Chapter 2: De Angelis

The two men groaned and rolled over, covering their ears with whatever come handy.

"Holy moly, I never knew a bunch of birds could be so loud."

"Never spent much time around seagulls, have you?" It was not a question. Technically, it was hardly language, muffled as it was by the blanket pulled tight over the speaker's head. "Bloody awful noise they make. I grant you, these are a bit louder."

The early morning light dwarfed that of the fire, making it a weak gleam as the men cooked their meal. After eating, they scrubbed the dishes out with sand and packed them away. Then, striking camp, thy set off across the beach, heading due east in the shadow of the mountain. Suddenly, the men stopped. One of them muttered a curse under his breath.

"Cobb," said the other man calmly. "Don't tell me we picked an inhabited island."

Cobb took a few steps forward. There ahead of them was a column, standing straight and tall in the sand. It appeared to be made of clay, though a few small plates had fallen off to reveal the tree trunk underneath. It waas covered in symbols and images.

Dranger and Cobb stared at the column for a few moments, then both men shouted in surprise, having just realized that they were able to read the "native" writing. The strange symbols were, in fact, the letters of the English alphabet, made strange only by their serendipity.

"Sing, Muse, of the man of many travels,
Tossed about on the wine-dark sea."

"I am Arthur Galay, M.A.; a classicist. I landed here in the year _____ Anno Domini. "

"I traveled the world, roaming to and fro, seeking my purpose, seeking what it was that I was made to give to the world. Here, on this island, I have found it. This island is the gift."

The two men stared at the writing that was molded in firm letters upon the column, then turned their eyes to the images surrounding the text. At the top, barely visible from the ground, a small raft sailed upon stylized waters, surrounded by leaping dolphins. A few words, "In exitu Israel de Aegypto," ran along the lower edge of the image. Along the sides of the text crawled banners with strange phrases incised into the surface: Latin, thought Dranger. Maybe a few in Greek.

At the bottom of the column was a large flat surface, with a single precise drawing. Cobb crouched down to get a better look at it.

"I'll be---" he chuckled. "It's a map. The nutcase left us a treasure map."

Dranger hardly heard him. He began walking around the pillar, examining it from all sides. He nodded slowly, then said, without facing Cobb, "It's not a map. It's a guide."

"Guide, map, what's it matter? Saves us some time."
"No, you dolt. Look at it. Look at the shape of it."

Cobb took another look, unsure of what he was supposed to see. It just looked like some your typical twisted tree trunk; well, a tree trunk that was covered in clay, written on in Latin, and stuck on a deserted island, that is. Two long strands twisted upwards from the text, and it looked like there were two broader ones coming down the back....Cobb started, amazed as the image resolved itself. A central trunk twisting upwards, crowned by a rounded head. The two strands that twined upwards revealed themselves to be arms, and the two in the back became folded wings.

"An angel..."

"Yeah, dimwit. Not just a map. A guide."

Cobb looked discomfited, shifting his eyes from the angel's upraised hands, to the map, to the mountain in the center of the island.

"so......A guide to what? What are we supposed to be looking for?" He suddenly stamped his foot--which is a futile gesture in soft sand--and threw down his hat.

"Dammit, Dranger, we're here on our own purpose, not some crazy man's quest! If there was someone stranded out here, he must be mad! Who else would do this sort of thing? Any normal man'd send up smoke signals, or make clear signs! He be trying to letthe world know he was here, even if he had to blow the whole place to high heaven!"

"Of course he would. But he's not trying to let the whole world know. He's not trying to display this...this...whatever it is. He only wants the right sort of person to see it. He's a man who thinks he's found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but only wants to show it to someone who's looking for leprechauns."

Cobb stared at Dranger, wondering if sunsickness usually set in this fast.

"Dang, man, you're as nutty as he is. Was. Whatever."

Dranger shrugged, and squatted down to examine the map.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The heat of the sun on his face awoke the man. He found himself lying on the beach, a short ways away from the trees. He could not remember how, or even when he had come down from the mountain top.

His eyes darted to the peak of the mountain, but were forced to turn away. The light of the noonday sun had settled right above the top of the mountain, and no human eye is strong enough to stare at the sun for long.

Slowly, he got to his feet. "I am alone, no-one knows I am here, and there will be no rescue." He said this slowly and firmly, as though he had known it for some time, and accepted it as fact.

Deliberately, thoughtfully, he made his way into the shade of the trees, and examined a dead tree that had fallen into the soft sand.

"There are two material things necessary for a man to live," he mused. "Firstly, nourishment, both food and water. Secondly, shelter, either a house or clothing or both together."He paused for a moment. "Does fire count as shelter? Might have to think on that one awhile." He smiled slightly, and lifted his eyes to the trees above. Several different kinds of fruit lay within his line of sight. "Well, that takes care of number one."

Suddenly he stopped, frozen in thought. "This is the dry season in this corner of the globe, I remember old Sampson makig a comment about that...If there is this much fruit now, then it must grow year round..." His eyes darted about rapidly, as if searching his mind for any consequences he had forgotten. "I needn't work to eat...in fact, it might be impossible to improve conditions by working....I could spend my next 40 years here working, but if I am denied the ability to work..." He gave a derisive laugh. "Perhaps this is why Adam couldn't go back in the Garden: he'd have been driven out of his mind by boredom!"

His mind flew back to the events of the night before, previously thrust out of his mind by the perceived necessity of survival. He sat down slowly, as if not wishing to disturb his thought processes.

"To live in Paradise, a man must either be a madman or a saint: he can no longer be merely a man. Either he must become a thing of nature and live as the beasts do, or he must transcend nature and no longer be subject to it."

A light began to grow in his eyes.

"This is it, then. This is what I've been searching for. This place...it is Atlantis, it is Mu, it is my Grail..."

In the silence that fell after these words, he began to be aware of a sound, so soft that even the slight scrunch of footsteps in sand would obscure it. He began to search for the source of the sound, and soon located a small stream running through the trees. Also he stooped to take a drink, his foot slipped; as he regained his balance, he realized that the ground by the stream was slightly different. It was less sandy, and more like regular river mud.

"Here, then, it begins," he said. After quenching his thirst, he began to carry some of the rich clay back to the fallen tree.