The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,54
ground, and vast white forests”), then from there to the coast of Greenland (“to an ice-shrouded land beyond the rim of the world, haunted by ghostly bears furred in snow”).
Her heart pounded harder as she reached the final journal entry.
She read the date at the top: Jumada Al-Thani 22, 248.
The year—248—had to be based on the Arabic calendar, known as the Hijiri calendar. She converted it in her head to modern numbering and came up with 862.
In the ninth century.
And the time of the year: late August.
Her brows bunched.
It should have been too warm for those sailors to be trapped by winter’s ice. So what happened?
She held her breath as she read the final entry from Hunayn ibn Mūsā ibn Shākir, the fourth son of Moses:
My dearest brothers—Muhammed, Ahmad, and al-Hasan—
forgive me for my betrayal, for defying the esteemed of the House of Wisdom during a time when our enemies grow emboldened and what I found could turn the tides of fate in our favor.
But know I had no choice. I write this as my last testament both as absolution and to serve as a warning.
As I scratch cold ink into vellum, the screams behind me have finally ended. For most of the night, I have crouched in my cabin with my palms clamped over my ears. It offered no relief. Even my prayers to Allah failed to shut out the screaming of my men, the pounding of their fists on the barred door, their pleading cries. Though their suffering and terror cut down to my marrow, I dared not relent.
Even now, I can picture the shayãtīn—those fiery demons of Tartarus—mercilessly tearing into my men, a crew who had faithfully sailed at my side for two years. But as this tale will prove, the terror of a slow death can turn even an honorable man into an ignoble savage.
Five days ago, I brought this ship to these desolate shores. After learning the ungodly truth, I dared not sail this vessel into any port. Instead, I had ordered the crew to this lonely shelter along these frozen shores after a savage storm blew us beyond the rim of the world. I lied to them about the need for fresh water and salted meat for the long voyage home.
Instead, in the dead of night, I scuttled the ship—axing through the twin masts and shredding the sails. Upon learning of my sabotage, the crew argued and pleaded, even threatened, to be allowed to make repairs. When I refused, I read the stony determination in some of their faces, the wild terror in others.
Being one man against a dozen angry mutineers, I wielded the only weapon capable of ensuring this broken ship never left this frozen berth. In the dark of night, as all were asleep, I freed a hammer and broke one of Pandora’s pots. I woke the legion inside, unleashing the shayãṭīn horde upon my own crew.
It was a necessary cruelty—for what is hidden here must never be found. And if it is found, may the horrors preserved inside this ship serve as a fiery admonition against looking any farther, of searching for Tartarus.
Even as I write this, with the screaming ended, I can hear the claws of the demons against the wood. I will wait for the horde to quiet once again. Then will begin my long vigil. I will bide the cold, set my traps against the unworthy, and wait for the bitter end. It will serve as my final atonement.
Until then, I beg Allah’s forgiveness—for the bloodshed now, for my trespasses in the past. Still, I take comfort that the greater world has been kept safe—but for how long?
As I sit here, I can hear the ticking inside the Storm Atlas beside me, marking time with my heartbeat, counting down to certain doom. I should smash the infernal mechanism, but I cannot bring myself to do so. It is my last connection to you, my three brothers. I remember crafting this with you, a time full of laughter, excitement, and hope. Together we created the greatest of all navigational tools, like none engineered before, encrypted so only I can use it, and fueled by Promethean fire.
As I write these last words, I am reminded that it was the Titan, Prometheus, who stole fire from Zeus and gave it to mankind and was punished for his theft by an eternity of torment. So, too, I stole fire from Tartarus and brought it home—and now must be punished as well.