Akropolis Read online

  The figure had gone but Seb was uneasy. On the rocks he gave himself fifteen minutes to catch something. If there were fish they’d bite by then. He was lucky and in ten minutes had a rock cod. He quickly killed and gutted it and headed back to camp through the bordering scrub.

  On the way he collected dry leaves and sticks. He made a hollow in the sand and lit the kindling with matches from his pack. When this caught he fed it more sticks, and within a short time he had sufficient coals to cover the fish and cook it.

  He ate it sitting on the sand looking out at the smaller islands and reefs. Some gannets flew over followed by a few pelicans. He realised he hadn’t felt this peaceful in months, and when exhaustion finally overcame him he slept deeply.

  By early morning he was at the airfield, in plenty of time to board the flight for the mainland. There were five other passengers. One commented jokingly on his lack of luggage and Seb responded with a forced smile. He focused his thoughts on the previous night alone in the dunes. The memory remained clear and sharp and he framed it in his mind for later.

  After landing at the regional terminal of the mainland airport, the passengers formed a small, straggling group crossing the tarmac to the main building. Once inside Seb walked alone through the crowd towards the exit. So far, so good. With no luggage he was ready to leave through the sliding glass doors to freedom.

  He stopped as he recognised someone ahead of him‌—‌the sales rep who gave him the lift from St Annes. Too late to avoid him. The man had seen him.

  “Hey Seb! Over here!”

  Seb stayed where he was. I didn’t tell him my name. He felt a knot in his stomach.

  The man moved with purpose. He greeted Seb, shook his hand warmly and with one hand on Seb’s shoulder, guided him in a friendly manner through the crowd. “My car’s in the carpark. I’ll give you a lift into town.”

  Seb went along, matching his pace, steady and unhurried. No point in drawing unwanted attention. Once outside, he stopped. “This is as far as I go.”

  The man said in a low voice, “It’s not safe for you here.”

  “Who are you? How do you know my name?”

  “My name is Kleitos. I am your Guide. I have a car waiting.” The man gestured towards the carpark.

  Seb remembered Rick’s warning and the name of the group Rick belonged to. Was Kleitos an Ascendant?

  “Ascendants came later,” Kleitos said. “I’m a Descendant of those who came in the First Transition, the Survivors.”

  Seb stared, astonished. Kleitos had read his mind. He tried to gain control of his thoughts but they were random‌—‌forgotten memories of Yoshiki and Finn.

  Kleitos said, “Yoshiki briefed me. He told me about you.”

  Be ready, Yoshiki had said. Seb had known this day would come. It was almost a relief. He made a decision. “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace safe.” Kleitos led the way, his words almost lost above the noise of the jets. “Here’s the car. Get in and we can be at the Long Walls soon.”

  Seb sat in front and Kleitos drove. In a few minutes they were out of the airport and on the west-bound freeway. After a short distance Kleitos took an exit leading to a wayside stop and brought the car to a halt in front of a grassy patch bordered with shrubs and trees. No other vehicles were parked in the area and they got out and looked around. Seb wondered what they were looking for.

  “There’s a portal here somewhere,” said Kleitos. He took out his phone and directed it at the foliage, reading the screen as he did so. “Right there.”

  Seb peered into the scrub but saw nothing unusual. They walked closer. A faint shimmer, a rippling liquid movement like a mirage, appeared ahead of them through the leaves.

  Kleitos moved fast. “It won’t stay open long,” he said, as he took Seb’s arm and guided him into it.

  Something, a sound. Seb looked behind him into blackness. He realised it wasn’t a sound that had alerted him, it was the absence of sound. It was silence. The freeway noise had gone, the freeway had gone. In its place was a rough gravel road with high stone walls constructed both sides of its entire length, as far as Seb could see. He felt a sudden hot wind on his face, dust in his eyes, the sun. The car was gone and he was walking with Kleitos along the road towards a distant city.

  * * *

  Senior Constable Tom Carson stood outside the small cottage a few kilometres from town. He was considering, before knocking on the door, how he would discuss the subject of their son’s death with the Delaneys. He had already called Cade Delaney and indicated there had been further developments.

  If he knew them better, he would feel more at ease. The Delaneys had lived in St Annes for more than two years but kept to themselves more than most. Tom wasn’t alone in his discomfort in their company‌—‌no one in town knew them well. They avoided community events whenever possible. Tom’s wife Linda had called on them once to invite them to a local fund-raising event. Sarah Delaney had told her politely they weren’t interested. No excuses. No small talk. It was as if where they lived was unimportant to them, Linda had told him later, as if St Annes was just a stopover on the way to somewhere else.

  After Jake had contacted him with a different account of the accident, Tom had needed to think carefully before deciding what to do about it. As far as he could make out, Jake’s story had changed what everyone thought was an accident inquiry into a potential crime investigation. Jake was a good man, but lately he’d been unwell. He may have been confused in the storm and imagined things that didn’t happen.

  Nothing would have come of it if Seb hadn’t taken off. Why he’d done this was beyond Tom’s comprehension. Seb would never have faced charges, not as things were. Who could prove anything? Seb and Jake were the only ones who knew what happened and anybody could see Jake was ill. There was more to this, Tom was sure. He was resigned to the need to follow it up.

