 
Time Odyssey: The Soul's Memory

Part I: Dreamtime

By J.F. Weckesser

Smashwords Edition

Second Edition

Copyright 2013 J.F. Weckesser

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * * *

My deepest thanks to Gary, Davia,

and the great Mystery of Mysteries—the Source.

* * * *

Part 1: Dreamtime

Chapter 1 \- An ancient love returns

Chapter 2 \- Edak, child of Mu

Chapter 3 \- Ropl du Meh's school

Chapter 4 \- Ketzah, child of Atlan

Chapter 5 \- Falima

Chapter 6 \- Murian education complete

Chapter 7 \- Voyage from home

Chapter 8 \- Atlan

Chapter 9 \- The vexing dream

Chapter 10 \- An adolescent's lessons

Chapter 11 \- A deeper purpose

Chapter 12 \- Back to Mu

Chapter 13 \- Golden marshgrass

Chapter 14 \- Califia

Chapter 15 \- Healing energy

Chapter 16 \- Califia's request

Chapter 17 \- Mu's Council of Nations

Chapter 18 \- The Atlantean Council

Chapter 19 \- A time of goodbyes

Chapter 20 \- Family and Falima, farewell

Chapter 21 \- Last days of Mu

Chapter 22 \- Last days of Atlan

About J.F. Weckesser

Part 1: Dreamtime

Chapter 1

Everything that is has been already,

And everything that is to come has been already,

And God summons each event back

In its time.

—The Preacher, Ecclesiastes

What's that pink clump by the pine tree? Aaron slowed to a fast walk and stepped off the path into the woods.

Someone's down there, a child...no wait; that's a woman.

He stopped and studied the small figure hunkered in the snow. "Who are you?"

She looked scared, and said something—it sounded like French.

That's not right. "What did you say?"

She hesitated, then spoke again.

What is this? That's Spanish, for Pete's sake. "I don't understand you. Don't you speak our language?"

She shook her head in frustration. "Rats. I don't know what you're saying."

"You spoke English!"

Her lip curled. "So do you."

"But why are you speaking English?" This doesn't make sense. What's she doing here? How'd she get in? ...

Wait a minute, have I seen her before? ...

My God, I think it's her! But it can't be...

"Because, that's my language. What did you expect?"

"What are you doing here?" But he already knew why she was here. Yep, he knew her, all right—from another time, another place.

She looked different now—lighter, and with blue eyes! His heart leapt. Such a long time...

Now as she followed him through the forest to the Lodge, his thoughts drifted back, far back—back in time to ancient memories, when it first began...

* * * *

Chapter 2

25,000 BCE

Before the EarthChange

In the stillness of a tiny stone dwelling, a small boy lay tense on a grass mat and stared into the darkness. It would be a while before dawn and he couldn't sleep; he lay in the dark silence, half-listening to the sound of his hushed breath whispering in his ears.

The volcanoes were silent this night, so it would have to be now. He might not have another chance—or the courage—for a long while.

For how would he know the answer if he didn't venture forth?

Edak would have to go outside into the black night and wait. But he had been told again and again by his parents never to do this. Words of warning flooded his memory. "You must never enter the darkness of the outdoors alone, my son. The beasts are terrible and always hungry. Never, Edak. Never."

Edak knew well of the animals—large, terrible creatures that might crush him, or carry him away and eat him. He had heard the tales of reptiles, bears and tigers. "Do not go out into the darkness," they insisted.

Slowly, quietly, so as not to wake his family, he arose. Silent blackness surrounded him. The air hung still and moist. Brushing waist-length silky hair out of his face, he searched his seven-year-old brain, trying hard to remember the position of everything in his meager hut. He mustn't make a sound.

Inching along the dirt floor slowly, cautiously, he crept toward the door. His hand reached out, gently feeling for anything he may have forgotten that would be in the way. There was the large clay amphora of water, now another small one of oil, and there in the center of the room the circle of stones marking the hearth. The fire had been out since the previous morning's breakfast, yet the acrid smell of ashes lingered.

Baby Klad should be to the right of him. Ah, there was his mat. Now he could feel the heat of the little head beneath his hand. Directly in front of him were his parents Ogra and Rehm. He could hear them breathing. Good. That meant he had everything correct in his mind.

He eased around the mat toward the entrance. Almost there. His hand touched the doorway and felt at the bottom for air coming in from outside. No wind. As slowly as he could move, he unfastened the latch of thick leather and eased the wooden door open, hoping the leather hinges wouldn't creak. Then he listened. Ogra and Rehm's breathing was the same—deep and slow.

He slipped out the door and stopped before he silently closed it all the way. Heart pounding with excitement and a tinge of fear, he fought to relax and regain calmness. Then, clearing his mind of all thoughts, he waited...and became aware of an area in the center of his forehead. It pulsated slightly now as he drew attention to it. He crouched motionless for a few moments. No sense of danger loomed there, so he stepped away from the house and sat down to wait.

It was quiet.

The air smelled fresh and sweet with a pungent odor of the eucalyptus and redwood trees. It was more noticeable now when he couldn't see. Again, he stilled his mind to allow his special sense to warn of any danger. As before, the area centered above his eyes remained calm.

At last it was safe enough to concentrate on this burning question: Do the birds wake and sing before or after sunrise? A simple thing to ask for most of humanity, yet a profound one for this young inquiring mind.

Edak had always been curious, much more so than other children. Every item, every work of nature, every act of everyday life seemed to have an inner, hidden meaning to be found by studying, prying and questioning. For a long time he had known how to build a house, for at the age of three he had looked hard at his and the surrounding huts. He studied and studied and asked questions of his father until Rehm thought he would go mad.

At four he learned all he could of fishing, and Rehm asked boat builders how they constructed the watercraft, so he could explain to his eager son.

At five it was, "Why do flowers and birds and snakes and trees and people and everything but rocks grow?" Rehm and Ogra didn't know. At six, "Why can't fish live out of water? Why can't we breathe in water like the fish?" Again, Ogra and Rehm couldn't answer.

More and more, they were not able to answer his questions, yet these puzzles kept nagging at him. Now at seven he had become increasingly more observant, determined to find answers for himself. He climbed and dug, smelled and tasted. His appetite for knowledge was ravenous—old questions found answers, then new questions arose.

Now he sat, naked, his back resting up against the stone hut. The dew was wet on the ground. Moisture formed in his nose and he wiped away a drip with the back of his hand. His long hair warmed him slightly, yet he was comfortable, for in this tropical land the nights were a welcome respite from the day's sweltering rays.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the black sky changed to a dark blue. Edak's ears perked up slightly and he listened hard. The dark blue gradually turned to a lighter shade in the east.

The young dreamer smiled. The first song of a bird, a haunting-sweet sound of a mourning dove, cooed the answer, and it echoed into the air.

Edak remained quietly seated, entranced while he watched the beauty of the morning unfold before him. The sky became lighter and in the east the blue turned to pink and gold. The world changed from dark shadows into the familiar village he lived in. All about stood little round huts of stone with thatched roofs like his own. Down the narrow dirt road to the right, in the middle of town, towered the domed temple hall, its white marble shining pink in the new light.

To the left, a blanket of blue-gray mist silently flowed on the floor of the redwood forest. The songs of birds saturated the air and, with a thrill of joy, he stood to watch the magnificence of the gold-white ball of sun rise slowly from what seemed the edge of the earth.

His body jerked—the roar of a great beast thundered and echoed from the woods.

Even the monsters sleep and awaken, he thought. I wish they were plant-eaters and would leave us alone.

Then he wondered: Are plants afraid? Do they feel pain when they're eaten?

Ogra opened the door, her soft arms reaching out for her son, her eyes apprehensive. "Edak, why are you out here? What's wrong?"

He turned and enveloped himself in her embrace. "Nothing's wrong, Mother. I just wanted to see if the birds sing before dawn. And I found out that they do. They wake up just as the sky starts to fill with light. Did you ever wonder about that?"

Ogra smiled and shook her head as she caressed his cheek, her black, wavy hair still tousled from sleep. "No, son, I never did. But it's good that you think of things like that. You have answers before I even think of the questions. Now come in and rest before it's time to start the day."

They slipped into the house and quietly closed the door. "I was wondering about some more things," he whispered, "but I'll wait until we all get up to ask about them."

He crawled onto his mat in the back of the room and covered himself with a light cotton blanket, then peacefully drifted back to sleep, oblivious of Rehm and Ogra's soft whispers.

Soon thereafter, little Klad awoke and started to gurgle and squeal, waking the others. The day had begun.

Edak sat up and fixed his long dark hair into a single braid down the back of his neck, as all the males of Mu did. Then he slipped a brown tunic over his head and tickled Klad on his tan plump tummy. As he played with the naked toddler, a familiar muffled sound carried from across the room. It was Rehm, clearing his throat. He yawned and stretched, his chest seeming to expand the entire width of the mat.

Rehm was big-boned and muscular, and when he lifted the tunic over his head, his arms flexed and rippled. Years of working on the docks had kept his body in prime condition.

Edak most resembled his mother—tall, graceful features accented by large round eyes. It was Klad who resembled Rehm. In fact, he seemed a tiny twin. Already his walk and structure resembled his father.

Rehm sat up and adjusted the tunic on his large frame. He looked over at Edak. "Son," he said, his voice soft and deep, "go and gather wood for the morning fire."

Edak started toward the door, then stopped short and eyed Rehm's large callused hand held in the air. "Then hurry back, as I have something important to tell you."

Edak's eyes widened. "What, Father? Could you tell me now?"

A quick laugh escaped Ogra's mouth while she adjusted her tunic and tied a thin sash around her waist.

"Yes, I could tell you now. But it's more fun if I make you wait."

Edak shook his head and smiled, heading for the door. "Very well, but I shall go like the wind."

"Edak." Rehm's voice was stern now. The boy paused for further instruction. "Please, son. Be wary."

"Yes, Father. Always." Edak knew what could happen to the person who wasn't cautious. The giant creatures were always hungry. One must ever be alert for their presence.

A memory emerged from another time. A toddler, Edak had gone with Ogra down to the edge of the forest to collect wood. It was a warm, beautiful day and the two felt secure so close to the woods because the men were there cutting trees. Talking and joking, the workers weren't as wary as usual. Of course, torches were always near to keep the animals away, yet one man made his way too far from the smoldering rods.

There was no warning—no growl, no snapping of twig underfoot. A great cat exploded from the jungle and pounced. One startled scream escaped before huge fangs silenced the man forever. Men thundered upon the beast in an instant with clubs and torches, beating it to death. But the grisly deed was done.

Edak stood terrified, wailing. Ogra had tried to shield his eyes but it was too late. His ears throbbed from the awful roar and the man's cry. And the blood—so much blood. Thuds of clubs still pounded in the pit of his stomach. The trauma burned itself in the tot's mind forever.

It was with him now as he stopped at the doorway and, as usual, he stilled his mind. He closed his eyes and waited quietly for a feeling in the pulsating organ of his forehead. No peril made itself known, so he went on his way up the road to a clearing that was left when the men had chopped trees for boats.

The air was fresh with morning dew and again the pungent smell of eucalyptus filled his nostrils. The sun shone warmly on his brown skin. Tiny pebbles underfoot tickled his bare feet. Gold and red butterflies fluttered about, lighting on pink and white blossoms of the oleanders.

The sky was clear with a wisp of cloud here and there. Off in the distance beyond the village stood the volcanoes. Often there was smoke rising up from their cones, but today they rested.

Edak gathered enough bark and sticks for the morning fire, enough for the meal, but not to heat. It was always warm enough in Mu to be comfortable.

Usually he lingered in the early morning air, but today was different. Excited over his father's message, he hurried to finish his chore, snagging his garment on a fallen branch in his rush. He had to put the wood down to free himself, then quickly gathered up the bundle and ran home.

The door burst open. "Here I am!" he announced as he entered. "Now what is it you would tell me..."

His voice trailed off and he grew shy, for on a mat next to Rehm sat a tall, thin man with graying hair and smile-wrinkles etched into a narrow leathery face. Edak stared wide-eyed.

"Edak," said Rehm, taking the wood from his son's arms. "This is Ropl Du Meh. He will be having breakfast with us."

Edak shyly studied the visitor, then looked at the floor. It seemed like everyone was looking at the boy, as if he should act a certain way. Yet, what way should that be? He smiled at the man. This is the way Father would treat a new acquaintance, he reasoned. With kindness.

The stranger smiled warmly at Edak, which caused his eyes to nearly close. "I'm glad to meet you, Edak. Your parents have been telling me a lot about you. It seems you have quite a curiosity about life. I decided to come and see for myself."

My parents? Telling this stranger about me? Why?

He looked at Ogra for answers. She smiled back, but her expression revealed nothing. This must be the surprise Father spoke of.

Ropl Du Meh continued. "They tell me you were up this morning, before dawn, to study the birds' sleep habits. Is that true?" He again smiled gently, which calmed Edak and helped him to feel comfortable.

"Yes, in a way. I just wanted to know if the birds sing before or after the sun touches the sky. And I found that they are awake as soon as the sky begins to become light. Did you know that?" He quickly averted his eyes to the floor and hoped he didn't appear rude by asking a question of an adult.

Ropl Du Meh's smile broadened and again his eyes nearly disappeared. "Yes, Edak. I know that. And do you know how I know? By the very same method you used. A long time ago when I was a lad, just like you."

Edak liked this man. Such a nice person to have for a family friend. More questions emerged, but then Ogra came with goat milk, tea, flatbread, beans and honey for breakfast, and he pushed his thoughts aside.

Talking ceased and they dipped bread into the communal clay bowl for the beans, which were herbed and sweetened. While they ate, Edak attempted to find out more about this man without being rude. Strangely, the visitor seemed to be talking almost solely with him. This was not a common thing to happen. Adults spoke with adults, children with children.

Edak helped Klad sip from his cup, then set it down beyond the toddler's reach. "Do you work with my father at the boats?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could.

"No," said Ropl Du Meh, chewing on a small bit of bread. "In fact, I didn't know your father until he came to me recently. You see, I am a tutor. I usually have three students, but now I have two. One has grown and no longer needs me. Your father has asked me if I would care to teach you. How do you feel about that?"

A tutor! This was something Edak had longed for. To think that his parents wanted him to be educated. This isn't an opportunity most children get. He really liked Ropl Du Meh. Still, he had doubts. He took another bite, chewed and swallowed before he asked, "Father, can you afford to have me educated?"

Both parents smiled and Ogra's eyes rolled up toward the roof. She shook her head.

"Don't you worry about what we can afford and what we can't," said Rehm. "We want very much for you to learn. No mind as sharp as yours should be wasted. Now, do you want to go with this man?"

Edak could barely believe this. At last, he thought, I can learn everything! He saw his beaming parents and was happier than he could ever remember being.

A sudden ache stabbed his heart. I must leave them, he realized. But they need me and I need them. "May I think on this while we eat?" he asked.

Ogra and Rehm sensed his anxiety and allowed him to finish the meal in silence.

When the last adult was done eating, everyone got up. "Well, Edak," said Ropl Du Meh," I must be going now. I don't like to stay away from my boys too long. I'll be back for you in two days, if you have decided to go with me."

Edak hesitated. "Mother, Father, I must stay here. For who would help with the goat—and the crops? Who would tend Klad?" He wanted to run into Ogra's soft arms, to be protected, nurtured again.

Rehm and Ogra chuckled, yet Ogra looked a little sad. "Edak, dear son," she said. "You know, we got along without you before you were born and we will simply have to do without you again. We will miss you every moment but you belong with a tutor. There is too much you must learn, too little we can give you."

"Besides," said Rehm with forced cheerfulness, "you will be coming home to visit twice every moon. We'll put you to work then."

Edak agreed to go.

* *

Two days passed too quickly and too slowly, for he agonized over leaving his family. Yet to go to school was more exciting than anything Edak could remember.

Ogra noticed Edak's pain. She gave him a tiny pouch with a small lock of her hair to bring with him. "Remember me by it," she said. "Know how much I think of you every moment."

And now Ropl Du Meh was again at Edak's small house. It was time to leave. Edak managed a smile and embraced each parent long and hard, remembering long walks and playful evenings with Rehm, lullabies and caresses from Ogra. A tight pain lingered in his throat and he worked hard to keep tears from flowing. He looked up at them and saw the same hurt. He allowed tears to fall and was able to free his throat to utter, "You will be proud of me."

"We are already proud of you," said Ogra, her eyes wet. "Now go, before your first day of lessons is over."

He gave Klad a hug, swinging the squealing tot once around the room. Then he and Ropl Du Meh left the small hut. Edak clutched the small pouch in his fist and did not look back.

* * * *

Chapter 3

If a visiting traveler were to ask, "What is this place?" the reply would be lengthy. At first, the inhabitant would stare questioningly, not comprehending how this stranger could not know where he is, for Murians, by way of their highly developed sixth sense, always knew which town, what river, which mountain they were beholding. This quizzical look would quickly pass, as kindness and politeness were finely honed attributes of this culture, and staring was rude. But finally, the inquirer would receive the information, which would be something like, "This is the village at the mouth of the center-most river, of the six main rivers of Mu, which empties into the Murian Bay, which opens into the Great Murian Sea, east of Mu."

Edak's town was the same as all others—it had no name, nor anything about it to merit special attention.

Flowery names and wonderful descriptions didn't exist in this land. They weren't necessary, as a Murian's special sense filled in the gaps that words couldn't describe. But to outsiders, the nation of Mu seemed plain, ordinary—indeed, even comical.

Edak and Ropl Du Meh chatted as they walked down through town. They passed groups of men carrying wooden hoes who were heading for the fields. Women, their faces already veiled to protect them from the sun's harsh rays, milked goats, and tiny children squealed and chased about them.

In the marketplace, merchants were arriving to open their stalls for morning business. Strong aromas permeated the air—fish, hot bread, stewing beans, spices, fruits, goat and llama dung. Edak was enthralled, for he hadn't often visited the market.

"We come here after harvest to trade our surplus of beans," he said. "Goats, too, when we get too many. Otherwise I stay home to tend Klad when Mother comes here."

"Then you are familiar with the marketplace," said Ropl Du Meh. He patted the boy's shoulder. "That's good, for you'll take your turn with the shopping."

A stall caught the tall man's eye and he stopped. He carefully chose a number of mangoes, melons, clusters of grapes, then waited patiently while a woman patted dough into flat circles and baked them on a simple stove of clay, just like Ogra would do in the early morning air. Edak inhaled the hearty odor of the bread and studied the purchases carefully.

The food was put in two bundles and wrapped with large palm leaves. Ropl Du Meh gave one to Edak and hoisted the other onto his shoulder. Edak observed this and lifted his parcel onto his own shoulder. It was heavy, but he managed.

They continued through town, passing veiled women with squalling infants or toddlers, or both. Edak had been on these narrow lanes before, but soon they walked past the temple. He stared at it. This is as far as he had ever gone in his life.

"As a student," said Ropl Du Meh, "one of your tasks will be to clean the temple."

Edak's eyes grew wide. But I do not know how!

As if his thoughts had voice, Ropl Du Meh said, "Don't worry. The other boys will be with you. They will show you how."

The area was unfamiliar now and the terrain became hilly, with fewer dwellings. The road rose steeply and there, nestled into the side of the hill and bordered off by a small fence of rocks, stood a tiny hut.

"This is your new home," said Ropl Du Meh. "I think you will like it here."

This dwelling looked the same as any other, yet something was missing. There was no garden, no goat for milk. Only a half-dozen grapevines, laden with fruit not quite ripe, climbed lazily over the stone wall. "Where do you grow your food?" he asked.

"We do not grow our food. We cannot have a full education and a full crop, too. There is not enough time in the day to tend to both. That is why we visit the marketplace for our provisions."

The wooden door creaked open and a tiny face with large brown eyes peeked out. Wisps of black hair escaped from the leather thong at his nape and fell over his cheeks. "Good morning, Tutor," he called in a high voice. A smile revealed a few teeth missing and a half-grown adult tooth on a skinny boy of about eight years, who now ran out of the hut. "Is this the new student?"

Ropl Du Meh chuckled as they reached the doorway. "Such a question. What if I were to tell you, 'No, this is not the new student. This is a monkey I have brought you.' Would you believe me?"

The boy smiled sheepishly. "No, Tutor. Of course I should have thought before I spoke. You left early this morning to fetch the new boy, so of course, this is he!" His smile widened and he looked at Edak, his eyes twinkling as he studied the new child. "I am Jarmeel. I hope we will be friends." He extended his arms like an adult would in greeting.

Edak smiled. He extended his arms and they clasped wrists. "I am Edak," he said. "I know we will be friends. I think we already are."

"Come, come," said Ropl Du Meh, herding them into the house. "We do not want to waste a whole day just becoming acquainted."

The heavy wooden door creaked and opened all the way. Inside, the room was dark contrasted with the bright midday sun. Edak blinked as his eyes accustomed to the inside light. In the corner sat an older boy making marks on a tablet of soft clay. He stood and greeted Ropl Du Meh pleasantly and eyed Edak curiously.

"Edak," said Ropl Du Meh. "This is Trami. He has been with me for two years, since he was ten years of age. He has become like a son to me, as Jarmeel is becoming and you, no doubt, will also."

Trami approached Edak, smiled and extended his arms. As Edak grasped his wrists he noticed the strangeness of the lad. Trami's hair was straight, not wavy, and cut short, above his shoulders. It was nearly black, yet a hint of copper highlight shone in the sunlight from the window. He was too short for a boy of twelve. His eyes were small and somewhat oval-shaped. Even his skin tone was different, more bronze than tan. Edak would have been content to stare for a long time, but not wishing to make Trami uncomfortable, he asked no questions. "If you have been a student here for two years," he said, "you must be filled with knowledge. I hope you will have patience with me."

Trami looked at Ropl Du Meh good-naturedly. "Don't worry," said the teacher, "Tolerance is taught here." His smile faded. "Now let's get on with our lessons," he said seriously. "As you can see, Trami has been writing on a clay tablet. Clay is free, parchment expensive. So for most lessons, this is what you will use."

He gave Edak a smooth, wooden stylus and soft tablet. "Before the day is through, you will already know how to make your name and some simple words." He looked over at Trami. "Trami comes from Atlan and is finishing his education here. He will help teach you to speak Atlantean. It being the international language of trade, it is necessary for a scholar to know."

Edak ran his hand over the cool slab of clay. He wanted to start right away but Ropl Du Meh was still explaining things. "The well is down at the bottom of this hill. We passed it on the way here. You boys take turns getting water. We take turns with most of the chores here. Do not worry, we will teach you what you do not know. You'll also learn how to count and to do it well." He placed his hands on Edak's shoulders and looked into his eyes solemnly. "You will learn many things that other people merely dream of."

Edak stared wide-eyed at his teacher, trying to grasp everything he was told. At last Ropl Du Meh said, "Are you ready to begin?"

"Oh, yes," Edak said breathlessly. "I am very ready."

"Then be seated and I will show you how to make your name."

* *

As days passed, Edak settled into his new life, soaking up lessons like a sponge. One answer only brought another question. Many queries the teacher answered outright. To others he simply said, "Some questions you must answer yourself."

Every morning before breakfast and every evening before bed, Ropl Du Meh led the boys in a period of quiet. After seating himself among them, he asked them to close their eyes and concentrate on a point in the center of their foreheads, the special place where everyone but Trami had a small swelling. During these times, Edak could feel this area tingle and pulsate, as he had felt when he made his mind quiet to sense for wild animals. "This is the source of Mu's greatness," Ropl Du Meh instructed. "We hold unlimited power in our minds when we attune with the Great Mind."

But, Edak wondered, What of Trami? He isn't like us. His forehead is smooth and flat. Does he feel anything?

One morning, alone with Ropl Du Meh, he asked of this. "Trami, through training, is starting to develop his sensitivity there," said Ropl Du Meh. "Not as strong as a Murian's, he nevertheless benefits from our quiet times."

Edak learned about numbers and of the great philosophers and sages before him. He learned of other countries, especially of Trami's homeland Atlan, the richest nation in the world. He was taught to work hard and also to play, to read and write, to heal with plants and to identify the stars. Yet, his curiosity was not filled.

One day late in the afternoon, after an intriguing lesson on nature's cycles, Ropl Du Meh measured the sky and said, "It is three hands before sundown. Let us prepare our meal."

Edak was too absorbed in thought to be hungry. Too many questions tantalized him. "Why does the sun wander, and where does it go at night?"

Ropl Du Meh stared thoughtfully, then said, "I often tell you that you must answer some questions yourself. Yet I have never told you how. So now it is time to learn."

He put his arm around Edak's shoulder. "Tonight at quiet time, instead of putting your thoughts to your forehead, I want you to think instead of the sun."

Edak didn't understand, but he held his tongue.

"Starting where you are on the floor," Ropl Du Meh continued, "raise your thoughts up—up through the roof, up into the sky. Do not allow other thoughts to enter. Continue your journey up, until you finally reach the sun. See and feel what it is, what it is doing. It cannot hurt you, for only your thoughts will be there. See where it goes. Look around you and see what is there. I will await the answer to your question."

Edak didn't talk throughout the meal. Immersed in thought, he was oblivious to the chatting of the others and didn't taste the food. He mechanically went about cleanup chores, unbothered by Jarmeel, who enjoyed teasing and horseplay, and Trami's endless recitations of poetry and math formulae.

And now at last the tasks were finished and the sun began to set. Ropl Du Meh sat cross-legged on the floor and silently waited. One by one, the boys saw and followed until a small circle of four was formed, all resting their hands lightly on their knees, with eyes closed. Now Ropl Du Meh directed the boys to take slow, deep breaths. The room fell silent.

Edak quieted his mind and tried to raise his thoughts. He didn't know how. He struggled with fantasies for a few minutes, then settled on pretending he was floating.

Slowly, he felt himself rise up out of the top of his head. The sensation startled him and he was jarred back to his position on the floor. He opened his eyes and looked around. The others remained still and relaxed, their eyes closed. He shut his eyes again, knowing he must not be concerned when he leaves the floor. He tried to remain passive and thought of the sun, sky and clouds, and directed his thoughts upward.

Again he started to rise and this time he let himself go—up in the room, up through the roof, up into the sky, farther and farther without stopping, without looking down. Now the sun was before him and he stared directly at it, yet it didn't hurt. He continued traveling upward. The sun became larger and pleasantly warm, but not hot.

It must be because only my thoughts are here, like Tutor says, he reasoned. He was weightless and wonderfully free, like the clouds, like the wind. He continued to rise.

The sky began to fade away, far away, until nothing else existed but the sun. He had reached it—had become part of it. It was as large as the world—no, greater—so much greater! It rippled and splashed and rolled with pure white scintillating fire, blasting intense heat into the ethers.

How beautiful! A gigantic ball of pure fire! He remained with this magnificent energy where he seemed a part of it, vibrating with heat and energy.

But now curiosity seeped in. What else is here? He looked around.

In the deep and endless sea of black a grand sprinkling of bright luminescence sparkled all about. Stars! So many stars! And, over there, a scintillating blue ball, more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

That is my home! he realized, gaping. The blueness stood out in the black void like a jewel.

Something attracted him, tugged him toward this luminous blue orb. He was drawn to it, pulled away from the sun's rays. Drifting away, slowly at first, he traveled faster and faster until he coursed through space toward his homeland. A patch of green appeared on the blue. The green became larger and closer until he could make out mountains, villages, rivers. He saw a white marble temple and recognized it as the one in his own village. He was drawn to a small hut and he knew it was his school.

With unfathomable speed he flew through the roof and was suddenly back cross-legged on the floor. He opened his eyes with a start.

His muscles were cramped and his hips and knees ached.

He looked up and blinked. The others had already gotten up and were preparing for bed. He rubbed his eyes. "How long have I been here?" he asked.

Ropl Du Meh looked up from the parchment he was writing on at the table. He rubbed his chin and looked at the boy. "Quite a while. The other boys have finished with prayers already." He studied his new student. "What did you find about the sun?"

The memory flooded back. "Many things, Tutor. It is fire. All fire. It is a ball, bigger than our world. And this world is mostly blue. It is a ball, too. The stars all around are magnificent, and more than I could ever count. The sky is everywhere—above, below and all around me, and it's the deepest black. It seems to go on and on everywhere." He wondered what was at the end.

"And did you answer your question, Little One? Where does the sun go at night? Why does it wander?"

Edak's face flushed slightly. He could answer neither question. "I forgot to find out, Tutor."

Ropl Du Meh chuckled. "Then perhaps you will have to go there again on another day and find out."

* * * *

Chapter 4

10,080 BCE

Before EarthChange II

The golden-pink sun climbed out of the depths of the vast untamed ocean. As it silently rose higher, its rays touched upon the islands of Atlan, creeping over hills and dispelling shadows. It caressed first the black and white marble domes and pillars of temples, universities and government buildings, then the large statues of gods and goddesses, statesmen and military leaders. Rising higher into the sky, the fiery orb now shone on the smaller limestone and marble houses with pools, garden statuary and courtyards. It illumined the white paved roads of the cities, their aqueducts, marketplaces and forums.

Finally it came to the marble-sided residence of Nenus and Finah Kowato, a dwelling no different than most middle-class houses of the time. The rays of gold streamed through the windowpane, touching the white stucco ceiling, edging its way down past the ocher frieze of birds, illuminating the dancing particles of dust in the air. Down the wall it inched as the sun climbed higher in the heavens, at last shining on an eight-year-old boy's sandy-red hair, causing it to beam like a golden aura and rousing him from his dream.

A slender, blond woman entered the room. "Ketzah! Wake up! Are you going to sleep your life away?"

The boy opened one eye and watched Finah standing over him, a look of admonishment in her light blue eyes. Slowly stirring, he stared out the window at a distant marble column, and he remembered his dream.

How different it was, he thought. Not even here but somewhere else, in another time.

He wiped his eyes to bring himself into the present. "Good morning, Mother," he said finally, stretching. His curly hair fell over his ears and brow, a few light strands sticking straight up.

Through groggy eyes, he watched her absentmindedly tuck a rebellious curl back into her headband. "Well, good morning. I was wondering if you were ever going to get up today. You were in such a deep sleep."

"I was dreaming, Mother," he said, while he donned the ankle-length robe she handed him. "It was so strange, like I belonged in the dream and not here. I wasn't even me but someone else, a different boy. How can that be?"

