The morning mist had not yet lifted when the yacht slowly left the dock.
The crew members wore gray vests bearing the documentary team's logo; some carried cameras on their shoulders, others projector stands, moving with a competent air. On the main deck, a temporary dolly track had even been installed – "professional" enough, at least in the eyes of the maritime police.
The ship headed southwest, entering the current. The wind began to pick up, and the boxes of accessories, initially neatly arranged on the deck, began to sway slightly. A few crew members started securing the equipment to the railings with nylon straps, pretending to "film a wilderness survival experience sequence."
The interior of the cabin was cluttered with equipment cases labeled "Photographic Gear," "Sound Recording," "Post-production Masters." In reality, most of these cases contained archaeological tools; a few Paichelan-type probes, covered with black cloth, had even been hidden in a case marked "Lighting."
This was not a film crew. We were an intervention team from an archaeology company. This kind of private archaeology company was proliferating. Many university professors or research institute experts were hired by these companies, whose field of action focused mainly on war-torn countries, international waters, or deserted islands. We were not tomb raiders in the legal sense of the term, but to be honest, what we did was not very far from it – the only difference, no doubt, lay in our more "professional" approach to remains and artifacts.
Take this mission, for example: there was absolutely no official excavation permit. During the operation, we all called each other by our codenames.
My codename was Sphinx. On my Libélin identity card, my name is Sylvie Morel.
The sea wind, like a tainted rotgut one had overindulged in, threw waves one after another, with no regularity, against the ship's hull. Our yacht pitched violently on the crest of the waves, each jolt sending the engine's roar directly into my eardrums, making my brain vibrate.
I curled up on the lounge sofa on the deck, like an exhausted quail, trying to complete the information on the treasure map on my tablet and starting my excavation journal.
I had barely underlined a few important points when violent nausea rose in my throat. I resolutely put down the tablet, pulled the hood of my black sweatshirt over my entire head, while grabbing the bucket next to me, clutching it like a last lifeline. My other hand gripped a bag of cassava flour almost as large as my torso, kneading it so hard it crinkled, trying to give myself a tactile illusion: hold on... Impossible... I couldn't hold on anymore...
My stomach spasmed, I leaned over and vomited. Once this wave of nausea passed, I let out a long sigh and, with a numb gesture, poured the cassava flour from the bag into the bucket to cover the vomit and prevent the smell from stinking up the whole ship.
From the other end of the cabin, I heard Cobra's laughter: "Sphinx! You look like a cat that just did its business in its litter box and is covering it up with sand!"
I didn't even have the strength to roll my eyes, fearing that the slightest movement of my eyeballs would worsen my dizziness.
I slept a fitful, cottony sleep, not knowing for how long, sometimes hearing Cobra talking in his sleep, in bits and pieces, in the Tebiktai language. I didn't understand any of it.
It was the first time in my life I had been to sea on this type of boat. Before that, I thought seasickness was for wimps. I never would have believed that a seasoned adventurer like me, used to mountains and seas, could succumb to the waves. So, I solemnly wrote two lines in large letters on a page of my journal, underlining them in red and drawing a small skull next to them:
"NEVER BELIEVE YOU WON'T GET SEASICK. SEASICKNESS MEDICATION IS USELESS!"
I slowly raised my head and looked out the porthole into the distance – as the sky outside darkened completely, Yasha's two moons began to rise simultaneously from opposite ends of the sea horizon.
The "Ember Moon," scarlet red, was the larger one, its surface covered with fissures like blood vessels, evoking a gigantic sphere of lava suspended in the night sky; while the "Frost Moon," silvery blue, was much smaller, smooth as a mirror, and its orbital speed extremely fast – at that moment, it was crossing the celestial vault at a speed visible to the naked eye, trailing behind it a pearlescent wake among the clouds.
The sun was slowly setting over the sea to the west, its golden and reddish light flooding the deck. The sea breeze blew gently, carrying a salty and humid smell.
The indistinct silhouette of an island could already be seen in the distance. I glanced at the GPS information: we were approaching the Elysian Fields.
Maybe some fresh air would do me good.
I took a few drones with me onto the deck for a final flight test.
The sea wind chilled my scalp, but the signal connection was stable and the devices responded sensitively.
I slowly pushed the joystick, the drones took off from the edge of the ship, like a few grayish eagles, struggling a bit to stabilize in the wind, before skimming the surface of the water and flying directly towards the depths of the island.
I still couldn't find my center of gravity; I felt like I was perpetually being snatched by the tongue of the waves and then spat out. I ended up sitting cross-legged on the deck, the bucket between my arms, dry-heaving at regular intervals, but my eyes glued to the monitor.
