Songline: Solstice Series, #4

By John J Blenkush

A maligned and shamed teenager transforms into our planet's only hope for salvation.

In Telos, the city buried beneath Mount Shastina, the remnant DNA strain of the Lemurian race is at its end. On the earth's surface, world apocalypse looms. A surface-equal – a virgin with virtuous heart and pure blood – must be found to stave off extinction of the Lemurian race before life on earth is obliterated. The Lemurians believe they have found her – sixteen-year-old Julissa Grant.

With nothing left topside to hold her, the maligned and shamed Julissa makes her choice and follows the cousins into Telos.  As of yet, she is unproven and considered by many of the Lemurian council a mismatch for Aaron.  To prove otherwise, Julissa and Aaron are tested as avatars, walking Songline to see if they're compatible and capable of working together.  Burdened with three serious flaws, greed, anger, and ignorance, Julissa fails miserably with detriment to Aaron.  Julissa reluctantly agrees to return topside.  But Paragon, the leader of the Lemurians offers her a chance to redeem herself by entering the Discovery Tunnel.  Here she's challenged by a series of self-discovery tasks by Jungo, the last of the little people.  While learning singlemindedness and with time ticking down before Armageddon's Killshot is fired, will Julissa conquer her inner demons?  Or lose her place in the New World to one of her competitors?  

• Language: English
• Publisher: John J Blenkush
• Release date: Nov 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393623922

John J Blenkush

John J Blenkush is the author of the critically acclaimed thrillers REDDITION and STACY’S STORY, (Kirkus) SANDMAN OF CAYE CAULKER and the epic SOLSTICE SERIES.  A varied professional career in aeronautics, engineering, construction, and IT security requiring extensive travel has instilled in John a wide-angle view of the world and its diverse inhabitants, stirred his imagination, and jump-started his foray into penning stories.  Besides writing, John loves the great outdoors, running marathons, and recreational mountain climbing.  He lives with his wife, Nancy, in Northern California.

Book preview

DEDICATION

To Julissa Grant.

For taking me along on this journey.

PRAISE FOR THE SOLSTICE SERIES

Songline by John Blenkush is the quiet before the storm; when the reader turns the last page, they will have no idea what to expect from the last book in the Solstice series—which is exactly what the best authors manage to do with cliffhanger endings. Having built up his world over the course of four books, Blenkush brings everything tumbling down again, leaving plenty of room for speculation as to what the last book in the series will entail. The Solstice series’ strength lies in its rich cast of characters, who have grown with us since Book 1. Nowhere is this more evident than in the case of Julissa, once just a maligned and shamed teenager but now our planet’s only hope of salvation. Readers will also travel to new settings, like the city of Telos that sits under Mount Shasta and delve more deeply into the mysteries of Julissa’s world than ever before.  Red City Reviews

~ Fascinating story line.~ M. Hurst

~ There is intrigue, romance, morals, encouragement in full in these books. The story grips and does not let go! ~ Patricia M

~ Your writing is brilliant. I've never been addicted to a book series like yours before!!! I can't wait til the next book is ready. ~ Sarah L

~ It is a refreshing change from books I usually read. I love fiction. This book is nothing like any other fiction I've read. Very addicting! ~ Joy Q.

~ This series is absolutely wonderful to read and a pleasure to immerse myself in. I am dying to find out how things unfold for our heroes as we come to the midpoint of the series. ~ Jamie M

~ Thoroughly enjoyed both books and can hardly wait for the next. The writing is very good. A great story. ~ Judy C

~ ...can be enjoyed by older folks who like a good story without all the cursing and sex scenes that are so prevalent now. ~ Georgeanna

~ What I liked about the book was the story of the characters and the fact that the life of Julissa was written in a YA style. It was refreshing to concentrate on young people’s friendships and feelings without it being written in a sexual way. ~ Sharon

~ I would definitely recommend this book, (Of The Heart) it's a great start to the series. And what a cliffhanger we are left with, I loved it! ~ Emi Lia

Let the beauty

of what you love,

be what you do.

