August 3, 2016, IN THE DESERT NEAR AIN BEN TILI, ON THE BORDER BETWEEN MOROCCO AND MAURITANIA
9:00 P.M.
Jaxon had never figured she’d end up in a Tuareg militia camp, so she didn’t have any preconceptions, but if she’d been asked if she thought it would be like a giant barbeque complete with blues music, she would have definitely said that wasn’t going to happen.
It did.
As the sun set, the Tuareg parked their vehicles in a big circle in the middle of an open plain, with a few of the Technicals posted farther out in order to keep watch, their heavy machine guns and artillery pointed toward the horizon. Within the circle of vehicles, the Tuareg pitched their tents, and at the center of the camp, they prepared a large fire with big sacks of charcoal they hauled out of a truck.
First they dug a low pit and placed a metal sheet in the bottom. A couple of men mixed up flour and water and made flat, circular cakes that they put on the sheet. Then they put another metal sheet on top of them.
Jaxon wasn’t sure what they were doing until they started to heap the charcoal on top, showing her they were going to bake the bread under the fire. After they got a big enough pile of charcoal, a man with a lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth strolled over from a truck carrying a plastic jerry can of gasoline and poured a liberal amount over the coals. He stood back, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and tossed it on the coals.
“Whoa!” Otto shouted, jumping back from the whoosh of flames shooting into the air. “That’s a hell of a way to start a barbeque!”
Jaxon glanced at the sky. She hoped that bomber from the other night didn’t see that.
Once the flames had died down a little and the coals gave off a steady flame, the Tuareg set a metal grill on top and threw slabs of meat onto it. Soon, the smell of the cooking meat wafted over to her, making her stomach grumble. It had been a long day.
“I hope they cook that meat well,” Jaxon said. “It looks kind of old.”
They’d taken the meat out of the same truck as the charcoal, and she sure didn’t see a refrigerator in there.
“No supermarkets out here. We’ve been lucky with the food so far. I hope that keeps up,” Otto replied, putting an arm around her.
“I wonder what kind of meat it is,” Jaxon replied.
One of the Tuareg cooks grinned at them, showing a gold tooth. He pointed first at one chunk of meat, then another. “Sheep. Camel.”
“Um, thanks,” Jaxon replied.
The man said something to his companions, who laughed.
The men busied themselves around the fire, and Jaxon and Otto strolled back to the rest of the Atlantis Allegiance to keep out of the way. Vivian was still off with Agerzam.
“Looks like we’re eating camel tonight,” Otto announced.
“It’s actually pretty good,” Grunt said. “If this was a real party like a wedding or something, they’d roast an entire camel on a big spit.”
Then came the weirdest part. Several of the Tuareg, swathed head to toe in brilliant-blue robes of the same indigo as some of the figures in the cave painting, pulled out steel guitars and began to play blues music. Other men gathered around and started singing in low voices in their own language. One man clapped a pair of thick wooden sticks together, keeping time. Another sat cross-legged with a plastic bag full of lentils between his legs and tapped out a beat with his fingertips, the noise sounding a lot like a metal brush on a cymbal.
“Cool music,” Otto said.
“Desert blues,” Grunt said with a smile. “Always loved the music when I was posted here. It’s different from the old stuff back home, but I like it. Good lyrics too.”
Jaxon looked at him in surprise. “You speak Tuareg?”
“It’s called Tamasheq, and only a bit. My Arabic isn’t too hot either. Problem with getting posted all around the world is that you’re never long enough in one spot to settle down and learn a language really good.”
“What are they singing?” Yuhle asked, staring at the musicians.
Grunt closed his eyes and listened for a moment then said in a soft voice, “It’s a song about how they want their own country. I can’t get it all, but there’s one line they keep repeating, ‘A divided people loses its way, each person becomes their own enemy.’”
Jaxon fell silent, as did everyone else. They listened to the music for a couple more songs before Jaxon spoke again.
“So you and Vivian hung out with these guys?”
Grunt nodded. “Fought by their side against a terrorist group. The Sword of the Sahara. Nasty bunch. Long gone now, along with a lot of innocent people who should still be alive.”
Grunt winced and looked away as he said it.
