The Thrice Born Read online

  He unzipped his wetsuit and stuck the toe in the pocket of his shorts beneath, making a questionable lump in his outer suit. From the bag he took a telescoping metal rod and extended it to its full five-foot length and popped out the mast. He grinned at the statue, poking the rod’s end in the figure’s hands that appeared to beg in palm-up supplication.

  “Hold that,” he told it, fishing out a postcard-size U.S. flag from his bag. He attached it to the mast, nodding at his stake of claim.

  He looked around at the beach still assaulted by wind and rain, feeling more accomplished by the feat of possession. With a sigh, he reached back into the bag and found his well-worn diary and a battered pen. He wrote for a quick moment, murmuring to himself, and then put the diary back in the bag before the rain could smear too much. He retrieved a waterproof camera from it and looked around for his first shot.

  Corky had learned a few things in his travels to paranormal hotspots and the fringe of wonderlands. One thing was to always turn around and take a good, establishing look at the trail behind him and see what the road back was supposed to look like before he got lost. Another was to photograph whatever he could.

  Even, he’d also learned, if that photograph later did not show what he’d seen.

  He’d also learned to mark his territories.

  He took a few moments to photograph the beach, the cove, the rock in the waters, and the trees. Several shots of the trees, to show the direction that the wind was blowing. Just for reference for weather reports later.

  He would have liked to take more, but the larger vessel he’d seen making for the island was enough to prompt him to go investigate his island. With a quick salute to the flag, he stood and trudged into the foliage growing deep around the shore.

  Corky didn’t know how long he walked, planting flags every so often in spots he thought pivotal for later and photographing them, fighting the undergrowth of trees and vines in the heavy jungle. The wind had gathered speed and whipped at him in blistering force, leaves slapping at him as the fog thickened in the interior. The dense trees and rain added an artificial murkiness to what would have otherwise been a tropical beauty, making shapes and forms take on strange attributes.

  It was just when Corky was certain he’d gotten turned around when he saw a glint of gold ahead in the trees and palm fronds. He stopped, watching the gold take the shape of a statue, and then realized he and the statue were not alone.

  Another form, a human form, evolved from the darkness near the tall gold statue similar to the one he’d found on the shore.

  He watched the man stop, also awestruck by the tall sculpture, looking up as the rain and wind suddenly lightened, the fog clearing. Corky also realized the man was not alone. With him were several other men, all looking up at the statue. Even from his hours of study, Corky didn’t recognized Bill Norwood from behind.

  “Oh, my God!” Norwood gasped, neck still craned up at the statue. “Is this –”

  A violent rumble of the island shook every tree and man on it. The ground trembled, nearly knocking them to the ground. The fog returned in a sparser layer.

  There was a few cruses running through the men the Captain of the Sea Pilgrim had brought along, but Norwood ignored them.

  Corky took a few steps closer to the circle of men facing the statue, estimating his odds.

  “What is this thing?” he heard Norwood mutter.

  “I don’t know for sure,” Corky answered, still hidden by trees and dog.

  He saw the men’s bodies turn toward his voice. He would have laughed, but another tremor shook the ground, making him grab a nearby limb. “Seems pretty seismic around here, doesn’t it?”

  This time Norwood turned completely, now facing Corky as he stepped from the thick trees. The Captain and his men leveled stares of the newcomer in the wetsuit.

  Norwood cleared his throat, holding his ground as Corky approached him, recognition in his face.

  “Corky DeLeon,” he said, extending his hand. “Welcome to my island.”

  Norwood shook the hand slowly. “Your island? You live here?”

  Corky gave a sheepish grin. “Well, no, but I came here about forty minutes ago. I took pictures of you coming ashore, incidentally. For the record.” He’d added the last as more bluff than real evidence. Actually it was Mary Ann who would have done that, if she could keep the trawler off the reef and get a moment to run the camera.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  Corky shrugged. “Proof so I can claim this island, of course.” He pulled the camera out of his bag and flipped it until the digital screen showed the shorter gold statue holding his flag. “Look at that.”