Finah shook her head and smiled at such silliness. "Well, I know dreams can be unusual sometimes but I don't know why we have them. Why don't you ask Master Atel?"

She pinched his cheek lovingly, then turned to leave, her long cambric robe flowing gracefully as she moved. "Now, come. Eat your breakfast or you'll be late. You know you are fortunate to study with the priests. Don't let them think you're not grateful."

Ketzah sat in a sleepy daze, listening to the sound of her sandals touching on the shiny marble hallway floor. He climbed out of his high bed onto the stool, hopping the rest of the way to the floor.

His thoughts drifted to his classes in the temple. Like other children, he had started in the city school at the age of seven. There he was taught the beginnings of reading, writing and numbers. At the end of the first year, the teacher asked each child to write what he or she wanted to do when an adult. This would guide the teachers in class placement next year.

Being so young, most boys and girls wrote their fantasies of adulthood. Many wanted to fly the new airships that were so popular in Atlan. Some wanted to be soldiers earning glory for meritorious deeds. A few thought they'd like to be teachers. Future ship captains, law keepers and architects also graced the benches.

One little girl, Falima Orkada, said she wanted with all her heart to be a healer and end every disease of body and mind.

Ketzah hadn't been able to answer at lesson time. He asked his slightly annoyed instructors for more time—a day—that he might devote more thought to his purpose.

That night, after dinner with his family, he sat alone in their courtyard garden on a bench of cool marble, staring at the stone walk. He followed it with his eyes through the papyrus near the pool and splashing fountain, past the pomegranate bushes, under the wisteria arbor, up the stone steps, ending at the wooden gate that led to the orange grove.

His eyes walked the path—back and forth, back and forth. What do I want to do? he asked himself repeatedly. Nothing came to mind, though he knew he wanted to make a difference in the world. Finah called him in for bed and he reluctantly obeyed, frustrated that he had no answer.

At school the next day, Ketzah apologized that he couldn't name a single profession. "I don't know yet what I'm good at," he said, "but I do know that I'll do my best to help the world to be a better place."

Ketzah's contemplative response impressed the teachers. Soon after, Ketzah and Falima were chosen for training in the Old Temple of Poseidl. They alone showed qualities of noble aspirations for their age. With proper guidance, they might someday be of great service to the nation.

Their parents were delighted. Education by the high priests was a great honor. After bragging to all who would listen of their son's invitation, the Kowatos went over their finances and concluded they could afford to give Ketzah this special schooling without hardship to them. Falima, too, was able to take advantage of the opportunity.

Each child of the temple attended group classes, and also sessions with a private tutor—all taught by the priests. Along with the regular academics, these students had daily periods of meditation and spiritual study. Often they went to the forum to hear the speakers of the day, later discussing all sides of the current topic from a more esoteric and philosophic viewpoint.

Ketzah yawned sleepily and slowly combed his hair. He secured it with a gold and white linen headband, then put on his sandals, thinking all the while of the temple school. Majestic and beautiful, it was a peaceful oasis in the center of this thriving city. Constructed mainly of white and black marble, its huge pillars were decorated with onyx, beryl, topaz and amethyst, doorways and friezes plated with gold, silver and copper, ceilings of ivory, and the floors polished to such luster that they reflected the grandeur of the surroundings.

Circling this great edifice was a granite wall coated with gold. Atop the wall stood a multitude of statues, depicting the mythical deities of yore, facets of the One Unknowable God. Divinities of harvest, of fertility, of home and hearth, of war. But in the center stood the largest—Poseidl, god of the sea, of which the city and temple took its name.

Lining the inside walls were numerous small chambers, rooms for private ceremonies and classes. The main atrium was the huge temple room itself. Here stood the eternal flame, kept burning with rare aromatic herbs fed by the keepers of the temple, both students and priests. Directly in front of the flame, flanked by a white column to the right and black column to the left, stood the altar, which symbolized the unifying force of the universe, called simply the Light.

The Light was the total composite of all the attributes of the mythological gods. Along the left and right walls were long, polished benches, enough seating for at least five hundred people. Although at one time the temple had often been crowded with worshipers, nowadays it would be a surprise to see even a hundred people at a ceremony. Ketzah's mentor Atel said it had been at least a century since every seat had been filled.

Ah, but what glory days they had been. Ketzah remembered Atel's stunning descriptions and sometimes imagined, as he did now, himself attending a long-ago ceremony. He visualized every bench in the cavernous room filled with worshippers in prayer and meditation. Only the sounds of slow breathing and occasional crackle of a torch could be heard.

It was as if he were there now. A hint of incense—sandalwood, rose and myrrh—wafts gently throughout the air. A lone, deep voice of a priest intones the sacred "Aumm," drawing out each sound to last a long, heart-thrilling exhalation.

Now as the last hum fades away, another priest begins his chant, "Aauummm," then another priest and another, until twelve priests' low voices fill the room with harmonics.

As if on cue, the assemblage joins in. Voices high and low, young and old, chant the sacred Aum over and over, uniting in one voice.

From two darkened portals in the rear, flickering light appears. From the right door enter six young girls, each in a white robe, one following the other in slow procession. At the same time, from the left door six young boys, each in black, slowly file out in somber cadence. The robes flow airily as they walk, so much so as to seem not of the physical world. Each child carries a lamp held high, a small fire flickering in scented oil.

To the left and to the right, in a line they slowly make their procession throughout the temple room, girls passing the black column, boys the white column, bringing this symbolic light to every corner. They reach the front and place their small lamps around the eternal flame, then find their places on cushions close by. The chanting fades to a silence once more, but now the air is crackling with a sacred presence.

Ketzah sighed. Yes, those were the days, indeed.

But societies change throughout time and, sadly, people in these modern times seem to have become so steeped in material possessions, they no longer pay homage to the Light. They do enough to look pious, to assuage their guilt and no more. The ways of the Old Temple are quaint—even amusing—a custom to be observed on holidays. Their real allegiance is in the newer temples among the city, hastily built edifices of gaudy design and lush comfort, all of which stress gratification of the senses.

"Ketzah!"

Sleepily sitting on his stool, Ketzah snapped out of his daydreams and jumped up. "Coming, Mother!" Moments later, he was running down the road as quickly as he could, eating fried bread with honey, too late to sit and have breakfast tea with Finah.

He raced down the shiny streets, down broad avenues paved with white stone, which gleamed so beautifully they seemed almost radiant. Nearly silent vehicles, powered by Crystal energy, whispered past. An airship hummed overhead. Surrounded by the polished white and black marble buildings, Poseidl was one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

The road took him into the heart of this capital city, where the most important structure in all of Atlan stood—the building that held the Great Crystal, also called the Firestone. This great gem, which captured and intensified the sun's energy, was Atlan's power, its glory and its infamy. Of all the islands in the nation, Poseidl was the most important because here, in the city of the same name, was the government and its power.

Ketzah ran through the gilded gateway and up the marble steps to the temple. Sweating and panting, he slowed as he entered the cool, quiet interior, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darker inner halls. Echoing slaps of his sandals interrupted the silence. An old priest looked up from the ancient scroll he was reading and stared at the boy. A hint of amusement crossed his face. White wisps of shoulder-length hair reached this way and that until they came to rest on the man's coarse gray robe.

"Ah, Little Brother," he said, a twinkle in his black, almond-shaped eyes. "I was wondering if you had forgotten about classes this morning. You look winded. Is anything the matter?"

Ketzah took a moment to catch his breath before answering. "No, Master Atel. I slept too long, that's all. I had a strange dream I'd like to tell you about."

The old man got up from his wooden chair and rolled up the parchment. "A dream, eh? Well, let's get on with our lessons and you may tell me of this later." He walked slowly toward an inner door, his back stooped slightly.

Ketzah followed Atel into a small room and slipped onto a wooden bench at a table, his teacher coming to rest in a chair at the other end.

On each wall stood shelves as high as the towering ceiling, where lay a vast array of ancient and modern wisdom, both in old scrolls and in the more modern codices, which were long sheets of parchment folded many times to form pages in convenient handheld tomes.

The studies began with numbers. Ketzah tried hard to concentrate on the lessons but the dream kept dancing before him, interrupting his train of thought. Atel's voice seemed monotone, no more comprehensible than the hum of a bee laboring from blossom to blossom.

Atel noted the glassy look in his student's eyes and finally said, "I think I would have better success today teaching a fish to speak. Your mind seems to be elsewhere, Little Brother. Let us have some tea and you may tell me what is on your mind."

The priest prepared hibiscus and orange blossom tea and poured it into decorative ceramic goblets. Meanwhile, Ketzah made up a platter of grapes, figs, apricots and cheese. He placed it on the table with great care so as not to seem too anxious. Then they sat down and took a moment to silently give thanks for their repast. Ketzah took a large apricot and bit into it, a bit of the ripe juice dripping on his hand.

"Now, tell me of your dream," said Atel.

Ketzah pondered for a moment as he chewed and swallowed the mouthful, trying to recall the scenes in perfect order. "I was living somewhere, but not here," he began, "and not anywhere I've ever seen. It felt like it was a long time ago. I saw a volcano in the distance. I lived in a tiny village that didn't have a name and there was a large forest nearby. The trees gave off a strange smell. I liked it and..." he was surprised to notice this, "I can still remember how it smelled." He paused for a moment to savor the perfumed trees.

"I saw people but they looked different than anyone I've ever seen. Yet it seemed familiar to me. Their skin was tan and they had long hair, dark and wavy. Their foreheads were large but they weren't ugly, just different. They had a funny lump in the center of their foreheads. I knew I looked that way, too. I was still a boy, but I wasn't me, though I felt like myself." He shook his head in frustration. "I don't know how to explain that so you'd understand.

"And animals! There were huge beasts. We were afraid of them. But it seems we knew, kind of like a feeling in our heads, if one was coming. We'd know in time to seek shelter."

Atel wasn't eating. He remained motionless and silent, a curious look in his eyes. "Do you remember what you were doing?"

"Well, I had gone off to live with a man I had just met. I was to be educated and he was my teacher. There was no paper, and parchment was expensive, so we wrote with sticks on pieces of soft clay. Once, I left my body sitting on the floor and journeyed, with my mind, to the sun to see what it was and how it moved." He realized how crazy that must sound. "That seems silly now but in the dream it was normal.

"I guess that's all because then my mother woke me up. She had a hard time waking me because I was sleeping so hard and that's why I was late to the temple." He looked questioningly at Atel. "Why do you think I was dreaming such a thing?"

Atel had been staring silently all the while Ketzah gave his recitation. Now his brow furrowed and he put a hand to his old wrinkled chin. "Hmm," he muttered. "An interesting dream." He spent a few moments thinking silently, then repeated, "A very interesting dream, indeed. I will have to think about this."

Ketzah knew Atel enough not to ask more about the experience. If he needed to think about something, then there was no sense in bringing up the subject again until it was fully thought out. The meal was finished in silence, Atel locked in his thoughts, Ketzah in his, trying to think of anything more of the dream he may have forgotten. He decided he had told everything.

He concluded there really hadn't been much to it and didn't know why it made such an impression on him. He forced it out of his mind for the time being.

Soon he was busy with studies and discussions. Atel had use of a polished crystal, useful for making tiny objects appear large. They studied insects, plants and even the hairs on their heads. That afternoon, Ketzah learned how unseen bodies in the heavens could be observed with a stronger crystal. The day passed quickly.

* * * *

Chapter 5

It was late afternoon and Ketzah waited, as he often did, at the temple gate for Falima. Falima liked to linger after classes to ask questions—to be sure she had every lesson well understood so as not to wonder about it later. Ketzah couldn't understand this, as he was usually confidant, perhaps overly so, that whatever Master Atel told him, he learned immediately.

A breeze ruffled his hair and a scent of jasmine wafted across him. He ignored the sweet fragrance, instead thinking about school, which he liked very much. He soaked up everything he could of the ordinary school subjects and, to the common person, what could be termed magical arts.

This morning he had taken a bamboo flute, which he had made a few days before under the guidance of Master Moradl, and joined the other students with cymbals, sistrums, bells and lyres. On holy days, the temple students played sacred music for the townspeople, so they practiced often. The melodies played in his head now, and he hummed to himself while watching the doorway for Falima.

He greeted students making their way outside and down the steps, most of them older than Ketzah. In a way, temple schoolmates were closer than their own families, for some lessons were unfamiliar to outsiders, even their parents. And sometimes they were ridiculed by children from the city schools, who called them 'the holy kids,' 'temple brats,' and little 'butterflies.'

A stocky boy a year older than Ketzah skipped down the steps. "Ho, Dregl," called Ketzah. "Have you seen Falima?"

"Yes. She's talking with Master Shu." He smiled impishly. "Why? Are you her dog, chained to the gate?"

"No, of course not. We just live near each other; we walk home together."

Dregl laughed. "Maybe you just want to be close to her. I bet I'm right!"

Ketzah's face burned. He jumped at Dregl, but the boy took off in a run, chortling hard. Ketzah chased him, but couldn't keep up. "Tomorrow! We'll talk about this tomorrow!"

Dregl made a silly face at Ketzah, then headed home.

Ketzah walked back to the gate. He smiled, thinking of Dregl's words. Yes, he did enjoy being with Falima. But he couldn't let Dregl know. Ketzah himself didn't understand his feelings, and was sure no boys his age thought about girls. It was embarrassing just thinking about it.

He stared at the doorway, wishing she would hurry up. Much of their day was spent with a private tutor or with a small class, so he liked this time when they could visit, as well as when they walked to and from the forum. Not boisterous children usually, they mostly enjoyed mental pastimes. But sometimes they released their energy with a lively game of tag while they ran down the streets or, like now, teased each other into a game of chase.

Ketzah and Falima were best friends and, unbeknown to her, Ketzah thought she was pretty. He envisioned her in his mind. Like all pure Atlanteans, her hair was straight, nearly black, yet the sun revealed copper highlights. This she wore to her shoulders, as did everyone in Atlan, every man, woman and child. A beaded headband wreathed her head, a special gift from her beloved grandmother, given shortly before she died. A sudden illness had befallen the old woman, and in a single afternoon she had gone from feeling a slight nausea to death, all witnessed by her tiny granddaughter.

The tragedy had traumatized the small child, and was the one dark shadow in the youngster's life. Generally, she loved life and usually found something funny or beautiful to make her happy. Ketzah glowed thinking about her smile.

Shadows grew longer, and he sat on the ground leaning up against the gate. He pictured Falima's bronze skin and copper-brown eyes, which contrasted considerably with Ketzah, whose gray-blue eyes, fair skin and golden hair told everyone he was not pure Atlantean.

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 their 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.

"I know it is asking a lot," said Ropl Du Meh. "Parting with a son for the remainder of his childhood is more than difficult. I only want you to consider it, in Edak's best interests."

Ogra and Rehm stared at each other beseechingly, then Ogra looked longingly at Edak. "I would miss him terribly if he were gone," she finally said. "If I couldn't see him every fortnight as now, what would I do? Yet, what kind of life can we give such a special child?"

Klad had changed the string's design now and was ready for Edak to take it, but he sat ignored, for the older boy saw only the drama at the hearth.

"Edak," said Rehm.

Edak stood quickly.

"What are your thoughts now?"

Edak wanted to scream, to answer, "I don't know! I can't think! Choose for me!" But he was a boy of Mu, a child of high culture and self-control. He answered with the good manners of his country. "Mother, Father, I would always be happy near you, in this house. But I yearn for knowledge, too." His anguished eyes roamed the dirt floor, as if the answer were written there. "I'm so confused," he said. "I must ask you to decide for me."

Faraway sounds of flutes and shells broke the silence inside the stone walls. Edak stood stiffly before them and wondered if it would be a blessing for his heart to stop beating now, ending this misery. After what seemed like a day and a night, Rehm said softly, "My boy must go. There is nothing we can give him here."

Edak wanted to dance with joy and scream in pain the rest of the evening. While the adults discussed travel arrangements, financing and the boy's new school, Edak sat quietly on his mat, his back resting on the wall, sadly drinking in the sight of his beloved family.

He was to leave in a week.

Ropl Du Meh stayed the night, as it was nearly dark by the time the plans were completed. Nighttime in Mu was always dangerous for young and old alike. The large animals gave no concern for the age of their meat.

* *

The next day, Edak walked down to the temple with his teacher to share a few last words. The night had been long and sleepless. "How will I know what to do, how to act in Atlan?" he asked. "Their culture is so different than ours."

Ropl Du Meh put his arm paternally around Edak's shoulder. "Do not let such minor concerns worry you. They will work out. You will like your teacher, I am sure. Seratl Ti is renowned as a top educator." He saw the fretful look in Edak's face and patted the back of his head. "Don't be ashamed even for a moment to be yourself. Didn't Trami fit in with us when he was here? Pureblooded Atlantean, yet he was no different, really, than the rest of us. Some of his mannerisms were different than ours, but that was all. Simply mannerisms."

He looked into Edak's face. "Remember that always, Edak. We may look different, wear our clothes and hair differently, eat different foods and embrace different politics and religions. Yet we are the same where it matters."

The smell of fresh bread emanated from the marketplace they neared. "We all want to love and be loved," he continued, "to have friends and be accepted, and to use our talents. Especially keep in mind, we all have the same Life Energy flowing through us, and that is our common gift from the Great Force."

Edak studied his mentor's face as he went about the marketplace buying melons, fish and bread, for it wasn't likely he would see him again for many years. "It would be so much easier if you would go with me, to explain the new land to me," he said, hoping desperately that there might be a way.

They left the merchants' stalls, a bundle of foodstuff wrapped in palm leaves under Ropl Du Meh's arm. "I know, Edak, I know. Life is difficult at times. But you must do this alone."

"I'll write you often of my new life," said Edak. "Will you keep me informed of yours and of the other students?"

"Of course. In fact, your life abroad will give my boys good reading, writing and geography lessons."

They reached the temple and fell into an awkward silence. Wind blew Edak's hair around his shoulders and into his face. He didn't notice, but stared hard at his teacher. "I'll miss you very much," he stressed.

"As I will miss you, my friend. More than you know."

They embraced for a long moment. Then Ropl Du Meh pulled away and said, "Let's not linger anymore. The pain of parting is great, and we must get on with our lives. I hold you in my heart as a father does his child. Go now. You have so much before you. Farewell."

"Farewell," said Edak, his throat cramping. He turned and walked home, oblivious to the noise of the merchants, the laughter of children and the bleating of goats. Only the memories of a childhood now gone played before him.

* *

Seven days came and went in a blur. He packed his meager belongings—a fresh tunic, an extra thong to fasten his braid, and a few toiletries—in a sack, then looked around his home one last time. He had to remember every stone, every piece of pottery, every bit of space of the hut where he was born. When he was lonely, he planned to pretend he was lying on his own comforting mat, with Mother at the hearth.

"Come now, son," said Rehm softly. "The ship is probably at port now."

Klad, Edak, Ogra and Rehm slowly walked down the path to the river. All communities of Mu were built on a waterway, for there were no roads through the wilderness. As this village was situated at the river's mouth at the Murian Bay, merchant ships came in from the ocean, making this a sea-trading port. Edak had often come down to watch his father at work, loading and unloading the big ships. He dreamed of one day climbing aboard and seeing where they went. Now that he was about to embark, he was miserable.

Noise and confusion rang out everywhere on the dock as people from all parts of the world went about their work. Deep-brown, nearly black men from Kush toted baskets of melons and dates, sesame and castor oils. They wore short tunics of gauze, which allowed the wind to cool them from sweltering rays. Light-pink men from Uruk, covered nearly completely—usually with blue and white ankle-length robes—brought barley and wheat for food, flax for linen. Their hair always seemed so strange to Edak—all colors, ranging from black to brown to red, yellow and white, and it grew profusely all over their bodies—including their faces. And blue eyes that seemed almost frightening. One could actually watch their pupils grow larger and smaller.

Yellow-hued people from Hwai Do wore short loose pants of colorful design. They were bare-chested and their muscles strained and rippled while they worked. They brought in silk and pepper. And of course, all about were Atlantean and East Mayran red people, but mostly brown people from Mu and Og. Edak never tired of seeing such contrasts all in one place. The din of strange tongues rose up in loud cacophony.

Yet today, Edak gave no notice. His heart tore with pain and he sank into feelings of dread and grieving. "That is an Atlantean ship," said Rehm, pointing. "That must be the one."

Edak stared at the vessel, the biggest and sleekest in port. His stomach tightened. "It must be, then," he said quietly. He looked hard at his family. His lower lip trembled.

Klad started to cry. "I'll miss you, Edak," he sobbed, and held his brother tightly around the waist. "Will you remember me?"

It was hard to speak with such a tight throat. "Klad, you are such joy in my life. That memory will live forever in my heart." He squatted down so as to hold Klad closer to him. "When I see you again, you'll be nearly a man. I'll miss you every day."

He stood and saw his father's strained face. Rehm took a gold medallion out from under his tunic and slipped it up over his head. This was the insignia of the land of Mu—a round, golden disk with a ruby in the center. It was Rehm's most treasured possession, an heirloom he wore only on the most high feast days. Why is he wearing it today? Why did he take it off?

Rehm stepped over to Edak and solemnly placed it around his neck. Edak was stunned.

"The disk is the sun," said Rehm. "It symbolizes the Great Force of the universe, the Light. The ruby is the rose—your soul, opening to radiate the Light."

He held Edak's cheeks in his hands. "It is yours now—to remind you of who you are. When you feel lonely, place your hand on it and think of our love for you."

Edak clasped this most precious of possessions with both hands.

Rehm laid his hands on the boy's shoulders, his voice thick. "Learn all you can of the world, my son. But never forget where you have come from or the high ideals of your people. I want right now to cling to you, to hold you and keep you here with us. But it is best that you go. I would never forgive myself if I insisted that you stay, just to appease a father's love."

He hugged Edak hard. "Go," he whispered. "Grow, and know how much we love you."

Ogra kissed and hugged her son over and over. Then, her face wet and red, she said, "You are such a good boy. I will miss you always, my son, until the day you return. Be safe. Do well."

Edak tried to linger over each moment, to make it last forever. He soaked in the warmth of his mother's arms for the last time. The pain was almost more than he could bear. "Mother, Father," he cried. "I will do my best, for you. You will be in my mind and heart always."

And he left his mother's grasp.

* * * *

Chapter 7

"Boy!" bellowed a gruff voice. "We're leaving now!" Edak's eyes shot up to the ship. Over the rail a grizzled, middle-aged man glared fiercely down at the family. A dirty brown robe hung loosely on him, accentuating a thatch of shoulder-length gray hair. "We're tired of waiting for you!" he snarled. "Get aboard or stay there!"

This was the captain.

Edak grabbed his sack and scrambled up the wooden ramp to the ship, fearful yet strangely relieved that he didn't have to linger any longer with his family. He couldn't bear to see them so distraught.

He made his way to the rail and bleakly watched the ship's crew take up the ramp and set sail. Rehm and Ogra waved and Klad ran up and down the dock calling out inaudible messages. Edak waved forlornly and watched them as they disappeared from sight around the bend.

He heaved a sigh, resolving that he would not allow himself to think of them anymore. He would explore the new surroundings and ignore the pain in his heart. He looked around at the activity all about. The gentle rolling beneath his feet made him nervous. It didn't feel safe. The Atlantean spoken all about was coarser than taught at Ropl Du Meh's school. Yet he knew he could—he must—adjust.

The vessel was a cargo freighter, not a passenger ship. It carried spices and wool into Mu and fruits and incense back to Atlan. Rehm and Ogra could only afford the boy's schooling but not enough for the comfortable quarters of a liner. Rehm had met the captain of this vessel while working at the docks not long before. After assuring himself this was an honest person, Rehm had talked him into boarding Edak for the trip, in exchange for odd jobs on the way.

It was not to be an easy time, for the captain was not a likable man. His leathery face was gnarled by the weather and an angry scowl. A missing front tooth gave him a nearly demented appearance and disheveled hair made him look half-wild. His voice sounded like a log being dragged through gravel.

"Boy, the first thing you can do is run to the galley and fetch me a pot of tea!"

Edak would soon learn that the captain spoke no softer than a yell. And though he was familiar with the Atlantean language, this dialect was coarse. He cringed at the sound. "Yes, sir. And where is the galley?"

The captain glared at him, his eyes black narrow slits; then he stomped off, stiff leather sandals echoing slaps through the planks. "Ask one of the men!" he roared. "Don't bother me! Just bring me tea!" He pushed through a doorway and yelled, "In my room here!" The door slammed behind him.

Edak had never been spoken to harshly in his life and he was frightened. He dropped his belongings where he stood and left at a full run, stopping at the first man he saw—a large, black hulk stooped over a pile of canvas. "Excuse me. Could you tell me where I can find the galley?"

The sailor looked up from repairing a sail and scratched his short black beard of tight curls. He stood up, a giant of a man with enormous arms and shoulders, which made the knee-length white tunic he was wearing look almost comically small. Edak hoped he was friendlier than the captain.

"Oh ho! And what do we have here?" he asked in a voice deeper than Rehm's. "Looks like a little ship rat up from the bilge." The man threw his head back and laughed robustly.

Edak stood small and insignificant, though he was nearly as tall as the man. "Please, sir. I am earning my keep and passage to Atlan by doing odd jobs for the captain. Right now he is asking for tea, and he does not seem to be a patient man. Do you know the way to the galley?"

The big man chuckled, his black eyes dancing. "It's true. Captain Ragna is somewhat lacking in humor," he said. "As for the galley, I know the way. I will even take you there. Come."

Edak joined him, glad to have a companion. As he followed, Edak observed this odd person, so different than the people he was used to seeing. The man's dark arms were like tree trunks and he lumbered almost like a bear. Yet he didn't seem to have a bit of fat on him. Clearly, this man was strong. Sweat glistened down his dark body. "I am Tuli from Kush," he said. "And who might you be, little ship rat?"

"I am Edak from Mu. I am to finish my education in Atlan, in the province of Aryaz in the city of the same name."

Tuli studied the slender lad, so completely opposite himself. "So, we have a scholar with us. Good for you. You won't have to break your back to have bread on your table." He slapped Edak good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Though I wouldn't give up travel and adventures for all the food and comforts in the world. A sailor's life can be a happy lot."

Edak liked this coarse hulk. "How did you come to be a sailor, Tuli, sir?"

"You needn't call me 'sir.' I'm a regular man like everyone else. Save your 'sirs' for the captain. As for being a sailor, well, it seems I didn't have much of a choice. The only life I could have in my village would be as a farmer, or a herder of cattle. Neither was to my liking. Herding cattle would have been too boring, and can you see me, Tuli, tilling the soil?" Again he laughed. "Never!

"No, sailing was really the only choice for me. And here I am, happy and free. My home is nowhere, but my home is everywhere. I belong to no woman, yet I belong to every woman." A bellow of laughter roared up from his lungs. Edak smiled but didn't understand.

Halfway down the steep narrow stairs, a blast of strange cooking smells bombarded their nostrils. Near a tiled oven enclosed by a stone wall stood a skinny small-boned man, mixing something in a bowl. "Seri!" said Tuli loudly. "We have a ship rat on board and he wants tea. His name is Edak."

Seri gave a sideways glance over at Edak but didn't smile or speak. He was a black man, probably from Kush, but wasn't as dark-skinned as Tuli. Certainly he didn't have his joy for life.

"It's for the captain," Edak said quietly, after he had waited long enough for Seri to reply.

"Hmp. Okay. Stand out of the way and I'll fix it," said Seri. Edak noticed that his teeth looked rotten and he wondered if they hurt him.

"Well, I've got work to do," said Tuli, ascending the stairs. "I'll let you two get acquainted." He began to whistle and walked off, and when Seri returned to his chore and Tuli's melody echoed and faded, Edak felt uncomfortable and very alone.

He stood near the steps so he wouldn't bother Seri, who prepared the tea, poured it in a clay carafe and covered it with an upended cup. He put it on a tray, added some bread and handed it all to Edak. "Hurry with this to Ragna. He doesn't like to wait."

How well Edak knew that. He thanked Seri and scurried up the steps. He thought he might see Tuli on the way back but he wasn't in sight. At the captain's door he knocked twice, took a deep breath, then entered with the refreshments. His hands shook and he concentrated on holding the tray tightly, lest he spill it. "Sir, your tea is here, along with some bread." He smiled slightly. Perhaps Captain Ragna would find favor with him.

Ragna was seated at his table and didn't look up from the maps he was studying. "Good! It's about time! Now I want you to make this room neat and clean, then go out and mend sails so the sailors are free for men's work! One of the men will show you how!"

It was clear Ragna didn't like Edak, and he had no plan as to how he could change that. So he set about his tasks as quickly as possible, hoping he would get used to his chores and that the trip to Atlan would soon be over. He had so wanted to enjoy the sights along the coast and sea. No chance of that now, he realized, for he would forever be stooped in labor.

It wasn't long before Ragna's room was as clean as he could make it and he hurried out to the place he had seen Tuli mending sails, hoping he would be there to teach him.

He was heartened to find Tuli there. He looked up at Edak's approach. "Ah, ship rat! You've returned."

"Yes sir...I mean Tuli. The captain wants me to mend sails so you'll be free for men's work. Uh...could you teach me how?"

"Of course. Very simple. Here is the thread, here is the needle, here is the leather palm guard, here are the patches. And over here," he said, pointing to a large heap of canvas, "are the sails. Watch closely while I put this patch on."

Edak watched every move of Tuli's thick, strong hands. It didn't seem too hard. Fold the worn edges to the inside, put a patch slightly larger than the hole on one side, jab the needle through the cloth with the leather-protected palm of the hand, and stitch around the edges, repeating with a patch on the other side.

"Now," said Tuli, standing, "you do it and I'll watch you."

Edak's long, slender fingers didn't make stitches as fine as Tuli's and he stuck himself repeatedly; but soon, with a glow of accomplishment, he had the first patch on. He looked at Tuli hopefully.

Tuli chuckled. "Well, you could do better, and you will with practice. But for now, that'll do. Now, I'll be on my way. You stay here and mend until you are finished or your hands drop off or the captain calls you for another task." His twinkling eyes laughed. He patted Edak on the shoulder and left. Edak smiled back, then settled down to work.

