Tomb of Atlantis Read Free Page B

afraid to pass on without righting an injustice. You have sailed with me since you were a boy. You have been as loyal, brave, and intelligent as any man I have ever met. It has been a privilege to have sailed with you. I’d be honored to know you as my friend.”
    Zotikos stood stunned for a moment. Never had he heard Sophocles speak of anyone with such emotion. He felt the honor and gratitude of a lifetime of friendship.
    “Thank you, sir, you have been like a father to me. If I am to die, it would be an honor to die with you,” Zotikos replied.
    The two stood for a moment and acknowledged each other, not for their rank, but as good friends.
    “So what do we do now, sir?” Zotikos asked.
    “We can’t outrun it. The best we can do is steer through the waves and hold on,” Sophocles replied.
    Zotikos shuffled along the edge of the boat, and stood next to his captain.
    “I could surely use a taste of wine,” Zotikos said, matter-of-factly.
    “Hmm, yes, Egyptian wine,” Sophocles replied.
    Zotikos turned and smiled at Sophocles, amused by his answer.
    “What?” Sophocles said rhetorically, add ing, “They’re good for something, I guess.”
    Zotikos smiled again, then turned his attention to the horizon out in front of them.
    “Sailing from one and into another,” Zotikos said out loud to no one in particular.
    Sophocles thought about Zotikos’ statement. In his weakened and confused state, he couldn’t figure out the meaning of it.
    Finally, he asked, “What do you mean by ‘into another’?”
    “Another storm, sir… one behind us and the other straight ahead. Maybe we should try to steer around it,” Zotikos replied.
    Sophocles looked out on the horizon. He squinted hard, wiped his eyes, and squinted again. A small smile crossed his face.
    “Great sons of Zeus! That’s no storm, my boy. That’s land!” Sophocles blurted out, his voice becoming strong and clear.
    Zotikos stared for a moment then said, matter-of-factly, “I do believe you’re right. So close, yet so far away.”
    “Don’t give up just yet, Zotikos. We’re not dead yet. Rouse the men. There’s no time to lose. Assemble them here immediately,” Sophocles ordered.
    “Yes, sir,” Zotikos replied.
    Within minutes, the crew assembled on deck and listened to their captain’s instructions. With little time to spare, he made his order short.
    “Gentlemen. Out there in front of us is life. Behind us is death. We are descendants of the mighty Zeus and were born to greatness. On that piece of land there on the horizon, we will carry on our line. We will thrive and rebuild our great nation once more. But, before we can rebuild, I need all your strength. You can do it… one last effort. Do you want to live or do you want to die?” Sophocles bellowed.
    In one loud unanimous roar, the crew shouted, “Live!”
    As the crew made their way to their rower’s stations, Sophocles called out to Zotikos.
    “Zotikos, a word, sir,” Sophocles asked.
    “Yes sir.”
    “Inscribe one last entry, then stow it with the crystal key in my quarters,” Sophocles ordered.
    “If we sink, will it matter?” Zotikos asked.
    “It is the only record of our existence. Someone will find it,” Sophocles replied confidently.
    With a quick nod of acknowledgement, Zotikos turned to perform his duties.
    ----- ----- ----- -----
    Deep in the hold of the ship, the oarsmen strained against starvation, dehydration, and fatigue. Seated on benches that held two oarsmen per oar, they rowed to the cadence of the striker who drummed the speed of rowing with each blow of his mallet. They worked in perfect unison and propelled the ship to a blistering speed of eight knots per hour. Racing against time, they needed to travel the fifteen miles it would take to reach land before the much faster storm overtook them. With the storm moving at nearly five times their speed, it would be a near impossible task.
    On deck, Sophocles ordered his men to tighten the sail and throw