Nenus was a native of Atlan, but Finah was born in the far north country of Green Island. The daughter of one of his shipmates, Nenus had met her as a young man on his first voyage. He never wished for another woman after seeing her.
Ketzah’s appearance didn’t raise any eyebrows in this city though, because Poseidl was the home of the governing Atlantean Council. Dignitaries from around the world spent time here, and they brought their families with them. In a smaller town, perhaps Ketzah would be an oddity, but not in this world metropolis.
Ketzah had an active mind full of fantasies and mysteries, adventures and questions. But he never remained in thought too long if Falima were near. She always found a way to break him away from his mind games. Her laughter and teasing would finally have him laughing too.
Falima appeared in the doorway at last. She took a deep breath of the fresh air, then saw Ketzah and hurried down the steps. “I’m sorry I’m so late,” she said.
“Was there a problem?” Ketzah asked.
“No, not at all. I just wanted to be sure I had everything clear in my mind. Let’s talk as we go. I’m hungry and I suppose you are, too. You eat at midday as if you hadn’t seen food in days.”
“I didn’t know you studied my eating habits,” said Ketzah, stifling a smile lest she see he was pleased. “Let’s hurry home before I drop over from weakness.”
Falima’s lessons today had been of local plants and their medicinal value, and this was a day to appreciate them. The afternoon was particularly beautiful, and the late spring breeze blew a sweet odor of fresh blossoms through the air. It was a day to skip, not walk, to tease, not chat.
“Do you know, Ketzah Kowato,” she said, picking a cluster of bright orange flowers, “that this plant could save you from pneumonia? And do you know, Ketzah Kowato,” she continued, now plucking a clump of leaves from a nearby tree, “that a poultice of this could heal an infected wound?”
Ketzah rolled his eyes in mock disgust. “And do you know, Falima Orkada,” he mimicked, “that I am going to make you eat your medicine if you show off anymore?”
Falima laughed and threw the plants at Ketzah, then sped off at a fast run. Ketzah snatched up all he could of the leaves and raced after her for a few blocks until she came to her home. She skipped up the stone steps, laughing all the while. Peeking around a black marble column near the doorway, she called, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe I’ll have some more lessons for you.” She giggled and waved, then disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.
Ketzah stood still for a few moments, his smile lingering, lest she come back out for more play. But the door didn’t open, so he turned and made his way toward home.
He stepped lightly, studying the long shadow his body cast before him on the white road. Yes, he was hungry like Falima had said, yet he would rather run and chase with her than to fill his stomach today. He didn’t understand, nor did he wonder. It was just the way it was.
He rounded the bend and walked the cypress-lined path that led to the portico shading his front door. Falima’s memory floated out of his mind, replaced by rumblings in his stomach. An odor of herbed fish cooking in olive oil wafted to his nostrils. Perhaps Finah might let him have a taste before dinner.
He entered the airy hallway and closed the door. “Hello, Mother, I’m home,” he called. It was cooler than on the streets and a quiet breeze blew the light tapestry curtains, billowing them out from the windows.
He stood in the hallway a moment and inhaled deeply, savoring the delicious scent.
A golden-haired toddler peeked out from the doorway of an adjoining room, chubby bare feet poking out of her calf-length unsashed tunic. It was Medra, Ketzah’s sister. “Kettah here!” she called, proudly announcing his arrival.
Her twin brother Vadi joined her, wavy brown hair falling into his eyes. He grinned at his big brother. “Fafa home,” he said, before the two scampered back into the room.
Father? Here so soon? He followed close at the tots’ heels to see if it were true.
Nenus sat in a deep brown lacquered chair, which was cushioned with red brocade. Broad shoulders hid the chair’s back. A hint of silver sparkled in his black hair. An aquiline nose enhanced his muscular face, which grinned at the approach of his firstborn. He stood just in time to embrace Ketzah, who ran into his arms. “Father, you’re here!”
Nenus hadn’t been home for nearly half a moon. A sea merchant, he was usually away three times as long.