Rumi

Lost

You’d think I’d feel something, my mother being dead. I don’t. I’m emotionally numb to her passing. From the moment Cherrie first uttered those two words, she’s dead, the ability to process my feelings without triggering severe panic attacks abandoned me. It didn’t help that my abundant stored life-force exploded from deep within and I blanked out and lost time. The next day when I asked Cherrie who had destroyed my mom’s bedroom, she said I’d gone crazy, that I’d torn the room apart looking for Dierdra. I had never seen such devastation; the bed lay broken, the mattress upended, her dresser split apart, mirror smashed, clothes thrown everywhere. Gaping holes in the wallboard indicated I had hurled things across the room. Even now, as I stand here in the open pit of snow while looking down on Dierdra’s coffin, I can barely wrap my head around my feelings and participate in the formality of laying my mother to rest.

I purposely take in the scene, bit by bit, for I want to etch the particulars into my mind for future reference, should the SSRIs Dr. Oakly prescribed to prevent me from destroying everything, including myself, wear off.

There’s a dozen of us attendees, not counting the minister, who stand in formation around Dierdra’s coffin. Cherrie, of course, is here standing beside me, her lean directed toward me with intent of physical support and to affect a rescue should I slump to the ground. Ewald stands across from us. He brought two friends—or they brought him—I guess, as Ewald can’t function on his own. Just when he found his soul mate, his goddess, she’s ripped from him. Ewald’s friends hold him close, their arms laced under his armpits, propping him up like the ragdoll he’s become. Principal Hertzog is here too. Not, I suspect, because he feels personal pain for the loss of my mother, but as a show of support. He stands with my teachers, Joe Leach, (Art) Mr. Albom, (Spanish) Ms. Wroblewski (PE) Mr. Omes, (Biology) Mr. Mattingly (History) and Mrs. A. Carlisle-Steinberg, (Math) who, due to the limited space, remain outside the hollowed-out snow-tomb. They line the entrance to our ice room, as though they’re sentries posted to ward off evil spirits while we lay my mother to rest. Joining them is Officer Scheeler, looking sharply dressed in his Class A uniform. I see him, standing off to the side, staring, an air of indifference indwelled on his face.

One thing I vaguely remember is Officer Scheeler’s visit the morning after Cherrie informed me Dierdra was dead. He sat me down on the couch, the same way he did the day he questioned me on Louk Hollingsworth’s death.

Miss Grant, I’m sorry for your loss, were his opening words.

Without nudging or response from me, Officer Scheeler went on to inform me Dierdra had died in a single vehicle accident while driving back home from Ashland. The roads were slick, iced up, he said. But that was only part of why she lost control of the vehicle. According to other southbound drivers who were trailing Dierdra, a driver had sped by them with reckless disregard. One of the witnesses testified the driver—who she believed was drunk—had nearly sideswiped her car as he passed. As she followed him she wrote down his license number and dialed 911. In her conversation with the dispatcher she described the vehicle in question as weaving back and forth on the road. She was told by the dispatcher to drop back, to keep her distance, which she did.

But, Officer Scheeler said, the witness remained close enough to see what happened next.

I didn’t have to ask what that was; I already knew. But Officer Scheeler made it a point to pause to give me time to brace for what he was to tell me.

The witness, he said, saw the drunk driver pass and broadside your mother’s car. Dierdra’s car broke into an uncontrolled spin. It was assumed Dierdra, in her panic, hit the brakes. All of this happened on a bridge where, due to surface exposure, a thick coat of rime ice had accumulated. Dierdra’s car, having spun completely around, broke through the guard rail facing backwards. It sailed off into the river, dropping thirty feet.

I don’t know why, but I felt I had a need to know, so I asked Scheeler; Did she drown?

That hasn’t been determined yet. We’re waiting for the autopsy.

Officer Scheeler went on to explain the drunk driver’s car had been located right here in Shasta City, abandoned. The driver’s whereabouts were unknown, but Scheeler said, We’ll get him. He couldn’t have gotten far.

That was three days ago and now, as I stand here waiting to bury my mother and eyeballing Officer Scheeler, I wonder as to why he isn’t out there hunting down the murderer of my mother. Why’s he wasting time attending the funeral of someone he barely knew? Why isn’t he pulling fingerprints off the car, identifying the drunkard who killed Dierdra, and kicking down his or her door? Why’s he standing here, dressed as if on parade, displaying the apathetic look on his face as if my world hasn’t come to a screeching halt?

