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  The End is Here, in a Fiery Cosmic Apocalypse!

  Gwen Lark knows how to Qualify, Compete, and Win…

  The time has come to Survive.

  The Games of the Atlantis Grail have come to a ground-shaking halt and Gwen Lark, nerd, geek, and awkward smart girl, survived the remarkable ordeal, for the time being.

  But the worst is yet to come!

  Now, both the colony planet Atlantis and Earth are under a threat of annihilation, and everything is up in the air, including dire and stunning wonders in the Atlantean skies.

  Will there be a Wedding? Will there be a future for Gwen Lark, her beloved, and all their families, friends, and loved ones?

  Is Gwen’s rare and powerful talent, the Logos voice of creation, enough to resolve the greatest mystery of the Kassiopei Imperial Dynasty and its role in the events of deepest antiquity since the dawn of time?

  The fate of the entire human species is at stake, and now there can be no respite, not a moment to lose. The final battle is here, and Gwen, and everyone she knows and loves, are in for the greatest fight of their lives.

  It is time to survive.

  SURVIVE is the fourth and final book in The Atlantis Grail series, now an international cross-genre phenomenon, optioned for film.

  Don’t miss another book by Vera Nazarian!

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  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictional or used in an imaginary manner to entertain, and any resemblance to any real people, situations, or incidents is purely coincidental.

  SURVIVE

  (The Atlantis Grail, Book Four)

  Vera Nazarian

  Copyright © 2020 by Vera Nazarian

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, stored on any media, shared, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical or any other method, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder and publisher.

  Cover Design Copyright © 2016 by James, GoOnWrite.com

  Electronic Edition

  January 3, 2020

  Rev. 0.0.0

  A Publication of

  Norilana Books

  P. O. Box 209

  Highgate Center, VT 05459-0209

  http://www.norilana.com/

  United States of America

  SURVIVE

  The Atlantis Grail

  Book Four

  Vera Nazarian

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Vera Nazarian

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  August, 2048 / Green Mar-Yan, 9771.

  Today is the day everything changes.

  What have I done?

  I won.

  I used my Logos power voice to raise the Atlantis Grail monument but instead I blasted open an ancient, buried secret.

  And now I stand in the largest arena in the City of Poseidon, amid the stadium wreckage that I’ve caused, held in the arms of my beloved Aeson, while the nose section of an ancient starship juts forth from the broken ground. . . .

  The shocked spectator crowds have grown momentarily quiet. They’re full of confusion, still under the influence of the Imperial compelling voice. . . .

  I, on the other hand, have not been compelled. But I have been stopped and silenced—by the enormity of the consequences of my actions.

  The stunning things that Aeson Kassiopei, my Imperial Bridegroom, has just told me are ringing violently in my head. Unbelievable, impossible things implicating his Father, the Imperator, my future father-in-law, in a dark plot—an intricate scheme presumably to prevent an alien invasion (although the grim details and causes have yet to be unraveled) that includes Aeson’s father sending the deadly asteroid on a collision course to destroy Earth a few months from now. . . .

  The Imperator is responsible for so much.

  But then, so am I.

  Because of my actions, the ancient ark-ship that had been lying dormant for thousands of years, buried underground, has been activated somehow, and now they will come—they, the mysterious ancient alien enemy of both Earth and Atlantis.

  After all that’s happened today and over the past four weeks—the violent insanity of the Games, the relentless uncertainty of my every living moment—this knowledge comes as a heavy blow. I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut.

  “My God . . . I’ve caused all this,” I continue to whisper even as Aeson tightens his embrace around me and stares into my eyes with loving force. “I caused this. . . . If, as you say, they can track this ship, they will come because of what I did!”

  “Let them come!” he repeats fiercely, a hard smile on his lips. “Together we’ll handle them, im amrevu! Look at me! Do you he
ar?”

  “Yes.” I nod, but the word comes out without conviction.

  I glance yet again in the direction of the Imperial Box among the audience tiers, where Romhutat Kassiopei, the Archaeon Imperator of Atlantida, stands looking at me like a dragon.

  Our gazes meet.

  Or maybe he has never stopped watching me. . . .

  “Gwen!” Aeson’s strong fingers dig into my shoulders, anchoring me, forcing me to turn back to him. “It’s over, we must go!”