Ketzah squealed and was lifted high off the floor onto strong shoulders. “See how tall you’ve become,” joked Nenus. “You must be eating well.” Ketzah laughed and held tight for a ride around the room before being set again on the floor. Vadi and Medra extended their plump little arms. “Up! Up,” they demanded.
Laughing, Nenus lifted each baby onto his shoulders, firmly keeping a grip on their tiny arms. They pulled his ears and patted his head and he swayed and tromped around in an ‘elephant walk.’ Ketzah became a tiger and roared and leaped and slunk on the floor, until Medra became frightened.
“Boys!” Finah scolded half-jokingly. She especially looked at her husband. She had come from the kitchen with tableware in her arms. “There are no wild animals allowed here. Only people can stay to eat.” She stepped out in the courtyard to set the table.
Elephant and tiger vanished, replaced by hungry people. Ketzah assisted Finah by setting the table. No wonder it smelled so good. This was a special time, to have Nenus home so early.
Ketzah loved herbed fish, perhaps because it reminded him of the sea, and the sea made him think of Nenus. As Finah was everything beautiful and delicate and graceful to Ketzah, Nenus was her complement: handsome, strong, protective. Ketzah’s parents were the best in the land, even the world.
Ketzah munched slowly on a tiny ear of corn boiled in vinegar and oil, and stared at Nenus, who drank deeply from a gilded cup. “Why did you return so soon?” he asked. “Will you always be able to do so?”
Nenus stopped drinking and gazed silently into the dark wine. He swallowed slowly. “We weren’t able to get across to Khemet because of our warships blocking the trade routes.”
He tapped his knife on his plate for a few seconds, lost in thought. “These aren’t good times,” he said. “It isn’t enough that Atlan rules most of the Earth. Our leaders seem to have gone mad with power. They want the whole world under their rule.” He shook his head. “I know it isn’t patriotic to talk of our government like this, but when I think of the great powers we have and the destructive way we’ve come to use our gifts, I can only feel anguish for our country and the world.”
Ketzah knew the talk was serious, yet he didn’t quite understand what was being said. “Wasn’t it always so, Father?”
Nenus looked at his son wistfully. “No, Ketzah. Many generations ago, when our scientists discovered the Great Crystal, our intentions were noble. The power was used for good. We learned how to use the sun’s energy through the Firestone for our transportation. On the sea first, then on land and finally now in the air.”
He took a long drink from the cup and collected his thoughts. “Healing and energizing of man’s body was the greatest use of the power,” he continued. “But alas, greedy and corrupt men started to gain control of the Crystal. Gradually, enough people in high places were convinced of the need to rule the backward countries. ‘For material gain,’ the people were told. ‘To enjoy their natural resources and indigenous crops.’” He sneered and his head shook slightly. “Then, after many years, we started to become paranoid. ‘Get them before they get us’ became the national cry. Love for our fellow man died like an untended fire in the hearth.”
Nenus’s hands clenched into tight fists, his large gold ring straining under the pressure. He noticed this and forced himself to relax. He opened and closed his hands a few times. “Right now, there seems to be an uprising along the coast of Afrika. Soon to be squelched, I am sure, but at a great loss of thei
r lives and our decency.” He stared at his plate and shook his head again. “A sad time for Atlan, indeed.”
Ketzah didn’t want to eat any more. An uneasy lump lay in his stomach. Nenus had never seemed so anguished. This was a happy-go-lucky man, always smiling, joking. He looked over at Finah for answers. She wasn’t eating, but picked absentmindedly at her food. Ketzah finished his meal quietly and asked no more.
Later that evening, after Medra and Vadi had been put to bed, Ketzah went out in the garden with his parents. The night was warm with a light breeze. The scent of jasmine was strong in the air and palm trees clattered and whispered. Nenus and Finah sat on a marble bench near the pool and talked softly. Ketzah lay on his stomach and swished his hand in the water, causing the lotus blossoms to bob with the ripples. A fountain splashed and gurgled. He thought about what Nenus had said at the table and wondered about his own future.
