“Come now, Ketzah,” snorted Pelak. “You’ve never been one bit interested in politics. You’re probably misinterpreting what you hear. In any event, we’ve had bad times before. We survive them.”
“So,” said Medra. “You’ll go and we’ll stay. But,” she said, smiling at Pelak. “I hope you’ll be back by spring. There will be a little someone for you to meet then.”
“Oh!” cried Finah. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” said Medra. She beamed at Pelak and giggled. “We just found out yesterday. We wanted you all together when we told you.”
“Oh!” Finah cried again. “A grandchild!” She jumped from her seat to smother Medra and Pelak with warm hugs.
“That’s wonderful,” said Nenus proudly. “So good!”
Ketzah was nauseated. A baby. A little baby! He struggled to control his voice. “Then join me on this trip, even if only for a short while,” he implored. “When the baby comes, you’ll not be doing much traveling for quite a while.”
Medra laughed. “Silly Ketzah! I have so much to prepare. Babies need a lot of care and supplies. And of course, I must take care of myself. Og is a wild place!”
“What are you thinking, Ketzah?” Pelak snapped. “We can’t drop all our responsibilities and run off to some wild land, just because you believe some horrid rumor going around. What if Medra becomes ill? Then what? There are few, if any, doctors in Og.”
“Vadi? What about you?” Ketzah was desperate. “It would be a wonderful adventure for a single man. Let’s have some time together.”
Vadi, quite amused, shook his head. “Of course not, brother. I’ve got plenty of contracts to fulfill. I’m building up my reputation as a carpenter. Should I give that all up just for a vacation? Another time maybe.”
“I’ll miss you while I’m gone,” Ketzah hinted. “I get lonely for my family once in a while.”
Finah looked sympathetic. “My dear son. We so often miss you, too.” She brightened. “But think of the happy reunion we’ll have, and the stories you’ll bring to us of your experiences. And we’re all aware of your wonderful—but overactive—imagination. Don’t believe people when they tell you such things of disaster. My dear, silly son!”
Ketzah could think up no more arguments, so just nodded. “I understand. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” He stared into his goblet, then quaffed the wine down in two gulps.
The day passed for Ketzah as if he were in a bad dream. While the others laughed and visited happily, he stood on the side, only half-understanding conversations and stories.
Twilight at last descended and it was time for him to leave.
His family accompanied him to town to the airship. There he hugged them all long and hard and his eyes were wet.
“Ho, Ketzah!” laughed Vadi after he received Ketzah’s bone-crushing embrace. “You’re getting pretty sentimental in your old age, aren’t you?”
“I guess I am,” replied Ketzah. He gazed at Vadi, then Finah and Nenus, then Medra and Pelak. His bones ached with grief. “I guess I’ve never let any of you know how deeply I love all of you.”
Finah was touched and she placed the palm of her hand on his bearded cheek. “We know you care for us. You’ve always shown it and we think of you with such love and pride.”
She hugged him again. “We’ll keep you in our hearts all the while you’re away—but you will be back! Don’t worry about us.”
“How strange,” said Nenus, wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulders. “When you were a boy, I left home to work, and you cried in my absence. “Now it’s you who leaves and I remain at home. Yet, still it’s you who weeps.” He chuckled. “Don’t be so glum. You’ll be back soon, safe and sound. Atlan will still be our great nation and we’ll have another day like today.”
Ketzah forced a smile, nodded weakly and left to board the airship. As he settled into the soft seat, he looked out and his eyes adhered to the family. The ship whispered, vibrated and hummed, then it rose vertically in the air. His loved ones waved at him and he lifted one hand to the window in farewell.
When they could no longer see him, he fell back in his seat. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his breath came in hushed sobs. Passengers stared at him uncomfortably. Finally, they decided he had had too much to drink and looked away in disgust.