  I part my lips just to say something, not even sure what, because I’m trapped in the bizarre moment that somehow must not end . . . because whatever comes next will be impossible.

  What have I done?

  The Priest of the Grail had called it blasphemy. . . .

  What does it mean? What happens now?

  I glance behind me at the dais in the center of the arena where the other Champions and runners-up remain standing before the judges. . . . Hedj, Kateb, Brie, Kokayi, Leetana, Rurim, Ukou—all in brightly lit uniforms that indicate Champion status. . . . Chihar, Lolu, and two others—their fates as Champions or runners-up are as yet unresolved. . . . Finally, Sofia and Fawzi, my two direct competitors in the Vocalist Category, who lost by virtue of the fact that I won.

  They’re all staring at me with shock and fear and other hard-to-describe, complicated expressions. Brie Walton in particular has a stunned look on her face. And the Vocalist judge, the stern woman who assigned our Category tiebreaker task—she is frozen with incredulity as she too fixes her attention on me. . . .

  What must they all think? And what about the thousands of people in the audience who have just witnessed an impossible miracle followed by a disaster, all of it perpetrated by me?

  Do they even understand what’s visible in the wreckage around us? The grail is but a tiny fraction of the upper end of an immense object that’s still mostly below ground. . . .

  In that moment, the Imperator’s voice sounds again, breaking me out of my stupefied reverie and adding a level of nervous frenzy to my already racing thoughts.

  This time he is not using a compelling power voice, merely ordinary stadium amplification as he speaks with regained composure. But even unenhanced, the ice-cold, deep sound of his voice slithers and reverberates throughout the expanse.

  “No. Not blasphemy, but the whim of nature—an unfortunate seismic interruption to our celebratory events—”

  What? My heart begins to pound like crazy, kicking up my blood pressure, thundering in my temples. . . .

  “It is done. The spectacle is over—for today. The Games will conclude and the remaining Champions will be honored later. You will now return to your homes, Atlantida!”

  Saying this, the Imperator turns around, with his back to the stadium, and proceeds to leave the Imperial Box, followed by his retinue of Imperial guards. He does not look at me again.

  Immediately the crowds surge, and the audience noise level rises as thousands of shocked people are given permission to come alive again and move. . . .

  An actual earthquake? Is that the official spin of what took place?

  Holy crap!

  Seeing him go—just like that!—my mind goes spinning also. Seriously, what just happened? What does it mean? Did he just dismiss the effect of my actions completely? What supreme Imperial disdain. How can he disregard me in the face of recent events? Or is he choosing to conceal his turmoil under a public mask while simply escaping an unbearable reality?

  This is crazy! A whole stadium of people witnessed me use a voice command to raise the Atlantis Grail and the resulting mess that followed. Surely at least some of them will question what happened, not merely fall for the ridiculous earthquake explanation? Not to mention, the Imperator had addressed me directly—told me to stop and said that I “won”—which acknowledges the role of my actions.

  Will the remaining officials go along with this?

  As if on cue, the Priest of the Grail raises his hands, and echoes the Imperial words in a ceremonial tone of voice. By the firm sound of it, he’s recovered also and embraced an appropriate extended interpretation.

  “The Imperial Sovereign has spoken! The Stadion is structurally unsafe! There has been an earthquake. . . . There may be aftershocks. . . . Leave! Leave, at once! But proceed in orderly fashion!”

  At this point it’s redundant—everyone is already streaming toward the exits. But the Priest must feel it’s his duty to do something, so he continues to intone needless instructions, even as other Games officials remain silent. . . .

  Meanwhile my mind is stuck—there are no words. . . .

  “Come!” Aeson’s expression is intense and grim as he grips my hand—and this time I don’t protest—as we hurry toward the nearest exit. I breathe hard and try not to stumble over cracks and broken ground beneath my feet while I walk quickly alongside him. In moments the Crown Prince’s own guards join and surround us.

  I look back fleetingly to see the people on the dais are leaving also—my friends and members of Team Lark, many of them continuing to stare in my wake—but there’s no time to linger.

  Some part of me is aware of Hel’s sun glare, shining fiercely over the strange gleaming “grail” portion of the nose section of the huge buried ship, turning it to golden fire. . . . It blazes over the turmoil of moving humanity that now fills the audience seat tiers where everything is precarious, structurally unsound. . . . People rush to the exits past grand, divine statues of heroes that now lean, dangerously unbalanced. . . .