He rolled over and gazed up at the stars and mused. Maybe peace between nations will be my quest in life. Perhaps this is my purpose—if people are born with purposes. Indeed, he wondered, is there a special thing each person is supposed to do while alive?
He pondered it all for a while, then decided to ask Master Atel about it in the morning.
He didn’t fall asleep easily that night. Nenus’s words echoed in his head and he wondered, Do people have purposes for living? If not, why are we here? If so, what is my purpose?
What is my purpose?
* * * *
Chapter 6
The late winter morning was overcast and rainy. Ropl Du Meh stared out the window at the gloom. It was hard to keep from yawning on such a gray day. He looked around at his students and felt a bit warmer. There they sat, the three of them, heads in hands as they sleepily pored over their numbers. All but one—Edak, of course. Not only had he finished the drill—perfectly, Ropl Du Meh assumed—but now he sat eagerly staring out the window at the clouds and rain. Ropl Du Meh could only imagine the wonderings in his young mind. How high are the clouds? How thick? Why does the moisture stay up sometimes, and come down other times?
How he loved the boy, more than he would outwardly show. He had never seen a child so full of wonder, so awestruck at the beauty of nature, so determined to learn all there was to know. He attacked his lessons with the energy of a warrior and never seemed to tire of school.
He often watched Edak pore over his studies and wondered how concentration could be that strong in a child so young. He observed the other boys, highly intelligent, but with average curiosity and attentiveness. Edak is a rare gift, he thought.
At thirteen years of age, Edak was fast becoming a young man. Tall and slender, he had a quiet strength about him that wasn’t immediately noticeable when looking into those gentle eyes. His voice was beginning to change now to a deeper, man’s tone, but his speech was soft. And yet, he could become quite eloquent and assertive when he felt something was worth saying.
Ropl Du Meh had taught him all he knew of science, medicine, the heavens, mathematics, philosophy, language and literature. There was nothing more he could give him. Still Edak hungered for more knowledge.
It was summer solstice, a time for thanksgiving and celebration. The boys would soon be dismissed to go home for a four-day visit, to enjoy one of the high events of the year. Even the serious Edak tended to get caught up in the gaiety of the event. And so it was with eagerness that after the day’s lessons, the boys bid their teacher goodbye and rushed out the door to be home before nightfall.
Shortly after Edak returned to his family, after the happy reunion and catching up of local news, of reacquainting himself with the goats and the garden, and after a wonderful night’s sleep surrounded by family, Edak and seven-year old Klad went out to enjoy the bustle of the town.
Doorways and window frames were covered with flowers; children blew flutes and pounded drums and rattled shells in the streets while people, young and old, danced to the rhythms. Men busied themselves catching and cleaning baskets full of fish. Women prepared food and brought it outside for all passersby to sample. Sounds of laughter and visiting echoed from houses and down the streets.
The two boys tried to be everywhere at once, sampling all the different foods up and down the road. It was fun to be together again and they laughed giddily at nearly everything, and nothing at all. Summer solstice was the one time all year that a child could be happily irresponsible.
It was a hot day, and at last they leaned up against the coolness of a stone house to eat a morsel of roast fish wrapped in flatbread, surveying everything around them as they chewed, considering where to go next.
Klad suddenly lurched forward wide-eyed. “Look, Edak!” he cried, pointing into the crowd of street dancers. “There are Mother and Father—dancing!”
The two stared, intrigued, for there in the back of the joyous crowd Rehm and Ogra spun and twirled and laughed like children. Ogra had adorned her braid with shells and feathers, and she wore a white linen tunic made for this special time.
Finally the boys joined in, grinning and clapping their hands. Rehm was as agile and full of energy as his son Klad, and his deep voice bellowed with laughter. Ogra tried to dance the same beat, yet her plumpness slowed her down. Finally, placing a hand on her side to comfort a cramp, she was satisfied to sway in place, smiling at the antics of her three loved ones.
“Father is the best dancer on the street today,” said Klad proudly. “Better than anyone.”
