200 BC, in an alternate timeline
The deckhouse door slammed open as the navigator barged in, his russet-colored face soaked with sweat. "Baal-Hammon be praised, we've sighted land at last!"
Isceradin's cup of wine slipped down from his grasp as he took in the sailor's words. It took his wife Arishat's lightning reflexes to catch it before it could shatter on the floor. Not that he would miss it too much if it did break and spill, since the liquid was well over halfway to turning into vinegar by that point. Another week at sea, and they would have nothing left to drink unless they figured out how to turn seawater fresh.
Baal-Hammon be praised, indeed.
Gisco, the stout old captain, rose from his bench and laid both hands on the navigator's shoulder. "You sure you haven't gone mad?"
"You should see for yourself, Captain," Bodo said. "One could mistake it for nothing else!"
Little Nikkal tugged on Isceradin's arm, her eyes gleaming wide open. "Did they really say they've found land, Abba?"
He gave his daughter's crown of curly black hair a playful rub. "We can only hope so. Let's find out for ourselves."
Together, Isceradin and his family followed the captain and navigator out of the deckhouse to the bow of the galley and squinted at the western horizon. It first appeared as a green line on top of the dark blue sea that grew thicker with every rhythm of the drivers' drumbeats. From underneath the drumming and the sailors' chanted shanties, there rose the frantic cawing of distant seagulls.
"You see, beloved? I told you the gods would always be at our side," Arishat said.
"Either that, or fate has been kinder to us than usual," Isceradin said.
He wrapped his arms around his wife's waist and pecked her tattooed, mahogany-skinned cheek with his lips. She repaid the favor, and then their mouths locked together in an embrace tighter than the one they made with their arms.
"Yuck, Abba and Amma!" Nikkal cried out with her tongue sticking out.
Isceradin withdrew from the kiss with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, little one, we forgot you were watching."
Gisco slapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. "The girl's got to find out about those things sooner or later, my Iberian friend. And I can't say I blame you, either. It's a good occasion to get another taste of that sweet, dark Carthaginian meat, isn't it?"
The captain winked with a jab of his elbow into Isceradin's ribs. For his part, Isceradin's only reply was a low groan. No matter how much he considered himself a citizen of Carthage, having wetted his blade with Roman blood many times under none other than Hannibal Barca himself, Carthage would never let him forget his family’s Iberian roots. Not that he could hide them, either. With his lighter tan complexion and wavy brown hair, most people would sooner confuse him with a Latin or maybe one of the Greeks than a typical Carthaginian from Africa.
Nikkal walked up to the ship's gunwale and jumped to get a better look at the approaching landmass. "What are we going to call that place, Captain?"
"Ever heard of the story of Atlantis, young one?" Gisco answered. "Some Greek thinker wrote about it, I think. He said they lived on a continent in the middle of this very ocean before Baal-Saphon sank it to punish their greed. So, maybe we'll call it Atlantis in honor of that?"
"What if there are people living there?" Arishat asked. "They might have a name for it already."
The captain held his hand over his eyes as he scanned the coastline. "If there's people over there, I don't see any sign of them. Not even one trail of campfire smoke coming from the trees. But, even if they were, learning their language to ask them would take a while. So, we've got to call the place something until then."
Isceradin shrugged. "Atlantis is as good a name as any, I suppose. Though, in the end, it’ll be up to the Sophets to decide.”
“Then I’ll pitch it to him once we all land.”
The drivers sped up the pace of their drumming, causing the ship to accelerate toward the awaiting shore. It was the foremost of a fleet of seventy that cut westward through the sea, the violet symbol of the goddess Tanit dancing on their billowing sails. Together, their drumming, chanting, and the splashing of oars merged into a cacophony as festive as any banquet back in Carthage.
When the water beneath them had faded from dark to light blue closer to the coast, all the fleet wheeled around so that their sterns faced inland before they backed up. Each jolted as their keels began slicing through the alabaster beach. Sailors threw down the gangplanks, and everyone aboard the vessels filed down to the sand, whooping and praising the gods of Carthage for their merciful fortune.
From the largest and grandest of the fleet strutted Absalon and Himilco, those two whom the Senate back in Carthage had appointed as Sophets of this new colony. Numidian youths kept these two elders cool with ostrich-plumed fans while bronze-clad soldiers of the Sacred Band marched before and behind them. Once everyone had gathered on the beach and a trumpet summoned them, they arranged themselves into an audience encircling the Sophets like spectators at a Greek theater.
Absalon, after taking a deep inhale of the salty air through his nostrils, was the first to speak. “My people, once citizens and subjects of Carthage, none of us cannot underestimate the gratitude we owe our gods for our safe passage here. Many back home said we could not make it to the end of the western ocean alive, and yet here we are, without having suffered even one casualty to the best of our knowledge.”
“And yet, our journey has only begun,” Himilco said. “We have much work to do. We have land to clear, crops to grow, and a city to build. We trust that, with all our hard work, we can claim this land for Carthage and bring forth a new age of power and prosperity for our civilization. May Baal-Hammon and all the gods continue to watch over us!”
A Gallic servant handed the pair the banner of Carthage hanging from a mast-like cross, and together they planted it into the sand. All in the audience thundered with applause.
“But first, we must learn more about this new world we’ve landed on,” Absalon said. “Who among you offers to scout for us?”
From within the crowd, Isceradin raised his hand. “I’ll lead a party inland until sundown. We’ll take note of everything this country has to offer, and maybe see if there are any human inhabitants around. Then we’ll make our way back.”
Nikkal pulled at his hand. “But what if you run into trouble, Abba?”
Isceradin held his daughter up in his arms and squeezed her with loving firmness. “Then they’ll send more men to rescue us if things get too bad. But don’t you worry, if the gods have kept us alive across a whole ocean, they shouldn’t let us down any further.”
Beyond the far side of the beach, the thick greenery rose as a towering wall. There was no telling what—or who—awaited in the shadowy depths of that forest. And, in truth, the gods had let Carthage down before. They wouldn’t have lost the recent war with Rome had that not been so, despite all the sacrifices the priests had made. But then, who had the heart to trouble their own child with such worry?
Isceradin gave his wife and daughter another kiss each. “If I don’t come back before sundown, keep praying for me. I’ll need all the blessings I can get.”