  Norwood leaned to see the screen, nodding, not seeming too impressed.

  “That’s mine,” Corky said, gathering his bravado, and exaggerating only slight. “I was here first. If it blows away, I have a lot of others. They’re all over the island.” He patted his bag. “Got lots more, too.”

  There was another jolt of the ground, this time followed by every bird in the trees screeching and flying off in a flurry. The ground settled and the fog thinned, giving Corky the first good look at the man before him.

  “Oh, my God, you’re Professor Norwood?” He grinned like a star-struck schoolgirl at a fan signing. “Wow. The beard, it’s a ...different ...” Corky’s eyes never left the professor as one hand fumbled with the bag at his side.

  Norwood nodded.

  Corky pulled out his copy of Norwood’s book from the bag. “This is my bible,” he said to the older man, leaning forward slightly despite the elements around them. “Tell me, Professor, is this Atlantis? Uh, I mean, Lemuria? Or Mu?”

  Norwood frowned, his dignity still weather-beaten. “I’ve no idea what the hell it is.”

  The Captain had watched Corky with alternating disapproval and suspicion. He joined them as another tremor shook the ground. “We’ve got to leave,” he told Norwood.

  Corky looked hastily around, nodding. He opened a page of the book. “Can I get an autograph?”

  Norwood gave him an incredulous look, but took the book and pen Corky had suddenly materialized.

  The Captain eyed Corky, looking around for these flags he’d overheard him speak of. He nodded to him, speaking to Norwood. “Who’s he?”

  Norwood made a flourish of his autograph on the dampening page. “I don’t really know.”

  Corky answered. “It’s My Island.” he said, with a slight crazy look in his eyes.

  The Captain watched Norwood hand the book back. “Lucky you.”

  Norwood turned back to the statue, his face filling with wonder. “You see that? That’s absolute proof of my theory.”

  The Captain gave the golden figure a quick glance. “I don’t care about that or anything else on this cursed island. I’ve a crew and a ship to protect.” He nodded to the small bit of beach they could see between the thick trees in the fog. The water was lapping at the sand, ebbing to sea. “You see the way that water’s retreating?”

  Norwood frowned, now joined by Corky’s intent study of the receding water.

  “Yes.”

  “That could mean a tsunami.”

  A sudden stiff wind caught them all with a fury threatening to pull them off their feet. They raised their arms in defense, trying to wait out the buffet, but this time there was no let up. The Captain pulled Norwood away from Corky.

  “Another time, Professor!” he shouted over the wind. “We must get back to the Pilgrim now!”

  Corky caught his breath in the onslaught of wind and sand. “I never would have found this place if I haven’t read your books!” he shouted to Norwood, trailing him a few feet. “Your research is amazing!”

  “You should seek cover, Mr. DeLeon,” Norwood told him, gasping in the wind.

  “Yes...” Corky wanted to converse more, but the wind was overtaking his breath, ripping his words away.

  He watched Norwood leave with the Captain and other crewmen, torn between interests until the
professor was out of sight in the fog and trees.

  Corky sighed and looked back to the statue.

  Jason pulled the motorboat up into the rushes of the island’s bank on the more southern part of the landmass. On this side the storm was calmer, but still intent on stripping the loose leaves from any tree or shrub. He’d battled the water and wind, making for the clearer patches of island in the fog.

  He tied off the boat against the shore, drenched from rain and wading waist-deep in the water. He had some misgivings about parting company with Corky, but he didn’t trust his skill at swimming the strong waters like the younger man did; besides, there was something else on Jason’s mind and he had more to his immediate plans than planting flags.

  He took his bearings and headed inland, breaking a path through the tall reeds and bushes to the thicker part of the jungle where the fog was thinning.

  The air stuck to him despite the wind, humid and still fragrant from the herby shrubs around him, and for a surreal moment the smells brought up a familiarity to him Jason Newhart should not have had. He paused in the thick trees, watching the wind tousle the leaves, feeling the rain drip down his canvas shirt where the water warmed against his skin.