* *
A fortnight passed—fourteen days and nights of preparation and plans, and especially of goodbyes. Those leaving for Waydo were the first to depart, then the Mayra group. Today, Ketzah had said his farewells to those going to Green Island, the land of his mother’s birth. Tomorrow, those bound for Khemet will leave.
With Falima.
With every departure, Ketzah had become a little lonelier, a little angrier, a little more bitter, and a little more unsure of his commitment. Each group that left meant another priest or two, another ten or twelve friends gone, probably forever.
He told himself again and again, This must be done. This must be done. Yet, with every goodbye, a part of him died.
And now, Falima will leave.
During the days, Ketzah and Falima had managed to slip away from their tasks now and then. Only a few moments were stolen each time, but it was long enough to hold each other quietly, to talk of the day’s events. But they refused to speak of the one burning thought in their minds, the inevitable future. Each day became quieter, more somber than the previous.
Tomorrow, even those few moments together will end!
Each night, alone, Ketzah struggled with inner arguments: Couldn’t I simply discard these plans and marry Falima? Wouldn’t Og and Khemet go on without us? What would happen to the expeditions? And what would happen to us? We’d die with Atlan, of course, but we’d be together.
Night after night, after agonizing for an hour or so, the same dreaded conclusion arose: He and Falima are needed to complete the hiding of the Records. Too much is expected of them.
A few nights before this one, while alone at home, the anguish had become nearly unbearable. “Everyone and everything I’ve ever known and loved is being taken from me!” he raged aloud to no one at all. “Why! Why?!”
In the darkness the previous night, he had cried out to the Divine Forces, “You expect too much of me! I am human, not a god! You create me weak, then expect strength! Why, Divinities? Why?”
Only silence and darkness answered.
And now, dear, precious Falima, leaving in the morning.
He remembered how he had hinted once at his desperate idea—that perhaps they could forget these plans and run off together.
She had been silent for a moment, then said, “Dear Ketzah, your desires are mine. But it’s too late! There’s no way we can change our courses, no matter what our sentiments may be. This is what we’ve been trained for. Our love for each other can’t matter at this time.”
It was early evening now, and her words echoed through his mind while he plodded through the city toward her house. Our love for each other can’t matter at this time.
With the twilight, the streets were nearly clear of people, now home with their families completely oblivious of impending doom.
The air was still, the streets silent but for the sound of his sandals stepping up the marble steps to her house. He lingered at her door for a short while, then opened it and gently called, “Falima.”
“I’m here,” a quiet voice answered.
He found her slumped in a settee in the visiting room, staring into the deep shadows. His footsteps echoed as he made his way to her, taking her hand and holding it to his cheek.
Her eyes were red and swollen.
“Ketzah, I’m glad you’re here,” she said huskily. He sat down beside her. “I was just sitting here trying to soak up everything familiar that I can.” Tears came to her eyes. “Because I will never have it again.”
Ketzah pressed her hand to his face, first on one cheek, then on the other.
“We’ve known for so long that this day would come,” she continued. “But now that it’s here, I’m frightened—so very frightened. I wish you were going with me. I don’t want to be away from you.”
She buried her face in his chest and her body wracked with sobs. Pain raged through him and his arms cradled her. He smelled the soft fragrance of her hair and he kissed it. Shadows accentuated the delicate lines of her head and body, causing her to seem almost dreamlike, ethereal. He rocked her and her sobs quieted. Silently, she held him and they continued the comforting rocking.
Darkness surrounded them now, but still they clung to each other for this last exquisite time together. He touched her braid gently and wondered why the Divinities would even allow Falima and him to love what they couldn’t have, that their lives didn’t seem to matter in comparison to the mission before them. Will this sense of duty be enough to keep them strong through the dark times? No, he didn’t think so. For without Falima, surely he will go mad. How can he give up this fairest of creatures and live out his life alone, when he should instead be busying himself with marriage and toiling for necessities and raising squalling infants? No, this will be death in life without her.
“We mustn’t think of this as permanent,” he said. “We’ll part tomorrow and go about our chosen tasks. But I’ll come for you when I’m able. We must know that this is only temporary, and live accordingly.”