On the screen, the image transmitted by the drones gradually became clearer. Along the east coast, sharp reefs extended offshore like razor blades, against which the waves crashed into thousands of foamy shards. Further inland, a series of waterfalls cascaded down basalt plateaus, their curtains of water pouring directly into a dense tropical rainforest.
Within the jungle, vines intertwined, roots snaked like pythons; low-altitude flight was absolutely impossible.
Too bad, otherwise a vegetation analysis could have approximately indicated which areas of the ground had been disturbed in the past.
I looked down at the screen, comparing it with the data recorded on the computer: the center of the island seemed to be the site of some kind of magnetic interference. Whenever a drone approached this area, the signal would abruptly disappear, the image would blur with static, and the control interface would become completely inoperable. After the signal loss, the transmitted images already showed the fuselage stuck in a dense tangle of branches, the lens continuing to shake, the screen filled with shadows of dark leaves and a frantically spinning horizon.
The moment the last device exploded, I'm sure I saw a flock of bats fly out...
The automatic return system couldn't even activate. I then sent another drone, which crashed in the same spot. On the treasure map, it was precisely this location that was marked with a lily flower.
Piloting drones was my strong suit. If it exploded like that, it certainly wasn't a problem with my technique. I was stubbornly trying to mount a night-vision camera and a magnetic field detector on a drone to try again, but because of the weight distribution problem and the fact that the ship was constantly pitching, I couldn't find the balance.
I tore my hair out and swore: "Damn it, this is insane!"
Cyclops, without me knowing when, had nonchalantly come out of the cabin, arms crossed, and was standing behind me. He took a swig of alcohol and asked with an amused air, as if watching a show: "How many drones do we have in total? Our budget is limited, you know."
I gritted my teeth and, while adjusting the equipment, I said: "This place is the one indicated on the treasure map. I'm going to try one more time."
Cyclops blinked, shrugged, and said in a casual tone: "In the old days, without all these 'big toys,' we managed to work too. What if we go see directly tomorrow morning, in daylight?"
Without turning around, I replied coldly: "I need to get the information from this area before acting. I'm not one of those explorers who love the unknown."
Even though Cyclops was my boss, at that moment, I really couldn't speak to him calmly and cheerfully.
Our yacht skirted the island from the east, where the terrain was relatively flat.
On the starboard deck, three small boats had already been slowly lowered along the loosened hawsers, in preparation for landing.
Cobra, standing on one of the boats, was directing the others with a wave of his hand. They were hastily unloading the cargo: crates, equipment, provisions were being sorted and transported along the railing.
As I hesitated to get into the same boat as Cobra, I suddenly remembered we were missing someone: "Anubis didn't board with us, how... when is he arriving?"
Cyclops looked at his watch and said: "Probably, any minute now..."
The next second, a deafening roar sounded in the sky – a small helicopter pierced the darkness and slowly landed on the helipad at the bow of the yacht.
The wind unleashed by the blades almost made me lose my balance, my hoodie was instantly torn off, and my hair turned into a bird's nest.
While tightening the collar of my sweatshirt to protect myself from the wind, I shot a glare at Cyclops: "So, we didn't need to come by boat at all? Can I take this helicopter to go straight back?"
Cyclops, his eyes fixed on the helicopter, leaned towards my ear and shouted: "This chopper is pretty old, I advise you not to take that risk."
Once the helicopter stabilized, Anubis stuck his head out the side window, gave Cyclops a thumbs-up, a casual smile on his lips.
"Welcome, Anubis," Cyclops nodded. "However, we are preparing to land on the island, you can join us there."
Anubis rolled his eyes: "Couldn't you have told me sooner? I would have flown directly to the island. You know boats move, right? I almost missed my landing!"
Cyclops spread his hands, looking distracted: "Sorry, I was busy with something else earlier."
The way we "laundered" the artifacts we obtained was through private auction houses in international ports. These kinds of sales often attracted the world's biggest collectors, and even representatives from major museums. Anubis worked in one of these auction houses. All I knew about him was that he was extremely knowledgeable about artifacts, and above all, that he probably spoke a dozen languages.
"What are you doing here?" I asked Anubis.
"Cyclops called me."
"The mission is still only in the exploration phase, isn't it a bit early for someone from an auction house to be here? Aren't you only supposed to intervene at the time of appraisal and handover of the artifacts?"
"Who said I was here for work?"
I looked at him and articulated slowly: "Would a person choose this kind of place for a vacation?"
"Step back, I need to start the device." This guy had no intention of picking up on that.
At that exact moment, a terrified scream from Cobra came from the small boat in the distance: "Damn, there's a school of sharks in the water over there!"
I froze on the spot, as if my soul was leaving my body, turning abruptly to Anubis and begging him in a rushed voice: "Can I take your helicopter to leave? Please..."