  For a moment the feeling of that warm liquid on his back locked him into place, thoughts swarming his memory that he didn’t recall making, but rather than tepid rain it was the trickle of perspiration from strenuous labor that ran down his skin. He shook his head and moved deeper into the jungle, shoving the odd sensations out of his mind.

  For twenty minutes he moved on, the howl of the wind rustling the tops of the tallest trees louder. He didn’t call for Corky; chances were that the younger man was relishing in his own pursuits, happy to have found the island he’d shown Jason in Professor Norwood’s book.

  If it was, Jason thought, stopping in the trees as a small clearing broke from the foliage. It was thick with underbrush, but the trees opened to a small stone tomb-like structure. He went there, something about the dark gray granite color drawing him on, and yet at the same time bringing on an overwhelming sense of dread.

  He reached the mausoleum and found it was smaller than it looked. It was covered with vines and sprawling laurel plants, but he could see the exterior was carved and had at one time been painted. The carvings were hidden by vegetation and had lost their sharpness, the paint faded and chipped.

  He ran one hand along the wall to the door, and deep within him the prick of dread heightened into fear. He pushed aside the feeling and opened the unlocked, rusted metal door that was green with patina. Its hinges echoed sharply in the rainy air. Inside the small tomb was dark, but enough foggy light seeped into the small chamber for him to make out a few objects. He stepped in cautiously, leaning to the doorway wall to give the lone room a better look. The room had a strange, nearly luminous yellow cast to it, and he almost stopped breathing when he realized why.

  Against the far wall was a small cot of gold, but between him and the cot were gold bars, dividing the room like a cell. To one side in the floor was a gold-rimmed hole in the floor about eight-inches in diameter.

  A sudden pressure pushing on his chest made Jason lean to the wall for support, familiarity overwhelming him with a myriad of half-formed memories. A gnawing ache went through his stomach, followed by a suffocating feeling that threatened to collapse his lungs in cold. He waited out the rush of baffling pressure, breathing slowly as the onslaught to his senses lessened.

  He focused on the small cell, trying to divorce himself of the fading pains in his torso. Gold, he thought, why gold for a prison?

  Answers whispered through his mind, hushed words in a dialect he didn’t know but understood. Somehow he understood them.

  His gaze went from the cot to the bars, his mind’s eye rethinking the bas relief exterior, his breath failing him again as too many thoughts crammed painfully into his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Estelle’s face leaped to his mind.

  But it wasn’t Estelle. It was someone very like her, a woman cast from the same feminine mold, but stronger, with an ageless beauty he knew Estelle possessed.

  He opened his eyes as his chest refused to expand as he gasped for air, and he felt himself sliding down the wall as his legs gave way.

  “Astara...” he said, a wave of guilt passing through him as the name seemed both natural and wrong to breathe another woman’s name. His eyes closed against his will, mind swirling with scenes of battle, an ancient battle, gold swords flashing, and feathers.

  The feathers were everywhere, white wings, some stained red, women’s cries and men’s desperate shouts. Jason tried to sort through the images, his mind grasping at fragments of the scenes charging his mind as his hand gripped the sudden pain arching through his stomach, until blackness engulfed his senses.

  Jason wasn’t sure how much later it was that Corky found him. The black pit of unconsciousness he found himself slowly dissolved as Corky’s measured voice became recognizable and sped up to the correct speed.

  “...interesting fellow, but he seemed kinda... Damn...” Corky left off speaking as he crouched near Jason’s fallen form. His arms were still under Jason’s shoulders, lifting him as he spoke, when he got a better look at the tomb.

  He’d found it by chance, hearing the creaking metallic echo of the rusty hinges amid the rain and wind. Following it, he found Jason unconscious, and now he was focusing on the cot and gold bars of the cell.

  “What is this place?” he asked Jason.

  In response, Jason leaned to the wall, catching his breath slowly, looking to the younger man.