  Tom knew this could be difficult. If Seb had reached the mainland, the police over there might need to be involved. Tom shook his head. It became more complicated by the minute.

  He stepped up to the front door of the cottage and knocked twice.

  5

  Mrs Goodwin was succinct, as ever:

  CONFIDENTIAL

  Dear Mr and Mrs D’Angelo

  It is my opinion that Nathaniel would benefit from professional help in dealing with recent events. Although his grades are still remarkably high considering what has happened, his general attitude has changed.

  He is a talented student and helping him resolve these issues is particularly important in his final year. With his national science awards he would qualify for a scholarship at any of a number of prestigious universities abroad.

  Perhaps a counsellor from outside the school environment could help him in dealing with his continuing anger and, I might add, his resentment of authority. Please feel free to contact me at any time to discuss this.

  Sincerely

  Elizabeth Goodwin

  Deputy Principal, St Annes College

  Elizabeth Goodwin’s letter had caused Nat no end of problems. His parents had discussed it with him and he had reluctantly agreed to speak to a counsellor. They were concerned, they explained, had been worried about him for some time. Since Seb had left, they said, he had seemed unapproachable and distant. Was there anything he was keeping from them? About Seb? Anything at all?

  Today is Seb’s 19th birthday, Nat thought, exactly four weeks since he left St Annes. We all go round as if nothing happened.

  He’d promised to go fishing with his father at Mariposa Beach, and guessed the suggestion was his father’s attempt to resume a routine they had both enjoyed.

  They packed gear and walked past the breakers to the rocks at the end of the beach, where the blackback salmon ran in still, deep water. They cast their lines but the fish weren’t biting. “Must’ve seen us coming,” his father said with a smile. Nat smiled back, but the easiness was gone.

  In the car on the way home Paul discussed his rec
ent work, analysing results from tests on an ice core in Antarctica. He was a geologist who had worked several seasons in Antarctica and had an ongoing involvement in the region.

  Nat made an effort to listen but after a while he tuned out, until something his father said made him snap to attention.

  “…the hi-res data is unmistakable,” Paul was saying. “According to the report the level of nitrates found in the ice core is evidence of a supernova thousands of light years away. The data links it to the galaxy NGC-1097.”

  “Where did you say this core was?” Nat said.

  Paul glanced at him and smiled. “I thought that would interest you. It was a sample from the Ross Ice Shelf‌—‌I was there when it was taken.”

  Nat raised his eyebrows. “That’s pretty amazing.” He felt ashamed of his previous inattention. He made a mental note to look up the report when he got home.

  Paul shrugged. “There’s still a lot of research to do.”

  Nat glanced sideways at his father and felt an overwhelming urge to confide in him. Instead he said, “Thanks for the fishing, Dad.”

  Paul looked at him. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  After dinner that night Nat went to his room early and took out the note Seb had left him. He’d recognised the code straight away. Don’t forget to feed the hens. It was their old system of exchanging private messages or sharing secrets.

  When he’d read it he’d gone straight to the hen shed. Amelia was on the nest and didn’t take well to being disturbed while laying.

  “Sorry,” Nat said, as he’d lifted her gently and placed her in the adjoining nest. He parted the straw and removed the loose board from the base. Under it was another note which he pocketed. He replaced the board and returned Amelia, clucking in protest, to the nest.

  He’d read the second note many times since then:

  Nat– Jake thinks I’m somehow responsible for Rick’s death. I’m not even sure what happened myself. It was dark. Rick was talking about going somewhere, leaving through a portal. He said I was in danger and wanted me to go with him. I was trying to stop him from jumping overboard when he disappeared.

  I thought he’d taken his life. He belonged to a group called Ascendants who he said were tracking me. Crazy stuff, but after the shooter I’m not so sure. I left to hide my tracks.

  I need you to find someone for me. His name is Yoshiki. I know he’s there, in St Annes. Tell him what happened. I’ll contact you somehow. –Seb

  “Yeah,” Pete had said, when Nat asked him about Yoshiki, “he lives up the pass. I’ve seen him here once or twice, with his granddaughter, at the Saturday market. You remember her, Norika Sakoda. A real babe. She came to our school a couple of years ago for the Science Quiz.”

  Nat remembered her. The town at the top of the pass suddenly became a place of great interest to him. He decided next time he and his father were passing through the town on their way to Launceston, he would pay more attention.

  Now he thought it might be too late. He’d asked around town and no one had seen Yoshiki or his granddaughter for months.

  * * *

  The next day, Saturday, was grey and cloudy. Nat lay listening to the wind in the trees until he remembered he’d been too tired to check for messages the night before. Ten hours. He could have missed something.

  He retrieved his phone from the floor beside his bed. Another text message came up, same interface, unknown sender.

  Go see the Delaneys.

  He frowned, puzzled. Why the Delaneys? He decided he needed to talk to them. And after them, Jake.

  But first he had to find Yoshiki.