  Also, I might be hallucinating this, but somehow, I hear, from deep below ground and seemingly from all around, a barely perceptible auditory emanation—a very low humming sound. So low that it’s almost out of human hearing range. Indeed, maybe I’m only feeling it as vibrations along my skin. But it’s undeniable—a constant, metallic din that resonates deep into the bowels of Atlantean hell.

  It’s as if an immense, subterranean thing of metal is singing. . . .

  “Aeson . . .” I try to catch my breath and ignore the faint, impossible, metallic noise underfoot. “Did you hear what they said? What—what now?”

  Of course he heard. . . . What a stupid thing to utter.

  He glances at me with visceral intensity—the infinite burden contained in his gaze disturbs me somehow, I’m not even sure why. He then quickly looks around before returning his attention to me. “First—we’re going to find your sister and brother.”

  “Oh, lord, yes!” I exclaim, stunned at myself for momentarily forgetting, not thinking of my siblings, my family—what’s wrong with me? “Gracie must be going insane, and Gordie too—”

  Just as I say it, I see them . . . there, near the arena exit directly ahead, one of several that escaped damage when the ground buckled underneath . . . there’s Gracie, and next to her is my brother Gordie, and behind them a few other familiar faces. Is that Laronda and Dawn, waving and motioning to us? Oalla, maybe? Xelio and Keruvat? Who else?

  We move toward them, and they meet us at the very doors leading inside the stadium building.

  In that first wild moment when we come together, I have eyes only for my two younger siblings, and no one else matters. “Gracie!” I cry with a surge of warmth and relief, shutting off everything else in my mind, pushing worry back for now.

  My sister has a weird deer-in-the-headlights look when she first sees me . . . and then she makes a stifled noise and rushes into my arms.

  “Gracie, oh, sweetie! Gordie, come here! It’s okay! Everything is okay!” I mumble and laugh and cry, continuing to hold Gracie, and at the same time pull in my brother into a three-way embrace with my other hand. I am crushing them both hard, not coming apart for long breathless moments.

  “I survived it—we did it!” I exclaim. “It’s okay now, it’s over! Doesn’t matter what or how—”

  Gracie’s face is hidden, pressed hard against my chest, and she is now shaking with quiet sobs, and Gordie has a strange, lost look on his face as he looks at me. I can’t imagine
what they must think! They must be as shocked as everyone by what just happened, by what I, of all people, have done. . . .

  “Oh, honey, it’s okay!” I smile, smoothing dirty-blond tendrils of Gracie’s hair plastered to her forehead and wet cheeks, tendrils that have escaped her otherwise tight ponytail. It’s the little details . . . I find I can notice them now, make time for them, at long last. . . .

  I look up momentarily and see Aeson watching us—watching me—with an indescribable look of compassion.

  Gracie shows me her face at last, straightens and moves back a bit, sniffling and wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She then forcibly stops crying, swallows, and says in a hoarse voice, “Gwen . . . Mom is gone.”

  Cold. . . .

  Cold emptiness strikes me a sudden blow that I never see coming.

  I don’t quite understand it.

  “What?” I look at Gracie, at the oh-so-familiar shape of her face, her sticky cheeks and forehead with its plastered tendrils of hair, her smudged eyes. “What did you say?”

  But Gracie is bawling now, and her face has collapsed into a red twisted mess.

  Punched in the gut with cold.

  “Gracie!” My voice is hard and cutting.

  “It’s Mom. . . .” Gordie speaks in an alien voice. “She is . . . she is . . .”

  “No,” I say, and my voice is a knife. At the same time, I’m very, very calm.

  Everything narrows into focus. Everything is very strong and sharp and bright.

  I am looking at Gordie, and it’s as if all of this past year, all the growing up on his part, didn’t happen—once again he’s just a little boy with smudged glasses, dumbfounded and helpless. He blinks and opens his mouth and blinks again. “We talked with Dad and George—they’re on the ark-ship now—and—and—”

  “And what?” I interrupt his useless mumble. “What?”

  “I’m sorry! So sorry, Gwen!” Gracie interrupts in turn, gasping between sobs—and now I turn to her, like a compass needle, cold and numb.