He fumbled at first, but his fingers got used to the new task and the mending speeded up. Now and then he would glance up and see the sights along the coast. Mostly he saw jungle. Occasionally, the ship passed a small village much like his own, and he ached to see his family and he thought about Ropl Du Meh. He wondered how many people were in the world. His hands knew what to do now and his mind was freed to wander in thought. Hours passed and at last the sails were mended, though his hands stung from blisters and numerous needle punctures.

* *

The trip to Atlan would take almost two full moons to complete. They would travel south down the coast of the Murian Bay a distance, then into the Murian Sea, then through the Sea of Og to the Southern Sea, which would take them to Atlan. As one day followed another and another, Edak began to anticipate the future, as he imagined the rich country he had always heard about.

He learned to use the hours of menial work to think and dream, and he was never at a task long enough to become bored. When not mending sails, he was running various errands for Ragna, and the boy was no longer afraid of him. Though he yelled all the time, he never hurt anyone. Ragna expected a lot but as long as the jobs were done, he seemed satisfied, once in awhile even grunting and nodding slightly. Edak took this to be a great compliment, and he felt honored.

He scrubbed floors, washed clothes, helped Seri clean up the galley, untangled lines for the sailors and even fished off the bow for Ragna's dinner. There were many chances, after all, to see the world. Edak was tired, but one day he realized he was actually enjoying the trip.

And he and Tuli were friends, though the others remained cool toward him. He realized that he was just too different than the rest of the men. At the age of thirteen, he was already as tall as, or taller than, most of them, though very slender. Yet, he had years of growing before he would become a Murian of average height.

Often, when Edak passed some of the crew, talk ceased for a moment—only a moment—before an ugly slur spewed from sneering lips. Sometimes they called him the Mu ape, sometimes Lumphead. At night when he lay in his hammock, he couldn't escape their cruelty. He was even ridiculed for lack of material possessions, for the only thing of worth he owned was the medallion Rehm had given him.

A fortnight from home, Edak awoke with a start. His hammock was swinging violently. Voices broke through the darkness. He grasped the webbing beneath him, trying to comprehend what was happening. Howling wind roared overhead and timbers creaked loudly.

"Damned storm! Let's go!"

Edak heard and responded, though he was queasy. How could he help? He bumped into a sweaty body heading up the stairs and followed it into the moaning, screaming wave-wracked violence of the night.

Salt water stung his eyes. He wiped it away again and again and stumbled around, searching for Ragna. At last, a faint glow of a covered lamp illumined the captain's face, screaming orders into the night. Edak bounced and staggered to him. "How may I help, sir?"

Ragna glared. "Get outta here! You're in the way! Get below!"

Hurt, yet relieved, he struggled back to the ship's belly.

He pitched and tossed about in the blackness and tried to cover his ears from the howl and roar of the waves. At last he could no longer endure and he regurgitated violently. When he was finished, he rested his head on the webbing of the hammock and stared into the dark, grateful so much water had splashed through the hatch—it would dilute the vomit. Maybe the crew wouldn't notice.

Shortly before dawn, the storm lessened and one by one the men returned. Edak braced himself. He dreaded when everything went wrong. It was at these times that they took their anger out on Edak.

It happened as he had feared.

After they had grumbled about the work and cursed Ragna, they started on him. "Why did we get stuck with that Mu ape?" blurted a particularly obnoxious sailor, Belar from Uruk, who sat wringing out his crimson robe in the flickering lamplight. "He's a freak. All he does is take up space. I can't stand the sight of him."

Edak's blood chilled and he closed his eyes. "Hey you, boy! How come you got that ugly lump on your head? Did your mother beat you?" A few men chuckled at the sailor's wit.

Edak opened his eyes, but didn't speak; another man joined in. "All those Mu people have them. Probably get 'em from bumping into trees!"

"Or walls," a younger man chimed in.

"Or into each other!" said another. The men howled and hooted.

Edak turned and faced the wall. Was it possible to run out, jump off the rail and swim home? How could anyone be so cruel to another person? What could be wrong with the loving homeland he had left? Bitter tears flowed and he worked hard to be silent, lest the men know they had made him cry. He clutched his medallion and thought of Rehm and what he had told him. And he remembered Ropl Du Meh telling him not to find fault with life's hardships but to endure and learn from them. "There are lessons in every experience," he had stressed.

Perhaps this is a part of my education, Edak decided. I must learn to be strong in the face of these slurs, and show by my actions how good and noble Murians are.

Tuli came below and the torture ended. There would be no cruel games in his presence. It was time to sleep a bit before the day's work.

* *

Edak sat on a stool in the galley, dreamily watching Seri preparing Ragna's lunch. Black bread, cheese, grapes, filleted fish—Edak's stomach growled. More than a moon had passed and life had assumed an everyday sameness. Even the ocean didn't change, for they had been surrounded for days by dark green-blue water as far as the eye could see in any direction.

Seri arranged the food on a tray and added a carafe of tea. "Eh, that's good enough," he grumbled. "That'll keep him happy. Off with you now."

"Thank you," said Edak. He took the tray and wondered if Seri had ever smiled in his life. He climbed the steep stairs, careful not to spill the tea. A made-up scene appeared before him, of a toddler named Seri. Angry, morose, he stomped his tiny feet and wailed, demanding constant attention of his mother. Edak tried to change the picture and finally succeeded in imagining the child smiling. It so amused Edak, he nearly laughed aloud.

He started across the deck and the vision of baby Seri vanished, replaced by a feeling—a feeling of foreboding. Foreboding? What's wrong?

Danger! Danger in the sky!

He dropped the tray. "Take cover! Take cover," he cried, running back to the steps. He flew down half the flight, slowing for the remaining steps.

At last he felt safe. He peered up to see how the others fared. They were standing there! Just standing there at their tasks, staring at him as if he were a madman! And over their heads in the sky a huge blue fowl, talons twice the size of a man's hands, circled downward, its great eyes staring ravenously at the crew.

"Take cover! LOOK!" he screamed, pointing.

One by one, they turned and looked up. "Gahhh!" screamed a man. "Rukh! A blue rukh!!"

Men scrambled for cover, pushing, shoving, cursing, shouting.

It was too late.

Tuli's work had taken him high up on a mast. He, too, saw the bird and frantically struggled to get out of the way, sliding down the rope ladder, his feet barely touching every fourth rung. The bird's sharp claws clutched Tuli's shoulders just as his first foot landed on deck.

Edak's eyes bulged. He shrieked and ran up on deck. "No! NO!!"

Tuli twisted and writhed to get free. But he couldn't. The piercing talons loosened only long enough to gain a tighter hold around his waist.

Tuli shrieked and cried out. "Aaaarrrhhh!" Then, he slumped. The mighty claws had crushed the life from him.

In the blink of an eye, the creature was airborne with its grisly reward.

For a long moment it was silent but for the wind and the eerie lapping of waves. Then a din arose, each man trying to out-shout the other.

Edak's blood ran cold. He stood rigid, pale, his white-knuckled hands gripping the rail. His eyes riveted on one area of the mast where his only friend had been moments before. Only a scarlet trickle down the wood remained, searing a gash of anguish, rage and fear through Edak's soul.

A memory flashed from babyhood and a giant cat pounced from the woods. Then he was a lad again on the ship. The same terror, the same helplessness, the same danger.

His hands loosened their grips on the rail and he ran to the mast, reaching up, grabbing at the blood, trying to take it, to save it, to save Tuli. A futile gesture—and he knew it—but he tried nevertheless, for it was all he could do. His breath was quick and shallow. He was moaning, wailing.

Nearly falling, he staggered back to the rail and vomited over the side. His friend was gone, completely, terribly gone, and there was nothing—nothing!—he could do.

He collapsed on the deck, sobbing until he could cry no more, oblivious to the others who stared in stunned silence at the piteous gestures of this strange one grieving for his friend.

Eternal minutes passed, and a voice broke the quiet. It was Ragna, a hint of gentleness in his bark. "Someone help that kid down to quarters."

Footsteps tramped the boards. Seri approached and helped Edak to his feet. Halfheartedly, Belar volunteered, "I'll help you with him if you want."

"Ah, shut up," snapped Seri. "You'll give no help at all. Tuli was my friend, too."

Through his daze Edak vaguely saw men averting their eyes awkwardly, as if they were ashamed. It meant nothing. He allowed himself to be led down the stairs.

Positioning Edak in his hammock, Seri patted him on the shoulder a few times, the only show of compassion he knew how to give. When Edak, staring morosely, didn't respond, he backed out quietly, nervously, climbed the stairs and shut the hatch.

Edak closed his eyes and slept fitfully through the night, awakening every few minutes with a start as the scene of Tuli's death reappeared in his mind.

Why didn't they know? Why didn't they run for cover? Why?

Grey dawn light seeped down the cracks in the hatch. Edak forced himself to rise with the men. They seemed a little gentler with him. "How are you, ship rat?" asked Seri.

Ship rat...Tuli's laughter echoed in his head. "The same," he said forlornly. "My friend is dead." He sniffed involuntarily and brushed his wet cheek with his shoulder.

"One question runs through my mind," he continued. "Why did none of you know of the bird? Did you not feel the danger?"

They stared at him, then looked around at each other. "What do you mean?" asked Belar. "How do you know a bird is coming?"

It must be so then. They do not know, even a little. "Can you not sense it at all? Do you not get a feeling when danger comes? Here?" He pointed to his forehead.

They were silent, then Belar said, "No. There's no feeling there." He shook his head. "I always knew you Mu people were a strange bunch. Here is the proof."

Edak braced for more slurs and Belar cast a foreboding glance at him. Then he smiled. "But I wouldn't mind being strange like that once in a while. Do you always know of such things?"

Edak relaxed. "Usually. If my head is too cluttered with outside thoughts, I sometimes fail to notice the feeling. But I have been taught to heed the warning. I can't imagine living without such a thing. It would be like living without my eyes."

The sailors said no more, each in his own thoughts, and they finished dressing. It was time to begin the shift. Halfway up the steps, a grizzled old man from Hwai Do stopped and put his hand on Edak's arm. "If you feel that way again," he said, "yell at us to take cover. This time, I tell you, we'll listen."

"We'll listen, all right," said another.

"Bet on it," mumbled yet another. "Good to have a warning."

Edak was accepted at last. Yet, there was no victory, no joy. Tuli was gone. His boisterous laughter and love for life had been snuffed out like a lamp in the wind.

Edak stared ahead to his future in Atlan, while caressing the medallion of Mu. Today he belonged nowhere.

* * * *

Chapter 8

"Land, land ahead!"

Edak jerked awake. He looked around. Blackness—still night. The ship creaked and rocked the hammock rhythmically, and the moist sweat-laden air hung heavy about him.

He slowly gathered his thoughts. Was that a dream, or did someone shout?

Thuds of feet hit the floor and a sailor lit an oil lamp. It's real! Edak sat up and looked around. Shadows flickered and he saw the movement of men wrestling into their clothing.

"Let's get going," said Seri, covering his skinny body with a yellow tunic. "Lots of work to be done."

"Then play, plenty of it," added Belar as he tightened a rope around his waist. "We're home!"

Atlan! We are here! Edak hurriedly slipped on his tunic and combed his long hair. It was tangled from sleep and he found it difficult to be patient, but he worked it smooth, braided it and fastened the thong. The men were on deck when he finished. He clambered up the steps two at a time.

The first deep breath of cool damp air awakened him fully, and he looked around. The predawn sky was still deep blue and the brighter stars had not yet disappeared. All men who didn't have immediate work crowded over to the bow and stared at the land mass before them. Edak edged into the pack and peeked over a short sailor's head.

The sky cast a lighter glow on the horizon, but it wasn't the sun that caused the illumination—it was the land itself! There it stood, rising out of the ocean, a ragged silhouette that must be Aryaz. It glittered like a thousand stars, bunched together like grapes.

Atlan—greatest nation on Earth. How I've waited to see you! He stared awestruck. There must be thousands of lamps and torches. How can I believe this? He took another deep breath.

It was nearly a moon since Tuli's death, and he had looked forward to this journey's end with a deep longing. Yes, the men were civil to him now and even Ragna didn't demand as much, but the voyage was bleak and tiresome without his friend. And now at last, it was over.

The sky slowly became lighter and the stars faded. The rising sun cast long shadows; it felt good on his face. Two ships appeared in the mist, resting in the harbor, and over there was a large white building.

Ragna called just then, demanding breakfast.

After the meal was delivered, Edak cleaned Ragna's cabin and after that, washed the kitchen for Seri and after that, rolled up all hammocks for later cleaning. Each trip to the deck, each change of jobs brought opportunity to glance over the bow at the exciting, frightening new world before him: black and white domes, gleaming spires and pyramids. Such marvels!

The vessel entered the Bay of Aryaz where dozens of ships—all sizes, all styles, all materials, all colors, all nations—surrounded them, and they seemed swallowed up into anonymity. New odors wafted about, of dead fish, food being prepared, sewage, sweat. The men strained and labored to keep the ship from bumping their neighbors while Edak fetched more line and cork bumpers to assist. There was, however, little more for Edak to do but take in the strange sights everywhere.

As they neared the piers, Edak heard voices singing somewhere. Off the starboard side small boats bobbed up and down, tinier than even the fishing boats on the river at home. Each boat had a tarp roof that covered the cluttered living quarters for a family. Small children, hair still tousled from sleep, scampered and played while women prepared food and washed linens and sang, pausing only long enough to gossip a bit with a neighbor or admonish a child. Somewhere an infant cried.

Edak drank in the scenes. How good it was to hear female voices again, the first he'd heard since he left his mother's side. He listened and savored.

A woman looked up and saw Edak's stare. Unpleased by her loss of privacy, she scolded at him in a dialect of Atlan he didn't fully understand. Yet, he comprehended enough to know he had been rude. He mumbled an embarrassed apology and moved to port side.

A ship larger than his stood at dock. Three brawny men rolled large covered urns down the ramp. "Hurry up!" yelled another man. "Get moving!"

He must be the captain, surmised Edak. He yells like Ragna.

The men hadn't been working slowly, yet they moved faster now, their sweat glistening in their rush. Unsatisfied, the captain took a rope and lashed out at the man nearest him. It cracked across his back and tore his robe. A line of blood oozed through.

Edak flinched; his skin tightened in goosebumps. He looked all around; surely someone had seen this and would do something. But no one seemed to notice. Shocking! Did no one care that this man is being hurt?

The crewmen glared hatefully at the overseer for a quick moment, but hurried with their burdens, lest their backs be next. The wounded man joined them silently. Edak shivered.

Kwandai brushed past Edak to coil a line. "Look," said Edak. "That man whipped that man there." Kwandai would know what to do.

Kwandai glanced over with disinterest. "They're slaves. They get beat regular. Nothing new." He went back to work at the line.

"Slaves?! Can't we stop them? Can't someone stop them?"

"Nah, it's legal. They're slaves, I tell you!"

Edak stared at Kwandai, then back at the slave's oozing red wound. What sort of country is this Atlan?! He wanted to be back in Mu, back to his innocence and ignorance of such atrocities.

The ship bumped into the dock and Edak grabbed the deck rail to keep from falling. Men bustled about securing lines to the wharf. They lowered the ramp.

An avalanche of stimuli from the city crashed in—sights, noises, smells. The slaves' plight faded in his mind, for now. There was too much to see, hear and smell everywhere he turned.

Buildings of black and white marble inlaid with copper, onyx and brass and topped with spires and domes rose all about him and took his breath away.

He snatched up his small satchel of belongings while the men prepared to unload. Then he went to find the captain.

Ragna was his usual self, yelling and barking orders. Edak cleared his throat. "Captain Ragna, sir?" It angered Ragna to be approached now, but he was always in this mood, so Edak continued. "I only want to take a moment to thank you for letting me sail with you. I learned a lot."

Ragna swished his hand through the air as if the words were flies to be repelled. "Yah, yah. You earned it." Edak turned to go, and Ragna added, "You're a good worker. When you grow up, you come to me if you want to sail. I'll put you on."

Edak smiled. "Thank you, sir. I'll do that—if I wish to sail." He waved goodbye to some of the sailors, and walked down the ramp.

The moist air smelled of fish, smoke and strange other things. But it was good to be on land again.

He stepped off the ramp and felt suddenly uneasy. All his life he had heard about this great country. Now that he was here, it all seemed strange, frightening, exciting, wonderful and terrible at the same time.

Goats bleated, llamas balked, donkeys brayed. Peddlers milled about, calling loudly, trying to sell their wares. Shoppers tried to shout louder, haggling to get a better price.

Men, women and children in rags peeked out from behind fat columns, and some sat brazenly in the roadways begging for money, for bread, for pity. Some were blind, others crippled, some sick. Edak had never seen beggars before. In the midst of all this richness and plenty, how could people be hungry? In Mu, where possessions were scant, no one went hungry as long as there was any food at all.

Edak was ashamed, for he had neither coin nor food to offer. He looked away and tried not to hear their cries.

All about were people—more people than he thought lived in the entire world. People covered the streets, sitting, standing, walking, running, riding on strange animals or in carts. People entered and exited buildings and poked heads out of windows. People chatted and laughed and raged and whistled. People everywhere!

He walked down a promenade, fascinated by each new wonder, taking in every sight, every sound, every smell. How could he make sense of it all? Nothing like this existed in Mu.

Huge stone aqueducts spanned buildings and streets and Edak stopped to admire them. These great marvels carried water to every building. Imagine, water right inside one's home! And the houses—so large! What did people do with all that space? Yes, Ropl Du Meh had talked of this, yet how could his young mind have comprehended the extent of Atlan's greatness?

The streets meandered farther from the docks now, away from people of other nations. More and more, Atlanteans stared at the alien with the strange looks and dress. He noticed eyes peeking out at him from every direction. Once again he realized his strangeness. He may as well be back on the ship. The new land wasn't so marvelous now, only bewildering.

At a small marketplace a young man sat cross-legged on a mat before a low table. All about him lay the tools of a scribe: parchment, brushes and vials of ink. Obviously a learned man, Edak thought he might know the whereabouts of Seratl Ti. "Excuse me," he said. "I am new to Aryaz and am in need of direction. Could you help me?"

"I'll try," said the young man. He was clad in an orange robe of silk brocade and had a headband of woven gold and silver lame, which held his well-cut impeccably groomed dark hair in place. He leaned forward to hear Edak over the din of the street.

It was hard not to stare at the man's wealth, but Edak knew it would seem rude. "I am Edak of Mu and have come to Aryaz to be taught by Seratl Ti. Do you know of him?"

"Do I know of him!" cried the man, leaning back happily. "He was my instructor! See how well he taught me. I want for nothing! My vocation has made me rich."

Edak smiled. Accumulating possessions by writing for people was not his goal, yet he was happy for the man. "Then his reputation as a fine teacher is true. We are both truly fortunate to study under him. I need directions to his house if you would be so kind."

"Certainly. Can you read Atlantean? I'll make you a map."

"Yes, but I can't pay you. Perhaps if you just tell me..."

"This is a gift from a student of Seratl Ti."

Edak knelt before the man, who spread out a light cloth and dipped his brush into an ink vial.

Soon the map was complete and the scribe fanned the cloth to dry it. "Tell Seratl Ti that Jebwar sends his very warmest greetings." He rolled the cloth and handed it to Edak, then they both stood up.

"Thank you," said Edak, extending his arms. "You're very kind."

Jebwar grasped Edak's arms. "I'm proud to know you. If you happen to visit the marketplace again, stop by. I'd like to learn of Mu from a Murian's point of view."

"I will," said Edak, waving. He continued through the marketplace and on until he came to a building of black marble columns. He pretended not to notice the stares of curious people.

Finally, he put down his satchel and opened the map.

The instructions took him through a narrow alley that passed by high walls that surrounded courtyards of private homes. Children played in the streets and stopped to see the strange-looking lad. Near the end of the alley were steep, wooden steps that led to a tree-lined boulevard. He turned left of this road and walked until he came to a statue of a winged goddess. A blind beggar didn't know how strange Edak looked and pleaded for alms the same as he would to any other sound of footsteps.

A right turn led onto a long, winding road which took him to the edge of Aryaz, near a foothill. It was quiet here, less populated. Birds sang and the air smelled sweeter.

Seratl Ti's house should be near. Edak looked around.

To his left stood a yard enclosed by a tall adobe wall. This is what he had been looking for. At the gate he found a niche in the wall nearby which held a bell. He shook the bell nervously and its clear tinkle broke through the air.

His confidence was gone now. Would Seratl Ti find him funny-looking, too? What of the other students—will they laugh?

Young footsteps within pattered to the large wooden door. It creaked open and a small light-skinned boy, perhaps ten years old, looked out. He had short light-brown hair and blue eyes. The two stared at each other curiously for a few seconds.

"Good afternoon," Edak said softly. "I am Edak of Mu. I have come to be a student of Tutor Seratl Ti. Is this the correct place to be?"

The boy smiled. "Oh, yes. Come in. Seratl Ti has been expecting you for some time. Come with me, please." Edak followed the boy inside. "Welcome to Atlan," said the boy. "I hope your stay with us will be enjoyable. I am Trunsitla from the Green Peninsula of the Northern Ocean."

"The Green Peninsula," said Edak, amused by his talkative companion. "So far away! You must tell me of it when you can."

"I will, with pride," said Trunsitla. "It is a temperate, misty land of great beauty."

They entered into a courtyard, quiet and serene, perfumed with the scent of flowers growing in small plots here and there. Off to one side on a marble bench sat a man, middle-aged, with graying shoulder-length hair and a large hooked nose. He wore a red ankle-length robe. Five boys surrounded him, all about Edak's or Trunsitla's ages. They sat on the ground quietly, watching the approach of the new student.

The man stood. He was only as tall as Edak's shoulders. "Ah, you must be our new boy Edak. Is that correct?"

Edak felt the others' stares bore into his skin. "Yes, sir. I am Edak of Mu," he said politely. Only Seratl Ti noticed the lad's trembling hands. "I promise to study hard and earn my keep," Edak continued. "I hope you'll be happy with me."

Seratl Ti smiled warmly and put his hand on Edak's shoulder, the way Ropl Du Meh would—or Rehm. "Please, don't feel out of place. We are all here together and you are among friends; you may think of us as your Atlantean family. Now come, sit down here and we'll all become acquainted."

The teacher's words were kind and warm, and Edak's fears vanished. These people were different in outer appearances, true. But inside, they were as Ropl Du Meh had told him. He sat down and looked at his new schoolmates. They smiled and waited to be introduced.

A fog rose up and enveloped them. Everything became hazy and the sounds muffled.

Then the scene dissipated.

* * * *

Chapter 9

"Ketzah!"

An adolescent's eyelids fluttered, struggled to open, submitted to sleep, then strained to admit just a slit of light into his dream-filled head, blue-gray eyes finally focusing hazily on the bedroom ceiling overhead. The white stucco was familiar and homey, but this wasn't where Ketzah wanted to be. He had left it behind again—that ancient, intriguing place. He pondered hard, his eyes staring vacantly.

"Ketzah! Time for school, Ketzah. Wake up," Finah called from the kitchen, repeating the message she'd used for six years.

Ketzah wanted to stall, to try to make sense of the dream, then ease back into the here and now. It was useless to try. She was adamant, as usual. He yawned, rubbed his eyes and sat up, a red blanket of soft wool covering him up to his chest. "Yes, Mother. I'm awake. I was dreaming."

Finah stood in the doorway studying her son. Where had her small boy gone? Even now his chest and arms were firm and muscular. Soon his voice would change, she surmised.

Time moves by so quickly. Wasn't it only a year or two ago that he was toddling at her feet?

Still, he lived in that fantasy world. Finah sighed. She never knew if she should worry about that or just accept it as part of his uniqueness.

"Ketzah, Ketzah," she said, lightly shaking her head. "Always dreaming. It's fun to do that, but it's real life that's important, you know that." She caressed his cheek. "Especially today. How do you feel, now that you're thirteen, old man?"

Ketzah scratched his head. "I guess I feel the same as yesterday." He rubbed his hands lightly over his blanket. "It's funny. When I was small, I thought of thirteen as the doorway to manhood. Now I'm here, and I don't feel older or wiser than I ever did." His brows furrowed. "But that dream I had—I'd been there before..."

Time was passing and Finah had breakfast waiting. She handed him a fresh robe to put on. "Yes, I have dreams, too. We all do. I don't think we really understand them, though. Are we supposed to? Dreams are just part of our imagination, aren't they?"

Ketzah took the robe and blinked. "Maybe. But what if they're not?"

"What if they're not?! Ketzah, how silly! What else would they be? Something our minds make up, nothing more. Don't be bothered by them. Just enjoy them when they're amusing. Now, come. Get dressed."

"Yes, Mother." He said no more and readied for school, deciding he would tell Master Atel, for had he not told him of another dream, years ago, and had he not seemed interested?

* *

After morning lessons of mathematics, physics and botany, Atel and Ketzah stopped to eat at midday, preparing their table with bread, fruit, cheese and grape juice. This daily ritual and accompanying close talks were a refreshing break from lessons. They pulled up their stools and sat, Atel taking a bit of each item and placing it on his plate while Ketzah poured the juice into blue ceramic cups.

"Master Atel," said Ketzah, "do you remember a long time ago when I told you about a dream I had?"

Atel stared at his cup and thought for a few moments, crinkles forming around his eyes. He looked up. "Yes, Little Brother. You told me of a place of volcanoes and forests, large animals and people much different than those of today. Is that correct?"

"Yes, it is. You remember it well after all these years. I had another one like it last night."

Atel folded his hands in his lap. "Please, tell me about it."

Ketzah placed the pitcher of juice on the table and stared at it. "I'm the same boy I was in the other dream. But he's older now—thirteen, like me. His name is Edak. He's traveling by ship from his country, called Mu, to Atlan. He'll be going to school in Aryaz."

He looked at Atel. "Everything looks different in the dream. Aryaz looks nothing like it does in real life. And of course, there's no such place as Mu. Even the ship doesn't look the way ships do. Dreams are funny sometimes, I guess."

His eyes returned to the pitcher. "Anyway, during the trip, a horrible bird—gigantic!—bigger than I've ever seen or heard of—flies off with Edak's friend from the ship. Edak sensed the bird approaching but no one else could."

He looked to see Atel's reaction. The old man sat in rapt silence, which heartened Ketzah to continue. "The school was different than a real school. It was in a man's house and there were only about seven students."

He tried to pick out more scenes. "I think that's all there is. I don't know why it made such an impression on me. I guess it wasn't so important."

He looked up. "What do you think, sir?"

Atel sat thinking: The lad knows much of the ancient world. Why does he dream it now? At last he said, "Remember those dreams, Ketzah. Edak appears to be part of you. I will think on this, and we will talk more in the coming days." He lifted his cup to drink.

"Master Atel!" Ketzah blurted. "Is there nothing you can tell me now? I hunger to know!"

Atel replaced the cup and stared at Ketzah sternly. "I would explain if I could, but I don't know what to make of your dreams. I will discuss this with the other priests. Please exercise patience."

Ketzah flushed. "I'm sorry, Master. I lost control of myself. I won't do it again."

Atel softened. "When things happen to us which we cannot explain, it is normal to be curious. Do not punish yourself for wanting answers. Be assured, I have taken note of your dreams and will consult the others as to their meaning."

Ketzah ate quietly, half-ashamed that he had raised his voice to Atel, yet a little satisfied that he had. Now Atel knew how these dreams bothered him, and he had gotten a small idea of Atel's interest. But what did Atel know that he wasn't telling Ketzah? It was annoying.

* *

The late afternoon sun shone, casting shadows which made long-legged silhouettes for Ketzah and Falima to follow and causing the two to appear gilded. This walk was always a pleasant time for them, and Ketzah had lately been drawn more and more to Falima. He studied her walk and the way her robe folded and rippled with each step. She was no longer an awkward child, but a blossoming young woman.

The sun shone from behind her and for a moment she was an ebony goddess framed in a golden aura. Ketzah's eyes fixed onto her, oblivious to how he must appear.

"Why are you looking at me so?" she asked, mildly annoyed.

Ketzah smiled sheepishly. "Because you're pretty."

"Ketzah! What are you up to?"

Ketzah flushed. He couldn't explain, so changed the subject. "Falima, I've had some odd dreams. I don't know what they mean."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Strange ones, in another time and place. Everything is different, yet...yet it seems the same as here and now. Does that make sense?"

"A little. Sometimes I dream I'm at home or school, but it doesn't look like home and school. Is it something like that? Describe them."

He told her what he remembered, both the content and what his feelings were. First the one of long ago when he first met Edak, then last night's. When he had told her everything he could, he waited.

Falima walked silently, thinking. Finally she asked, "Have you told Master Atel?"

"Yes. He's interested but he's so cryptic. Today he said he'd talk more about them in the future. But I want to know what they're about now. What do you think?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. They're eerie, almost scary...I'm glad you told me. I'll think about them tonight. Maybe there's a reason you have them."

"Thank you for not laughing at me."

"I'd never laugh at you for something that matters. I only tease you when we're playing. I thought you knew that."

"I guess I do. That's why you're my best friend."

Falima smiled. A breeze blew a perfume of citrus blossoms through the air. She brushed a wisp of hair out of her face and adjusted her headband, all the while watching Ketzah. "You're staring at me again," she said. "Am I funny looking?"

"No, you're pretty."

"Silly Ketzah." She kept walking, her smile now shy.

Ketzah cleared his throat. "Falima, it's time I must tell you something."

She noticed him admiring her and stared self-consciously at the road.

"Falima, you've been my best friend since we were eight years old. I'm more comfortable with you than anyone else."

Falima blushed, her eyes staring holes into the ground.

"Falima, I want to always share my life with you. I...do you think..."

His mind reeled. Is this right? What if she says no? What would I do? Well, here goes. "When we're old enough, would you marry me? I think I've always loved you and I know I always will."

Falima stopped short and gaped at him. She stayed that way for an eternal moment, then said, "Yes." Her smile returned. "Yes, of course. I'll be your wife, forever!"

Ketzah shyly reached out for her arm. She took his hand and for a brief, spectacular moment there was nothing else on Earth but Falima and Ketzah and their clasped hands. Then the world returned and with a wonderful, terrible, heart-pounding, ecstatic awkwardness they silently continued to Falima's house.