Falima held her arms around his waist a little tighter. “I will find strength in that, dear one. What else do we have?”
They remained embraced on the settee through the night, soothed by the warmth of each other’s bodies held close, and the gentle murmurings and sweet caresses, broken only by periodic dozing.
Dawn came and it was time to go. Ketzah opened his eyes slightly and noticed the subtle lightening of the room. Long shadows delineated corners and urns and curtains and a table. Deep sounds of breathing told him Falima was still asleep. He touched her face and her eyes opened.
She gave Ketzah a last squeeze before stirring. “I must meet the others at the temple. Will you come with me?”
“Of course,” he said. They silently gathered up the few belongings of hers not already at the temple and quietly left. He closed the door behind them.
The twilighted streets were hushed and empty, and a light mist swirled about their feet. They wrapped their cloaks tightly about their shoulders. A half-risen pink sun cast eerie shadows around them and Ketzah wondered if this were a dream or if he were awake.
At the temple, the atmosphere was tense, filled with false cheerfulness, tight forced smiles accompanying overly happy greetings to one another. Expressionless eyes betrayed the emotions of the fourteen who had gathered. Ketzah and Falima found a wooden bench at a far wall in the forum room and sat, Ketzah’s hand upon Falima’s.
Master Shu would be going to Khemet today, leaving Atel and Mot the only two priests left. To show honor and love, Atel had prepared a meal and brought it out to the travelers. He worked his way slowly among his family, a tray of fruit and bread in his arms, allowing the Initiates to take the light repast. This he followed with tea, carefully pouring it into cups and handing it to each person. They murmured their thanks, and brought the food to their lips politely but without appetite. The bread was too dry, the fruit sticky, the tea tepid. And all was without taste this terrible morning. They ate silently.
All too soon it was finished and Atel looked at those before him. “There is not much to say,” he began. “It has already been said throughout our many years together. Initiates, you carry the great wisdom of the history of the Earth. The Light has been passed to you and now you must keep it from being extinguished. My wishes and prayers are with you. Go with the blessings of the universe. Do well.”
He turned to face Shu and his face quivered with intense sadness and affection. “Brother Shu, my friend, my advisor, my comrade on the Path. I will miss you, always.” Silently, they embraced, and tears flowed down their ancient faces.
A silent entourage drifted from the temple, burdened with sacks and crates of precious belongings that would accompany them into their new life. Ketzah didn’t feel the weight of the wooden chest bearing down on his shoulder, for the load in his heart was heavier. Echoing sandal patters and bird songs pierced the foggy air. The airship wasn’t far away. He and Falima lingered behind, the last ones in the somber procession.
His eyes fell upon a familiar plant at the side of the road. A faraway memory echoed in his mind, of a little boy taunted by a laughing little girl. “Do you know, Ketzah Kowato, that this plant could save you from pneumonia? And do you know, Ketzah Kowato, that a poultice of this could heal an infected wound?”
“And do you know, Falima Orkada,” the sandy-haired lad replied, “that I am going to make you eat your medicine if you show off anymore?”
The boy and girl giggled, then ran down the road of his memory, and were no more.
They arrived at the ramp shortly behind the others, who had gone aboard the large silver cylinder to stow their articles.
Master Shu remained on the ground and wrapped his bony arms around Ketzah. Without a word, he then loosened his grasp, looked into Ketzah’s face a moment, nodded and shuffled up the ramp.
The others came back down to bid farewell to their old classmate, who stood by his dear Falima, no longer calm nor brave. His throat ached with tightness and he hugged each friend long and hard. Then they boarded the airship and he stood alone with Falima.
For a long moment, they looked at each other through wet, blurred eyes. Then they held tightly and his lips caressed every bit of her face.
“Ketzah!” she sobbed.
“I’ll come for you, Falima,” he said, gently pulling her away by the shoulders. “Don’t forget me. I will come for you.”