Something Agerzam had said came back to her. “Why did your friend call me a southerner?”
Grunt shrugged. Dr. Yamazaki answered.
“I think that confirms what we’ve heard, that there’s a population of Atlanteans in Mali. That’s south of here.”
Jaxon nodded. She was eager to get going and find her people. That cave had really opened her eyes. Before seeing it, none of this had seemed entirely real. She’d never met another Atlantean—she’d just heard about them from other people and books the scientists had lent her. Seeing those ancient paintings of dark-skinned, blue-eyed people had really brought it home to her. She belonged somewhere.
That made a lifetime of loneliness a bit easier to bear.
She turned and kissed Otto on the cheek. He made it a bit easier too. Perhaps her life was going to work out after all.
As the musicians continued their low, lazy tune, Agerzam and Vivian emerged arm in arm from a nearby tent. Both were smiling. Agerzam gave an order in his language, and some of his men brought over plates for the Atlantis Allegiance.
“You are our guests tonight,” Agerzam announced as he and Vivian sat down next to them. “We’ll have a feast to celebrate old friends, um, meeting each other again.”
He glanced at Vivian, and she smiled back at him. The militia leader casually lit a cigarette and offered it to her.
“I quit a couple of years ago,” she said.
“Foolish woman, smoking is one of the great joys of life! Only one of the great joys, mind you,” he said, taking a puff himself.
“You have any idea who got hit the other night?” Grunt asked.
Agerzam laughed and punched Grunt in the shoulder. “Ah, same old man as before! Always business, business, business. Why can’t you relax and enjoy the evening?”
“Because I don’t want to get bombed.”
Agerzam gave a little shrug. “They were terrorists. A group called Al Qaeda in the Islamic Magreb. I am sure you know of them. They want to bring a false form of Islam here. They are terrible. If you have a girlfriend, they stone you to death. They ban music. They even ban cigarettes!”
Agerzam took another puff from his cigarette and went on.
“They are our enemies, even though they fight the government like we do. There is an old saying: ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ It is not true in this case. They are everyone’s enemy. We only want freedom for our people. They want to take freedom away from all people.”
He laughed and stretched out his arm to encompass the surrounding desert.
“They are crazy with all their rules. Look at this place! Life is hard enough here—why make it harder?”
Jaxon looked around and had to agree. At the moment, though, with the steel guitars playing softly, the stars shining brightly overhead, and the rich smells coming from the barbeque, she could see how this could be home too.
“Aren’t you worried those planes might come back and bomb you?” Jaxon asked.
Agerzam looked taken aback to be addressed by Jaxon. He glanced at Vivian, who nodded and then smiled. “That will not happen unless by mistake. We have insurance.”
Jaxon was about to ask what insurance but decided against it. If this militia leader had wanted to be more specific, he would have been.
“Why do you have an English accent?”
“Ah! That surprises you? It surprises many. I come from a rich family, and I was fortunate enough to go to Oxford University in England, where I studied political science. Someday, I will help form a government when the Tuareg get their own nation.”
He looked out over the desert and repeated the word “someday” softly to himself.
Agerzam took another puff from his cigarette and closed his eyes, swaying a little to the music and singing the words softly to himself.
“So why are you fighting the government?” Jaxon asked.
“They are not the same people as my people, and they do not want us to be free. I am sure you know a little about that, eh?”
Jaxon nodded, wondering how much this strange man knew about her people. She wished she knew more about his. In school, they never talked about this part of the world.
Some men came and served them tea, pouring it out of bright brass teapots into little red glasses. They set the glasses down on a brass tray laid on the sand in front of them and poured the tea while standing up, the steaming liquid coming out of the spout in a perfect arc to land in the glasses. Jaxon wondered how they managed to do that without spilling. They then opened a packet of sugar cubes and passed it around. Jaxon watched as Agerzam, Grunt, and Vivian each set a sugar cube between their front teeth and drank the tea through it.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you just put the sugar in the tea?” Otto asked.
“It doesn’t taste as good,” Grunt explained, his words coming out a bit muffled as he kept holding the sugar between his teeth.
Jaxon shrugged and followed their lead. The tea was piping hot and delicious. And Grunt was right—it did taste sweeter having your sugar this way.