The black columns of her home came into view and they slowed down. Then they walked up the steps and Ketzah squeezed her hand before letting go, lest her parents open the door and discover the sweethearts.

"Until tomorrow afternoon," he said.

Falima gave him a half-stern look. "You know, Ketzah, if you got out of bed on time, you might walk with me to the temple, as well as from the temple."

He grinned. "I think I'll never sleep late again." He started to leave, then thought of the other students and turned back to her. "Do you think it wise to let others know of our...friendship?"

"Oh, those teasers would never leave us alone. Dregl would drive you mad with ridicule. We'll keep this quiet, at least for a while. Farewell for now."

Ketzah smiled. "Then farewell, until tomorrow."

Falima nodded and giggled. "I hope tonight you dream of me." She slipped inside and closed the door.

* * * *

Chapter 10

Ketzah put his brush down, leaned back from the table and stretched. His eyes wandered vacantly around the room, oblivious to the other students bent over their studies. He yawned, stared out the window for a few moments, then returned to the parchment he was working on, mindlessly watching the ink dry. This had been a long morning with difficult equations. It was hard to concentrate with warm air sweetened by citrus blossoms wafting up over the stone wall from somewhere in the area, circulating through the temple courtyard and into the window. He inhaled deeply.

It would be easy to forget the classroom this balmy day and just go play ball and have fun. He sighed. Had he missed much by being in temple school?

He thought of Medra and Vadi. They had started city school this past year, and always had time to play afterward, as Ketzah had also done at that age. How would it be today, if he had remained in that school? After evening meal he usually liked a little horseplay with his sister and brother, but only for a while. Chasing in the courtyard, or playing hide and seek always gave way to inner games of wonder and logic, and he nearly always ended the evening by telling stories to them.

He picked up the brush and fingered it absentmindedly. So, would he really give up this life just to play on a sunny day? How soon before he tired of it? And what would he do then? He watched Master Moradl make his way around the room checking the students' work—correcting, suggesting, sometimes questioning. Yes, what would Ketzah do if he couldn't receive the arcane knowledge from the priests?

He knew he wouldn't fit in with the other boys. Sometimes, when he passed them on the streets outside the temple, they made snide remarks, as if he was acting superior to them.

Of course, he knew the pupils of the temple were quite elite. Well, yes, maybe they were superior. Still, he had done nothing to earn their ridicule. No, he could never fit in city school.

***

During world studies that day, Master Klodl spoke of famous wars Atlan had fought in, and it disturbed Ketzah that so-called 'civilized' countries couldn't get along. He recalled the evening long-ago when his discouraged father tried to explain the aggressive tactics of Atlan. It didn't make sense then, and it still didn't today. He spent the day contemplating war. What is its nature? Its purpose? Why is war often man's first resort, rather than the last? How might it be ended? Surely he, a student of the Temple of the Old Way, could come up with something better than what was going on now.

That night he thought of a solution. How simple it was, yet profound. He lay in bed and thought it over again and again. Such an impression he would make on Atel with this revelation and, certainly, Atel would tell the others. Sooner or later, the outside world would hear of it. It might be brought before the Council of Nations. Ketzah the peacemaker—what a grand reputation he would have! He finally drifted off into a comfortable sleep.

At the temple in the morning, he voiced his theory to Atel. "The Council of Nations must work to convince all countries, including ours, to rise up above the animal nature of humans, and rid themselves of their armies. Without soldiers to threaten us, we can strive for peace, regardless of the circumstances. Killing is never justified," he explained.

Atel listened and quietly nodded. "And how do we convince these nations? How do we achieve absolute trust between countries, necessary for your plan?"

Ketzah thought for a few seconds, then said, "I think if most countries disband their armies, the others would feel comfortable about retiring their own and will follow. With no threat anywhere, obviously, fists need not be clenched in defense."

"Interesting theory," said Atel. "Interesting, but there may be flaws in it."

"Flaws? How so?"

Atel thought silently for a few moments, then brightened. "We'll take this up another day. I have a task to ask of you, Little Brother. Help is needed in the city school with the intermediate class of children. The teacher has meetings to attend and someone needs to supervise the youngsters, which will allow them a day of recreation. I told them I would send a capable student. Would you be willing to be that person tomorrow?"

How strange that Atel changed the subject so quickly...but he is, after all, getting old. Supervising children? That won't be difficult. I get along with little ones. "Of course," he said. "I'll be happy to help."

What a coincidence. Only yesterday he fantasized about playing in the balmy weather and attending city school. Now, tomorrow he would be doing both. Truly, the Divinities had smiled upon him!

* *

The next morning was beautiful. Birds sang and warm breezes were blowing. A perfect day to be away from his studies. They could play games outdoors. Ketzah remembered some from when he had attended city school. He walked down to the large building, where everything seemed the same, yet somewhat smaller than he had remembered.

Reaching the white colonnade near the entrance, he saw his young charges sitting on the terra-cotta tiled steps in front of the entrance. He smiled, remembering his own innocence at that age.

There were twelve boys and girls in all, nine to twelve years old. Some were neat and tidy, others had dirty faces and mussed hair. A few peered shyly at him, others stared boldly, some giggled and shoved each other, bored with their task of sitting and waiting.

"Good morning, children. I am Ketzah Kowato. I will be supervising you today."

Some children smiled, some looked disinterested, and a few sneered. "As I'm not a teacher, there will be no studies today—just games." He laughed amid the cheers. "Let's start off by telling me your names. Let me see if I can remember all of you."

They became acquainted and found a grassy field behind the school where they could play. Two of the older boys, Metlar and Haldof, brought out a ball from the building. Ketzah started them in a circle game, then sat under a tree to watch. This would be a relaxing day.

A tiny girl named Duna chased a boy with the ball, weaving in and out of the children, until he threw the ball to another. They laughed and shouted and chased eagerly.

After the third boy caught the ball and started running, Duna caught up to him. As she reached out to tap his shoulder and declare herself the winner, she tripped over Haldof's extended foot and fell, landing on her elbow in the dirt.

Ketzah jumped to his feet and ran to the circle. He helped Duna up and inspected her bleeding wound. "Haldof tripped me," she wailed. "He's so mean!"

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," soothed Ketzah. He eyed Haldof warily.

"He meant it! He always means it!"

Ketzah stared sternly at the culprit. "Haldof will behave today, I'm sure. Nothing like this will happen again."

Haldof suppressed a grin. "No, sir. I'm sorry."

Ketzah sent the still-crying Duna into the building with an older girl to dress her scraped elbow. Then he organized another game, of tossing the ball back and forth between parallel rows of children. This went well and soon Duna returned to join in.

For the next activity the children divided into two teams. Ketzah made the mistake of putting Metlar and Haldof on the same team, as they gave each other confidence for mischief. Also, they were the largest boys there and the others were afraid of them.

The game was to kick the ball to the end of the field. The last person to kick the ball over the line would win the game for the team. However, Metlar and Haldof pushed children out of the way and once even kicked someone when Ketzah turned his head. When the victims cried, the two bullies smirked and jeered.

Ketzah grabbed the two and marched them from the circle. "Listen, boys. I will not tolerate this. The other children are afraid of you. How would you feel if some adolescents hurt you. Wouldn't that frighten you?"

The boys nodded and frowned. "Yes, sir," said Metlar.

"Then let's treat others kindly, the way you wish to be treated."

"Yes, sir," said Haldof. "We're sorry."

Ketzah softened. "Very well then. Let's go back to the games."

The class played happily for a short while; then someone cried out in pain. Haldof had yanked off a boy's headband, taking a tuft of hair with it. Metlar guffawed.

"Enough!" Ketzah stomped over and snatched Haldof around the waist, swinging him away from the smaller boy. He grabbed Metlar roughly by the arm. "That's all the fun you're going to have!" He called to the others, "Children, it's time to come indoors. Please follow me!"

With a hand firmly on the nape of each culprit's neck, he led them into the school. "You'll go without your midday meal and your parents will be told of your misbehavior. You'll stay seated where I put you, where I can see you for the rest of the day." In the classroom, he put each boy on a stool in opposite corners.

The others drew and sculpted and later sang, and the day passed smoothly, but inwardly Ketzah was miserable.

* *

The next morning when Ketzah entered the temple, he was greeted by Atel sitting on a bench in the outer vestibule. "Ah, Little Brother," he said cheerfully as he stood up. "How did the day go yesterday?"

"Very well, Master," said Ketzah, walking with Atel toward their study room. "Most of the children were delightful."

"The day went smoothly then, without mishap? How nice." He rubbed his chin. "You state 'most' of the children were delightful?"

"There were two older boys who bullied the others. They would not be reasoned with. I finally bodily removed them to protect the others. I spent the rest of the day watching them so they couldn't sneak back to hurt anyone."

A trace of a smile crossed Atel's face. "Yes, children do act up sometimes, do they not?" He pulled out his chair at the table and sat. "Ah, well, those are children for you."

He clasped his hands. "And now, let us continue our discussion from before, regarding achievement of world peace."

Like yesterday, he jumps from subject to subject. He truly is getting old! "Yes, Master, I was saying that if the armies were to be abolished, world peace could be achieved. I think this idea is sound."

"Yes, it is obvious you do." He pondered few moments, then said, "When you go to the marketplace, you may notice that men behave on different levels of development. Am I correct?"

Ketzah scowled. "Yes, that's true. They fight and bicker among themselves and cheat anyone gullible. What fools!"

Atel winced, then softened. "Would you say that some men are like children? Unruly children, at that?"

Ketzah sensed where Atel was headed, and he squirmed slightly. "Yes, Master," he muttered.

"Tell me, Little Brother, what would have happened to the children if you had allowed the bullies to run unchecked?"

"Well, they would've hurt the little ones."

"And then what? Would that have ended it? Would peace have been achieved?"

Ketzah contemplated yesterday's experience. "Peace maybe, but not a happy one, I suppose. The little ones would have been at the mercy of the big boys and would've been miserable. Of course, there is the possibility that they might all have ganged up on the two, but..." He looked solemnly at Atel. "I think I know what you're telling me."

The priest smiled gently. "And what is that, Little Brother?"

"I was the peace enforcer yesterday. I was the army for that small nation. I kept harm from overcoming the peaceful state. And I had to remain there as a constant threat to those who would overthrow that peace. Is that correct?"

Atel nodded. "That is correct. Until humankind perfects itself to the point where there are no bullies, armies assure the others that their innocent ones will be safe. The key is in self-control, always. One's sword must only be drawn in defense, never in aggression. Defense only. After all, refusal to defend oneself is a form of suicide, is it not?"

He didn't wait for a response, but raised a finger to stress his point. "Nations which have lived without strong armies for protection are no more, like a lamb left unprotected in the wilderness, surrounded by wolves.

"Yet certainly," he continued, "we here in the temple understand that life is eternal—with or without our bodies; but if we wish to remain a species on this Earth, and learn the lessons we can only learn in material bodies, we must protect ourselves from time to time."

He stood and walked to a nearby pair of marble pillars—one black, one white—and stood between the two. "Observe, Ketzah, these columns of polarity. Let this white pillar be total refusal to protect oneself, and this black one be ultimate aggression and force. Would not either eventually lead to complete annihilation from this planet?

"Strive always to walk the middle path between the two extremities. This must be true with all endeavors as well as warfare. The middle ground between absolute war and absolute peace is not easy to discern. It takes inner development to know the path. It is a worthy goal for all humankind. But alas," he said, "the goal lies countless ages hence."

"I should have known, Master Atel. Forgive my stupidity."

"Merely imperfect reasoning, Little Brother, not stupidity. Now, let us get on with our lessons."

* *

The lesson of the middle way, as Ketzah called the experience, taught him much about the intricacies of human nature. But still—like many teetering between childhood and adulthood—he was sometimes complacent about his reasoning abilities and wisdom.

One morning in class, Atel poured the last of the oil into a lamp near Ketzah's table. "When you are finished with your lesson," he said, writing out a list on a torn piece of parchment, "I will need you to get some supplies for the temple."

Ketzah sneered. "Must I go, Master Atel? I don't like the marketplace. The people are ignorant, loud and coarse. Here in the temple is where I'm happy."

Atel frowned slightly. "There are lessons in the marketplace as well as here."

Ketzah put down his brush and sullenly opened his hand for Atel to place the list and some coins in. "I'll go," he grumbled, "but next time I hope you'll pick someone else for this."

He hurriedly scribbled through the rest of his lesson, shoved it over to Atel, then huffed through the temple halls, slapping his sandals on the floor with each step. He shouldered through the doorway and stomped toward the agora until he knew he was out of sight of the priests. With no one to appreciate his suffering, he quieted down to a silent sulk. He glared at the road before him and kicked tiny pebbles as he walked.

Now and then he glanced up to watch an airship humming overhead. How wonderful it must be to ride up there, away from the noise and stench of the masses.

Ahead in the heart of the marketplace, lay the modern Temple of Bakos. He glared at it, this fleshpot for the masses—only one of many. It was here that the so-called high priests indulged in every perverse pleasure, and encouraged their willing followers to do likewise.

He remembered an older student, Mot, once debating in the forum with a devout follower of Bakos. "It is the nature of man to have these urges and desires," the man had said. "We acknowledge their existence and indulge in them. When such desires are satisfied, we can get on to other things."

"Ah, yes," Mot had countered, "but are such desires ever truly satisfied? Are they not merely comforted until another time—like an itch? As you surely have noticed in your observations, one may become addicted to satisfaction of the body's desires, and forgo the higher goals."

The man wasn't convinced, so Mot added, "I, too, recognize the dangers of suppressing carnal desires, but only when we rechannel our urges to a higher level are we then separate from the other animals."

Ketzah remembered the laughter, the ridicule that rose up from the small crowd that had gathered.

He spat onto the dusty lane. Yet as they lie dying, they frantically send for the priests of the Old Temple to help them meet the Divine. Stupid dogs! They can rot in their own feces, for all I care.

The streets became more crowded with people until he had reached the marketplace. "Alms, master," called an old, crippled man in rags. "That I may eat tonight." Ketzah sniffed the refined air that surrounded only himself and dropped a small coin into the beggar's basket.

Nearby was the stall of incense and lamp oil. He stopped there for his first purchases. The plump balding merchant talked on and on, rarely stopping to take a breath. As he gathered the incense, he asked, "What do you use this stuff for? I usually sell this kind to the Priests of the Old Way. Are you shopping for them?"

"Yes. I study there."

The shopkeeper looked surprised. "You? A young man such as you should be out living your life."

Ketzah picked up a small lamp and pretended to inspect it. "I prefer my life at the temple," he said coolly.

"Prefer it, hah! I bet you were abandoned there. A life without wine? Women? You're old enough to know such things. Reading and praying all day is no life for a lad your age."

He smiled mischievously and bent close to Ketzah, reeking garlic into his face. "Escape your captors tonight and come with me. I'll show you life! Come to my temple."

Ketzah's stomach tightened. This ignorant, filthy old man! What could he possibly know of real life? "Thank you, but I'd rather not."

He finished the transaction haughtily and bumped into a drunk when he turned to leave. He tried to lose himself in the crowd but intoxicated shouts and curses followed him. He found a display of large baskets and squatted among them while the sot stumbled past muttering obscenities, then wandered on. After a short while, the basket-weaver approached Ketzah for a sale, so he continued on his errands.

His last stop was at the silk merchant's booth. The owner of this colorful shimmering stall was a nervous little bird, scurrying about back and forth in busyness. When Ketzah had made his selection the man said, "This is our finest silk brocade. What will you be using it for?"

"It's for the shekinah in the temple."

The little man looked up abruptly as if he had been poked. "The shekinah? You're from the Old Temple then. I should have known, the way you act, like you're superior or something. You religious folks make me sick—so smug and holy." He folded the silk and shoved it in front of Ketzah. "Here's your cloth. Pay me and go."

Ketzah's stomach churned. He finished the transaction, then clumped off angrily.

It was good to see the temple come into view. He walked up the steps to the grounds, sighed and entered.

Throughout the afternoon he grumbled to other students, and before his second-last class, which was with Atel, he confided in him. "I hate going into town around those vulgar, coarse people. Someone of my upbringing shouldn't have to have contact with them. Let the younger, less-refined students run those errands. I belong here in the temple."

Atel stared at this man-child a few moments, then burst out laughing. "I am afraid you are mistaken, Little Brother. You do not belong here. You belong with them."

Ketzah winced. "With those barbarians? Not I!"

Atel's smiled faded and he looked sternly at his charge. "Yes, you! For were you not born a human, among other humans? You set yourself apart as if you were a god. But you are, after all, mortal like everyone else. You merely have had more opportunity than most.

"This temple is a school for you, and a refuge for all from the turmoil of the streets. Do not deem yourself above these poor and ignorant people. You need them more than you may want to admit."

Ketzah looked askance, and the priest continued. "Where do you get the clothes on your back? The food that you eat? The stone for this very temple? Look about you, Ketzah Kowato. What do you see? Everything that is material here was made possible by those of the streets and the countryside.

"Look at your hands. They are soft and smooth. Your body, too, is soft and feels no pain. Why do you judge yourself better than those with callused rough palms, with aching backs and weary bodies? Because of their toil, you feel comfort and have never known want."

The words stung and Ketzah flushed, but Atel went on. "You may join them and share in their struggles and pain, thus learning sensitivity for the common people. Or, you may stay here where we compassionate ones serve others and strive to uplift humanity. You must choose. You may not have both."

Ketzah hung his head, and Atel softened slightly. "It would be wise for you to think long and hard about these things. These people are your brothers and sisters, as close to you as are we here in the temple. For in the great scheme, we are all one. No one is greater, nor smaller, than the other. We are all one. Beware of pride, Little Brother. It could well be your undoing.

He stared at Ketzah silently, then added, "You are dismissed—for the day, or forever. You decide."

Ketzah throbbed with shame. He walked out to the meditation chamber to calm down, but he could only stare at the floor, Atel's words echoing in his head. Why didn't he think of all that? He was deeply chagrined that Atel was so disappointed in him. But even more, he was ashamed of himself.

He didn't wait for Falima, but took his time walking home, taking a different route lest he arrive too soon and his mother ask questions. At every vacant bench he stopped and sat awhile, staring into his lap, feeling conspicuous for not being in school. When the sun finally lay low in the sky, he arrived home and tried to act natural.

He tossed fitfully much of the night, hearing Atel's words again and again: "Beware of pride...we are all one."

Ketzah arrived early the next day and slipped quietly onto the stool in Atel's classroom. He felt the cold stare. "I'm sorry, Master Atel. I want to stay here in the temple. I promise to treat all people with respect. I...am sorry." He couldn't think of anything more to say. He stared at his desk awkwardly.

Atel continued to look at the boy, then quietly said, "True followers of the Temple have great work to do, Ketzah—great work. We serve the Light. Until lately, I have imagined you laboring alongside the rest of us. I continue to hope you will be up to the task. It is, of course, entirely up to you."

Ketzah looked up. "What work is that, Master?"

"We do not speak of it openly. It will be revealed in due time—if you are worthy."

"I'll prove myself. I will! I..."

"Let us speak no more of this." Atel smiled slightly. "I have planned that you should learn more about the seasons today, how the lives of animals are affected throughout the year..."

* * * *

Chapter 11

Ketzah was more observant now to what older students were busy with, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Then one day he passed two older students, Hara and Mot, in the main hall. They talked animatedly in near whispers. One word was audible—'records.' On seeing Ketzah nearby, they quieted. Ketzah pretended nonchalance, but he was instantly intrigued. What records? What's so secret about keeping records? We all know how to write journals and accounts.

Later in the courtyard he heard Rataatl and Master Mukira discussing a monument. "What monument?" Ketzah asked.

Surprised to see Ketzah, Rataatl shot a glance at Mukira, who merely clasped his hands behind his back and smiled politely. "We are discussing a possible monument to the future," he said. "It does not concern you at the moment."

Ketzah was bewildered. Poseidl was filled with monuments and statues. Surely, one more couldn't be of much importance.

Walking home later with Falima, he asked, "Do you know anything about records and monuments? People whisper as if I'm not supposed to know of them. Yet I too belong in the temple. I hate being left out of things!"

Falima contemplated a few moments. "I don't think anyone means to keep it secret from you. It's just a new idea, that's all. You'll probably help with it before long."

"Secrets exasperate me, Falima. What is it? Please tell me."

Falima eyed him carefully, then shrugged. "Well, you're going to find out anyway, so I may as well tell you. Let's sit here a moment and I'll explain."

She led him to a bench near a canal and they sat down. A palm swayed and clattered overhead and shaded the area. She stared at the water flowing gently by. After a few moments she said, "We know the turmoil and problems that the world is experiencing. The priests say it's worse now than ever before. They sense a great change in our civilization. They feel a foreboding—something terrible, maybe the collapse of our nation. We are preparing for it, and this is the way we're going to pass on our knowledge. This wisdom, compiled, will make up the Records you've heard about."

Ketzah shivered, a little frightened.

"The language that unifies all people, in all times," she continued, "is mathematics. We want to speak to civilizations in the future through this language. So that's what we're attempting to do."

"Mathematics is a language? That's absurd."

"So it may seem at first. But it's so, nevertheless." He stared at her. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" She touched his hand lightly.

"Yes, I see now," said Ketzah, though in fact, he didn't. "Thank you for telling me this." They got up and quietly continued the walk home. He asked no more questions, for this was beyond his comprehension. The study of numbers wasn't his best subject, but even so, he didn't see how anyone could communicate through them.

Through the day, he pondered what Falima said, wondering if it was true, or just erroneous feelings the priests were sensing. If something awful was looming in the future, maybe it was possible to keep it from happening. There had to be a way.

* *

It wasn't long after that day, when Ketzah and Atel sat on a wooden bench in the temple garden. It was cool, but the morning sun helped dispel the chill. Ketzah had loosened his blue cloak, but Atel was still bundled in his coarse brown wrap.

The lesson today concerned war, and the importance of peaceful paths. The discussion gradually shifted to the aggressive manner of modern-day Atlan.

"It seems to me," said Ketzah, "that all about us are scenes of battle. Tiny birds chase larger predators through the skies. Look. At our feet, black ants war with red ants." He frowned. "Is this all that life is? It all seems mindless and hopeless. Is this the way of all things? What will become of us?"

Atel's eyes lingered down on the ants. "No one knows for sure. We only guess and sense and try to do what's right. My brothers and I feel that major disturbances will happen soon. Worldwide upheavals, Ketzah, in your lifetime."

Ketzah stared at him wide-eyed. "Can't we stop it?"

Atel looked up. "Until we know precisely what the disturbances will be, we are powerless to seek help. Yet, we sense something very disturbing, very inharmonious looming. Men and women have forgotten their dependence upon the Earth, and upon each other. There will be a reckoning." He sighed. "So, we must prepare for the effects of their foolish actions. As we in the temple hold the knowledge—esoteric and exoteric—of the ages, we are duty-bound to preserve this wisdom. The mass of this we call 'the Records.' We now ponder building a monument to store it all."

"But why store records? We can just tell the next generation about our lives—and teach them how to read and write. Why not just hand down the teachings the way it's always been done?"

Atel rubbed his chin for a moment. "Ketzah, I recall your parents once told me that you had a grave illness when you were but three years old."

"Why, yes, I was very sick. My mother told me my fever was so high, she worried that I'd die. But, of course, the doctor brought some medicine and I got better very quickly."

"That's right. You took medication—as happens with everyone in our country. This we have done, throughout the centuries, improving our methods of healing so much that few people at all die from disease. This is a wonderful thing, is it not?" He raised a finger. "Yet, in another way, it is not so good."

"What do you mean? Of course it's good. How could it not be?"

"Close your eyes, Little Brother, and take a mental journey to the untamed places of the Earth." Ketzah closed his eyes and imagined a scene. "Behold the animals of the wilderness. See how the strongest survive, but the weak and ill die, often in babyhood. Usually before they are mature enough to reproduce. Disease, parasites, birth defects, puniness. The strong survive, breed and reproduce ever-stronger inhabitants of their species. Is this not the way it should be?"

Ketzah opened his eyes. "Well, yes, I suppose. But we're strong enough, aren't we? With medicine, I mean. It doesn't really matter if our bodies aren't as strong as the animals, as long as we're able to cure the diseases..."

"Ah yes, Ketzah. Such is true in our society today. But now, imagine to yourself our civilization collapsing, with few survivors. We cannot be sure that all those saved will be scientists and teachers. The medicine will be gone. The knowledge of how to get the medicine may also be gone. Who then will survive? Who will reproduce into the next generations? Only the strongest.

"And who are the strongest? Surely not we Atlanteans, who have become weaker and weaker through generations of weak producing weak. No, the strongest of the physical bodies—the people most likely to survive and reproduce—will be those of simpler societies, the so-called savages, who are ignorant of higher technology. The knowledge of the great civilization of Atlan would be gone within one generation. All that might remain would be half-believed legends."

Ketzah sat stunned. Still, he recalled his lessons. "But, would it matter if we weren't remembered? Isn't it vanity to want importance and fame? What other purpose could there be in this venture?"

"Good thinking, Little Brother. There is indeed a reason, beyond vanity, for our venture. It is to teach. You see, if we can tell far distant future humanity, steeped in high technology such as Atlan is today, of our past, with its mistakes and our ultimate destruction, perhaps they will learn from us, choose different paths and thus avoid our inevitable fate. That then is our purpose."

The hair on Ketzah's arms stood up. "But surely, the same things wouldn't happen again. We don't know that there could be another Atlan..."

Atel nodded with conviction. "Have no doubt, Ketzah. Human thinking remains unchanged throughout the ages. People make the same choices, again and again, unless they are finally stopped and directed onto the correct path. For even the civilization we now enjoy has already been, ages ago."

"What!?" Edak's face flashed through Ketzah's mind.

"Yes, Ketzah. Those dreams of yours are not merely dreams, but memories of other days, other times."

"But the people looked different. The land was primitive and strange."

"Do not be deceived by outward appearances. It is what happens in the heart of a person that matters."

Atel took a deep breath, recalling the ancient stories. "Thousands and thousands of years ago, so long ago as to seem only a myth, was the wonderful continent of Mu. It now lies sunken at the bottom of the Western Sea. This was the first civilization on Earth. Atlan existed then also, but had only started to rise in her technology. She was a large continent then, not broken up into the islands it is today.

"By a combined effort of Atlan and other developed countries, misusing the laws of nature, a great upheaval resulted. Mu disappeared forever, leaving little of its wisdom behind and only a few hidden survivors. Those scattered few colonies now live in the highest and nearly unknown areas of the world. They wish no contact with the outside, preferring instead to remain in seclusion. They are a highly developed race, and their lives are lived in prayer and contemplation."

He looked at Ketzah. "So you see, it has happened before and it will probably happen again. According to certain signs seen around the world, it will happen soon. As I said, in your lifetime. Even now, the Earth rumbles and shakes more than is normal, and volcanoes erupt with new fervor. This is why we are so adamant in our teaching of our students and of the monument—a monument to Light. We have a great responsibility, to warn our children of the future."

Ketzah's eyes stung. So, this must be my purpose. This is why I'm here. His voice shook. "Then I'll work hard to preserve the knowledge of the world, the Records."

* *

Up until now, Ketzah had been experiencing frequent moods of adolescent cockiness. Admonishments from the priests quelled his attitude for short periods only. But now life was different. He wasn't a pampered brat of temple halls after all, but a servant of the world. It was a privilege, not a burden, to help people in need.

There were no more surly fits. He had work to do!

Through the years, Atel had noticed how Ketzah loved gardens and growing things. With the lad's new intensity of purpose, he allotted him a small garden of his own in a sunny part of the courtyard. There Ketzah learned to hybridize. Through the seasons corn, beans, cucumbers and melons grew large and vigorous under his care. Fruit trees grew on the grounds—apricot, orange and pomegranate—and he cared for them.

He found he could think and muse alone while he worked, and he found great pleasure when his hands were in the garden soil. And so, during his free times, rather than visiting with friends or daydreaming or napping, he chose to be in the garden. Here he could ponder and prepare questions or arguments for Atel while his hands dug holes, clipped branches, pulled weeds and tied stems. His garden became vibrant.

* *

Nearly a year passed. Ketzah was enjoying a warm, nearly wind-free day working in the melon patch. He squatted in the rich dirt, checking for insects.

He looked up to see Falima approaching, carefully stepping around the plants as she neared. "Good afternoon, Ketzah," she called, pausing to examine a bandaged graft on a nearby branch.

Ketzah stood and brushed soil from his hands. "Ah, Falima, I'm glad to see you. All my favorite things in one place—my garden, and you!"

"This should be your career then," she said, ignoring the compliment. "You love gardens and you're good at it." She plucked an orange blossom from a branch and savored its fragrance. "Imagine—Ketzah Kowato, botanist...or farmer...or...hmm...herbalist."

"Or weed-monger," he said, laughing. He took the blossom from her and fixed it in her headband, over her ear. "There now, you can carry the perfume with you." His fingers lightly caressed her cheek. A thrill tantalized him from his throat to his lower abdomen. He forced it from his mind. "And if I'm attacked by a thorn bush, I'll run to Dr. Falima."

Her smile faded slightly. "I don't know. I always thought I wanted to be a doctor. But I realize now that working directly with patients doesn't interest me as much as finding cures for the diseases themselves. You know how much the energy of the Crystals has always fascinated me. When we last visited the Firestone building, it came to me that I want to know how to focus them and direct cures. I think I'd like to work there."

She shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know; I'm not sure. I'm good in mathematics, so maybe that's what I should be doing. But numbers don't interest me as healing does."

Ketzah pinched a tiny weed and uprooted it. "Well, right now you're working on the Monument of Light. You translate knowledge into mathematical equations, correct?"

Falima nodded.

"So you work with numbers right now. Use that talent to pass the knowledge on. That's duty enough, isn't it? But why do that forever? When you're finished, learn to heal."

"That's true, I can do that." She thought a moment. "But will we have the use of the Crystals forever?" She shrugged. "I'll change direction only if the need arises."

She looked around. No one could see them behind the orange tree, thick with blossoms and glossy leaves. Her eyes had an impish sparkle and she boldly took Ketzah's hand. They stood silently for just a moment, cherishing the sweet thrill it brought.

Then Falima shook her head slightly and clasped her hands together determinably. Ketzah forced sensuous thoughts from his mind.

