned to her father in fear.

Father, I’d rather die than to unite with this man, she said.

This is an unacceptable union! I will not approve of this. You must choose another, King Waqaya shouted loudly for all to hear.

Sophocles shook his head defiantly.

I have made my choice. There is no other who is worthy of the blood of Arae, he bellowed.

King Waqaya stepped forward from the crowd, his rage evident in his eyes.

NO! This is not acceptable. Munani is free to choose her own mate. She will not be enslaved in love, he shouted. His eyes glinted with defiance.

Sophocles nodded to several men standing nearby. They moved toward Waqaya, separating him from his daughter. Munani shouted in protest as two men restrained her.

"Father, help me! Make them stop. Kill them!" she begged.

Waqaya felt the pain of his daughter’s distress and instantly lunged to protect her. Two men struck him down and held spears to his throat. He flashed his daughter a desperate stare. Seeing the threat to her father’s life, she quickly acquiesced.

Stop! she shouted to the two men holding her father. I will not resist. I’ll do as I’m asked. Just don’t hurt my father.

Sophocles nodded to the two guards. Slowly, they backed away, allowing Waqaya to stand. He flashed the two men a hateful scowl, then turned to his daughter. As they embraced, he whispered in her ear.

This injustice will not go unanswered. Fear not my daughter. The time of reckoning has come and you will be saved.

As they pulled away, she nodded to him in understanding. He kissed her cheek, then glared up at Sophocles. Sophocles merely waved his hand with indifference, sending Munani and the two guards away. Waqaya watched momentarily, then joined his people in the crowd.

Sophocles turned to Zotikos and nodded approvingly.

You see, no trouble, he said quietly to his friend. Shall we descend to the sacred chamber?

Zotikos stared back at Sophocles with surprise. Did his friend not see the danger? Was his king’s judgment clouded by his own self-importance?

Sophocles stepped forward and descended the stairs. Zotikos stared down at Waqaya and flashed the king a sorrowful expression. There was no forgiveness in Waqaya’s eyes.

Moments later, as Sophocles and his men filed into the pyramid, Waqaya turned to his people.

Assemble the men. Tell them to bring their weapons, he said through gritted teeth.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Sophocles moved down the final corridor toward a dimly lit chamber. As he entered the twenty by twenty foot room, oil lamps sat on tiny shelves along each wall, flickering their light towards the center. As he stepped inside, a great smile crossed his face at the simple, yet magnificent sight. He marveled at the walls, floors and ceiling made of highly polished stone. Inscriptions on the walls documented the room’s purpose, giving glory to Zeus and Poseidon. He studied them momentarily, reliving his journey as he read through several paragraphs. He then turned his focus on the center. Standing and opposing each other were two golden statues: one of Zeus; the other, Poseidon. Both stood with their arms slightly extended and their hands cupped in front of their waists. Positioned so close together, their hands nearly touched.

Zeus and Poseidon would be proud, Zotikos said from behind as he stepped through the doorway.

Sophocles turned and nodded.

They were both born of greatness and should share in the glory, Sophocles said.

He walked toward the two golden statues, then reached into the pouch attached to his waist and carefully pulled out the silver orb. Zotikos stepped beside him and watched with great intrigue. Sophocles carefully lowered the metallic globe into the waiting hands of the two statues. He released his grip and the silver orb sat clutched in their golden fingers.

A befitting tribute, Zotikos said solemnly. I only hope it stays this way.

Sophocles nodded in understanding, then looked toward his men standing just outside the chamber.

We’re done here, he said loudly. Prepare the pyramid for exit.

Three hours later…

Sophocles and Zotikos stood just inside the entrance and stared at the darkened corridors that led to the pyramid’s center. An eerie feeling came over both as they studied the seemingly unsuspecting pathway.

Outside the pyramid, Sophocles’ soldiers stood guard at the entrance. Numbering only a hundred, they were well armed: some with swords, some with spears, and all carried shields. The remainder of Sophocles’ forces were scattered about the large village. As the soldiers waited for their king to exit, their stations were noted by others.

At the edge of the clearing, just inside the jungle, King Waqaya waited with his men. Numbering nearly a thousand, the warriors had collected their hidden weapons and now watched for any signs of activity at the pyramid’s entrance. As they crouched low to the ground, they clutched their weapons: spears, clubs, and rocks. All awaited