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I.R.Tagarian
The Gates of Atlantis

I.R.Tagarian

The Gates of Atlantis

Copyright © 2021 OÜ I.R.A./Legend

First published in Estonia in 2016 by Legend publishing in paperback as Atlantise Väravad

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

e-pub ISBN 978-9949-7249-5-6 (epub)

Translated by – Petra Tänav

Cover design and layout: Alfa Disain/ Anu Mõtshärg

Legend publishing

OÜ I.R.A.

Tallinn, Estonia

legend@legend.eu

www.legend.eu

KEEP IN MIND, MAN, THAT YOU ARE THE TOP OF ALL THINGS. IT IS ONLY YOUR WISDOM OF THAT, WHICH HAS BEEN FORGOTTEN.

The Emerald tablets

To Agni, on whom depends the existence of my world

Dear mother!

You can ask why I didn’t talk to you about it sooner. Why I am doing it now when it has already been four years. I just couldn’t do it earlier. For the sake of all of us, I couldn’t. I know that my behaviour that I wasn’t then able to explain caused a lot of heartache at the time. I am very grateful that you trusted and helped me even without knowing, why and what I was doing. Not everyone would have done it. You did. I believe that in reality, you already know why I had to do this.

We have always trusted each other, even when we haven’t really been upfront with each other concerning all the details of our lives. Remember, whatever might happen, I have never wished to hurt you. This was also the reason why I hid those things from you for so long. I sincerely hope that the world is ready to understand what is actually happening with all of us. It may be that you are the one to share this with everyone. This may be the reason you are my mother.

With love Aime

17. June 2012

She was standing there, where just a moment ago nobody had been. Her skin had a blueish glisten in the rays of the setting sun. Aime had raised her eyes from the excavation site, as she had sensed the surrounding change around her. A tall woman with a high-up hairdo that stretched her face longer was wearing strange flowing clothes that the sun rays made it easy to see through. She did not seem to belong at an archaeological digging site, whatsoever. But she was there – at the same time somehow distant yet showing interest towards Aime. The latter raised her head which was slightly dizzy from being bent over for hours. She shook away the light blonde hair falling on her face and expected the woman to disappear. She had to be just a mirage caused by the long day in the blazing sun. Blood pressure disorder. Vertigo. It was more than certain that she would vanish into thin air immediately or melt into the sunlight that was glowing behind her. The sunset was getting redder by the minute. Here in Malta, the sun sets relatively fast, any second now the ball of light would disappear behind the fence surrounding the ancient monolith monuments of Tarxien. Aime shook her head one last time, pulled off her work gloves covered in sand dust and rubbed her eyes, while still holding the small hand shovel. The woman was standing in the same place, and it appeared, she was smiling. Sunrays behind her were getting dim, and Aime was not able to distinguish her face. Yet it seemed as if the woman had almond-shaped eyes in the colour of violets.

The woman beckoned her and turned around. Aime stood up. She wiped the yellowish sand dust off her jeans and placed the shovel on the edge of the excavation site, next to the brush she had already left there while removing the glove. The woman looked briefly over her shoulder at Aime, and now she saw clearly that she indeed had violet almond-shaped eyes. Suddenly there was no room in Aime’s head for the thoughts the woman’s odd behaviour and looks should have evoked. She followed the women who appeared from nowhere like it was the most natural thing to do in the whole world. The woman walked towards the nearest gigantic upright megalith and… stepped through it as it were merely a curtain made up of smoke. The stone between them seemed to ripple strangely, and Aime saw the woman on the other side of the rock-like she was looking through a veil. She beckoned once again. At that exact moment, the last ray of sunshine disappeared behind the fence, and Aime who was just making the determinate step towards the woman melted into the stone.

The girl flinched like she had been sleepwalking. She touched the stone’s rough surface before her. The exact place where just a moment ago had flown a strange smoke curtain, behind which a tall woman with the most peculiar violet eyes and bluish skin had stood. When just moments ago, Aime was convinced that she saw a mirage, at that moment, something inside her knew for sure that this was not a mirage. That woman had been here. For real. The girl leaned her forehead against the ancient, enormous stone block. She had seen something like that. Sometime. Somewhere. If only she were able to recall where and when.

Part 1

1

The sultry weather of the day had been replaced by the clement evening. The wind was carrying Moroccan desert aromas over the sea and the glowing dots that were the distant fishing boats, made Aime feel as if she was surrounded by a mysterious circle – a circle of darkness and the bright, inviting lights created into it. The sea was soughing, the wave was relatively low, but as it was getting darker, the sounds of the sea could be heard with a timeless undertone. Although she was walking across the beach strip paved with apartment buildings from the Valletta bus stop to her apartment which was located between the centre and the resort area, she got the feeling that in addition to this time here, somehow the sea has its own time zone – measured with infinity, that consists of all of the ages from the beginning of the universe.