"I can't stay," said Falima. "The reason I came out here is because Mot told me you're working on the Records now, too. Is that right?"

"I begin tomorrow. But, I'll be writing them in Atlantean, not numbers. The Monument will take so much time and labor to build, so the priests are planning only the one you're working on in Khemet. The rest of us will engrave our history on gold pages."

"Gold—they'll be beautiful."

"Beautiful, yes, and practical," said Ketzah. "Gold doesn't corrode or decompose in time, so it seems the best choice. If we make a number of them to hide all over the world, one or more might survive whatever the future brings."

"But...they'll be written in a language that may be forgotten."

"Yes," said Ketzah. "But Hara is working on a key to aid translation, to be placed in each book. I don't know how he'll do it, but he's good at that sort of thing."

Falima squeezed Ketzah's hand, then let go. "Master Shu will be expecting me. I must go." She hurried toward the entranceway. "We'll talk more on the way home," she called back.

Ketzah waved and watched her leave, then returned to his knees and his weeds. He dug and pulled, careful to protect the baby cucumbers as he worked, all the while entertaining delicious thoughts of Falima...Falima...Falima. At last he could take it no longer. He sweated profusely and his loins ached.

If I'm to withstand this, he reasoned, I must do as Mot says: Channel my carnal desires to a higher plane. The Work. All my energies must go toward the Work.

He thought again of Falima, but this time as a healer, using the Crystals for the good of people everywhere.

He had seen the Firestone only a few times on outings with the priests and other students to learn of Atlan's power. Nestled in an enormous building not too far from the temple, the huge gem took up most of the vast room. A movable roof allowed the sun to shine through, illuminating the Crystals, which magnified and intensified as they ricocheted off its carefully cut facets, finally channeling into several storage cells, which in turn gave power to the entire country.

From this source came all energy for ships—on the sea and in the air—land vehicles, heating, manufacturing—and lately, warfare. How sad, thought Ketzah, that something so good could be changed to such evil.

Rumors sometimes passed around the city that in secluded lower levels of the building, the government used the Crystals for torture, coercion and punishment. Perversions so horrible, only a few brave souls dared whisper of them. Criminals were driven mad with pain, enemies of the state destroyed—slowly, always slowly, the better to entertain their sadistic captors.

Ketzah knelt motionless, his digging tool lying by his side. Could it be true? Would this great Atlantean government permit such atrocities in its own ranks? Or is it only that—rumor, spread by idle minds?

Again, Falima entered his thoughts. Would she get her chance to cure by this magnificent power? Or would Atlan have destroyed everything before that time?

He took up his digging tool and worked intensely. There may not be much time left.

* * * *

Chapter 12

Aryaz—what an incredible place! In every direction there was noise, color, busyness—the vitality of Atlan, people called it.

Edak had come to love it here. He was never bored and he not only learned facts and figures, but how to think, reason, debate and choose. He was free to pursue subjects he liked, and also learned the self-discipline to study hard at subjects he wasn't interested in. Whatever he was to become, it was important to be knowledgeable in all things, and so he tackled all subjects with all his attention.

For four years Seratl Ti watched with wonderment as Edak grew physically and mentally. Such a powerful mind he has, he thought this particular day as he sat at his table observing Edak grinding and mixing dried herbs together. Even now this man-child seeks cures for bodily disorders. Noble work for such a young man.

"Be careful, Edak, that you do not use too much of this plant," he admonished. "You want to heal the patient, not kill him."

Edak looked up, startled. Seratl Ti's smile told him his error wasn't as grave as the teacher's words. "I would give no medicine that I have not first tried on myself," he said.

Seratl Ti patted the lad's shoulder. "A wise decision."

When studying numbers, Edak usually had the answers first. After showing Seratl Ti his clay tablet, he would go to help the other boys, sometimes explaining in a different way what the teacher had taught, which often helped to shed new light on the problem. This tutoring was repaid at reading time. Many of the older Atlantean stories had words and phrases unfamiliar to Edak. The others then taught him.

Seratl Ti sometimes wrote to Ogra of his fondness for her son, keeping her up to date on his development. If only Rehm were alive to know of his son's deeds, he mused. He thought back to the tragic death, and its effect on Edak.

Rehm died soon after Edak's arrival in Atlan. He had stumbled in from the docks one night. Covered red with rash, he mumbled incoherently. Ogra stayed at his bedside night and day while Klad brought water from the well and fresh cloths to help cool his burning forehead and body. Despite all the care and love they could give, he succumbed three nights later.

Edak had been at the well drinking water when it happened. He was suddenly overwhelmed with a cold feeling of emptiness followed by a deep, nameless grief. Someone dear had been torn from him, he knew. Yet, it was over a moon's time before he received a letter from Ogra with the details, and also her advice:

"...I know the pain and sorrow you are feeling, dear son. I sense that you will want to return home.

But you must remember how very proud your father was of you, until the moment he left us. You must stay there and be educated, for coming home will not breathe life back into his lungs. Your schooling was his dream, as well as mine and yours.

Klad and I share your grief, more than you can know, but we must remain separated at this time."

Devastated, Edak took to his bed. He did not speak nor cry, but lay in silence, staring at nothing. Seratl Ti found the crumpled letter and read, then did all he could to console, but the young boy would not be comforted. After two days and nights without food or drink, Seratl Ti said gently, "Edak, you must write your mother. Your pain is searing, yet how much more so must your mother feel his absence. Don't you abandon her, too."

Edak blinked, then stared at Seratl Ti a long moment. At last he broke into sobs and clutched his teacher with profound desperation. Seratl Ti held his young charge lovingly, trying to soothe, until finally his weeping subsided. With aching heart, Edak dragged himself to the table and wrote to Ogra:

"Dearest Mother,

I received your letter two days ago and immediately took sick. The thought of never seeing Father again seems more than I can bear.

My heart tears apart even now as I write this, for I do not wish to remain here another moment. I belong at home by your side, for you have no one now to help you with Klad and the crops.

Yet, you tell me I must stay here, and so I shall, but only because I would not disobey the dearest woman who lives. But I promise you, Mother, that I shall learn all I can of the healing art and will do what I can to cure and to teach.

People as good as Father must not be cut down by disease. That is my vow, made in honor of Father's memory."

Seratl Ti thought of this now as he watched the lad, busy at work in the garden tending to a plot of medicinal plants. All along the house and in every part of the yard that was not used, Edak had planted herbs. It was a delight to the eye to see how he had used the sunny and shady spots, even making a small pond for any water-loving growth. Visitors remarked on the vast array of nightshade, agrimony, crocus, morning glory, aloe, dock, castor, yarrow, thyme, mustard, tarragon, skullcap, rosemary, sundew, raspberry, thistle, plantain, garlic, mint, fern—and plants Seratl Ti did not yet know the names of.

How I have enjoyed this young man, he thought. Yet, I cannot hold him forever. He is seventeen years old now, a man. It is time for him to meet the world.

He walked out to Edak's side. "A splendid day to be working outside, Edak. May I join you?"

Edak stood in respect to his teacher's arrival. He was fully a head and a hand taller than Seratl Ti, slender and delicate-looking. He still wore his long, nearly black hair fastened in the back. Large deep-brown eyes gazed gently from his handsome face. His voice was deep and soft. "You are always welcome to join me," he said. "Where are the younger boys?"

Seratl Ti squatted by the garden and picked a mint leaf. Edak joined him. "They're inside, still sweating over the composition I've asked them to write." He chuckled. "Such an exercise is good for their mental development, and a rest for me." He chewed the leaf for a moment. "Have you decided what your plans are, now that you've grown?"

Edak hesitated, then he, too, broke off a leaf and bit a section. "Yes," he said, nibbling at the bit in his mouth. "I will return to Mu. I have not seen my mother and brother in four years—except in my mind-travels, of course. I know I can use my knowledge and skill to be of benefit there."

Seratl Ti sighed and spat out the mint. "I had hoped you would remain in Aryaz. Atlan can always use another doctor. Would you not consider it?"

"I have considered it, many times. I have lived here long enough to know that I would miss Atlan if I lived in Mu, and I would miss Mu if I lived in Atlan." He paused and chewed slowly. "So, as I am Murian by birth and my family remains in Mu, I belong there."

Seratl Ti stood, as then did Edak. Seratl Ti shrugged his shoulders. "You must do what is best for you." He put his hand on Edak's forearm. "I shall miss you very much. You now carry all my knowledge of academics and the healing arts. In fact, you have taught me as well. I will miss your sharp mind. When will you be going?"

"I plan to harvest these herbs to sell, which should earn enough for the voyage back home. Until then, I hope you will allow me to stay."

"Allow you? You are always welcome here. I so appreciate your help with these new students." They both laughed, for Seratl Ti had four young boys, all lively and mischievous. "Are you sure you cannot stay here?" he asked wistfully.

Edak smiled and shook his head. "I am sure. My future is in Mu."

* *

Weeks passed. The herbs were harvested and sold. Edak packed his belongings. Most painful were the goodbyes given to the boys, the many promises to send letters, and the last few glances at his surroundings. And now it was time to leave this school-home forever.

Seratl Ti walked with him to the bay where the large old ship he was to take sat lazily at the pier.

The too-familiar pain of parting ached in his chest. "I shall write to you the day I arrive in Mu." Seratl Ti held open his arms and the two hugged tightly a few moments.

"Farewell, good teacher and dear friend," he said.

Seratl Ti's face was tight, but he attempted a smile. "Goodbye, Edak. May the gods smile always upon you."

"And also you."

Edak walked up the ramp to the ship and refused to look back. No more goodbyes, he silently vowed. My life will be peaceful and serene from this time on.

* *

The voyage was smooth and Edak had lots of time to think, so different from his trip to Atlan four years previously. By the time the vessel had crossed the sea, gone up the river and docked at his village in Mu, he had planned precisely where his herb garden would be, in a place near his mother's house. Swampy in places, stony in others, it would be a perfect place to grow his strange assortment. He would infringe on no one's food crops.

But now his dreams and plans waited for another time. Familiar sights, sounds and smells at the dock bombarded him—unchanged, yet somehow different. Had it always been this still and plain and humble? But how wonderful to behold! He swung his sack of possessions up over his shoulder, a parcel no bigger than what he had brought to Atlan, but for a few extra items: herb seeds, a yellow silk tunic for Ogra, an ivory flute for Klad, and a brass bell for Ropl Du Meh to call his students.

Amid the noise of the docks he studied the sea of faces for someone familiar, wanting—almost expecting—to see Rehm sweating with a load of cargo on his shoulders. There was no one he recognized. Had his community disappeared, to be replaced by strangers?

Ah, but wait—here now was Rupek, a friend of his father. Edak called and waved. He started over to speak to him but a new, cherished sound warmed his ears: "Edak!"

Mother! He turned and scanned the busy populace. Over there, waving and smiling and crying, the same—but different—Mother! By her side, nearly as tall as Ogra, stood Klad.

Edak nearly pushed a man in his rush to her arms. He was taller than her now, and he felt awkward, for he was used to reaching up for her enveloping love. He looked into her face. Tiny lines had etched themselves into her once-flawless complexion. A few gray lines streaked her dark hair. Where once she protected him, he now felt like protector. He held her close and whispered, "Mother."

A young hand tapped Edak's shoulder. "Remember me?" A lad the height of Ogra's nose stood before them, muscular and stocky, his face chiseled with the handsome features of Rehm.

"Klad! Do I remember you? Every day of my life I've thought of you!" He swung his younger brother around as he had always done, but the package was much heavier than before. "Ay! You'll soon be swinging me," he laughed.

He opened his sack and pulled out the flute and robe. "Treats from Atlan, to celebrate the festivals."

Klad ran his fingers over the smooth white ivory. He placed it to his mouth, and a few notes warbled out. "I love it, Edak! I really do!"

Ogra caressed the silk and held it to her cheek. "It is so elegant, so very beautiful—as light as a breath!" Her smile faded slightly, and her eyes looked at an inner scene. "But I have no one to celebrate with at festivals."

Edak thought of his parents dancing and laughing together. "No one could ever replace Father, I know. But remember, you have two young men who love you very much. Would you not honor us with your dances?"

Ogra brightened. "Who better, but the sons of Rehm to dance with? I will wear this robe proudly."

On the walk home, Klad skipped about them, non-melodies tweedling from the flute. Ogra and Edak walked arm in arm, pausing here and there to wave or chat a bit with old friends and neighbors who recognized him. The streets and houses were smaller than Edak remembered. Compared to Aryaz, Mu was colorless, quiet, even drab. Would he fit in again? Certainly he didn't belong in the extroverted life of Atlan. "Mother, do you think I've changed?"

Ogra stopped and studied him awhile before resuming her pace. "You've grown into a handsome man. Certainly you are more knowledgeable and worldly. But where it matters, deep within, you are the same. Perhaps you feel like an outsider, but wait a few days. Mu will become your home once more."

And of course, she was right. Within days, Mu was comfortable and sweet again. While Ogra kept busy making pottery, which she sold for items she didn't grow, Klad worked in the garden and milked the three goats, for the table and for income.

Edak busied himself clearing the land he had chosen to grow pharmaceutical herbs. Two willow trees sheltered the ground where his shade-loving plants would be. Away from the trees, he struggled—with Klad's help—to remove large stones, allowing space for sun-loving plants. In and near the swampy areas, herbs that needed moisture would grow. And at last, after many days of preparation, he planted the first seeds.

Now he could call himself an herbalist and healing advisor, and it felt natural and good.

* * * *

Chapter 13

Gentle rains misted the land of Mu and the fertile soil stayed moist. Seeds germinated quickly and tiny green sprouts arose out of the warm earth. Dozens of varieties of medicinal herbs poked out like tiny fingers, pointing up toward the blazing sun. Some carried fragrance: sweet or spicy or sharp or putrid; others had no odor at all. Many were flowered, some were not, but all carried healing potential in one way or another. Edak tended each plant carefully, noting which were the strongest. Of these his medicines were made.

Neighbors watched him in his gardens and came to him with headaches, cramps, fevers, infections, edema, coughs, catarrh, or just for a general tonic. His manner was caring and gentle, his advice was good and his herbs were effective. Before two years had passed, the community called him the healer.

But of course, not everyone could be cured. How this frustrated him! Often at night, he awoke pondering and thrashing, finally sitting up to wait out the night until dawn, wondering how he could improve his work.

After several months, an idea came one night. He would experiment with the plants, improve their effectiveness and perhaps even change their nature. He collected pollens from plants that were similar, yet different in effectiveness. These he mixed up before distributing onto target plants. He grafted stalks of one plant to roots of others. Some failed, some survived—with strange results. Absorbed in this study, the summer passed.

And now it was late autumn. Summer annuals had been harvested and winter crops sown. Most of the perennials had gone dormant.

Edak awoke from his sleep one night. He had heard a noise. What was that? Like a log rolling...yes, a log hit with something and then...rolling. Hit...or kicked?

The goats!

He leaped up and made for the door, pausing as he opened it. Forcing calmness, he sensed no danger and stepped out. It was nearly morn. The sky was just light enough to notice a small form nearby. No, not in my garden! "Klad, wake up. The goats are out."

"Goats?" Klad mumbled groggily. "Why now?" He groaned and stretched. "Oh, I am coming."

"Take a torch," admonished Ogra from her mat. "Both of you."

"Yes, Mother," said Klad, groping for the bundle of sticks left near the door.

Edak quickly uncovered a few hot coals from yesterday's fire, now bedded under a pile of hearthstones. He blew them to life and soon had the sticks lit. "Quick, before we have lost them all!"

Into the predawn air, through the swamp and down the lane they ran, playing a crazy game of chase with the goats—dashing, calling, veering and waving branches until, at last, the culprits were home again in their little stockade.

Klad closed the gate, fixing a loop of braided vines over the gate and fence posts to keep it closed. He wiped his forehead, laughing, his hair and body dripping with sweat. He so loved any kind of excitement in his life, even disruption of sleep was forgivable if there were a small thrill to it.

At thirteen, he was nearly as tall as Edak, although much sturdier in structure. His voice was sometimes high, sometimes low, but always hearty. "That should keep them until the sun comes up," he said. "I wanted more sleep, but I am awake now."

Edak sat on a log, scraping mud off his feet with a stick. "I do not think I can sleep again either. Let us check to see how much of the garden is damaged."

Much of the crop was trampled and uprooted, yet only the golden marshgrass had been eaten. "Nothing to be concerned about," he said. "It is harmless in its wild state."

Strange they only ate the marshgrass and nothing more, he thought, this being an untested, hybridized variety. It must have a good flavor and smell.

They slung their arms over each other's shoulders and returned home. "I guess it was their last gust of playfulness before winter rain and mud," he said.

* *

By early spring, the two female goats were pregnant. Klad became aware of the first dam's labor. "The goats are having their babies, Mother," he called.

Ogra was working on a large urn in the front of the house, turning and shaping the enormous lump, red-brown clay dripping off her hands. "Keep an eye on them while you work, lest there be any problems," she called without looking up.

Edak squatted in his garden. Light-green shoots of the perennials poked out of the earth. Time to prepare the soil for annuals, he thought. This year I will raise more of...

"Edak!" Klad sounded excited. "Something is wrong! Come and see."

Edak got up and hurried to the goat pen where Klad was. Tiny, wet movements struggled in the corner by the brown dam lying on her side. Edak gasped. She had given birth to twins, perfectly formed, seemingly healthy—except the kids were about one-third the size they should be.

"Why are they so little?" asked Klad.

"I do not know," said Edak. "I have never seen anything like that before."

Ogra arrived and studied the kids. "I did not notice she was sick during her pregnancy, did you, Klad?"

"No, she was healthy. I checked her every day. All three goats were not sick at all."

"Well, it is a marvel," she said. "If they survive, they will be the smallest goats I have ever heard of. Though I do not know what purpose they will serve. How much milk can they give?"

Two days later, the other dam went into labor. The family gathered to watch, and stared in wonder when she too gave birth to a single miniature kid.

"Again," said Ogra. "Why have both mothers produced such pathetic offspring?"

The tiny kid wobbled to its mother and clumsily attached its mouth to an oversized teat. "It does not seem frail," said Edak. "Just tiny. Maybe the father is faulty."

"I think not," said Ogra. "Last year he sired perfect kids, by the same mothers."

They could only stare and wonder, for they had no answer.

No more energy was spent pondering the mutant goats. Though they were an oddity to the neighbors, they weren't different from other goats in any way but size. The novelty wore off and life went back to normal.

In midsummer, Edak went to work near the marsh. A few varieties needed harvesting, others weeding. He stooped to check the dryness of soil near the golden marshgrass and surprised a chipmunk that was feeding on seeds from the grass.

Edak's eyes bulged watching the startled animal run off. It was the tiniest chipmunk he had ever seen, about the size of a shrew. When it felt it was a safe distance away, it turned and stood scolding Edak. He listened to the chip-chip-chip of the little barks that sounded more like squeaks, and watched the wisp of a tail jerk with each yip.

How very, very odd, he mused. This is the fourth animal I have seen that is abnormally small. What is the cause of this?

The sun was low in the sky when Edak joined Ogra and Klad for spiced fish and beans at the hearth. He told them of the chipmunk, then dipped flatbread in the pot.

"What is happening here," asked Ogra, "that animals are born so small? Why not with our neighbors, or people on the other side of the village? This is not a normal thing to happen."

"What about your plants, Edak?" asked Klad. "Remember last fall when the goats got out? They ate your plants, did they not?"

Edak looked up. "Yes, they did. Golden marshgrass." He chewed and thought. "Golden marshgrass. The chipmunk seemed to like it, too."

He bit off a small piece of bread and looked at Ogra and Klad. They were staring at Edak.

"The grass is no good," said Ogra.

"I will uproot and burn it first thing in the morning. How many animals have suffered through my thoughtlessness? I must not hurt any more."

He didn't sleep well that night with the guilt and shame pounding at him. He had seen the struggle of the kids trying to reach their mother's nipples. Often Klad or Edak came to the rescue, picking them up to the milk bags. How did the chipmunk survive? How many other animals ate the grass? Are there wild babies out there now, starving because of Edak's carelessness? He should have known better than to leave untested herbs out where any animal could eat it.

A roar from the forest, then a howl, interrupted his thoughts. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Now fully awake, he sat up. The great beasts—yes! He would not destroy the grass. Perhaps he would cover it with a gauze and strong fencing to protect the little animals from eating it. Yes, he might use it after all.

Early the next day, he went out with a knife and cut the golden marshgrass in half, being very careful to catch the seeds. The chipmunks only wanted the seeds to eat, and the grass would not be killed. He separated enough grain to plant twice as much in the spring, then bundled the cuttings well. This he placed at the back wall in the house. Then he walked down to the library near the temple in the heart of the village.

The hall of archives was a larger stone building, about the size of four or five private houses. Along the walls were shelves from floor to ceiling stacked and crammed with hundreds of scrolls of numerous topics. Edak had recently contributed one himself, a treatise on healing herbs.

Stepping into the cool dark building, his eyes came to rest on the scribe, Myreem, sitting in the light from the only window in the room. She was unrolling a scroll to be copied for other libraries. The braids and shells in her hair enhanced the soft lines of her face, her large dark eyes and deep dimples in each cheek. She wore a gold bracelet and necklace which caused her skin to nearly glow.

Edak wanted to stare, as he always wanted to on his visits here, for her beauty entranced him, but she looked up and said, "Good morning, Edak," and he didn't wish to appear rude.

He looked at her scroll. "Good morning, Myreem" he said nonchalantly. "I see you are busy. I will look around so as not to bother you."

Myreem stood. "How foolish. It is my job to help you, and I enjoy it." She was tall, statuesque, and her tunic moved fluidly as she walked toward him. Edak nearly forgot why he had come.

"What is it you wish?" she asked softly.

Edak cleared his throat. "Do you have any writings on the gestation period of the great beasts?"

Myreem seemed surprised. "No, I have never heard of such a thing." She smiled good-naturedly. "I do not suppose anyone has stayed around too long to observe them, do you?"

"It does sound silly, I know. But I think it might be of importance. Well," he said, sorry that he had no reason to stay, "thank you for your help. Good day."

Myreem's eyes lingered on his, as if she wanted to express something, but at last she simply said, "Good day."

With nowhere else to go for advice, Edak went home, deciding he would take on the task alone. He made two torches, thick, hollow bamboo tubes which he filled with dried moss. It was important to have lots of smoke to frighten animals away.

He would take all the golden marshgrass that he had cut.

Early the next day, he filled two large sheets of linen with the grass, which he bundled and hoisted onto each shoulder, along with the unlit torches. He turned to leave and nearly bumped into Ogra standing in the doorway.

She eyed the torches. "Where I are you going? To the woods?" A glint of fear flashed in her expression. ¨

Edak read her face. "No, Mother," he lied. "I am going near the forest to look for more herbs to grow. Do not worry. These torches will provide plenty of smoke."

"What are in those bundles?" The burden was heavy on his shoulders but he worked to make it seem an easy load. "Golden marshgrass. I want to burn it. The fire and smoke will protect me while I work and we will be rid of the cursed stuff."

Ogra looked leery. "Please, son. Stay safe."

"Of course. Always. Do not worry about me."

She watched him walk out the door, then forced herself back to her work.

Edak didn't like lying to his mother. Yet he was determined to test his theory and he didn't want to worry her.

"Edak." Klad's whisper emitted from the bean patch behind the house. "Where are you going?" He was getting bored from weeding and Edak looked like he might be heading for adventure.

"I am going to burn grass and gather herbs. Do you want to join me?" He had hoped Klad would be available.

"I surely would!" He ran to the house, leaned his hoe against the wall and yelled, "Mother! I am going to help Edak!"

He took a bundle and a torch from Edak and followed toward the forest. "Why are you going so far to burn the grass?"

Edak didn't say anything until he was sure they were out of earshot of the house. "I am not going to burn it and I am not going to gather herbs. I do not want to worry Mother. I am going to go into the woods. That is why I need your help, to hold a torch and watch for animals."

Klad's eyes widened. "I will gladly help. Why are you doing this?"

"I need to find the lair of a giant plant-eater and leave this for it to eat."

Klad stared at Edak a few moments, then burst out laughing. "I know what you are doing! It is ingenious!" He glanced back at the house. They were far enough away. Turning back to Edak, he said, "Do you think it will work?"

"Who knows? From what I can figure, the parent—or maybe both parents—need to eat this very early in the pregnancy. One feeding should be enough; well, only one was enough for our goats. We will just have to experiment and find out."

At the edge of the woods, they took the torches and lit them with a flint Edak had. There was more smoke than fire, exactly what Edak wanted. They stepped into the forest.

Neither brother had been there before. It was dark and cool, moist and overgrown, dense with trees wider than a house. They paused and waited for a sense of danger, then cautiously proceeded.

Tracks of a large cat lay embedded in mud near them, but they knew it wouldn't eat grass. Birds chirped and rasped, cawed and shrieked as they passed; monkeys chattered and howled.

The heat from the sun wasn't harsh in the woods, but mosquitoes were everywhere. Edak and Klad slapped them until they were nearly mad. "Agh!" cried Klad. "How long will this mission take? We will have no blood left!"

It was a strange shady world of trees, fallen logs, giant ferns and dense shadows that could hide hungry beasts. They shoved the biting insects out of their thoughts and kept walking deeper into the forest. Torches held high, they nervously scanned everywhere at once for animals and for a lair.

Something felt very, very wrong. Was it imagination or was it the feeling?

A low growl vibrated their eardrums. They stopped short.

Edak fought the urge to turn and run home, wondering if he could devise another way to test the grass. But Klad stepped toward the sound, his torch held before him. Edak gaped, astonished, and thought of Ogra. "Klad, no!"

Two more steps forward and Klad thrust the flaming club into the shadows—once, twice, three times. "Hah! Hah! Hyah! Now go! Go!"

Sticks snapped and cracked. A large yellow form thundered away through the thick brush.

Edak stood frozen, terrified. Klad jumped with delight. "It was a cat, Edak! We scared off a giant cat!"

All color had drained from Edak's face. He felt cold. He stared at his brother. So brave!

Klad saw Edak's expression and his smile faded. "Are you okay, brother? It is gone now. We are safe."

Edak exhaled loudly and adjusted the pack on his left shoulder. "Well, let us continue then." He tried to be calm but his torch shook.

Klad's stocky chest puffed. He didn't have his brother's high intelligence; he always had known that. But he was physically strong and brave. Here in the jungle, Klad clearly had the advantage. It wasn't a feeling of superiority. This was just the way it was. Of their different strengths, Edak's was of little use here. He slapped Edak on the back and grinned robustly.

Edak took a long breath before continuing. He felt deeply uneasy with danger lurking behind every tree and fern. He must relax and concentrate. He wouldn't feel the warnings in his forehead if he were tense. But the fear lingered.

Crashing and rustling of brush sounded close by. Then grunts and squeals pierced the air. Edak and Klad stopped and listened hard.

"Boars!" whispered Klad. "I saw one once in a cage on the wharf. It sounded just like that."

Edak grasped the torch tighter, his hand nearly numb. Sweat trickled down his forehead and from his armpits. He was nearly compelled to turn and run. His heart pounded in his ears. He had to remember why they were here. "Boars would eat this grass, I think," he said, his voice weak and hoarse. "It smells good and is tasty."

"I hope they fear fire," said Klad, stepping ahead of Edak. "We do not have a chance if they do not fear it. They are very fierce, terribly mean."

Such an encounter raced through Edak's head. With all four feet on the ground, one would stand head to head with Edak. Woolly, thick skin, long tusks sharper than knives, and blind ferocity did not make these animals a pleasant opponent.

He followed Klad toward the porcine noises, his knees weak. Why was he here? He should be home where it's safe. Still, if there were any way of ridding Mu of these animals...

Determined, he forced himself forward, heart pounding wildly, shaking torch held high. They neared the animals, and the grunts and squeals changed to snorts and sniffs.

Klad stopped. "Let's set out the grass here. They're surrounding us now and I'd rather have both arms free to wield the torch."

Surrounded! Edak's knees nearly gave out.

They opened their packs and set the grass out, then turned to backtrack home.

"Keep your eyes and ears working," said Klad. "We want no blood shed, theirs or ours."

Cautiously inching back over familiar terrain, every movement of the wind on leaves seemed an attack. The boars circled them, their noises everywhere at once.

The two stopped short.

To their right, screaming and snorting, a huge brown hulk charged from the underbrush. Instinctively, Edak waved the torch back and forth. "Get away!" he yelled.

The boar veered and thundered into the bush, swallowed up by enveloping foliage.

Edak's mouth was dry. That thing was huge! Certainly it could have crushed them both. He tried to calm himself. They were so far from home.

"Let's keep going," said Klad. "We will make it." He pushed aside a large fern in front of him and jumped back. Evil eyes as big as a man's fist stared back, then turned to charge.

"Hyah! Hah!" Klad jabbed the torch at it, singeing its snout slightly. It squealed shrilly, then crashed back into the woods.

Even Klad was shaken now. "Let us keep moving. Our torches will not stay lit forever."

Klad held his flame straight in front of him and they struggled through the thick brush. Edak waved his around, first in one hand, then in the other. Smoke alone should keep the brutes at a distance.

At last the noises faded and sounded farther behind them. "They might have found the grass," said Edak. "They are leaving us."

"Maybe so, but be cautious," admonished Klad.

It seemed a day and a night to leave the forest, yet it was only midday. They would be home in time to eat. With slaps on the backs, they chuckled nervously. "We did it," Klad proclaimed.

Edak regained some composure. "Now we wait, grow more grass, then look for little animals."

* *

Moons passed and Edak grew more golden marshgrass. When Ogra asked why he was raising more of the cursed plant, he explained this was a different variety, a better one, and that was why he was growing a larger plot of it. He still raised herbs for healing, but he spent his spare time clearing more suitable land, planting more of the hybrid grass.

When it was harvested, he and Klad again trekked into the forest with their bundles. Though they met no animals, they saw boar tracks.

As they had hoped, tiny tracks ran with the large ones—obviously babies, yet the hooves were about half-smaller than they should be.

He saved all of the seed now, planting in new fields and sending some to other communities.

After two years the forest seemed a bit quieter at night, a little less dangerous. Though he and Klad still ventured into the green terror, it didn't seem as perilous.