  The weekly market was set up in a park along the shore not far from Nat’s street. Nat used to go there to check out a regular stall which specialised in curios and collectors’ items. He liked the stallholder and he sometimes found interesting fragments to add to his rock collection.

  A light rain was falling when he arrived and some of the stallholders were packing up their wares into vans. He headed straight for the curio stall and was looking at the display of items, wishing he could buy an antique wooden measuring instrument his father would have liked, when he heard a voice beside him. He looked up and saw an old man smiling at him. The man wore light, loose-fitting clothes and his grey hair was tied behind him at the neck and hung down his back.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I was looking for rocks for my collection,” Nat said. “The regular stallholder sometimes saves them for me.”

  The old man shook his head. “I’m afraid there are no rocks on display today. As you see, my friend is away and I am here in his place.” He paused and glanced at Nat. “Do you like rocks so much?”

  “My dad’s a geologist,” said Nat. “I like interesting rocks. Volcanic rocks, or meteorites. Sometimes a fossil, if I’m lucky”‌—‌he shrugged‌—‌”or maybe a rock with a story.”

  “A rock with a story,” repeated the man. He considered a moment. “Come back next Saturday and I may have something for you.” He smiled again. “If you’re still interested, Nathaniel.”

  Nat stared at him.

  “Are you Yoshiki?” he asked.

  6

  Sunday the weather cleared. Nat had been up since early morning, preparing for the next visit on his list and thinking about his meeting with Yoshiki the previous day. “I’m a friend of your brother’s,” Yoshiki had said in answer to Nat’s questions, and offered little more information. He explained he had met Seb once, a long time ago, and hadn’t seen him again until recently on the street in St Annes. He was unsure why Seb had sent Nat to find him, but supposed it was because Seb wanted him to know he had left the island. “He trusts me,” Yoshiki had said simply, when Nat pressed him further.

  Nat decided to let it go until he returned to the market the following Saturday. Today he had work to do.

  An hour later he was in his runners on the highway out of town. There were no backroads where he was going, but traffic was sparse and he enjoyed the isolation and freedom.

  Cade and Sarah Delaney lived in a small timber cottage on a few acres. The road hugged the rocky coastline and only a small number of properties lay on the ocean side, their gravel driveways disappearing into the coastal scrub.

  Nat wondered how the Delaneys would react to his questions. He was reluctant to remind them unnecessarily of their loss, and he was prepared for a difficult meeting.

  As he entered their driveway he slowed to a walk to catch his breath. The long bush drive through open blue gum forest surprised him and he hoped he’d see a Swift Parrot. Lathamus discolor. Nat had seen one before, on a field trip, but needed proof of a sighting. The wooded coastal strip was perfect habitat for the birds and he walked quietly, his phone ready.

  Nearing the cottage he saw the Delaneys’ car was missing. He assumed they were at church and decided to wait for them in the shade of the verandah. The curtains were open at a front window and he peered in.

  The house was well-kept‌—‌neat and tidy and spare in style. It reminded Nat of Quaker cottages he had seen online. Spartan but pleasing to the eye. Not much personal stuff around. On a dresser were a few faded photos but none of Rick. Strange not to have photos of the son they had lost.

  He heard a sound and turned. No one. A bird call. He looked up. Directly overhead was the sea eagle he’d been tracking, finding food for her chicks, her partner again tracing graceful arcs above her. Nat knew their favourite roosts and had finally discovered their nest in a remote area further down the coast. He watched them swoop and soar and thought these were the times he wanted never to leave the island.

  He heard the car coming up the drive. They drove through a side paddock and entered the house by the back door, not noticing Nat seated on the verandah. He waited a few minutes and then went to the front door and knocked once.

  Cade opened the door.

  “Nathaniel,” he said. “What a surprise. You’re lucky to find us here. Come inside.”
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br />   He led the way to a cosy living area at the back of the house, where Sarah Delaney had just put the kettle on to boil. Nat was relieved when she offered him tea. He’d always thought them a strange couple‌—‌she had a quiet containment, as if she were not quite present when you talked to her, in contrast to her husband’s abrupt manner.

  Nat had decided to be direct. He explained his family hadn’t yet heard from Seb, but he would appreciate their help in finding out more about the accident.

  “I would have come earlier but I didn’t like to intrude,” he said. “I’d like to know what you believe happened to Rick.”

  The Delaneys looked at each other for a moment. Then Sarah Delaney spoke in a surprisingly clear and steady voice.

  “We don’t know what happened any more than you do, Nat. Some questions have no answers‌—‌why we live our lives as we do, why we suffer. Do you know the term stoicism?”

  Nat looked at her, too astonished to answer.

  She waited a moment and then continued. “Stoicism was a philosophical movement in ancient Greece. The Stoics believed that fierce emotions were destructive to the soul, and that the more control a person had over these emotional extremes the happier their lives would be. This belief was based on their science.”

  Nat had no idea what he should say in response to this. In any case, a reply didn’t seem necessary or expected.

  “This is why we don’t feel sorrow or anger because of what happened to Rick, whatever it was. It happened. He’s gone. We don’t need to know more.” She paused. “Such weakness can prevent us doing the work that needs to be done.”