I wrestle to free myself from this downward spiraling thought-train by gazing beyond where my teachers are huddled. Behind them stand, in soldierly formation, the Sons and Daughters of Belial. Outside the shelter of the trees the wind is howling, but here, shielded within the canopy of the pine forest that encircles and dots the cemetery, the constricted wind merely pecks at the hems of the Belial’s trench coats. Having donned knitted ski caps, scarves, gloves, and ankle long trench coats, I see the Belials have come prepared to weather any storm. Nani, standing front and center, is flanked by Jason and Dreadlocks while the rest of the clan, in order of hierarchy, stand in formation behind their leaders. I search the faces, but I don’t see Jessie Nurge. I wonder; Did he die from the inevitable blast cell burnout? Despite the overcast day, Nani’s face and stance projects vitality and radiance. I pause in my canvassing in an attempt to reconcile her perceived joy with my numbed gut of emotion.

As Nani stares back at me with her deceptive half-smile, I can only imagine what she sees. Like the Belials, I’m wearing a ski cap, the cloud-wave beanie Aaron gifted me. Dad’s black scarf is cinched tight around my neck. Over three layers of clothing I wear a black Polyester coat, graciously donated to me by Carson Gruen.

What I remember as to acquiring the posh coat is knowing Carson had walked up to our cabin’s door and, after being greeted by Cherrie, (who was acting as my gatekeeper) an offer had been made by Carson to let him know if there was anything he could do. Cherrie, knowing my limited wardrobe—not withstanding Nani’s purchases of lightweight, sexually provocative wear—informed Carson I did not have the appropriate outer attire to attend Dierdra’s funeral given the weather conditions. Within hours, Carson sent over the coat along with the gloves and boots I’m wearing, no strings attached.

Cocooned in the coat, I’m generating excess heat, which percolates up my neck in an effort to escape. Dad’s black scarf wrapped around my neck effectively traps my body heat. Dad’s musky smell—liberated from his yet-to-be washed scarf—strafes my nostrils with the putrid odor. It’s what I need, what I desire, to be lost within my dad’s scent, acrid as it is. For what else do I have now that my parents are gone, except what they’ve left behind?

Notably absent are the Delmons, any of my so-called friends from high school, and any of my mother’s professional contacts. Glaringly absent is my mother’s sister (I’ve never laid claim to her as being my aunt!). But I’m not surprised by her truancy given Francine, by choice, was the black sheep of my mother’s family. She never showed up for any of the family get-togethers or other functions while we lived in Minnesota. And, as far as I know, she never said word one to Dierdra when Simon died. Why should I expect her to travel clear across the United States and suddenly appear for Dierdra’s funeral? But I do feel regret for Dr. Oakly, who spent hours tracking Francine down to inform her of her sister’s death.

Tons of snow has fallen on Shasta City over the past few weeks. To find ground to dig, the gravediggers removed a chunk of the six-foot snowbank, thus creating a snow-tomb of sorts. It took them days to chip out the dirt to form a hole in the frozen tundra. So here we stand, the attendees, surrounded by three walls of snow, seemingly in a coffin ourselves, listening to our minister, Nakai Winans, offer up the eulogy.

Dierdra raved about the shaman she had met up in Ashland. In listening to Dierdra talk about Nakai Winans, you would have thought the second coming of Christ had already occurred. The woman is profoundly gifted, Dierdra had said. She’s smart, articulate and, having obtained her Masters of Divinity from UC Berkeley, well-studied in comparative religions. And then I guess in a feeble attempt to impress me, Dierdra went on to list those religions. Nakai had studied Christian and Jewish theology, as well as the mystical traditions such as Buddhism, Hinduism, and Islamic Sufism. Having been enamored with the idea she, too, could become a shaman, Dierdra had signed up for Nakai Winans’ psycho-spiritual training seminars.

When Ewald suggested Minister Winans give the eulogy, I went along with the idea because, mostly, I didn’t have an alternative. (Although I’m sure any one of Shasta City’s ministers would have volunteered their services)

I remember Dierdra saying the shaman’s name, Nakai, is of Native American Navajo origin, so naturally I expected to see a Native American dressed in Native American attire, which isn’t the case. Gray haired with a sun-scorched wrinkled face, clouded eyes, and a soft but firm voice, Nakai could be anyone’s grandma. She’s dressed in a beaded suede wrap, which is trimmed in lavender and deep colored beads. The end of the wrap has been left raw on the ends, which gives it a rugged, individualistic look. Due to the frigid cold, one would expect Nakai to be wearing multiple layers of heavy clothing like the rest of us mere mortals. Her dress is more suitable for a balmy autumn day than a sub-zero winter afternoon, and yet she seems comfortable without headdress or a coat. I swear I see tiny beads of sweat gathering on her forehead. I’m left to wonder if Nakai is one of the chosen, a pure-blood Lemurian, who is being protected from the elements by a life-force shield. Nakai’s words refocus my attention.