This was the hoped-for proof. More grass, greater quantities must be grown. The animal problem could be solved!

* * * *

Chapter 14

Queen Califia wiped her brow with the back of her plump hand. She took a deep breath and sighed. It was hot today, hotter than usual even for Mu, even for midsummer, and here in the sun it was its worst. Califia usually took a nap in the shade of her lodge during the torrid afternoons, but she'd been troubled of late and took her anguish to her favorite spot, the garden.

She glanced at the sun and her eyebrows arched in surprise. She'd been out here a full two hands. She sighed again. Was she wasting time here or accomplishing her duty during such thought sessions? It didn't matter, for she needed to be here and that was that.

A flowery odor wafted through the air and she filled her lungs, letting the aroma delight her olfactory senses. How she loved this area behind the small palace. This was her special place, a haven where she could wander and sit and lose herself among floral friends.

Ginger was in bloom now and she especially loved its rich fragrance. She bent her thick frame over to bury her nose in a blossom, then closed her eyes to inhale. Ah, such ecstasy from this simple plant! She paused, then straightened up to caress the leaf lightly with her plump fingers, as she unconsciously did with each plant she passed. Every species was beautiful, each in its own way, and she loved them all.

Today her thoughts were of marshgrass and a twenty-two-year-old man called Edak. For nearly two years she had been receiving accounts which he sent to her of this remarkable plant. Each letter intrigued her more than the last, until finally she had sent a runner to beg for a visitation. That was two days ago, and the messenger Gedran had not yet returned.

Edak's village stood a day's journey down the river on foot. Gedran had armed himself with torches to frighten away any animal; also he wore strings of shells that clattered with each footfall to give any beast plenty of warning of his approach. Still, she worried for his safety, as she always did, until his return.

She sat on a wooden bench in the shade of a large oleander and wiped her sweaty palms on her deep pink robe. Then she rubbed the tip of one thumbnail across the flat of the other and pondered. A small blossom fell from her head and she tucked it back into one of her thick braids, which were adorned with other flowers and shells. Then she resumed the absentminded thumb play in her lap.

Edak and his golden marshgrass, she mused. Might he really have the answer? She thought of his letters. He had written of the land he cleared, land no one wanted because of its location near the forest. There he planted his seed.

He talked of large animal tracks and signs of grazing, and of fish or milk, or goats that had died—anything Edak could obtain that a meat eater might feed upon. These he mixed with marshgrass and left as deep in the woods as he dared to go, hoping the carnivores would eat and be affected. And indeed they did eat, and their offspring were dwarfs.

What a brave deed, and selfless, too. She must meet this man, for perhaps he could make great changes in the land—in the world!

A light breeze blew and for a moment she was cooled slightly. She yawned. The air was so still in her lodge. Would her attendant Thedar think her daft if she dozed out here? She looked around. He wasn't here. This was his time also for rest.

She protruded her lower lip and exhaled a bit to blow a breeze up on her face. Then looking down at the bench she occupied, she surrendered. If I look the fool, she decided, then so be it. I'll only rest a short while.

She lay her head on the wood plank and drew her ample legs up, cradling her head in her soft arm. It was comfortable enough, and soon she drifted off, dreaming of flowers and birds and ocean waves, and a faceless young man named Edak.

"Gracious Queen." A tall, lean, balding man knelt at the bench and gently patted Califia's hand. A golden ring held his graying hair at the nape. Around his neck hung the gold medallion of Mu, which shone bright against his lavender tunic. "Gedran has returned," he continued softly. "He brings with him The Healer."

Califia's eyelids fluttered and she awoke. "Thank you, Thedar," she said groggily. She rubbed her eyes and stretched. "Please, bring them here to the garden."

Thedar left and returned shortly. Behind him followed Gedran, muscular and agile, the shells on his brown tunic chattering with each step. A few paces behind walked Edak, shy, hesitant, yet curious. His eyes found Califia, then glanced away lest she think him rude, then swept across the expanse of the garden, appreciating the beauty all about. A new light-brown tunic hung on his thin frame and his medallion had been polished to brilliance, all in honor of this visit.

Thedar and Gedran stood before the queen, who now sat regally on the bench, the few hairs that had strayed during the nap tucked into place and her robe straightened and proper.

Gedran placed his hands on opposite shoulders and bowed low. "Gracious Queen, I bring you Edak."

Edak, standing behind the two escorts, stepped forward and bowed like Gedran. "Gracious Queen."

Califia smiled. "Edak," she said softly, her voice gentle like the rest of her. "How nice that we meet at last. Please, share this bench with me. I have read your letters with such interest. Although you are only twenty-two, you are like an old friend."

Edak flushed slightly. "True, I am young, but I have not felt like a child in many years." He found a place on the edge of the bench and sat.

Califia nodded. "Some people mature long before their bodies reach adulthood. This seems to be true of those with a special purpose."

"A purpose? Perhaps; perhaps not. I merely work at what I am drawn most to." He squirmed ever so slightly, sitting so close to the royal figure."

Thedar and Gedran awkwardly lingered nearby, awaiting direction. Califia noticed her oversight. "Oh, dear assistants! I did not mean for your inconvenience. Gedran, you must be weary and quite hungry from your journey. Thedar, please see that he is fed and made comfortable, and bring refreshments for our guest...and of course, Thedar, yourself."

Thedar smiled and bowed as before. "Yes, Gracious Queen. With pleasure." He left with Gedran.

Califia and Edak sat quietly and listened to the rhythmic rattle and clatter of Gedran's shells fading off, until both men had entered the service lodge and the door was shut.

Califia looked at Edak. "Was it an imposition, that I asked you here?"

Edak smiled nervously. "No, no imposition. It is an honor to be your guest."

"Then please, relax. I want you to be comfortable. Tell me about you and your family first, then your work and then the marshgrass."

Edak relaxed slightly. "My family is well. I live with my mother and younger brother. My father died when I was a lad. Mother earns a living by making pottery for trade and selling goat milk. My brother Klad is sixteen and much different than myself. He is quite robust in body and spirit, whereas it is my mind that is most active." He smiled. "I never saw Klad so bedazzled as when Gedran appeared, running down our lane. Here was adventure and excitement, two things Klad most craves."

Califia laughed, then asked, "And what is it you crave most, Edak? What is dearest to your heart?"

Edak searched his thoughts. He remembered how fraught with worry Ogra was when she realized what her sons were doing, venturing into the woods with the marshgrass bait. Finally, Edak had sat with her while she formed a bowl of clay, and explained what they had been doing for moons.

Ogra continued to work the bowl, yet her expression revealed her concern. For a while she didn't speak. At last she stopped, wiped her hands and looked hard into Edak's eyes. "Edak, I cannot stop you, for you are a grown man. And, I understand why you do this. How could I forbid such noble action? Yet, I must implore that you allow no harm to come to yourself or to Klad. You are my sons, all that I have. If Klad or you were gone, I don't know how I could take another breath. Klad is but of sixteen years and has never regarded danger as anything but fun. Please, Edak, keep this in mind. Keep him out of harm's way, and certainly yourself."

"Mother, of course. Klad is my brother, my only sibling. He is as dear to me as you." He took her hand. "Try not to worry. We desire life as much as you want us to live."

All the while Edak eased Ogra's fears, yet he knew it was Klad who had protected Edak, for it was he himself who became too terrified to think or act coherently in moments of danger.

Ogra said no more, but went back to her work. Edak got up and gently placed his hand on her cheek, his lips resting atop her head. He imagined her thoughts. She knew her boys well. She also knew this needed to be done. There would be no more talk of these things. A mother must simply wait and hope.

Edak emerged from this flash of memory as Thedar quietly came out with a pitcher of tea he had prepared. He pulled a small stand over and placed the setting before them. The only sound besides a few birds' twitters and a light breeze was of the hot liquid being poured into two ceramic cups, which Thedar placed before them.

He quietly left the garden and Califia cupped the steaming vessel with her hands to smell the herbal aroma. "You will like this, I think. It is rose and lemon grass."

Edak inhaled the pungent steam and discovered he was no longer nervous before Califia. Thedar returned with a tray of food: grapes, guavas, mangoes and roasted breadfruit. To one side lay strips of smoked fish. All this he placed beside the pitcher.

"Thank you, Thedar," said Califia. "This is wonderful." Thedar smiled, bowed and exited.

"What is dearest to my heart?" said Edak at last. "My family, of course, but also my work. I enjoy helping others, with herbs, and with the sacred Energy. Yet my experiments intrigue me more and more."

Califia gazed at Edak, waiting for more, but realized after a short while that this humble man did not ramble. "Please eat, for you've had a long journey. And tell me about your experiments as you do."

Edak picked a small cluster of green grapes. "Well, as I have said on the letters, I have been testing golden marshgrass on animals and I have found it stunts their growth."

"Does this grass cause any suffering at all?"

"No, Gracious Queen, not any that I can ascertain. Of course, I cannot watch the wild beasts closely, but I am in close contact with our goats daily. They frolic and play happily, every bit as healthy as their peers. They differ in size only."

Califia picked a slice of mango off the tray and took a small bite. "The offspring of your new goats—what size are they?"

"So far, in two years, there have been no offspring. The 'miniatures,' as I prefer to call them, seem to be barren."

Califia stopped eating, her eyebrows arched. "Barren! Do you realize what that could mean?"

Edak smiled, unable to hide his enthusiasm. "Yes, Gracious Queen, I surely do. If it is as I suspect—as I hope—we might be able to eliminate the great beasts altogether. Within the life span of one animal, perhaps eight to 10 years at the longest, all targeted creatures might be gone from the Earth forever."

Califia swallowed the rest of the mango she had been chewing and pondered aloud. "It is a very big world. Yet, would not the other countries so threatened by these creatures be equally as willing to help? Of course!" She looked at Edak. "This is good news—such good news! Tell me how we may help."

Edak had hoped for such a request. "If you wish, Gracious Queen, I could send you seed from the marshgrass. Perhaps some of your subjects would consent to grow it and place it where the dangerous animals will find it."

Califia thought a moment. "That will work, but what of the carnivores, the most dangerous of all?" "

"I have only started testing with them, putting the grass in animal carcasses and bowls of milk. I've yet to observe the results. I am hopeful."

Califia smiled. "I am, too." She clasped her hands together. "I am thrilled to think we may be the ones to make the world safer for everyone. You are honorable, Edak. Very honorable."

Edak sipped his tea and basked shyly in Califia's praise. He thought of the immense task before him. Yet, how much easier his burden now seemed, for Queen Califia herself accepted and approved of it, and even wants to help!

He eagerly awaited the trip home in the morning to continue his work.

* * * *

Chapter 15

Midday sun beat mercilessly down on the swampland. It filtered through the trees and heated Edak's back; yet the bottoms of his feet were cool and damp from the soft spongy floor of the fen and he ignored the sun's rays. Here, where the golden marshgrass grew best, he pulled weeds, unmindful of the brown stain covering his legs up to his knees from the hidden holes of rotting vegetation. In fact, he enjoyed it a bit, for it reminded him of his childhood when he happily stepped into mud puddles, feeling the warm ooze seep between his toes. A breeze blew softly and he noticed the oleanders swaying, their pink blossoms attracting several bright orange butterflies the size of a man's head. He wondered why oleanders are so poisonous to humans, yet safe for other species.

Ogra's voice from the house startled him. "Edak, you have visitors!"

He stood erect and arched his back to get a kink out. He looked toward the house and squinted. Did he recognize the man and woman who stood with Ogra? No, they were unfamiliar to him.

He hurried up the hill and greeted them with arms outstretched, sensing tenseness and distress in their expressions. "I am Edak. Welcome to my family home."

"I am Singor," said the tall gaunt woman with sunken eyes. "This is my brother Dradok." The man seemed in the same condition of poor health. Singor clasped arms with Edak, then waited while Edak greeted Dradok.

"Please pardon our intrusion," said Dradok. "I assure you, we would not have taken you from your work without good cause."

"It is no trouble," said Edak, opening the door. "Come in out of the heat and we will talk in comfort."

Ogra was gathering tinder at the hearth as they entered. "Good woman," said Singor, "do not trouble yourself to make a fire for tea. The day is warm and we would be grateful merely for water."

Ogra smiled. "It is no trouble at all. But a fire would not cool us from the sun, would it? She gathered cups and filled them with water from the clay jug at the door.

Dradok emptied the cup immediately. "Thank you. The walk was long—and the road dusty." He smiled at Ogra and handed the cup to her, his eyes begging for a refill, then turned to Edak. "We are desperately in need of a healer and were told you are the best. Are you for hire?"

Edak's face flushed and he swallowed the water in his mouth. "Thank you for the compliment. I share my knowledge of herbs and healing, but no, I am not for hire. What I do, I do in service. There is no set fee. You may pay me what you think I am worth, or nothing at all if you are without funds. The Source has always taken care of my needs, one way or another. How may I help you?"

Dradok's expression was saturnine and he clasped and unclasped his sinewy hands as he spoke. "A fever has come to our house. A fortnight ago my sister and I were taken by it. Bad at first, it gradually ebbed. We are still regaining our strength. Yet our mother took the fever four days ago and has not come out of it. She talks strangely and refuses to take food or water."

He stopped wringing his hands, and looked hard into Edak's face. "We are so worried for her," he beseeched. "Can you help?"

Edak put his cup down. "Let us go to her now and see what can be done."

Visibly relieved, they thanked Ogra for her kindness.

"I don't know when I'll return, Mother," said Edak.

Ogra smiled, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Do what needs to be done. Klad and I are fine."

Singor fastened her veil about her face as she stepped outside, exposing only her eyes. The sun was harsh and she and Dradok squinted from the brightness. The light didn't bother Edak much, but he hadn't been sick and was used to working outdoors. As they walked, he questioned them about their mother. "Has she perspired at all?" "Does she drink any liquids?" "Has she vomited?" "Had loose stool?" "Does she wheeze?" "Have you felt or listened to her heartbeat?" "Does it seem particularly rapid or slow?"

Near the river, Edak stopped at a large willow. He studied it for a moment, then broke off a branch. "Remember this type of tree," he instructed, "so you can use it in the future."

In the heart of town near the marketplace, amid noisy confusion and smells of stalls, donkeys and children, sat Singor's and Dradok's small hut.

Dradok opened the heavy wooden door and they stepped in. The moist, fetid smell of sickness assaulted his nostrils. He paused for his eyes to accustom themselves to the subdued light.

Near the middle of the room next to the hearth he made out the tiny form of an older woman, shrunken with dehydration and lack of food, thrashing and muttering incoherently on her mat. Hair disheveled, she rolled her fevered head from side to side. An older man crouched by the mat, face wrinkled with deep worry. He attempted to keep a damp cloth atop her brow.

"This is my mother Danora and my father Lamok," said Singor. "We haven't left her alone for a moment since she took ill."

Lamok looked into Edak's face, and he implored, "If you could do anything, anything at all..."

Edak placed his hand on Danora's forehead and closed his eyes to heed his inner sense. She felt like the sun. He opened his eyes and placed the willow branch at the hearth. "This we will use later. Please, all of you, assist me in the treatment."

Lamok's eyes widened. Dradok rubbed the back of his neck reluctantly. "We know nothing of the healing arts," said Singor. "We are just simple people. That's why we sought you."

Edak nodded. "Do not worry; this is something we can all do. I will show you how." He held out his arms. "Join hands with me around Danora."

Hesitantly, they took hands with Edak and formed a circle around the patient.

"Relax now," said Edak. "Take a deep breath and hold it a moment, then relax and exhale...close your eyes, inhale again, hold it...exhale. Again inhale...hold it...exhale."

Edak felt the muscles relax in the hands of Singor and Dradok which he was holding. Good. "I will start by imagining the energy of Light flowing through me. When I see it with my closed eyes and feel its healing strength, I will concentrate it into a ball and squeeze your right hand, Singor, and transfer the energy to you. When you feel it, concentrate and add your Light; strengthen it and direct it down to your left hand. When this is done, squeeze Lamok's hand. Lamok, you do the same and give it to Dradok and finally, Dradok, send it back to me. We will continue this, building the power higher and higher until at last we place our hands on Danora and direct all the Light to her. Are you ready?"

They opened their eyes and looked around, but Edak met each glance with a warm smile. One by one, they nodded, then closed their eyes.

Edak concentrated, imagining a loving white Light tingling throughout his body. He directed it into a ball and channeled it down his left arm into his hand. He felt his hand vibrating and squeezed Singor. The Energy seeped from him to her. Then he waited, knowing this would take a while for the others to work with this unfamiliar healing method.

Time passed. The only sound in the room was the labored breathing of Danora. Then at last Dradok squeezed his hand and the Energy came back to him. Now it was stronger, more brilliant. He could feel the vibrating Force all the way to his toes. He directed it into a ball, brighter and more energized than before. He added more Light, took a deep breath, then channeled it into Singor, releasing the radiance.

It flowed through the circle faster now, gathering strength from each donor. Now Edak's whole body tingled and lit up with the Force. Again, he added more and passed it on.

Within moments it returned through Dradok. It was almost overwhelming, and Edak's body trembled. "Once more," he whispered, and added more Energy.

He squeezed Singor's hand. She gasped. Lamok groaned slightly when he received it, followed by Dradok, who broke out in a joyous smile. He added more, passing it to Edak. "It's too much," he whispered as it flowed out of his left arm.

Edak could barely contain the Force, seeing only a radiant, blinding white. He shook and trembled in the beauty of it. He added what he could.

Then he rasped, "Place your hands on Danora. Do not break our chain."

Their trembling hands, linked to each other, touched the fevered woman on her shoulders, back and head. "Take a deep breath," Edak whispered. "Direct the Light out...now!"

The four willed the vibrating Energy down their arms and into Danora. It poured out through their hands, draining them almost violently.

Danora moaned loudly, paused, then took a long deep breath, quieting as she exhaled. Her breath came slower and deeper until, gradually, her expression showed her to be sleeping comfortably.

They lay motionless, slumped over Danora's peaceful body, so depleted it was an effort keep their weight off her, nearly unable to move, a feeling of deep peace within them.

After a while, Edak struggled to his feet. "She should sleep deeply now," he said. "When she awakens, give her a tea of the bark of the willow branch I brought. It will help to keep her fever down and will alleviate any pain she may have. Let her have any other food or drink she requests. Her body will tell her what she needs."

He saw an amphora near the door and he realized he was thirsty. "May I have a drink? I feel like a dried leaf."

Lamok rose to his feet and shakily took up the jug. "Of course. I too am thirsty." He smiled weakly. "I wasn't before we did this."

He poured the water into clay cups held by Dradok and Singor. They all greedily gulped one cupful, then another. The third drink was taken more leisurely and Edak looked around the humble cabin while he sipped. A weaver's loom stood up against a wall, a light-brown yarn of llama's wool rolled up at its side and, next to it, a basket of cotton locks picked and ready for seed and lint separation. Danora would never want for clothing, though weavers were not paid much for their industry.

Dradok took a small cloth bag and emptied it. Two gold pieces fell into his hands. "Take this, for you have saved my mother's life. Of that I am sure."

Edak held up a hand in refusal. "I will not take all your money. Lack of food is just as deadly as lack of health. I allowed the Energy to flow through my body—nothing more—as you did also. What price could I charge for such a small deed? Now that you know the method, you may pass it on. Help others when you can."

"Please," insisted Lamok. "You must take something."

Edak eyed the loom once more. "My mother's tunic is old and worn. I would be grateful if you would give her enough cloth for a new one."

Singor beamed. "Of course, and enough for you, too."

Edak glanced down at his garment. Strange that he hadn't noticed before how ragged it had become. To compound the shabby appearance, the brown stain of the fen was still on his hem and legs. "It is too much to ask, yet I see I have need of it." He forced a laugh. "How silly I must look."

"It is done, then," said Lamok. "I shall deliver cotton, and perhaps wool too, in a few days along with word of my wife's condition."

Edak stayed for a light meal and watched Danora sleep peacefully. When his strength revived somewhat, he returned home and slept the rest of the day and night."

* *

He awoke before dawn and built a fire in the hearth before the sun touched the horizon. Water was steaming, ready for tea when Ogra opened her eyes. "Edak," she exclaimed. "What a nice surprise. Breakfast is half-made when the fire is alive. Thank you."

She eyed him curiously. "But why are you up so early?"

He chuckled slightly. "I slept nearly a full day and night already. It's time I arise. Also, I want to write an account of the treatment yesterday. It might be of use to others."

Klad sat up and rubbed his eyes. Not much of a talker in the morning, he stared half-asleep at the fire before taking a cup of tea. Between sips, he groggily combed his mussed hair and fastened the thong around it. Then slowly, he tied shells to his ankles, shoulders, waist and wrists.

He was a message runner now. Since the appearance of Gedran over a year ago, Klad had only one desire in life, to carry communications between the villages. He pestered the village council until, exasperated, they too saw the need for such a service. Armed with only a torch, a knife secured to a waist-cord, and the noise of the shells rattling, he ran along the riverbank with news for the elders, news that could not wait for the slower method of a boat.

Klad's rugged handsomeness, along with the courage of one who ventures alone where wild beasts roam, brought him into the fantasies of countless young women. He was only vaguely aware of this, though it was obvious to Edak, who looked on in amusement.

Edak watched his brother finish the knot on the last shell. "Will you be eating with us this morning?"

Klad shook his head. "No. I am not fully awake yet. I will have some bread and perhaps a bit of fish in the marketplace while I await my assignments."

Ogra looked anxious. "Klad, be careful. It only takes one careless moment..."

Klad looked over with a patronizing smile. "I am always careful, Mother. Believe me, I do not want to be a meal."

Amused, Edak shook his head, then went back to the parchment he was writing on. He had to be sure the healing procedure was explained exactly. It hadn't been used in Mu before and was known to only a few in Atlan. Seratl Ti had learned it from a temple priest and was ridiculed for trying such a 'barbaric' treatment in these enlightened times.

But it worked.

His concentration was interrupted by the 'chenk, chenk, chenk' of Klad striding to the door. "Goodbye, Klad," he called. "Beware, lest you be caught...by animals or women!"

Klad called back from the lane, "Do not tease, Edak. Life is difficult enough."

Ogra looked questioningly at Edak. "Tell me, Edak. Is Klad a problem for women?"

Edak grinned. "They think he is a god."

Ogra burst into laughter. "My little son—how delightful! Oh, I wish Rehm were here to see this."

"Father looked much like Klad. What did your heart do when you met him?"

Again she laughed. "As the girls do with Klad—I thought he was a god!"

Edak reached out for her hand. It was rough from years of pottery making but she was still beautiful. "And of all the young women to choose from, he took you."

Ogra's laughter faded to a smile. Her eyes became distant and long-ago memories brought tears. She didn't speak, but took Edak to her and held him for a long moment. Then she loosened her grasp and went about preparing the flatbread with honey for their meal.

After breakfast, Edak finished the account of the previous day, then cleaned up his brush and ink, rolled up the parchment and walked outside. Ogra was busy setting up small mounds of clay and jugs of water. "I will be at the library," he told her. "I should be back by afternoon. Is there anything you would like from the marketplace?"

Ogra thought for a moment. "I would ask that you buy a fish for dinner, but I enjoy the afternoon walk and would rather I did it."

"Very well. Have a pleasant day."

He walked down the lane toward the heart of town and watched his feet making little puffs of dust in the warm earth. Normally he would have thought about this, for he usually noticed such things as he walked. Dust on the road. It hasn't rained in three days. Unusual for Mu. He would then have looked at the sky and noticed dark clouds off to the north and known there would soon be moisture.

But this morning Edak saw none of this. His mind held only one thought—Myreem. He could see her now, surrounded by scrolls and ink-pots, her pretty face and dimpled smile. He made his way through the village and mentally conversed with her. How she marveled at his wit! His heart pounded thinking of affectionate words to say to her and he observed her thrilled reaction.

When had she first crept into his thoughts? He couldn't remember. She had started work at the library soon after he returned from Atlan. At first he hadn't noticed. She was simply the young woman who worked there. But now she lingered in his mind like jasmine in the air on a warm evening. Why did this happen? Romance wasn't in his plans. It had occurred so gradually, he hadn't even noticed until one day he realized he wanted to see her, talk to her, be near her every chance he could.

He quickened his pace. The stone path came into view, the one leading to the large stately library. It felt smooth and cooling on the soles of his feet. He observed this with a thrill, knowing Myreem had trod the same path soon before.

He pictured her: statuesque, low voice, dimpled smile, soft eyes—and what else? What was it that made her so special? He didn't know. She just was.

The marble archway at the doorway was impressive. It was the entranceway to the center of knowledge for literate people in the village. Today though, its only significance was of being the door to Myreem's place.

It was cool inside, with a smell of parchment. He paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. In the corner he could make out the form of Myreem copying a scroll. She had looked up from her work and was smiling, watching Edak, waiting to be recognized by him.

"Good morning, Edak. I have not seen you in awhile."

Suddenly he was shy and awkward. Where were those wonderful, intelligent, interesting things to say, the witty words he had daydreamed of so shortly before? "I brought an account of a healing," he said flatly, and placed the scroll on her table. "I hope it is easily understandable."

She picked it up, her expression changing to a businesslike seriousness. "Wonderful. I have had no problem reading your other essays."

She unrolled a part of it, read a little and nodded. "Yes, this is fine. Thank you. I have copied your previous accounts and distributed them to other libraries."

Edak looked into Myreem's eyes and was transfixed. He smiled nervously and tried to think of something to say. He wandered about the room, randomly looking at various writings, unrolled a scroll, read a few lines, rolled it back up, replaced it for another, then another. Now and then he glanced at Myreem. Once he caught her looking at him. She quickly averted her eyes and pretended she had been writing all the while. An exciting pang grabbed at his stomach. He gained more courage and rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment. What will he say? What could he say?

He took a breath and walked up to her. His mouth opened to speak but his voice was hoarse, as if he had a cold. He coughed and cleared his throat, then tried again. "It is a beautiful day, Myreem. Will you put your brush down and come walk with me in the fresh air? Your work will wait."

He watched her anxiously, then turned away.

She was solemn for a moment, then a smile burst across her face. "That sounds wonderful. I would love to." She placed the lid on her vial of ink and got up.

Edak was elated, but didn't know what to do next. Why was this so difficult? He had walked with people before and talked with them. Neither had ever been an ordeal. Yet he wanted to be here with her more than anywhere else.

Why couldn't he function?

Myreem fastened her thin sun veil over her face and they stepped into the sunshine. "You are right. It is just too nice out here to be inside writing this morning." She looked at him and her eyes smiled. "Where shall we go?"

"I do not know." His hands were slippery with sweat. He eyed the river to the right. "How about the water?" He strode down the stone path, leaving Myreem behind.

"Wait! Slow down," she laughed. "Your legs are longer than mine."

Edak waited, staring at his feet while she caught up. They began again to walk, slowly this time. "You need not be afraid of me," she teased.

"I am sorry," he said self-consciously. "I was not thinking. I am not usually so awkward like this." He was thankful Klad wasn't there to see him.

She caught his eye and looked at him in a way that made his heart beat faster. "Do not be nervous. Pretend we are both back in the library, like usual. Tell me about the latest manuscript."

"There is nothing much to say. I learned a method of healing from my teacher in Atlan. It was little-known there, as here. I simply taught a family what to do and then we all applied it together."

"Edak, you are too vague. Explain this to me."

They found a shady spot in the grass by the river and sat at the bank. The water flowed lazily and the two watched it silently for a few moments while Edak gathered his thoughts.

"Imagine," he said at last, "that there is a powerful sacred Energy within every part of you. It actually does exist, but you will not feel it unless you think about it. Close your eyes and imagine a white light filling every part of you."

Myreem closed her eyes and Edak took the opportunity to stare. He drank in the sweet features of her inwardly searching eyes, the veiled contours of her nose and full lips, which smiled now at the recognition of the Energy.

"Yes," she said. "It is here."

"You can concentrate that Energy, and compound it. You can direct it to any part of your body at will if you wish, to heal or strengthen. And you can channel it into another person, or animal, or plant. It takes practice and discipline, as with any skill, but it is there for all to use."

Myreem opened her eyes and looked into Edak's. "Show me how you channel it."

He swallowed, then closed his eyes to envision the Energy. He felt her stare and opened his eyes again. "Close your eyes and relax," he said.

With her eyes no longer on him, he tried again. The Energy was there, but it didn't feel strong. Concentration was difficult. He shook his head hard to force Myreem from his mind.

Again. The Energy lay dormant, waiting. He observed it, willed it to strengthen, gathered it into a ball, stronger and stronger. He thought of Myreem and the Energy diffused somewhat. Determined, he concentrated hard and coaxed the Light back into the ball. At last, it sat gathered and brilliant in his chest area.

Now he inhaled deeply and reached for Myreem. He touched her hand and exhaled, forcing the Light from him to her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Yes, yes I see now. Wonderful!"

Edak's eyes opened and met hers. Their hands remained clasped.

* * * *

Chapter 16

Myreem and Edak didn't notice the sun climbing higher into the sky, nor were they aware of the air which had turned hot and humid. One conversation gave rise to another, then another—things that suddenly were so important they could not wait another moment. The morning passed quickly.

But then Myreem saw the sun's reflection sparkling in the river. She stiffened. "It is midday," she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. "I have been gone far too long. I must return."

She hurried from the riverbank. Edak followed, somewhat perplexed. The climb up the hill was easy now, the stone path too, and all too soon they were standing in the marble doorway.

They entered the building laughing at each other's appearance, sweat beads dripping from their faces. Myreem's hair hung disheveled. Some of the shells had fallen and a braid was undone. She removed her veil, glowing with rosy radiance.

Edak stared at her longer than was polite. She noticed and cast her eyes down awkwardly.

"I enjoyed the morning," said Edak. "May I visit again?"

"I enjoyed it, too. Yes, come back—soon. But next time I will not stay away so long."

"Ahem." The noise filled the room and startled the two.

They stared into the darkened corner, squinting to make out who was there. Edak's eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and he recognized a sinewy, muscular man at the table, a partially opened scroll before him. He looked drowsy with boredom.

"Gedran!" Edak made his way to the runner and they clasped wrists. "Have you been here long?"

Gedran gratefully rolled up the parchment and returned it to its place on a shelf. "At least two hands I've waited. I went to your house and talked with your mother. She said I would find you here."

