To Live With Ancients (Ancient Atlantis Book 2) by Sarah R. Silas

Author:Sarah R. Silas [Silas, Sarah R.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2015-01-26T05:00:00+00:00

A Church of Atlantis

Juniper had been wandering the palace for hours trying to figure out which way her chambers were. She had tried to ask a few of the Guardsman she found stationed outside doorways or walking the halls. Either they had decided they no longer spoke English or they were just rude. She hoped it was the former, because the latter meant that she was going to have a harder time fitting into the palace scene than she had previously thought.

She wandered through multiple wings of the palace, each with its own architectural significance, mosaic floors or tiles, paintings or frescos, ceiling murals or just moulding, wondering where exactly she would find something that was truly Atlantean, rather than just an amalgam of things she could see above the water.

One of the mosaic floored wings led her to a dead end, to two large wooden doors studded with brass and what looked curiously like rubies to her untrained eye. The doors were easily four or five times her height, but with a slight push of her hands they swung open. She chalked it up to some sort of Atlantean magic, rather than thinking that perhaps all her late night escapades (or lack thereof, really) had given her super strength.

The doors swung open to reveal rows upon rows of stone pews that led to a stone altar. Around the room pillars that were narrower at their base than at their top held up the ceiling. The room was massive, the rows of pillars gave it an eerie quality as if the entire room was lopsided or just upside down. The floor seemed to have been delicately painted with flowers, grass, and other natural paraphernalia. At different angles, different shades and light patterns emerged from the paint.

Behind the altar intricate runes and patterns had been carved into the stonework. What seemed like stone pipes led up towards the ceiling and down into the floor. Perhaps it was some ancient organ, she thought. She tried to remember the few times her father had taken her to church, but she was drawing a blank. When her mother left, she remembered, her father had decidedly abandoned all faith. He would hate even mentioning God, let alone anything connected to it, if only because he had felt that everything in the world, except his daughter, had turned against him.

She walked delicately on the floor, not wanting to hurt whatever magic had cast the paint in that way. She became lost in the intricate rune work that she noticed spread across all three walls. So lost that she didn’t notice Cecil sitting in the seventh pew from the altar, his head in his hands, feet apart, trying to hold back tears.

He looked up, hearing her footsteps, and hurriedly went to wipe his eyes. “What’re you doing here,” he spluttered, clearing his throat so she hopefully wouldn’t notice his distress.

She knew him too well. Although she was surprised to see him, she immediately sat down next to him and put her arm around his shoulders.

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