And as it says in Psalm sixty-one, verse two, from the ends of the earth I call to you. I call as my heart grows faint. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

From the moment I hear this verse, I’m confused as to whether Nakai is talking to me or counseling Dierdra. As my heart grows faint, lead me to the rock that is higher than I. Is this about me? My heart has indeed grown weak. Having lost and lost again, my heart, for fear of being torn from its moorings, won’t love anymore. This I can bet. It’s gone cold, dark, barely trickling life through my veins. If I’m to be led, who will lead me to the rock that is higher than me?  And what rock? I know of only one that fits the description; that being Mount Shasta. Am I to go there? Again? Is this where I will find wellbeing?

Or maybe I’m being called there to die, to end it all, for what’s the reason to continue living? All I’ve loved is gone. First Chuck dies, then Dad and Uncle Micky are forever lost on Mount Hood, then Aaron disappears below, and now Dierdra’s murdered in a car crash.

As much as I sometimes loathed my mom, I’ve always held a special place in my heart for her. What child wouldn’t feel a connection to their mother, no matter the parent’s shortcomings? I truly did love her, but I couldn’t know just how attached to her I was until she was gone forever.  I ache to have her back, to sit at the dining room table, to exchange barbs over hot tea spiked with whiskey, while our pot-pies simmer in the oven and a fire crackles in the Heatilator.

Like a vessel filling from the bottom up, the welling rises within me. It overflows through my mouth and eyes, the sputtering, the cascading of tears, the pouring of burbling emotion out through the mouth. My legs weaken. My extremities tremble. My face collapses into folds of agony. Cherrie reaches out and wraps her arms around me. She cradles me with her vise-like grip. Those observing me burst into tears. Together, we rain sorrow down onto my mother’s coffin. The tears freeze on contact.

Nakai is merciful. She ends the eulogy with an Indian prayer.

"When I am dead

Cry for me a little

Think of me sometimes

But not too much.

Think of me now and again

As I was in life

At some moments it's pleasant to recall

But not for long.

Leave me in peace

And I shall leave you in peace

And while you live

Let your thoughts be with the living."

Cherrie guides me out of the snow-tomb. As we pass Principal Hertzog and my teachers, they reach out with consoling hands, extending apologies for my loss and offerings of any help should I need it in the following days. Despite having to trudge through ankle deep snow, Cherrie diverts our route away from the Belials. Nani and her entourage, as if skating across the top of the snow, move to intercept and block our passage. Nani sidesteps Cherrie. She moves in close. She cradles my hands in her hands. Scorched air sweeps over me.

I-we just want you to know how deeply sorry we are for your loss. Let me know if there’s anything you need. Anything at all.

As Nani grips my hands in hers, I feel a sensation sweep through my body, one like you feel when the first stages of hypothermia set in. Because we’re both wearing gloves, I know Nani can’t physically have anything to do with this feeling. But my intuitive sense is picking up negative vibes, as though what Nani is saying isn’t entirely true. She’s not at all sorry Dierdra’s passed. I read it in her eyes. I yank my hands from hers, jerk toward Jason, and childishly vent.

How could you bring her here? She tried to kill me!

Cherrie angles me toward the car, pushing and guiding me along. But I can’t let go of the fact Nani wants me impure or dead. I scream vulgar words over my shoulder, aiming vocal darts at Nani’s heart. I see Principal Hertzog and my teachers shaking their heads. Looks of dismay and sympathy grace their faces. Officer Scheeler steps out of nowhere, grabs me by my other arm, and assists Cherrie. I struggle to rip free. A raging inferno of energy erupts from within. I throw myself up and over, basically doing a backward somersault in the air.