The men at the fire took the meat off the grill and started preparing it with some herbs in a big pot. Another man used a shovel to push back the glowing charcoal and get at the bread set between two metal sheets underneath. It had baked into flat, circular loaves that he broke up into pieces about the size of his hand. Some he set aside, and the rest he tore up into smaller pieces and threw into the pot with the meat.
Soon, the men who had brought their tea returned with bowls filled with meat stew. Soaked bread and vegetables floated in it. Bits of the bread were arranged on the side of each bowl.
Jaxon leaned over to Grunt. “Don’t we get spoons or something?”
The hulking mercenary grinned at her. “Those pieces of bread are your spoons. This is a desert culture, wandering for miles every day. Why carry the extra weight?”
“That doesn’t seem to stop them from all carrying heaps of guns and ammo,” Otto said with a grin.
“Weapons are essential,” Grunt replied. “Spoons aren’t.”
Jaxon watched as Grunt folded a piece of bread between his fingers and thumb and used it to pick out bits of meat and vegetables from the stew. Jaxon and Otto tried the same and soon had sauce dribbling down their arms. Otto was especially bad and managed to get it smeared all over his chin too.
“I don’t think we’re making a very good impression.” Jaxon giggled.
The meal was delicious, though, and once Jaxon was finished, she lay back on the sand and looked up at the brilliant stars above, feeling stuffed and sleepy.
After a while, Agerzam excused himself.
“I need to have a radio conversation,” he said. “That insurance I told you of.”
This last part was accompanied by a significant look at the mercenaries.
“Go for it, buddy,” Grunt said. “It would be nice to get a decent night’s sleep.”
After Agerzam left, Jaxon turned to the scientists, who looked as stuffed and sleepy as she felt.
“You spent an hour this afternoon fiddling with that mobile lab you have. Did you find out anything about that water?”
Dr. Yuhle raised his hands in exasperation. “Nothing. Not a single thing. As far as we can tell, it’s ordinary water.”
“That’s no ordinary water,” Vivian said. “It healed our sunburns and gave us back our energy like we hadn’t been out in the desert at all.”
“I believe you,” the scientist replied. “I gave you both a physical, remember? It’s just that we can’t find any element or molecule in the water that could have such an effect.”
“Maybe it’s magic,” Jaxon said.
Drs. Yuhle and Yamazaki both laughed.
“Magic doesn’t exist,” Dr. Yuhle said.
“I can make plants grow just by touching them,” Jaxon replied, feeling a bit annoyed.
“Just because we don’t understand something doesn’t mean it’s magic,” Yamazaki said. “We know you’re transferring your energy into the plant somehow, so it’s not like you’re making something out of nothing. We don’t understand the process, but what’s happening is pretty clear. As for the water, we don’t have a full lab with us. That would have been impossible even when we still had the mobile homes we used back in the States. And it doesn’t look like we’re going to get access to a proper lab anytime soon. I’m sure once we do, we’ll find out what’s going on with that water.”
Jaxon shook her head. “I don’t know. There are things in this world we don’t understand. I’m from a lost civilization and have superhuman powers. We found a well of water that heals us, and I had a weird feeling about that place even before we got there, like I was being drawn to it. There’s more going on than we know.”
Yuhle and Yamazaki both wore those faces that adults put on when dealing with a child saying something cute but also a bit stupid. Jaxon wasn’t used to that look since in her old life she hardly ever talked to anyone. She decided she wasn’t going to get used to it.
She stood up and pointed into the night.
“It’s that way,” she said.
Grunt nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty close.”
She gave him a smirk. “Bet I can lead you right to it in the morning.”
Grunt laughed. “We’re fifty miles away through featureless desert. You’re going to lead us back there?”
“I’d like to see those paintings again, and I’d like to show you that I know what I’m talking about.”
Otto cut in. “Jaxon, I don’t really think we should be wasting time—”
Jaxon frowned at him. “It’s not wasting time. It’s proving something. Besides, this is my heritage, and I want another look at the cave.”
Jaxon didn’t say what else was on her mind—that the distant cave was calling her through the night, and even if they didn’t have a car, she’d try to walk there. The pull felt that strong.