Edak smirked. “Better than even you?”
“Maybe.” Klad’s eyes sparkled. “But maybe not!” He made his way to the center of the circle of dancers and began to spin and stomp and sway to the best of his young ability.
Edak laughed and shook his head. He thought his brother was the handsomest child he had ever seen and never tired of his antics. Klad was sturdy and stocky like Rehm, with a square, strong face. Yet Ogra’s delicate features were visible in his eyes, dimples and nose.
Edak wasn’t the only one who thought Klad attractive. Even now, small girls entered the circle to dance with him. At first, Klad didn’t notice, but after a while he looked around, spying the admirers. He stopped dancing suddenly, and returned to Edak’s side. “Girls take my fun away,” he complained.
Edak wasn’t a dancer. He enjoyed standing on the sidelines and watching the others. “I receive as much enjoyment being a spectator as others do as participants,” he sometimes said, and thoroughly believed.
Someone touched Edak’s shoulder. “Good day, Edak. It is good to see you.”
Edak turned to see Ropl Du Meh smiling at him. “Tutor! Why are you here? This is a long walk from your home.”
“I have a matter of importance I wish to discuss with your parents. Are they here?”
“Look. They are dancing.”
The two watched with amusement while musicians played and dancers twirled. When all had finally tired and the music stopped, when breathless people put their hands to their chests and began to disperse, Edak approached his parents, wondering what the matter might be about.
“Ropl Du Meh!” exclaimed Rehm. “How nice that you can celebrate with us!” They clasped wrists. “I would love to join you,” said Ropl Du Meh. “And there is something I wish to discuss with you.”
They went to Edak’s house where they sat and made small talk—now speaking of Edak, now of the fishing trade, now of weather. Ogra gathered some fruit, bread and fish and followed them in. Klad and Edak entered quietly. They stayed out of the way but listened hard.
When all five had gathered mats before the small meal, Ropl Du Meh explained his visit. “Your son is the greatest scholar I have ever seen. He has a passion for learning as a thirsty man has a passion for water. It’s an all-consuming desire with Edak.” He took a cluster of grapes, plucked one and put it in his mouth.
Edak’s face grew warm.
“Yes,” said Ogra, “we are so proud of him. He’s a smart boy.”
Edak went through the
motions of eating, yet he knew nothing of what he was chewing and swallowing. Tasteless lumps, one after another, went in and went down, all attention riveted to the conversation.
“The boy at thirteen years knows more than I do at thirty-five,” Ropl Du Meh continued. “Clearly, I have taught him all I know.”
Edak looked up, wide-eyed.
“Are you telling us our son is finished with his education?” asked Rehm.
“With me, yes,” said Ropl Du Meh, his smile too wide, his eyes too cheerful. “But let’s finish this conversation after we’ve eaten. This meal is too delicious to ignore with talk.”
Edak thought he would grow old and die before everyone finished eating. But at last they were through and the remains cleaned up and hands washed. He tried to busy himself playing with Klad while the adults talked. He started a string game and listened intently, nervously, to his teacher and parents in the center of the room.
“Your son is special,” said Ropl Du Meh. “We have all known that for some time. Not only is he extremely curious and intelligent, but he’s such a good lad. I think he’ll someday serve a great purpose. Isn’t it right that he receive the best schooling in the world?”
Edak fumbled and knotted the string, and he had to start over. “Well, of course,” stammered Ogra, not sure of the course the conversation was taking. “That’s why we hired you.”
Ropl Du Meh smiled, but his eyes were serious. “I’m honored, but you must know that the best tutors of Mu aren’t as encompassing as the least of the schools of Atlan.”
Rehm’s eyes grew large and he spoke with a voice louder than he had ever used at home. “Do you mean we should send our boy away? To grow up where we can’t see him?”
Edak sat stiffly and stared at the adults. The string structure lay idle in his hands.
“Come on, Edak,” complained Klad. “Your turn.” Edak hurriedly changed the string’s pattern and handed it carefully to his young brother, then looked back to the middle of the room.