Christopher Cartwright
The Nostradamus Equation
Prologue
It had been nearly ten days since his master had taken him to this barbaric and hostile land. Day after day, their small group of devout followers, slaves, and pious men had followed him into the inland sea of burning sand. It was the hottest, driest and most vile place Jacob Prediox had ever seen in his eleven years on earth. Ravaged by Portuguese pirates, Arab slave traders, Muslim conquests and black-skinned natives, who would have been only too eager to take white slaves, the land was fraught with danger. Without soldiers for protection, local navigators, or any knowledge of where they might make provisions of water or food, the small party had entered the vast desert in search of an unknown miracle.
They had done so because his master, Michel de Nostradamus, had told them he had seen the outcome of their grand expedition. It had been written on the ancient scrolls of time that he and his men were to complete a great mission; the greatest of all. It was to be conducted in secret and not one of them, including his master, would live to see the fruits of their efforts. But their efforts would save the world. Nostradamus had told them all there was no reason to fear their great passage into an unknown land for a purpose that was far more important than any of their own lives.
And they had followed him, without fear — after all, what is there to fear when your future has already been determined? There is nothing that can be changed. It has already taken place. We are all merely puppets performing for the amusement of a far greater master.
On the tenth day, Jacob stopped. He was so dehydrated his tongue had become coated white and cracked. It had been nearly two days since the last of their water supply had run dry. They had reached yet another crest in the never ending giant sea of sand. He’d prayed with all his faith that on the other side would be a land so green and filled with fruit and water that it might actually be Eden. Instead, he witnessed row upon row of sandy waves, reaching all the way to the horizon. The sun was lowering and he wondered how many of the party would still be alive when it rose again.
Nostradamus stopped. “We’ll make camp here for the night.”
The camel train halted. The camel-puller rounded the head camel, leading the group together. He stopped next to Nostradamus. “Are you sure you want to make camp, master? I’m certain the camels have a few hours more in them in — and I doubt many of the men will be alive in the morning if we don’t find water.”
“Quite certain,” Nostradamus replied. His eyes searched the sand with recognition. “This is definitely the place.”
The camel-puller looked at the rows of sand dunes. The location was badly unprotected from the violent winds known to start without warning within the Desert of Barbary. “If you don’t mind me asking, master — this is the place for what?”
Nostradamus smiled. It was full of omnipotence and mystery. “This is precisely the place we make camp tonight, that’s all.”
Jacob looked up at his master who’d stopped next to him. His master suddenly looked down at him and asked, “Why do you look so sad, child?”
“Master,” he said, trying to appear brave. “I live only to serve you, but my tongue is dry, my stomach empty, and I fear the death I am only too certain is very near. I want to be part of our great expedition. I want to help, but I also want to live. I’ve seen only eleven years on this earth. I would like to see more before I die.”
“We all have masters. Even I do not have any more free choice over when we live or die than the lonely sand beetle that wonders the desert in search of a mate.” He spoke cheerfully, but with frank honesty few could appreciate under the circumstances. “We perform for the masters of time. Unfortunately we live and die at their whim.”
Jacob wanted to cry. No tears would fall from his eyes. He was simply too dehydrated. He’d been right — his master had seen their death, and refrained from telling them.
“Young Jacob. I see what you want to know. I have seen it all. I don’t know why, but I have. The question is, will you go on — following me until the end, as you must, if I tell you what has been written?” Nostradamus' right eye curved mysteriously upwards. “What is going to happen?”
Jacob looked up at him and nodded. His crestfallen eyes, asking the words which he didn’t have the strength to ask — Am I going to die tonight?
Nostradamus looked warmly down at him from the comfort of his howdah, like a father to a son. “Yes. We will all die.”
Jacob wanted ever so badly to curl up into a ball and cry, but instead he nodded in brave acceptance. If he was going to die, then his master should at least be proud of him in his last remaining hours.
“You are a good boy, Jacob. You have served me well.” Nostradamus then looked at the sun dipping on the horizon. For a moment Jacob thought the old man was contemplating how many of his party would be alive when it next rose. Nostradamus shook his head, as though it were a silly thing to do. He’d already seen the truth — and the answer was indeed very sad. Nostradamus bent down and handed Jacob a small, brass medallion. “Keep this on you at all times. Your role here today is to be a witness to this event, so that one day in the future it will serve a great purpose — when the time is right.”
“I’m not going to die?” Jacob asked.
“We’re all going to die. You, the rest of my party — even I will not live forever. But you will survive this expedition. Your purpose here is not to die. I have brought you here merely to witness the events.”
“What events?”
Nostradamus shook his head. “No. I’m afraid even some things are hidden from me. What I can tell you though, is that you must witness this event. Write down as much as you can and keep it somewhere safe for as long as you can.”
“But who must I tell this to?”
“No one. You must live a long, worthwhile life, and on your deathbed give this medallion to your son, along with the story of the events that happen here, and tell him to give the story to his son. You need to ensure this tradition is continued!”
“Until when?”
Nostradamus raised his voice, as though the answer were obvious. “Until a girl is born!”
“What will happen then?”
“She will find our greatest treasure, at precisely the right time in history, when the world needs it to be discovered.” Nostradamus sighed. “And if she is the right person, filled with honesty and integrity, with enough faith — she will save the world.”
Jacob took the medallion which had been placed over his neck by his master. It was formed by some sort of brass, but as far as he was concerned it was more valuable than had it been made out of solid gold. He stared at the engravings. They depicted a map of an island he’d never seen or heard of. It was shaped like the number eight laying on its side. And on the obverse side were eight numbers which meant absolutely nothing to him. “Does she succeed? Will my great descendent one day save the world?”
Nostradamus shook his head. “I’m afraid the Ancient Scrolls of Time keep some secrets, even from me.”
There was no way to tell exactly what time it was when the wind changed. At a guess, Jacob thought the half moon was placed somewhere near midnight when he first heard the howl of time, coming to rob the party of their lives. He wanted to hide and take shelter, but there was nowhere for him to do either. Besides, Nostradamus had been explicit. His purpose here was to bear witness to an event. So instead of hiding, he watched as the party was destroyed.
The sand-filled wind crept through the camp, forcing its way into everything. The startled camels fought with their ropes until they came free and scattered into the desert. Men tried to recapture the frightened animals, but their attempts were hopeless at best.