The tall, rangy and slender girl earned all the whistles and shouts she was getting from the local young men gathering around the beachside benches, but Aime wasn’t even looking at them. She was aware that her height – 1.85 was attractive to the short boys around here, but as it was back home, it mostly just set her apart. Even as a child, Aime was used to being significantly taller than not only the girls her age, but the buys as well. Her long-limbed and slender body, with an almost perfect figure, had given her a headache when boys in school were developing desires towards all of the girls. That was because boys realised fairly quickly that when it came to Aime, they had to keep two things in mind at the same time. The fact that she is beautiful and uniquely attractive, yet at the same time so different and with her height, somewhat unreachable. Which culminated with crude school bullying during the teenage years. The boys her age felt their sprouting manliness harassed, knowing that Aime’s unreachability is dependent on their own lacking height and posture. One of the boys – the spoiled son of the richest daddy in class, who was gaining the attention of every girl in class by inviting them to the movies, paying for everything and buying frippery, had once in an impotent fit of rage banged Aime’s hand between the metal grid doors of the school dressing room. Just because he was not able to find any other way to show his incapability of influencing that tall and unique girl to succumb to his authority.

Aime had changed schools numerous times, and that was, in addition to her wish not to be the one persecuted and the black sheep of the class, also because of her mother’s profession. Aime’s mother worked as a TV-show editor for a multinational channel, her work trips to different places of the world had provided the girl with a very unique education. Partly in English, partly in the Estonian language as it was her mother tongue.

Aime’s height and the contacts regarding her mother’s job had also provided the opportunity for modelling jobs. “You and your long legs are going to end up modelling in Paris one day!” was something every aunty even remotely related had been telling her since she was a baby. The recommendations of her mother who knew her way around the TV business opened many doors for her even in the beginning of the teenage years, for which many girls her age would have been able to push through fire and ice. Nevertheless, Aime was not able to get excited about modelling. She even went to castings in Milan and London for a few times, but she completely lacked the aggression needed for this job and business. The relations and conversations between the girls behind the fashion show curtains pushed Aime quickly away from the beauty business. She really did not care about fame or glamour, the constant looking at each other in fear of competition and counting centimetres and kilos. So there had been some financially rewarding photo shoots taken of her, however, not taking part in the offscreen hassle, she did not build her future on those experiences. “I can do modelling, but can I study history at the same time?” she had asked her mother after returning from her last trip to Milan. Mother smiled and nodded. Aime did not fully understand whether her choice had made her mother glad or sad.

What enchanted her here, in Malta, was that aura which is at the same time very unique and also influenced by many countries and eras. People spoke in different languages, there were hints of Arabic, Roman, African, and Italian influences in the culture. Yet there was something else that had compelled her to come volunteer to these excavation sites in particular. Aime chose to study history, even though everyone she knew shrugged their shoulders and did not really understand the reasoning. The opportunity to go and have a well-paying modelling career all around the world sounded significantly easier to understand. Unlike modelling, history does not give you prestige, promising financial situation, or powerful connections. Her mother naturally supported her decision, as she always had, but could have been too caught up with her work and other things to go deep into her daughter’s mindset. Aime grew up herself, she was not really brought up, her mother had looked at her own challenges and therefore also accepted her daughter’s.

Aime had never told her mom, although she was the most important person in her life, about her dreams. Nor about the fact that these dreams had, in fact, gravely influenced her choice of profession. Aime often dreamt of a bright city with marvellous buildings and upwards spiralling streets which lead up to this imposing and magnificent temple, white as snow. These dreams started in her childhood and the more frequently they occurred, the deeper inside her boiled the knowledge that she must find out what city this is and why does she keep seeing it in her dreams.

Glimpses of recognition aroused while watching movies of the Egyptian rulers, and reading books about the Mayan pyramid fields, hidden Inca cities, and ancient Asian temples swallowed by the jungle. Even though they were all so different – both the places and the structures, it all had something that felt disturbingly familiar. She could spend ages looking at pictures of ancient amulets, walls, and ornaments in books, trying to figure out what connects her with the unfamiliar unity behind all these objects. The Egyptian papyrus scrolls and Sumerian clay tablets lured her more than clothes and boys lured other girls her age. Aime was not drawn to shopping sprees and parties, even less did she care about TV or chatting on social networks. She enjoyed thick books, good fantasy movies and the opportunities to think and dream on her own. Having a mother who was always working and travelling made it very easy for her. When it was time to choose a profession, Aime picked history, archaeology to be precise. Now she was in Malta. At her first, boring and tedious excavations.

Until that woman had arrived.