“I’ll be waiting,” she cried. “Every day of my life I’ll watch for you.” She tore away from his grasp and hurried up the ramp. She didn’t look back.
The ship shuddered, coughed, then hummed. With a snort and a rush of wind, it left the ground, churning up a cloud of dust as it arose. A few moments later, it was high in the sky. Ketzah watched it become smaller and smaller, until it was just a speck, then it was gone. He stood for a little longer, staring. Then he turned and headed back to his own preparations. His feet dragged as if he were nearly dead.
His mission had to be done. He was one of the Chosen, learned in the mysteries. Now he must preserve the knowledge. He couldn’t think of Falima again. He would not allow himself to. The work is too important. Emotions must be set aside.
Control your feelings, Ketzah. You have too much to think about.
“Farewell, dear Falima,” he whispered. “I love you.”
* * * *
Chapter 21
Hot sunlit air struck Edak as he stepped outside. The air was fresh, so different from the odor of straw and stale ashes in Califia’s lodge. Then a breeze blew in from the west and a putrid stench reminded him again that all was not well.
Sweat beaded on his face. His hair hung damp, and a few wisps that had escaped from the thong clung to his cheek.
He had hurried to see the queen when Gedran arrived at his house stressing Califia’s wish to come right away. Her message had been urgent and none of it good. He recalled the visit now as he walked back to the docks:
The day was hot, and even the flowers in Califia’s braids drooped in the mugginess. Her yellow robe was wrinkled and saggy in the humidity. After greeting Edak and making sure he and Gedran had water to drink and to rinse their hands and faces, she went right to the point. “It has been decided by my advisors and me that it would be good to go to other lands and settle there.”
As she slowly paced around the room, her hands caressed pots, wall hangings and wooden carvings with assumed nonchalance. “It seems more and more probable that something great—and terrible—will happen to Mu. What are your feelings on this?”
Edak remembered his own
sleepless nights and bad dreams. “Gracious Queen, my heart has been troubled since we left the Council of Nations. I do not wish to alarm you, but I cannot shake off the feeling that we are doomed. In all my quiet times, I do not sense a future for Mu.”
“I share those feelings,” she said. “The world involves itself with the destruction of the beasts, and we should be relieved. Yet, every citizen I ask tells me the same thing. Our land is sick; our land is dying.”
She turned away and touched the gold medallion around her neck. She stroked it and sighed. “It seems our only course may be to find safety for as many of our people as possible. May I ask for your help in this task?”
Edak thought back. Atlan’s assault with explosives and chemicals had started three moons ago, and even now daily rumblings and tremors shook the Earth. Sometimes a sickening odor, like that of today, wafted through the air. Was it the decay of animal carcasses? Was it the poisons themselves? No one knew, nor did it matter what the cause. The miasma boded dark times ahead.
Edak felt a pang of fear. “Tell me what I may do,” he said.
Califia was raised to be queen, and today it showed. She was calm, belying her inner fears. Thedar brought them each a wooden mug of cool water mixed with chopped fruit. Califia took a few moments to sip at hers, savoring the flavor; then she swallowed.
Edak held his mug tightly. He didn’t drink.
“Word has come to me,” Califia said at last, “that Mayra and Og feel very little of the sickness. Also, the high mountain ranges west of Mu are stable. They appear safe and healthy places in this chaos. These lands are sparsely populated, and if we seek the highest places, away from the rising sea, what nation would care if we were to settle there?”
She looked at Edak questioningly. He nodded.
“The climate is not so hospitable,” she said quietly, “but we will adapt, and perhaps it will not be a long exile.
“Three days ago,” she continued, “my cousins gathered their belongings and set sail for Mayra. I have sent messengers to the western villages to announce the coming exodus. Those people will travel to the western mountains.”
She took the mug to her lips, decided against it and held it in her lap. “Will you help us to alert our people in the east? Would you aid them, that they may find shelter in Mayra and Og?”