Anubis chuckled, shook his head, and gestured for me to "Get in."
Without hesitation, I grabbed my bags and packages and ran at a sprinter's speed towards the rear side door of the helicopter. The wind whistled in my ears, the downdraft from the blades, mixed with the sea breeze, made the whole deck vibrate.
The moment I yanked the door open – A silent scream echoed in my head. Let's put it this way, the model of this helicopter, I suspected it was an ancestral contraption that should have ended up in a museum decades ago. The interior of the cabin was appallingly bare: the metal structure was exposed, the seats were just frames made of a few steel tubes over which pieces of canvas were carelessly stretched, like improvised hammocks.
My four limbs were numb.
Barely seated, without even having found where to place my limbs, Anubis turned around and asked me: "Do you have a belt?"
"Huh?"
"The seatbelt is broken. Use your belt to tie yourself to the backrest crossbar."
My brain short-circuited for a second, then I quickly took out my belt and did as he said.
The engine roared, the plane lurched violently and took off, as if torn from the deck by a giant invisible hand. The centrifugal force instantly pinned me against the backrest, my ears were ringing, the whole world was spinning around me.
In that moment of mental blankness, I remembered this video – a helicopter pilot trying out the world's most extreme roller coasters; throughout the ride, the other passengers in the back were screaming like pigs, while he, smiling, calmly filmed himself with his phone.
At that moment, I swore that if I returned to solid ground alive, I would give that guy's video a thumbs-up.
Finally, the ground appeared before my eyes. The helicopter landed heavily, the fuselage vibrating violently. The blades kicked up a furious wind, scattering the surrounding sand.
The moment the door opened, after unbuckling my belt, I collapsed and literally rolled out. After so much pitching on the boat, suddenly setting foot on solid ground, I had... land sickness.
My knees gave way, and I fell directly onto the beach, like a young animal just learning to walk, getting up becoming a challenge. I felt like I had been swallowed and then spat out by the waves.
I tried to take deep gulps of air, but even the air was laden with a hot, salty humidity that, far from helping me, only accentuated this feeling of dizziness. Short of breath, I crawled on all fours towards a coconut tree.
I managed to cling to the roots like a koala, trying to stabilize myself that way. The moment my palm touched the bark, I couldn't hold back a groan of despair.
I want to justify my actions here: no human being, under such circumstances, could maintain a dignified, polite, reserved, and elegant demeanor.
Anubis jumped out of the cockpit, a corner of his lips twitching, holding back a laugh, and approached nonchalantly. He first threw me my belt, then began to undo his own.
I immediately became suspicious, shrinking my neck: "You... what are you doing? Are you going to tie me to the tree?"
He ignored me, walked around me, and went directly behind the coconut tree. He skillfully tied his belt around the trunk, passing it under his backside, then took a knife out of his pocket, held it between his teeth, and climbed the tree like a monkey. "Crack, crack," a few coconuts fell, making me jump.
Then, this guy nimbly climbed down the tree, twirled the tip of the knife in his hand, skillfully opened a coconut, and handed it to me. With a trembling right hand, I took it, thanking him. The coconut water, still warm from the day's sun, had a rare sweet taste as it entered my mouth. My brain finally seemed to emerge from its stupor. This quality glucose, under such circumstances, was truly life-saving nectar.
Anubis also opened a coconut for himself and looked, lost in thought, at the yacht on the sea.
After a while, he came back to his senses and glanced at me: "Don't you want to rest a bit in the helicopter?"
"I'm fine here."
"After sunset, wild animals might come out for a stroll."
"Aren't you here too?"
"I'm going for a little walk later, I'm not going to stay here... watching over you."
"Don't touch anything. The terrain survey isn't finished yet. If you really have to move something, at least wait until the excavation squares are marked out."
"You talk so much."
"That's right, we are not tomb raiders."
Barely had the word "raider" been uttered when his expression froze slightly. The little smirk on his lips disappeared, and his face darkened, as if swept by a light gust of wind.
The silence created a distance.
He drank the last drop of juice from his coconut and carelessly threw the husk behind him.
I tried to get up, but my legs were as limp as noodles. I had barely managed to lift myself an inch when I fell back heavily, only able to crawl slowly on the sand like a crab.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Back to the helicopter... find a place to lie down."
"Need help?"
I hesitated for a second, then finally replied in a low voice: "... Yes."
Anubis let out a small laugh, bent down, lifted me up in one swift motion into his arms, slung me over his shoulder, walked to the helicopter, and carefully placed me on the hammock-like canvas seat.
"Sleep well. I'll explain to your boss." With that, the helicopter cabin door slammed shut. The sound of the wind was cut off, and the world suddenly became silent.