Because Cherrie and Officer Scheeler have such a tight grip on my arms, I don’t break free. Instead, I slam to the snow-packed ground on my backside. My momentum yanks them with me. The three of us scramble to our feet. Cherrie and Scheeler move to block me from charging Nani. With the wind knocked out of me, I gasp for air. It gives me the pause I need to rein in my anger. I close my eyes, raise my face to the sky, and draw air into my lungs until they feel as though they’re going to burst. I exhale, slowly. When I open my eyes, I see Nani and the Belial gang standing but feet away. Jason’s tugging at Nani’s sleeve, urging her, Let’s go.

Cherrie and Scheeler, in anticipation of me ambushing Nani, corral me with their arms. Come on, Cherrie says. Let’s get out of here.

I see Nani weakening, her ear bent Jason’s way, her eyes indicating she’s heard his plea. She lowers her head and steps to leave. I stop her withdrawal cold.

I’m pure, you bitch.

Nani raises her head. She gazes into my eyes.  She studies them for deception. She finds none. Nani looks at Jason. A petrified look graces her face. She doesn’t say a word, yet her stance leaves no doubt; she’s pleading with Jason to tell her what I just said isn’t true, that he did not deceive her, that he did indeed make me impure. Jason, a look of shock on his face, backpedals from the Belial gang. He angles toward the safety net of Principal Hertzog and the teachers. He’s shaking his head, astonished I would betray the secret we held, especially since it could lead to my death.

Cherrie and Scheeler shuttle me toward Cherrie’s car, the Lincoln Continental, AKA the Tank, while manhandling me by the arms. They shove me down into the passenger’s front seat.  While Cherrie walks around and drops into the driver’s side, Officer Scheeler blocks the door. He leans down so he can get a better look at me.

You all right?

I nod.

Just know I’ve contacted your aunt in Minnesota. She’s waiting for you.

What?

Your Aunt Francine. In Minnesota. Now that your mother’s gone, she’s going to take guardianship of you.

No. I’m not leaving. I don’t want to go back to Minnesota.

It’s set. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Drive you to the airport. Have your things packed.

Scheeler closes the door. He waves a salute. We drive off.

I look to Cherrie for support. You can’t let them take me back to Minnesota. I don’t even know my aunt. She’s never been part of the family.

Not my call, girl.  What’s this about you still being pure? Did something happen in Sedona?

It’s nothing.

Nothing? Jason looked like he just saw Louk resurrected from the dead! And Nani, she almost wet her pants. It’s a little more than nothing, I think. Fess up or I’m turning this car around and we’ll go and have a chat with Jason.

I kick myself for opening my big mouth. Why couldn’t I leave well enough alone? How do I tell Cherrie her boyfriend, ex or not, offered to rape me?

Cherrie taps the brakes. Okay. Have it your way.

Jason won’t tell you anything.

"Oh, I think he will. From what I just saw, I may be the only friend Jason has left. He’ll talk. Believe me. He will."

Caught between loyalties, I hesitate. Cherrie slams the Tank in reverse.

I blurt it out. Jason was ordered to rape me.

What!

He didn’t of course.

Cherrie, her foot stomping on the brake, freezes. I can almost hear her brain grinding away. Finally, after elongated seconds pass, Cherrie rams the shifter into drive, pulls the Tank to the side, and turns off the engine. She leans in.

"So, what did Jason do?"

Kept me from being murdered.

Save the drama for the three queens.

His words, not mine.

He told you that! You were to be killed?

Yes, either that or made impure.

By being raped?

Not necessarily being violated, but having sex, yes.

With who?

Does it matter?

Jason offered.

Nani didn’t give him a choice. If he didn’t offer, one of the sozzled downstairs would have.

So, let me see if I have this straight. Nani wants you dead or violated, so Jason steps in and offers his services, but doesn’t. You two pretend you were intimate, so Nani won’t off you.

That’s the gist of it, yes.

You do know how ludicrous this sounds.

I nod. Thought so myself. Until Jason told me Nani had Louk murdered. And then tried to kill me several times. I just didn’t realize it at the time. They think I’m the surface equal as described in the Foretold.

The what?

Remember? In the room behind your grandfather’s bookcase?  When I read the Record of Ancient Matters?

Yeah, so you said.

You didn’t hear me, did you?

Cherrie mumbles something about her being shut out. Never mind. What’d it say about the surface equal? Details?

"It says a man from below will rise up and look for a surface equal. A bride. Someone with pure Lemurian blood. A virgin who can bear him a child."

Kind of leaves you out, doesn’t it? You’re not Lemurian. And you’re not wanting to get pregnant, are you? Sweet sixteen and all.

