Anderson, Poul - The Dancer from Atlantis by Anderson Poul

Author:Anderson, Poul
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

XII

The eeriness of the fate that waited for him could not take from Reid all his wonder at coming to lost Atlantis.

It rose from a sea which today was more green than blue, whitecaps running like the small swift clouds above. Approximately circular, a trifle over eleven miles across, the island climbed in rugged tiers from its coasts. Where cliff or crag stood bare, the stone showed blacks, dull reds, and startling pale pumice below. From the middle, the cone of the mountain loomed in naked lava and cinders. A trail could be seen winding up to the still quiescent crater. A lesser volcano thrust from the waves not far offshore.

At first view the overlay of life was unspectacular. The word that crossed Reid’s mind was

“charming.” Fields, au-tumnally ocher, were tucked into pockets of soil; but most agriculture was orchards, olive, fig, apple, or vineyards which now glowed red and purple. Still more of the steep land was left in grass, pungent shrubs, scattered oak or cy-press made into bonsai by thin earth and salt winds. Reid was surprised to see that it pastured not the elsewhere om-nipresent goats, but large red-and-white cattle; then he re-membered that this was the holy place of the Keftiu and Erissa (today, today!) danced with those huge-horned bulls.

Farmsteads lay well apart. Their houses were similar to those in Greece or throughout the Mediterranean countries, squarish flat-roofed adobes. Many had exterior staircases, but few windows faced outward; a home surrounded a courtyard whereon the family’s existence was centered. However, the Keftiu were distinctive in their use of pastel stucco and vivid mural patterns.

Fisher boats were busy across the waters; otherwise no vessels moved except Diores’. A cloud mass on the south-ern horizon betokened Crete.

Reid drew his cloak tighter about him against the chill. Was Atlantis no more than this?

The ship rowed past a lesser island which, between abrupt cliffs, guarded the mouth of a miles-wide lagoon. Reid saw that the great volcano stood in the middle of that bay. He saw, too, that here was indeed a place legend would never forget.

Off the starboard bow, a city covered the hills that rose from the water. It was at least as big as Athens, more care-fully laid out, delightful to the eye in its manifold colors, and it needed no wall for defense. Its docks were mostly vacant, the majority of ships drawn ashore for winter. Reid noticed several hulls being scraped and painted on an arti-ficially widened beach some distance farther off; others were already at rest in the sheds behind. A couple of war-craft, fishtailed and eagle-prowed, were moored at readi-ness, reminders of the sea king’s, might.

Here in the sheltering heart of the island, water sparkled blue and quiet, the air was warm and the

breezes soft. A number of small boats cruised around under sail. Their gay trim, the women and children among their passengers, marked them as pleasure craft.

Diores pointed to the Gatewarden isle. “Yonder’s where we’ll go,” he said. “But first we tie up at

,

town and get leave to come see the Ariadne.

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