"Is there a message from the queen?"

"Yes," said Gedran. "She wishes to see you as soon as you can take the time."

"About what?"

"It is not my place to know."

Edak's brow furrowed. "Matters here can wait. I will return with you."

Gedran smiled wryly. "Califia had hoped you would."

Edak looked at Myreem and softened. "I had a wonderful time. I will come again soon."

She reached for Edak's hand, then, remembering Gedran's presence, declined. "Yes, soon."

Edak returned home with Gedran to tell Ogra of the queen's request, then went to the docks. A small passenger boat sat among the merchant ships and the captain stood when he recognized Gedran. There would only be the two passengers, and they set sail immediately.

Soon the noise and busyness of the dock was left behind, then the village too, and now the gentle river and dense forest were all they could see. Water rippled around the boat. Shimmering patterns reflected up on its riders. Trees lining the banks hid all traces of life within its depths, save for the birds and a few monkeys among the branches.

The two men stood at the rail and stared out at nothing in particular. "Gedran," said Edak, "are you at liberty to tell me why Califia wishes to see me?"

"As I said, she hasn't told me, nor is it my business," said Gedran curtly. After a pause he added, "I am only a runner. I know nothing of the queen's affairs." He studied the river silently.

"Of course," said Edak, flushing slightly. Perhaps he had been rude to this messenger.

Then, "However, I do know she received a letter from the Atlantean Council of Nations a quarter moon ago. She has appeared quite troubled since."

Gedran spoke no more of the matter and Edak didn't question.

By twilight they had reached the queen's village and they hurried to her quarters. She sat reading a small scroll when the men entered. Her face lit up at the sight of them. "Edak! Greetings! I have been waiting for you. Gedran, thank you for finding our friend."

Gedran bowed. "My pleasure, Gracious Queen." He turned and silently left.

Califia studied Edak silently. "Please, refresh yourself," she said at last, gesturing to a tray of tea, fruit, fish and flatbread. "It is especially good this evening."

"Thank you, Gracious Queen. We had a meal on the boat, which filled me. But perhaps a bit of fruit and tea..." He picked a small cluster of grapes.

Califia watched him select the snack and place it on a palm leaf. He reached for the pitcher and poured the tea into his mug, returned the pitcher and glanced up.

She was still studying him. "You're an interesting person, Edak. Of all the people I've known, you stand out in my mind. Such unselfish desires drive you. Why is that, my friend?"

"I don't know. I follow my interests, which also provide my livelihood. I don't know what else I would like to do."

Califia smiled wistfully and was silent. Ah, to do what one wishes to do. Surely, that would be the life. She watched him drink and thought back.

As a young girl, she had often wanted to play with other children, but instead had obeyed her tutors and studied dry lessons. A princess did as she was expected to do. She walked, talked, acted and thought as was expected of a member of the royal family, and was accompanied by teachers most of the day. Certainly, she would have loved to do what she wished—to run, to play, to chatter and giggle with young friends.

She didn't tell Edak of her special friend in adolescence—how handsome he was, a gentle man who came to share everything in her life—glances, words, caresses, dreams. She ached even now at the memory.

This man was to share the throne with her. They had spoken of it often and the families agreed. At last she would have what she desired. Everyone in Mu spoke excitedly of the upcoming royal marriage.

But, just three days before the wedding, a storm swept the coastline where she lived—a hurricane. She didn't tell Edak of the uprooted tree crushing her darling, and crushing her dreams.

But she remembered now—she remembered how the young princess willed she would love no man again, but would live for the love and duty of her country.

"Yes, Edak," she said wistfully. "A person must do what he is destined to do."

She was silent now and Edak thought he should speak. Yet no words came. He put a grape in his mouth and crushed it in his teeth. The sweet juice refreshed him and he was thankful for a reason not to talk.

"And how are your experiments coming with the marshgrass?" Califia asked at last. "We are growing it here near the village, but we haven't had time to go into the forest to see the results."

He swallowed the fruit. "We continue as before, only on a larger scale. Almost everything I grow now is marshgrass and I've distributed it to my neighbors to grow. We are determined to continue as planned."

He knew Califia was a busy woman and had no time for idle chatter. "Is there a reason you ask about this?"

She took an orchid from a clay bowl of water and touched her fingers to the petals. "Yes, Edak. The Council of Nations has been discussing the animal problem." She studied the blossom, then replaced it in the water. "There are more people alive now than ever before. Lands previously untouched by humans are now being settled. And so, the creatures seem to be more of a menace because of this. They must be subdued."

She looked down at the scroll she had been going over and sighed. "The Council wants to use the powerful Atlantean weapons that have recently been invented. Do you know of them?"

Edak recalled a recent letter from Seratl Ti and felt a chill down his spine. "Yes, Gracious Queen. I know of them. They are all the talk from Atlan today. Explosives and poisonous chemicals that are incredibly powerful. Though they are for the most part untested, the leaders are already giddy with power."

She took the orchid again and absentmindedly put it to her nose as if it had fragrance. "The Atlantean scientists believe they can destroy all the animals immediately. But I feel apprehension. I don't know why."

"I agree," said Edak. "There is no regulation to the strength of the weapons. Such power! What else would be destroyed with the beasts? Would all our wild creatures be lost or only the most dangerous? We need time to study these matters."

Califia sighed. She felt old, and tired. Her hands and the flower fell to her lap. "Edak, do you think we could ask them to change their minds? Could we coax them to try your marshgrass?"

"Our way certainly seems safer. To control which animals eat the grass—no pain caused, no damage to the Earth..." He thought for a moment. "I know it will work," he concluded. "When will this Council be held?"

"On the spring equinox, in Poseidl."

"So soon." He stared at nothing for a few moments, then looked at Califia. "With your permission, I will accompany you."

Califia smiled and nodded.

* * * *

Chapter 17

Edak stared out at the blue-green ocean before him, mindless of the pleasant day, the breeze and the gentle rocking of the ship. He was focused on the words of Engor and Disnak, Califia's advisors, at his side. Ambassadors to Poseidl, they had much to tell of Atlan's discoveries.

"The formulas are simple enough," Disnak was saying, his thick, white eyebrows nearly hiding his eyes. "Merely derivatives of black betel cress and mare's tree, a concoction that stings the tongue and causes the eyes to smart." Though in his sixties, he was as animated as someone half his age. Now an index finger thrust the air to stress his point. "But, subject the mixtures to heat—intensely high heat—and behold, the new, dangerously evil toxins. Terribly potent; mostly untested."

"Ay," said Engor softly. "Sometimes the simplest matters have the most power." Engor was middle-aged, of slight build and quiet voice. "The explosives are also of this nature. Take the sap from the genjutl tree and make a mixture with the minerals hendral and orilade. Easy, no? Simple?" He shook his head slightly. "I have seen this formula's power; so deadly, a large tree—hundreds of years old—crumbled easily with the detonation of a tiny amount. Crumbled!"

After pausing for his words to be properly grasped, he continued, "Boulders, larger than any man, shatter into small pebbles. And the noise! It is as loud as the closest thunder or a volcano erupting. The very air one breathes turns hot and knocks a grown man to the ground."

Edak stared at the waves, wondering about these inventions. Atlanteans seem so quick to destroy without forethought. He remembered Atlan fondly, for had he not spent much of his childhood there? He had known love and fellowship. But yes, it was a materialistic society, one of impulsive, impetuous people. So different from the Murians.

Long ago, Seratl Ti had stressed that all people are the same underneath, and Edak had found that to be true. So, he would have to appeal to that part of the Atlanteans common to all humanity.

A breeze blew wisps of hair into his face and he brushed them away. He studied the water lapping the side of the ship, as if the proper words would whisper up from the deep. And, as if actually spoken, the answer formed in his head. I was raised in Atlan and know the people well. Disnak and Engor have resided in Poseidl intermittently for many years. We understand the Atlantean mind. How can there be a problem, once they understand the alternative?

* *

It was strange, and good, to be back in Atlan after their long voyage, but today he couldn't dispel a lingering sense of foreboding. Though Edak had never been in Poseidl before, it nevertheless felt familiar, as there was so much here that reminded him of Aryaz. Shiny streets and large marble buildings decorated with statues and friezes were everywhere.

Disnak and Engor walked briskly down the street, with Califia and Edak close behind. The sun was cooler and drier than in Mu, so woolen cloaks sheltered them from the early morning chill. How drab they appeared in their plain brown clothes, contrasting starkly with the ornate, colorful world of the Atlanteans. Even Califia's light yellow garb was simple in comparison.

Pink and gold light reflected off buildings, and sounds of a city waking up for business echoed everywhere. The city was large and the Council of Nations was situated far from the inn where they had spent the night.

And yet, in spite of the joy of seeing Atlan once again, and although the day promised to be beautiful, the ominous throbbing in his forehead continued. He tried to brush it aside. Perhaps it is the excitement of being in this great land...maybe the change of schedule these many days from home...perhaps the change in diet and water. It must be!

Ahead in the distance loomed a tall black marble building marked with white columns. It dwarfed the other edifices about it. "There it is," said Disnak. "The Council of Nations."

Edak stared in awe at the rectangular structure. So huge! How could such a thing exist without tumbling down? What a marvel of architectural genius! Gold leaf adorned every corner and gleamed in the sun, accentuating the black and white of the marble. On the roof, looking out over the city, stood twenty-seven statues of gods and goddesses—some winged, some part-human, part-beast. Edak had learned a little of Atlan's mythology and recognized a few. There, in a chariot, stood Poseidl, god of the sea, for which Poseidl was named; and over there, the great Atl, first ruler of Atlan. What great men or truths inspired these conceptions? Where did history end and myth begin?

At the square, people congregated for the day's business. Everyone was busy and in a hurry. This was one aspect of Atlan Edak had never missed, this failure of the people to look around and enjoy. Indeed, they always needed to be somewhere else.

"I am not sure about this," Califia said suddenly. "Everything felt good until today. I hope it is only my imagination."

His stomach tightened. "Of course it is," he said, perhaps too assuringly. The day was beautiful, passersby smiling, birds singing. Yet, it seemed surreal, as if in a dream. And all the while, his forehead throbbed. "We have been under a lot of excitement and stress. We simply must calm down and know that our way will be acceptable."

He didn't tell lies well, and Califia eyed him strangely before masking her own thoughts. "Of course, dear friend. Of course."

"Though we could wait one day, to rest up..." added Edak.

Disnak and Engor were too far ahead to have heard the conversation. They busied themselves greeting old friends of the Council and chatting about the forthcoming meeting. Flanked by four representatives from other nations, they turned and waved at Edak and Califia impatiently, then started up the white marble steps.

"Our decision seems to have been made for us," said Califia, smiling weakly.

Califia and Edak didn't talk. They reached the steps and climbed silently. Edak counted each footfall—all twenty-seven. Califia struggled to catch her breath as they reached the top.

In the pause, Edak looked inside at the large foyer. An international throng of dignitaries milled about, and a murmur of strange-sounding tongues filled the room.

"There are Engor and Disnak," he said as Califia's breathing returned to normal. They stood near the entrance and seemed at home among the others, in spite of their plainness and tall stature. "Only in such an international scene does a Murian not look odd," he said lightheartedly. Califia chuckled, but it was forced.

"Thank you for waiting for us," she said as they reached the foyer. "We are lost here without you as our guides."

"It all seems strange at first..." Disnak began, but was interrupted by the deep tone of a gong. "Session is about to begin. Let us go in."

An echoed patter of hundreds of sandals filled the hall. The cool air wafted on their faces and in their hair, and a smell of ancientness brought a feeling of dignity and awe. The walls shone with polished marble everywhere in black, white and all shades and hues in between.

How appropriate, thought Edak.  The walls differ as much as the people, who also are of varying color. What a blending of humanity. Yes, it is for the good of these people that I speak today.

The elaborate mixture of dress, hairstyles, skin tone, jewelry and footwear poured down the wide corridor. Each small group that passed seemed to be conversing in a different language, and different accents of Atlantean floated about as foreigners spoke to each other in the world tongue.

They were herded into an inner room filled with a semicircle of small desks with benches, all facing a large table. On each desk was placed a small sheet of parchment, a vial of ink and a brush, that notes could be made if necessary. In a corner sat two tiny pebbles, one black, one white. Following Disnak and Engor, the four found seats near the middle of the room.

The pulsating in his forehead nagged at Edak and reminded him once more why they were here. He stared at others taking their seats and wondered what they were thinking, how they would react to the Murians' offer.

A stocky man entered, clad in a long, deep blue brocade robe. His black hair was streaked with gray, cut in the Atlantean style. All conversation quieted and Disnak whispered, "It is Chairman Ota."

Ota looked about the room and smiled, then sat at the big table and read from a sheet of parchment while the remaining bits of hushed whisperings trailed off. When all was quiet, he stood again. Another smile crossed his round face. "Good morning. I'm happy to see every seat filled. But of course, how could it be otherwise with such an important issue at hand?"

He paused while an excited murmuring floated around the room. He waited until silence returned. "You all know why we are here," he continued. "We unite in effort to solve the problem of the great animals. Is their population increasing or is it because humanity grows in number—spreading out to areas previously untouched by people—that reports of their killings seem more numerous? Ah, well. It matters not which reason is true. The problem exists and we are here to solve it."

Sweeping his hand grandly over to point out his countrymen, his voice rose with pride. "As you know, the Atlanteans have an amazing new plan. Mah-Kradl, please rise and tell us about it."

An aged Atlantean slowly arose and brushed a wisp of white hair from his face. He looked around, then cleared his throat and grinned confidently. "As you may already have heard, we have developed explosives which are very powerful, also some very potent toxins which should be of great use in our battle. Simply stated, we plan to go to the various areas of animal habitations and destroy them. We can reach them in the fields, forests, caves and any other hiding places. Our poisons, left in their lairs and nesting sites, will eradicate any creature we may have missed with the explosives."

He said nothing for a few long moments, so that his next statement might be fully absorbed. "The animals should be totally extinct within one year." He looked complacently at his colleagues and sat back down.

The room burst into noise. Everyone spoke at once, smiling, amazed and hopeful of this wonderful invention. These good Atlanteans were heroes, so kind and generous to share this great thing!

Edak glanced at Califia and saw the anguish in her eyes. Engor stood up and waited for Chairman Ota to recognize him.

"Engor of Mu, do you have a comment?"

Engor's calm voice and pleasant smile belied his quiet, somber personality. "Yes, I do, Chairman. Having been recently in my homeland of Mu, I nevertheless am happy to be back in this great nation, and to see all of you, my friends. I have brought with me the queen of Mu herself, Califia."

He waited while Califia nodded graciously amid soft comments across the room. "I also bring one of Mu's esteemed scientists and healers, Edak. Edak was educated in Atlan."

Edak nodded and smiled, understanding Engor's extroverted words were meant to sell an already-sold group of people on a new idea.

"With your permission," continued Engor, "Queen Califia has a few words for you."

"Of course," said Ota. "It is always with honor that a ruler speaks at the Council of Nations. Proceed, Queen Califia of Mu."

Califia rose, her large brown eyes smiling. She quickly panned the room, looking for a quick moment into each representative's face. "Greetings to you. I bring all the love of the people of Mu to you, for we know how deeply important the Council of Nations is to the welfare of the entire world.

"For those who have not had the opportunity to visit, let me tell you of our beloved land. Mu is a warm, sunny place, blessed with waterfalls and rivers, more food that we can eat, colorful, scented flowers everywhere and beauty beyond description. Yet, we have the great beasts, more than most lands perhaps because of our balmy weather. So you see, we too are very much concerned about the animal problem, more than you can know. When we heard of your solution, our ears perked up and listened, for this could change our way of life considerably."

Califia's Atlantean tongue wasn't perfect, but perhaps because of this, her speech seemed charming, even poetic. All eyes riveted to her face. People bent forward in rapt attunement.

"Yet, we are somewhat concerned, a little hesitant. For there are many, many small animals we know and love in Mu. Is it not this way in all parts of the world? We worry that we might also hurt the little ones. Indeed, we may even bring harm to the people themselves. We Murians have such deep, deep love for all of life. If at all possible, we do not bring pain to any living thing, even the great beasts.

"And so, we bring you news of another way we have found to stop them. Another way, that may not be as hurtful to life. Will you listen to Edak as he explains this to you?"

Chairman Ota's face took a more serious, disinterested look. "You may speak, Edak of Mu."

Edak took a breath, stood, and smiled. "Thank you, Chairman Ota. I hope you will bear with me while I explain our method. Growing herbs that heal is actually my trade. One of the methods I use to find the best medicines is to hybridize, that is, I cross plants together from different varieties. Sometimes I do this for two or three generations. This is what I did in the case of my golden marshgrass.

"I did this, actually, while trying to find a stronger cure for pleurisy. Quite by accident, I discovered that any female animal that eats this new golden marshgrass later gives birth to tiny babies, at least one-third smaller than its parents. Imagine for yourself a boar that is only one-third the size of the ones in the forests today."

Mah-Kradl interrupted. "Edak, surely you don't expect us to try to lure all the animals of the Earth to eat this—what?—golden marshgrass, then wait months for them to give birth. How many generations would it take before the large ones are so few in number as to be harmless? Edak, we have no patience for such things!"

"I sympathize with you—believe me, I do know," said Edak. "But please, hear me out."

"It is Edak's turn to speak," said Ota. His tone was not forceful. "Let him finish."

Edak looked sympathetically around the room. "I know what it is like to be afraid of the wilderness. As a baby, I saw a man die in the fangs of a great tiger. As a young man, I witnessed my dear friend taken by a rukh. I know your terror, and I know your loss. But let us not do something impetuous that may, in the long run, harm everyone and everything. We have a responsibility that comes with our great power—to keep the world safe.

"As yet, the explosives have not been tested enough that we know the proper dosages to use, or what the aftermath may be on the Earth. We do not know the extent of the power of the poisons. Will they seep out of carcasses and into the ground, to later poison our wells? This we do not know. Yet, indeed, we all seek safety from these animals."

A tapping of many brushes impatiently sounded on desks. He looked around and noted the restless expressions. A few still seemed curious. Others were writing.

"Consider the beasts themselves," he continued. "They are not evil, but merely doing what they must to survive, as do we. They do not know right or wrong, only hunger and want, as do all living things.

"Our intent therefore, is not to punish, but to avert them from harming us. Causing pain is abhorrent to the Murians and, I suspect, to most people. We have a plan that would have the beasts completely extinct within one of their generations—ten years at the very longest, most in less time. Golden marshgrass grows quickly and produces seeds astonishingly fast. I have been working with this for three years. I have carefully watched the results of animals, both wild and domesticated, that have eaten the grass. Not only are the offspring of these targeted animals dwarfed, but they are sterile! The solution is within our grasp!"

Some listened with interest. The Atlantean scientists glared.

Edak noticed their expressions. "Please, consider the aftermath of your methods," he pleaded. "Could they hurt the Earth more than can be absorbed? We do not know." He looked at Mah-Kradl beseechingly. "Your solution is wonderful and effective, yet it seems to us to perhaps be too extreme. It might hurt the world beyond repair."

A short small-boned man stood. Chairman Ota nodded to him. "You may speak, Lodyah of Waydo."

"Edak of Mu speaks wisely," Lodyah said, "but his gentleness of spirit would have us suffer for perhaps another decade while the animals run rampant." He looked at Edak and shook his head. "Progress is too slow with the Murians' method. We want a solution now!" His arms spread before him and he implored. "Have we not suffered long enough? The Atlanteans have the technology to free us from this pestilence once and for all. And certainly," he smiled confidently at Mah-Kradl, "if they have the intelligence to invent such wonderful things, surely they know how to control the strength. I say we begin work right away to destroy each animal and make the world a pleasant place to live."

Another man stood and Ota said, "You may speak, Powok of Atlan."

"I agree with Lodyah," said Powok. "With our weapons, our procedure would be deployed and the mission fully accomplished before one year has passed. Imagine complete peace of mind, by next year!"

Now the room buzzed with voices. Life without fear was a dream most people dared not have. Now it was possible.

Califia rose, looking around desperately. "Please," she implored. "Let us consider all possible consequences before we act. We cannot undo any deed once we have begun."

But no one heard. It showed in their eyes as they chattered excitedly of this momentous time in history. "What a great day for Atlan—for the world!"

"Weapons like this have never existed before. Are they really as powerful as the scientists say?"

"What better way of proof than in the ridding of the scourge of the Earth."

"Ah, the Murians—they are soft and much too cautious. After all, what is the Earth but a huge ball of soil? How can soil be hurt? Absurd!"

"As for other animals, the tame will be sheltered by the people, and who cares about the others?"

Manotheo of Ur rose. "We have talked long enough. Let us vote as to which way we shall go. Either we begin plans to destroy the creatures immediately or we go with the Murians and suffer for another decade."

Ota got up. "Are there any other comments or alternatives to be discussed?"

All were silent.

"If not, let the voting begin."

Califia whispered to Engor and Disnak. They shook their heads. Frantically, she looked over to Edak. He felt cold. He glanced around the room, then back to her. Clearly, they had lost the vote before it was begun.

A young man walked to Ota, carrying an ornate wooden box. Behind him walked a second lad, also carrying a box, this one unadorned.

"Let us cast our votes now," said Ota. "Take the two stones from your desk and conceal them in your right hand. As the box passes you, drop a black stone in the decorated box if you choose the Atlantean method. If you choose the Murian way, deposit the white stone. Remember, black for Atlan, white for Mu. The remaining stone will be collected in the plain box."

The first boy went to each member and paused as the chosen pebble was dropped in the box. Though the concealing of the stones in the hands made the vote secret, nevertheless everyone in the room knew the results. But it was a formality and had to be done, for this was the way of the Council since its beginning.

Returning to Ota's table, the boy set the box down and returned to his station at the door. Ota carefully upended the box, allowing the pebbles to roll out onto the table.

Just four were white.

A cheer rose up in the room, then laughter and ecstatic chatter. People slapped their friends on the back and clasped wrists. Some hugged.

Califia looked a decade older. She slowly got to her feet. She was pale. Disnak and Engor came to her side and grasped her arms, patting her shoulder.

Edak struggled for words. "My queen..."

They left the hall quietly. No one noticed. The celebratory noise was hushed only when the chamber door closed behind them.

The one sound in the corridor was Califia's trembling voice. "Let us hope all our senses are mistaken. I pray they have not destroyed the Earth."

* * * *

Chapter 18

The night air was chilly, but that wasn't why Ketzah woke up. No, it was the dream that disturbed him. He moved his head and felt a mass of curly beard on his face. For a few moments he didn't know who he was or where he was. He wasn't Edak—that was the dream. He listened to the heavy stillness around him and the long ago scenes faded slightly, but they bothered him still.

Another dream. I was in that place again. Why do these night scenes haunt me? Who is this Edak to me?

He fingered and stroked the now-familiar curls of his beard and pondered. Which is real? Am I Ketzah dreaming I am Edak? Am I Edak dreaming I am Ketzah? Or am I neither man, but someone I'm not even aware of, dreaming of both of us? Am I no one at all—merely a fantasy in the Great Mind? Am I all these things at once? Oh, but I am going mad!

Ah, well. The fact is, it appears that I am Ketzah having dreams of Edak and I must take it from there.

As a child, I dreamed of a boy. I grew and the boy grew with me. Now we are young men. We go through life together. In that way, he is a part of me.

We seem to be connected in mind only. Maybe we share the same mind—the same soul.

He mused on that awhile.

Perhaps there are parallels in our lives, for if we are—at some inner connecting spot—one, would we not both travel similar paths? But how different Edak's world is than mine.

Master Atel's voice spoke inside Ketzah's head from a day long ago. On an outing to the forum, little Ketzah had noticed two visitors from Uruk. Long, light-brown hair fashioned into many braids, unruly beards and leather tunics adorned with strings of bright-colored beads made these men look wild. He was intrigued and a little frightened. Even their voices were loud and unrestrained.

A warm hand on his shoulder drew Ketzah's eyes up into Atel's face. "Look not at the outer trappings of a man," he said. "His clothes and his culture are merely camouflage. You must always look within, to the heart of the man. Be not deceived by these outer appearances or you will lose sight of the humanness of each individual."

Ketzah lingered in the scene, then returned to his dark bedroom. Outer trappings—is this what I see with Edak? Our paths may be the same, but disguised.

He rolled to his side and straightened his blanket. What similarities do Edak and I share? We have both been given a better education than most children. We both lean toward spiritual matters. At times we appear quite odd to others because of this.

What else? There are no monsters in my world. I don't have a mark on my forehead that gives me foresight. Any intuition I have comes to me after years of meditation.

Yet, I do share some of that ability.

Bah! I may just be imagining all this. Maybe Edak is only a symbol of my waking self. Disguised and going through my daily life. But then, is Edak pointing a way to a plan—a life's plan unfolding to me?

If this were the case, what kind of plan did tonight's dream tell of?

Preparation. For future disaster.

Exactly what the priests have been hinting of for years. We too prepare for some vague future calamity.

He wasn't convinced. We are the most powerful nation on Earth. We rule the world. Or it seems, we are trying to.

Ketzah frowned and contemplated the military forces of Atlan.

No, I really can't see how we could be conquered—although the priests here sense its coming. I know them well enough to trust their feelings. But really, how could this happen? There is little possibility of threat from another nation. The other countries are ignorant and weak under Atlantean rule. An act of aggression would cause immediate annihilation, for no one has our technology. No one else has the Firestone, or the horrific death ray.

He pictured the Firestone in his mind. Standing majestically in a building in this very city is the cause of our world power—the red stone itself. What a colossal stroke of good fortune to find such a huge, flawless crystal, nearly as tall as the main room of the temple.

He recalled history lessons of how scientists measured and cut and polished until they had a giant many-faceted jewel in perfect dimension, standing ready to receive the sun's rays. More years of experimentation passed before they understood the power and uses they could put to it.

Now in these times, the building had a domed movable wall which opened, allowing the sun's rays to enter, passing through the magnificent Great Crystal, where they were magnified and intensified to incredible proportion, enabling persons to regenerate them into usable energy. This energy lit the nation and powered the airships, water ships and land vehicles.

In lesser doses, the rays were used to heal and rejuvenate a person. This was the highest, most noble purpose of the Crystal—and Falima's aspiration for her life's work.

But alas, the energy is now used to conquer, to destroy, to kill. The death ray, a concentrated beam of light so powerful, it burns a hole through solid stone in moments. What an evil abuse of the knowledge of the ages!

Ketzah winced. How did we allow this power to get so out of control? The Atlanteans now rule the world and its riches while other nations suffer.

This being so, how could we be threatened?

An intensifying feeling of gloom settled over Ketzah. The latest despicable idea of our government is to be unleashed on the Waydonians. They plan to use the ray to bore through the Earth to attack these poor wretches living nearly a half world away. What greed! The last free nation on Earth, but Atlan is not happy unless they too, are subdued.

He glared into the darkness. I am sometimes ashamed to be called Atlantean. What a misuse of our good fortune!

He pictured the beam burning, melting solid rock deeper and deeper into the Earth, the military amassing outside the country's borders for its final defeat; Waydonian men, women and children fleeing in terror as the death ray erupts, destroying everything with its intense heat. Thunder and fire everywhere, screaming, crying...

His eyes popped open, for now he saw, not the Waydonians dying, but Atlanteans!

What happened?

He studied the reverie again, and then again. After a long while, it came to him that this might be it! Of course! Burrowing so deeply into the Earth could disrupt something within the balance of the planet—something unretractable and final.

He lay thinking until daybreak. What could he do?

With the first rays of the sun, he arose and dressed quickly. He would speak to Atel. He might know what to make of these thoughts.

Ketzah lived alone now in a small house near the temple. Nenus had retired and he and Finah had moved to the tiny village of Amaki on the far side of Poseidl. Brother Vadi lived there also. Medra had married. She and her husband lived on the island of Aryaz, in Achai. This left Ketzah without family in Poseidl. He didn't mind, really. Those at the temple were like his family also, and he was never lonely.

He closed the door behind him. As usual, he was skipping breakfast and he imagined Finah scolding at him as he left the house.

He hurried to the temple, alone in the dissipating mist of the early-morning chill. He wrapped his red cloak tightly across his shoulders and walked quickly. In the temple it wasn't much warmer. He found Atel in prayer, so he left him for a moment and opened the heat ports, which allowed the warmth of the rising sun, magnified by the Firestone and traveling through the many underground ducts throughout the city, to enter the room.

He returned to Atel and coughed lightly to arouse him. "I apologize for the early intrusion, Master. Do you have time to hear me?"

Atel looked up, and a smile appeared on his wrinkled old face. "I always have time for you, my Brother. What is on your mind?"

"I hope you don't think I'm foolish, but I feel this may be important."

Atel made an effort to get up, struggled, then took Ketzah's outstretched arm, straining his tiny body up from the prayer mat. He shuffled to a bench warmed by the sun now streaming through a window, settled onto it, then said, "In the many years I have known you, I have seldom found you to be the fool. Please tell me what bothers you."

Ketzah sat near Atel and loosened his cloak. "For years, we've worked on the Records, preparing for...we weren't sure what. Last night I lay awake thinking and it came to me what it may be."

Atel perked up and stared at Ketzah.

"As we know," Ketzah continued, "the government plans to use the Crystals to go through the Earth to Waydo. Might this cause disturbances within the planet? Could this disrupt enough to affect even the surface of the Earth?"

Atel stayed silent a while, then said, "I am pleased you have picked up on this. It may well be the cause of our concern. Atlan's ungodliness has attracted too many inharmonious vibrations. The nation must pay the price of its follies, for countless people have suffered under our rule. We have been helpless to stop what we could not explain, so we could only prepare for the aftermath. Now you have sensed a possible cause. Perhaps we must focus on this—try to persuade those in command to reconsider. It may be too late to stop the forces, but we must try."

He rubbed his chin with his gnarled hand. "Had I known your message was of such magnitude, I would have called my Brothers to hear you. Will you stay while I ask them to join me? Perhaps we can discuss a plan of action."

"Of course. My mind is only here today."

Ketzah watched Atel leave, relieved he wouldn't be going to the laboratory today. Who could concentrate on plants at this time? Hybridizing corn will wait.