"Course not! But I’ve been gifted with pure Lemurian blood. And I am still a virgin. Thanks to Jason."

"Yeah, he should have had the sense not to get involved with the Belials. Told him so! They’re up to no good. So, you think Aaron’s the one, huh? Why not the twins? Or Bernard? They all came up from below and, far as I know, are pure blood Lemurians. Big world, girl. Billions of guys out there searching for a mate. Wouldn’t pin my hopes on the one who almost got you killed. Rephrase. Did get you killed?"

Ugh! Wouldn’t even think of marrying Bernard, old as he is. Nor the twins. Eccentric as they are. But Aaron? Yes. If he ever returns, I’d give him a second chance. See where it takes us.

Cherrie huffs. What makes you think he’s even interested in you? You’ve been a pain in his neck ever since you cornered him into a relationship. Don’t think he’s coming back. Surface equal? Bite me. Not going to happen. Move on, girl.

I can’t. Not yet, Cherrie. That’s why I need you to vouch for me. Aaron returns, he’ll never find me in Minnesota. Maybe I can hide in your basement?

Count your blessings. Aaron returns, it’s likely you’d be the last person he’d want to see. Given you’ve been violated—Cherrie clutches fingers— by Jason.

Not true! If it weren’t for Jason I’d be... I don’t even want to say it. Soiled!

"And you think the Belials are going to let that play. Not in a New York minute. They’ll keep coming after you. And if not you, then

Aaron. It’s obvious they want to drive a wedge between you two. But wait a minute. Let’s back it up. When you say Aaron’s below, you saying he’s in Telos? The mythical city under Mount Shasta? The one you think he took you to, to have your brain rearranged?"

"Most likely. And don’t give me the I think you’re crazy bit. You saw your Popa’s drawings of Telos. And you said JB Body visited Telos."

And I believed in Santa Claus, too. Tall tales. Remember? Cherrie rocks in her seat. Think your aunt’s gonna want to hear you’re dating a boy who lives in hollow earth, under Mount Shasta? First stop on your way to Minnesota’s gonna be the looney bin. If not before then. Let it go, girl. Before they tuck you away in a padded room. And throw away the key.

"You’re my friend. My only friend. You gotta help me. Convince them to let me stay. At least until the end of the school year. Makes sense, doesn’t it? That I finish out the year?"

Cherrie shakes her head. "Yeah, right. They’re going to listen to me. The girl who can’t explain where her grandpa is. Like to, Julissa. Me being your only friend. But I’m not stepping into the line of fire, just to be bulldozed into juvie for cashing Popa’s checks. Besides, if what you’re saying is true, how do you explain Aaron’s coming topside more than a year ago? You weren’t even here. And you’d never met him were it not for me. So, I’m telling you, let it go."

None of it matters now, does it? He chose me!

More like you badgered him into choosing you. For what, is yet to be determined. Doubt he saw you, the inferior from the hinterlands, coming. Less you think he can see into the future?

Likely he not only read the Foretold, but him studying to be a mnemonist, he probably has it, word for word, memorized. And the Foretold predicts what’s going to happen. No stopping it.

Doesn’t name names, does it?

My heart sags. Of course not, I say. So doesn’t that mean I stand a chance? And, even you, Cherrie... I pause, realizing what I’m about to say isn’t true. Cherrie could never be the chosen surface equal, given she’s a nymph.

Cherrie scowls. Go ahead, say it. I’m lascivious. Spoiled goods. No one will want me. But who else has pure Lemurian blood running through their veins? Cause you sure don’t.

Seconds tick by as I ponder the question.

Well, Cherrie says, doesn’t add up, does it? That you’d be the chosen one, given others bleed pure blood.

You referring to Nani and her friends?

Cherrie looks shocked. And concerned. And how would you know?

Aaron said Nani’s Atlantean, and all Atlanteans are descendants of Lemuria. Makes her pure blood, right?

So that’s why you think she wants you dead or impure? Eliminate the competition? More reason you should steer clear. Ain’t like the goddess is gonna step aside for you.

"More to it than that, I believe. Bernard told me the Lemurian race is suffering from deleterious mutations caused by genetic drift. They need an infusion of new blood. New DNA.  Without it they’ll become inferior. Or worse yet become extinct. Don’t think Nani and her followers qualify, as they’re descendants