  “Hey, you all right?” Corky asked, concern overtaking his interest in the tomb. “You hit your head?”

  “No. I guess, I guess I passed out.”

  Corky grinned, nodding at the gold cell. “No wonder, Jason. Quite a sight, huh?”

  Jason made his breathing steady. “Something happened. Something important. I think I was here before.”

  “It’s called deja vu.” Corky gave a knowing nod. “Very common. Just thinking you remember doesn’t mean it really happened.”

  “Maybe Estelle, or someone who looked like her...” Jason now found he was trying to bring back the former thoughts he’d tried to force from his mind. He frowned, eyes on the cot and gold bars in the dim light. “There was some kind of rebellion. Or, was it a dream, then?”

  Corky started to answer but was drowned out by a sudden roar of earth deep from the island’s underground. The walls of the tomb shook, a few spots of granite crumbling at the ceiling.

  Corky stood and hitched his arms better under Jason’s. “Come on; we got to get out of here!”

  As if to reinforce this idea, another, stronger tremor shook the ground, jostling both of them.

  “Was it real?”

  Corky looked to Jason at the query, seeing the same questioning in his face he’d seen in his own reflection after his first few visions. “I don’t know, Jace. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Can a mind remember something it hasn’t experienced, Corky?”

  The younger man’s face froze with confusion, but then snapped into movement as he shook his head. “You really wondering that?”

  Jason got to his feet, one hand on the shaking stone wall. “I have a terrible headache.”

  Corky chuckled. “I’m not surprised. Say, could we get out of here before this whole place blows up? We’ll talk about it later.”

  Jason shook his head, looking back to the cell. “No, it’s important I stay. There are answers here. I must –”

  “Now, Jason!” This time Corky grabbed his arm and towed Jason out of the tomb.

  The next series of tremors rattled every thought in their heads, nearly sending them to the soggy ground as the island shook violently. The wind had risen while Jason was unconscious, the rain and fog renewing.

  “Let’s go! This way’s shorter!”

  Jason looked back at the tomb as Corky shouted more, only half hearing him.

&
nbsp; The small stone building seemed to call silently to him, begging for him to remember, pulling centuries of past events out his mind that he didn’t know he had. Jason turned and left with Corky.

  By the time Jason and Corky had wrangled the motorboat back into the choppy waters and found their way by luck and providence back to the trawler through the driving rain, Mary Ann had used up every prayer she knew. She was holding her own in the storm, her muscles aching at handling the boat’s wheel, and eagerly welcomed the two adventurers back aboard as they materialized from the thick fog with the smaller boat.

  Corky quickly winched the motorboat onto the trawler and got the larger boat facing due east when suddenly the fog cleared into sparse threads and the island materialized several hundred yards before them. They three stood amazed as the afternoon cleared in a miraculous moment, the Sea Pilgrim now easily visible farther north of them. On its deck they could see a few figures also watching the island with equal amazement.

  Mary Ann shuddered in her wet clothes, eyes on the island. “I’ve never seen weather like this, Corky.”

  He nodded; and they’d been in some pretty strange places before.

  Jason was still watching the island as a the sea around them settled in an eerie stillness, only to have the lull break with a sudden explosion of light bursting from the landmass’s center. It radiated out in a bright, round flash, circling like an atomic explosion, soundless.

  The light emanated across the water, brightening the sea like turquoise glass and made the two vessels on the water appear as mere dots on a sheet.

  A second later the silent storm of light was followed by a surge of wind that hit both vessels like an invisible wall, making the water agitate with rumbles from far beneath the ocean floor.

  Jason grabbed the trawler’s rail, eyes fastened on the island as it appeared to grow, the land spreading out in all directions, only to shrink back, and then rise and fall in quick upheavals that ended with the entire island dissolving out of sight.

  He stood straighter, studying the spot where the land had been. There was nothing.

  A sudden laugh and a call came from across the water, and it took Jason and Corky a moment to realize that it was a faint voice from the Sea Pilgrim.