The door creaked open and seven aged priests quietly made their way into the chamber. They eased onto the benches and faced Ketzah.

"Now," said Atel to Ketzah, "tell our Brothers what you have told me."

Ketzah explained everything—his dreams, his recent conclusions and his concerns about the death ray and Waydo. They listened attentively, saying nothing. When he finished, he waited for their response.

A long while passed, then Master Mukira spoke in his singsong nasal voice. "Ketzah, it appears you have a marvelous mental link with the past. For you see, many hundreds of centuries ago, there was a civilization such as you have described. Everything you witness today has happened before under somewhat different form. This is why you have been taught to solve your problems when they arise, for until the matter is solved, you will continue to meet it, though often wearing a disguise."

He raised a finger to stress his point. "The world will have to overcome its feelings of hatred and greed, selfishness and uncaring. Until this is done, we will continue to meet the same fate over and over again. Like a wheel that turns continuously, the section that one day is warm in the rays of the sun will the next day smother in the ooze of the mud. And so it continues, until we have outgrown the harness of the Earth."

Master Bol sat patiently, smiling slightly, until his long-winded Brother finished. "I suggest," he said at last, "that you, or perhaps all of us make a journey to the Atlantean Council to encourage our leaders to lay down their weapons. We must strive for a life of peace and good will."

Master Klodl looked unsure. "It might be a futile gesture, but,"—he threw up his hands—"what else can we do? Someone might listen. Let us go tomorrow. Our young pupils may enjoy the day at home with their families."

* *

A damp fog permeated Poseidl, and the morning air was chilly. Ketzah's white robe and red cloak contrasted with the drab gray of the cowled priests. He slowed his walk to match his elders who tottered along, arms crossed and tucked in their sleeves for warmth. Few people were on the streets this early, and they made their way quietly through the misty city.

The great pillared building of the Atlantean Council appeared in the distance, and the familiar nervousness that was Edak's lay heavily in Ketzah's stomach. Silhouettes of the statues lined the rooftop—bronze and gilded gods and goddesses familiar to every Atlantean. Ketzah stared as if he were Edak. For although it had been renewed and rebuilt many times over, the edifice stood on the very spot his ancient friend had trod so long ago on a similar mission.

And there were the twenty-seven steps waiting silently. They had been replaced many times since Edak's time, but these rutted reminders told of the millennia-old institution before them. The Great Council had served Atlan for so long, surely the nobleness and virtue of such a tried institution will hear them now, will digest their words—and will consider the better way, of peace. They must! Atlan was not master of the world this long because of impetuousness.

They climbed slowly, pausing now and then for the priests to rest. Just inside the building the cool, hushed entrance hall held an aura of the great atrium of his dream, although more modern now. But it felt the same beneath the now-ornate marble pillars and high-domed ceilings.

A lad of about twelve years seated at a table arose at the approach of the men. Ketzah introduced himself and his companions and stated their purpose. The boy led them inside to a small visitors' chamber, cold and barren, furnished with wooden chairs along the walls and a lone table in the center. "I will advise the Council," he said. "You shall be called when they are ready." He left, closing the heavy door behind him.

The men looked around quietly for a few moments, then at each other. Everything felt awkward, uncertain. "If you wish, I will speak first," Ketzah said at last. "Unless you think it wise that one of you begin."

"As you wish, Brother," said Atel. "They will listen to a scientist before a simple priest." His eyes lingered a few moments on Ketzah, who shifted uneasily.

Was that a look of admiration Ketzah saw in his eyes? He, a simple botanist, to be recognized over these noble priests, these wise mentors, these spiritual leaders? And, Atel was even more than that. For in Nenus's long absences, it was Atel who had been his strength, his courage, his paternal guidance. Now he—Ketzah—honored above Atel? Certainly not! Any wisdom heard today would surely be that of the priests.

He folded his hands in his lap and stared at the floor, silently preparing his talk. He must be convincing; not too complicated, not too verbal—but not too simple. If only he had the gift of oratory; still, he had his facts straight and could answer any question—if they were to ask him.

The boy didn't come back, and the morning dragged on. Anxiety replaced the well-prepared speech. He wiped his sweaty palms on his robe and tried to ignore the rumbling of his stomach, praying for a clear and brilliant mind. His hands shook.

It was nearly midday now.

"I think we should have eaten before we left the temple," said Atel.

Ketzah looked up at his friends huddling forlornly in the cold. How could he have thought only of himself and not of the welfare of these old men? "I will find a vendor," he said, arising.

A quickened patter of sandals echoed down the hall outside the door, which creaked open wide enough for the young attendant's head to peek in. "The Council will see you now."

They walked silently down to heavy bronze doors which opened into the Hall of the Great Council. It was a large place, with green marble walls framing murals depicting scenes of Atlantean history. Red and black marble columns held up the ceiling, laden with frescoes of Atlan's many deities.

A great semicircular table stood near the center of the room. At the head sat a graying humorless-looking man draped in purple—Emperor Rone. To either side of him sat the twenty Council members. Their expressions clearly showed apathy, weariness, boredom—and hunger at this time of day. An elderly man fingered his heavily jeweled ring and stared at it, thinking thoughts one could only wonder at. Across the table, a young woman yawned.

Ketzah swallowed dryly and studied the group, wondering how best to win them over.

Rone took a note from the lad, acknowledged him with a nod, read the message, glanced up, then rubbed his eyes. "State your name and business for all to hear," he said wearily.

Ketzah cleared his throat and walked to the table. "Your majesty, very respected men and women of the Council, I am Ketzah Kowato, a scientist of agriculture here in Poseidl. I beg your forgiveness for this intrusion, but I assure you, our mission is a most worthy one."

"Yes, Dr. Kowato. I do hope you will be brief, as we hope to adjourn soon to eat. Today's session has been taxing and dreary. I'm sure you can appreciate our burdens, with so many heavy issues before us." He scratched his chin. "So, what is your purpose? You are aware the government doesn't make donations to private laboratories, nor to temples."

"Yes, your majesty, I do know that," said Ketzah. "Our purpose is altruistic. It concerns the welfare of our nation—even the world."

A few people shifted in their seats and bent forward in interest. "Indeed," said Rone. "Tell us your purpose."

"Please don't judge us to be too forward," Ketzah continued. "We have come to ask—in fact, to implore that you consider a different outlook in our treatment of other nations."

He stepped forward a bit, reaching the foot of the table, close enough to touch it if he chose. "The use of the Crystals for power and control, especially the use of the death ray to subdue other nations, is a misuse of the gifts of the universe. It will end in calamity."

The woman who had yawned now snorted slightly in amusement. A man shook his head, smirking. Someone coughed. Ketzah stood still and looked at Rone, who was smiling. "Dr. Kowato, do you mean to say that you—a botanist—have come down here today to tell us you want to change this great nation of ours to a backward and wealthless one, because of some foolish whim of yours? Come now, do you take us for idiots?"

"Let me explain," Ketzah insisted. "I implore you to hear us out. True, it sounds of foolishness, but it's the least foolish of any path to take." He formed an imaginary ball with his hands. "The Earth seems indestructible, a massive sphere of water and rock. But it is much more, and harm can come to it. Witness this when lightning strikes the forest, when storms cause tidal waves to clear the land, when volcanoes erupt and earthquakes rumble. Indeed, as we all know from observing volcanic eruptions, the Earth isn't at all solid within the center. It is very hot, actually molten. It would be profoundly unwise to try to bore through it. It is not to be tampered with. There will be a reaction."

Rone scowled and opened his mouth, but Ketzah continued, "We, all of us on Earth, are like cells in a body. We must strive to keep this organism healthy and alive. If one cell decides to rob other cells of their riches for the aggrandizement of its own self, it then becomes a cancer. This sooner or later kills both the body and itself in the process—gaining nothing and losing all."

Rone spoke before Ketzah could take a breath. "Dr. Kowato, I'm afraid you and your priest friends are wasting your time here. Thank you for your concern but there are other matters for our consideration. So if you would..."

"Your highness," Ketzah blurted, "may I say a little more?"

Rone exhaled loudly. "Very well. But state your case quickly."

The Council glared. They were weary of minor litigations and laws and by-laws and tax structures that had passed across the table that morning. And they were hungry.

"I understand," said Ketzah firmly, "you are planning to use the death ray to bore through the Earth. You wish to invade Waydo."

Rone's eyes flared; he would take no more derogatory remarks from this insignificant little seed lover. "We may or may not use such a plan. This is none of your concern—whatsoever! Certainly, you are aware that our military leaders are trained. They are capable in their business. They absolutely know what they are doing. You, doctor, are trained to work with plants. I suggest you go back to your garden."

"Your highness, I implore you to consider the distinct possibility of instabilities in the Earth's crust caused by this boring..."

"Enough!" Rone shouted, veins bulging in his now-red forehead and neck. "This session is now in recess! Good day, gentlemen. Attendant! Show these people out!"

The young man jumped up from his seat at the door and opened it, staring firmly at the visitors. Flushed with frustration, Ketzah waited for his friends, putting an arm on Atel's elbow to assist him.

They reached the hall and heard laughter echoing off the marble pillars. Muttered words of 'fanatics,' 'alarmists' and 'over-reactionaries' reached their ears. Then the heavy door clanged shut.

They walked out to the harsh sunlight in bewilderment and silence.

"I failed," said Ketzah. "I did my best but it wasn't good enough. I'm so sorry."

Atel stopped and took Ketzah's forearm. "Do not apologize, my Brother. You said all that could be said. Their ears chose not to hear."

"So," said Chalkay, "we shall continue with our present plans. We shall preserve the Records."

Mukira shook his head. "A sad day for Atlan. And for the world."

* * * *

Chapter 19

Ketzah squinted in the sunlight when he walked out through the doorway to the courtyard, which was set in the middle of the Old Temple.

A warm sweetness in the breeze blew across his face and hair. He looked about at the others—forty-eight students Ketzah had known most of his life, now grown and initiated like he, coming together as requested by the priests. They chatted and laughed, these old friends, remembering good times and catching up on any news.

Ketzah would join them—later—for there, in the center of the room arranging benches, was Falima.

Ketzah made his way to her and touched her arm. "Falima," he said, "I've been looking for you."

She looked up and reached for his hands, her cheeks flushing slightly as their fingers touched. She broke out in a smile. "Ketzah, I'm so glad to see you. Where have you been hiding these past few days?"

"I've..."

A hulk of a man interrupted with a deep resonant voice. "Ketzah! Falima!" His huge arm slapped Ketzah playfully on the back. Laugh lines etched his face and hair stuck out in places from his headband.

"Dregl!" laughed Ketzah. "It's good to see you!"

"And you, Brother," said Dregl. "It's been how long—a year maybe?" He studied his two friends a few moments. "What's this? I thought you and Falima were just 'childhood friends'—that's what you always told me." His eyes gleamed. "But we are grown now, I see. I should have known!"

Falima snickered and Ketzah laughed out loud, saying, "All right, it's true—and has been for years. But you would have tormented me beyond endurance if you had known when we were growing up."

He studied his friend. "And what about you, Dregl?"

"What about me...what?"

"Has no young woman caught your eye?"

Dregl shook his big head. "No-o-o! No sweetheart for me. I'm busy with my work. What woman would want a geologist? I love rocks more than people."

"That's not true," said Falima. "You enjoy others' company, and women like an honest man who works with nature." She eyed him mischievously. "I seem to recall girls flirting with you while we were growing up. You never even noticed!"

Dregl laughed and the veins in his forehead bulged. "I'll have to pay closer attention. But come," he said. "Let's find a place to sit...over there, next to Mot."

Mot sat on a bench in a corner, quietly looking about at those around him. At thirty, Mot was the youngest priest in the temple, although he still studied under the leadership of the older ones. His black hair and swarthy complexion contrasted sharply with his wizened mentors. Though seemingly out of place, his strength and agility were very much needed to maintain the ancient halls and chambers of the temple.

Mot saw the three approach and he brightened, standing to greet them. "Old friends," he said, "how good to see you. How long has it been?"

"Too long," said Falima. "You're always praying or studying or working in the garden when we come here. Do you ever rest? Visit?"

Mot smiled serenely. "There is much to do and learn to become all I wish to be. But isn't it the same with us all?"

"It is," said Ketzah, grasping arms robustly with Mot. "There's never enough time to enjoy friends."

A latch clicked and large bronzed doors creaked open to the inner chambers. A procession of seven priests slowly shuffled into the sunlight. The courtyard quieted and benches scraped as people found places to sit. The old men made their way to the center of the gathering and sat down—all but Master Shu, the most robust of the old men who remained standing. He raised his arms, gesturing for quiet.

The whispers and movement stopped and Shu smiled. "How good to see you all again, my Brothers and Sisters. This causes my memory to visit former days, when you skipped and played among the corridors. They were good times, and I miss them."

For a moment, his eyes were far away; then he continued, "We do not live in the past, but in the present, ever mindful of the future. This, of course, is the reason for today's convocation. Let us take a few moments to appreciate this and radiate harmony."

Shu sat down and the room became quiet, except for the sound of deep sighs as the group settled down for collective meditation.

Now only the whisper of breaths and the hum of a single fly buzzing about disturbed the silence. A sacred feeling emanated, vitalizing and unifying them.

The silent stillness went on for a quarter-hand's time, then at last Shu clapped his hands and everyone's eyelids opened—this being the usual temple way of ending a meditation.

As people stirred back into the present, Shu said, "Master Chalkay has something to say." Shu then sat on a bench near his peers.

Chalkay got to his feet and cleared his throat. "We have gathered today," he said in a frail voice, "because we think the time of turmoil we have been preparing for may be close at hand." He glanced over at Ketzah and extended his hand toward him.

"Our Brother Ketzah recently spoke with us regarding disturbing impressions he has received. The Atlantean Council is planning to use the Crystal's energy to subdue Waydo by boring with intense heat through our planet. Ketzah senses this may bring on the demise of Atlan." A murmur arose, and Chalkay waited until the room quieted again.

"Three days ago," he continued, "we went to the Council to beseech them to reconsider their plans. They would not hear of it. They think we are fanatics."

He shrugged. "Perhaps we are. Yet, do we not feel compelled to follow the stirrings of our own conscience? In any event, it is hopeless to think we can change their minds. So! We shall continue to preserve our history and lessons for the future of humanity."

Master Klodl struggled to rise. Atel grasped his elbow to assist. "Beloved Sisters and Brothers, the time has come to make manifest our plans of many years. But, can we at this time? How near are we to the end of these preparations? Let us share what we have done, so we can all know exactly the complete plans."

Everyone looked around, hesitant to speak first. Falima squeezed Ketzah's hand, then stood. "Honored Masters," she said, "my Brothers and Sisters, I think I can be confident in saying the plans for the Temple of Light are nearly complete. Perhaps a fortnight more is all we need.

"Those of you who have helped on this project know and appreciate the years of work we've put into this, the most complex of our projects. May I explain in more detail to update those working in other areas?"

"Please, Sister, do so," said Klodl.

"We have chosen a most perfect spot—stable, free of earthquakes and other planetary disruptions, a place where future generations should know, by its location, that this isn't a simple monument to a heathen god. Most of you already know that this place is Khemet."

Most in the room nodded, but a few people seemed surprised.

"Our monument," she continued, "will have four sides, each side being a triangle. It will be built entirely of granite and limestone, then coated with white marble, and capped with a smaller—but golden—four-sided triangle.

"Though astoundingly huge a structure to build, nevertheless, the real work has been in the planning, for the genius lies in what one does not see from the outside. For every measurement, both outside and within, has been for a precise purpose, an exact mathematical formula. This great Monument of Light will speak of our knowledge of the sciences, of history and of things to come. I marvel at it even now, after all these years!" She glanced around for any questions, then sat back onto the bench.

Ragaatl, a coworker in the project, arose. He brushed back a shock of black hair, exposing a sinewy face. "We're hoping the good people of Khemet might help us in locating the necessary materials. We know that there are stonemasons in that country. They could be of great assistance. Still, the actual building will be done by our Atlantean priests here, and we Initiates.

"We'll use our knowledge of reverse gravity to move the stone blocks, for they will be huge. We agreed at the beginning to keep this method highly secret. We all know by events about us that humankind is not evolved yet to a point where it can use these higher laws wisely.

"Perhaps thousands of years from now the people will be ready, but we all see the effects today of much knowledge and little wisdom."

He paused, and Falima stood again to add, "If we're able, after the Monument has been built, we'd like to build a stone structure in the shape of a lion. This will be a hint to future discoverers that its builders lived during the zodiacal Age of the Lion. According to impressions we've perceived, it'll be in the Age of the Water Bearer, many thousands of years from now, before anyone outside the temple will even begin to know the significance of the structure."

A soft murmur arose, for this was a surprise—an astonishing thought—of such a long time span.

"Isn't this the way it should be?" asked Ragaatl. "It seems only right that the world be cast into thousands of years of darkness, as retribution for thousands of years of misspent Light.

"We shall once again start at the beginning. As you know, if the Monument can be understood and acted upon before the next great cataclysm, might it not be possible to avoid yet another? We can only hope there will be enough reasoning minds, further evolved than those of these contemporary times."

Falima and Ragaatl sat down and looked over at the priests, then at each other, satisfied that their explanations were understood.

Falima then glanced up at Ketzah. He winked at her. But then her expression turned sad, and she gazed at him. Ketzah understood and his mood changed.

All around them men and women nodded in approval of the presentation. Such foolishness! thought Ketzah. More than that—this was all brought about because of greed and selfishness. Hatred! Self-indulgence! Now, millions may die because of it.

He looked at Falima, who glanced around to see who would speak next. He wanted only to walk with her, to caress her, hold her, dance with her. But this was all a futile dream, wasn't it? He saw that now. For there were plans being made—awful plans, of animal-like survival in a time of doom.

A nudge from Dregl's elbow brought him from his thoughts. He looked at Dregl, then at Mot, who both motioned for him to speak. Of course. He had studied the whole Og project most thoroughly; he should be the one best suited to explain it.

He stood, thought for a moment, and cleared his throat. "We'll be going to the land of Og. There are eight of us, including the priests Atel and Mot. We intend to build stone monuments, much like the Temple of Light, but much smaller and without the inner passageways. We won't have the large granite resources in our area.

"We hope someday humanity will recognize the similarities of these structures existing on different continents. These formations resembling the Monument in Khemet should suggest a common source. And the largest of our monuments will contain the Records.

He walked back to the bench and saw Falima's sorrow. His chest tightened. The seriousness of this meeting weighed on him heavier and heavier as he realized his days with Falima were nearly over.

He only half-listened now as other groups told of their missions. Some would be going north, others west, southwest, east, and so on to every part of the globe that they had determined would be stable. Each had similar missions—they must tell far future civilizations of their glory, their failure and their warnings.

"It is best," said Chalkay, "that the exodus begin soon. Within a fortnight, if possible. We cannot postpone this, hoping for better days. For each political day looks darker than the previous, and we delude ourselves hoping for a fresh dawn."

He looked around the room at the men and women; all of them wore modest robes, their hair styled neatly yet not gaudily, adorned with the simplest of headbands. These students, so much more educated than those of the secular world—how rich they could be if they so chose! How renowned their names, had they wanted to rule. Dear precious people, now willingly giving up all they hold dear for this thankless mission.

"Precious students," he said, "you are like children to me. Where have the years gone? Was it so long ago we first sensed this coming end? It is difficult to believe the time of upheaval is upon us."

He looked around the room again. "As you probably know, I will be among those going to Waydo. There will be twelve of us. We all are aware that we may not fare well, for Waydo is soon to be under attack by our motherland."

He sighed. "But, the work must be done and we have agreed to do it. We, of course, are taking the Records to hide.

"We will build earthworks according to the magnetic lines of the planet. Magnetically aligned earthworks will also be erected in Mayra by our people. Again, we hope someone will note the similarity."

He raised a finger. "It is vital that these several copies of the Records be hidden securely all over the planet. It is probable that some—perhaps most—will be lost forever. So consider carefully where you secrete them. The more copies to be hidden, the greater the possibility of one or more being found in the future. Choose your locations with great care."

He said nothing for a long while, so long that some shifted in their seats while he looked each young Initiate carefully in the eye. Then he said, "I wish you all well. Do your best. Remember who you are, and know that we are bonded as one, throughout eternity, through our common experiences and our common goals. Find strength in that bond, for the future days will be difficult."

He sat down.

Atel slowly got up, assisted by Wotum reaching over with his hand. "I believe this is the last time we will all meet together," Atel said. "Let us take hands and remember our good years together. As Brother Chalkay said, let us gather strength from our common bond and feel our love for each other."

The room was heavy and still. With a scuffling of feet and benches scraping, everyone reached out and clasped hands, and a large ring was formed. It was hard to look around at these old friends, for this was perhaps the last time to see them.

Ketzah gripped Falima's hand and gently caressed her thumb with his. This is madness! he silently screamed. I cannot leave all that I love! Divinities! Let this not be so!

Atel sensed the agonies tormenting his friends, for he felt them too. After long moments, he uttered, "Now let us go to finish our preparations. In our most difficult times, remember that we will all meet again in a different time, on a different plane."

A different plane! What are you saying?! Ketzah raged silently. I can't wait for such a day to be with Falima!

In stunned silence, people shuffled out from the room, some weeping softly. Ketzah looked around, then grabbed Falima's hand and quickly led her out the door.

Outside, at the steps, Falima halted and pulled Ketzah back. "Ketzah, where are you taking me? Are you angry?"

"Angry? At you, no, but yes—angry at the world, for throwing us into this madness. We must be alone to talk, to sort out our lives."

She followed him down the steps into the midday noise of the city. They found a bench in a grassy area. He pulled her down on the seat with him and their eyes locked.

"What are we going to do, Falima? We'll lose each other."

"My heart cries out for you," said Falima, "and for me. But we can't go against all we've been trained to do. Our time together grows short."

"Bah!" snorted Ketzah. "What were we trained to do? To hide Records? For what? So someone countless years from now can look at them, laugh, then make the same stupid blunders of our time? This is insane, Falima! Insane!"

Falima withdrew her hand, unsure of how to respond. She looked at him timidly for a time, then quietly said, "We've known for a long while that his would happen. This isn't a surprise to you."

Ketzah shook his head and sighed, sorry for his outburst. "We knew. But did we believe?"

"Would it have helped if we had?"

"Yes. When the masters chose us for different destinations, we should have balked. I should have learned of Khemet's botany. We could have prepared!"

He rubbed his forehead. "If I had only thought of it."

Falima's eyes were moist. "We were children. How could we have foreseen this day? It's too late now; we can't turn our backs on duty." She tried to say more, but choked up.

Ketzah saw her pain. He took her up into his arms and held her while she sobbed. "Damn this great nation of Atlan!" he growled. "And damn our duty!"

* * * *

Chapter 20

"Over here," Nenus pointed, his black eyes flashing intently. "Poseidl should look out over his sea." He motioned for his sons to move the marble garden statue, nearly as big as they, to the far end of the yard, near the cliff that hung over crashing waves below.

Ketzah and Vadi looked doubtfully at their still-robust father, who obviously thought they were at least twice as strong as he. Silver hair haloed his chiseled face, but Nenus had slowed only a little with age.

Vadi stared at the statue. "Father thinks we have the strength of wrestlers," he said. As an adult now, Vadi no longer had the adolescent scrawniness. Although his wavy hair was brown and his complexion swarthy, he otherwise resembled Ketzah quite a bit and, in dim light, they sometimes were mistaken for the twins, rather than Vadi and his sister Medra.

The two struggled with the statue, rocking and walking it toward the chosen site. Ketzah breathed hard, all the while savoring the clean, sweet air of Amaki, this tiny town on the far side of the island of Poseidl. It lay far from any large city and had none of the ills of urban life. The air was good with a clean blue sky, and the people were friendly. It was here that Nenus and Finah had chosen to retire, and Vadi had followed. After all, a young carpenter could find work anywhere.

When Ketzah wrote and told of his plans to visit, Finah was so elated, she immediately made plans for a holiday with her children. Medra and her husband Pelak sailed in the night before from the city of Achai on the island of Aryaz.

"How is this, Father?" asked Ketzah. Poseidl now rested at his new position near the cliff.

Nenus studied the god for a moment. "Hmm. I think if he were turned a bit, as if he were looking both at the water and at us..."

Ketzah and Vadi groaned, then obeyed, shaking their heads while they strained.

"There!" said Nenus. "Perfect!" The brothers brushed their hands and robes clean, then found a bench to sit on while they wiped the sweat off their faces and looked out at the waves.

"This is such a beautiful place," mused Ketzah. "How lucky that you found it."

"It's what we always wanted," said Nenus. He sat down beside his sons. "I have the sea air to breathe, I can go down and fish whenever I want, and we are only a short walk from town and all the conveniences for your mother. But I regret we are so far from you," he said, patting Ketzah's knee. "And now Medra, too."

Ketzah nodded in agreement and looked over the estate—its extensive yard, the arbors of wisteria and grapes, the flower-bordered paths, marble benches, columns and statuary, all leading down to the shady portico attached to the house. Inside, he knew Finah was busy fussing over the food, the tableware, the bedding and anything else she could find to polish or clean or prepare. Her children were all together again, and her singing reflected her happiness.

Ketzah heard her songs and for a short while he felt like a child again. Then a sadness came over him and he longed for those innocent times.

He looked over at Medra and Pelak as they walked together beneath the wisteria. Having married less than a year ago, their love was still wonderful and passionate. He thought of Falima. As he had done again and again—and yet again—since the meeting at the temple, he raged silently at the Divinities for this fate that hung over them like an oncoming storm.

"Dear family," called Finah from the doorway. "Come and get ready so we can eat." She wore a light blue robe which accentuated her figure, blond curls and light blue eyes. Even now in late middle age, she was beautiful, though her walk was a little slower and less agile.

As the men set up a table and chairs in the yard, Medra and Finah brought out wine, bread, roast fowl and fresh fruit. They sat and soon they all were lost in good food and conversation.

Ketzah didn't talk much, trying to hide his feelings, but drank in each face carefully. He must remember every line, every hair, every sound of their voices, for he wouldn't see them again if he couldn't convince them today that they must leave. The thought of their almost certain fate was more than he could bear. He must not think about that.

So many times before he had urged them to leave Atlan, to live in another country. They had laughed at his preposterous idea. Perhaps, then, if they didn't want to move, would they take a vacation to a far-off place? Ketzah would pay for it.

But of course, they refused. They were too happy, they insisted, too comfortable in their retirement home. And, of course, to leave the homeland they loved? How absurd!

And now he held a cluster of grapes, absentmindedly plucking them off, one by one, and dropping them onto his plate, uneaten.

Finah noticed and said, "You're so quiet today, son. Is something the matter?"

He looked at her gently. "I'll be leaving Atlan soon, to go to Og for a while."

"Og? Whatever for?"

He looked around at his family. Couldn't he tell them—explain to them—beg them to come with him? Yet, who would believe such a wild story as the destruction of Atlan? They'd think him mad and worry about him. "We'll be doing studies on the plants there," he said lightly. He took a sip from his goblet. "It should be interesting."

Nenus's eyebrow arched slightly at the idea of plant study being interesting. "How long will you be gone?" he asked.

"I don't know," lied Ketzah. "Two or three moons, perhaps. Maybe a year."

A spark of hope touched him and he looked hard at them. "I'll miss you all so much. Wouldn't it be nice if you went with me?"

Finah laughed aloud. "Me? In Og?! Whatever would I do in such a wild land?"

Nenus was a bit more contemplative. "The fishing and hunting might be nice." He eyed his wife, who flashed a warning with her eyes. "But we're satisfied with the comforts of Atlan. We are no longer young, you know."

Vadi's face showed a slight annoyance. "You know, Ketzah, I can't leave my job to tramp through the woods. Nor can Pelak."

"I've heard talk about our government," Ketzah ventured. "These aren't good times. There may be dark days ahead for Atlan. Terrible days. The rumors say disaster may strike soon—very soon. Please, come with me now, even for a short while. I..."

"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?"

Edak blinked. This was a tremendous task—yet he must help. "I will do all I can," he said.

"As I already knew; you are a man of great honor. Thank you." She thought for a few moments, then said, "You must inform your family first. Have them pack all they can carry for the new world."

She took a folded linen cloth from a bench at the wall and opened it on the table. A map of Mu was drawn in red and blue dye. "Come, let us decide which area you will take."

Now outside, Edak dwelled on her words. Where do I begin? And how will I start? He headed for the river. So many tasks lay before him. The sand blazed under his bare feet, but he didn't notice. His mind focused only on plans. The first thing I must do is tell Myreem, Mother and Klad.

* *

"I will not go," insisted Myreem, tightlipped. "I must stay here." Edak stared at her, standing among the shelves of rolled-up scrolls.

"But Mu may be doomed," he exclaimed. "The signs are everywhere. Surely, you have noticed. It would be your death to stay here, and I could not bear that."

She softened, looking at him with a gentle smile. "I meant, Edak, that I won't leave until you do. I will help in the evacuation. This is our journey, not yours alone."

Edak's heart skipped. He cared so deeply for her, and now he knew she felt the same. He took her hands. "Then we begin together, by sending our families off, and our village."

* *

Days later, under Califia's request, every seaworthy vessel in the land was commissioned to carry settlers to Mayra and Og. Edak carried a decree with him which he read to everyone he encountered, telling of the exodus. It was hardest to tell Ogra, for he knew her deep love for home and family. But what citizens felt otherwise? And so he told her, as gently as he could, explaining as she cried how this beautiful land was in danger.

Now remembering, it brought back pain. He and his family had walked together to the dock. Edak carried the heavy covered basket of Ogra's belongings and set it down to be put on the ship. He looked at his mother, who gazed at him silently. Gray and black strands of hair played in the breeze and brushed her face, now lined with the passing years and sleepless nights.

Klad stood nearby with Tliksa, his fiancée. "I wish I could stay here," he said. "I would run ahead of you and prepare the villages for your coming, and the evacuation. It would make it so much easier."

"Yes, you would be a good help, and I would love it if you did," said Edak, grasping Klad's shoulders. "But Mother would be left alone in Mayra and the land is wild. How would she fare? She would crumble and die without at least one of her sons near. No, as we have agreed, she needs someone strong and brave to assist her in settling."

He looked over at Tliksa and lightened. She was tiny and looked delicate, but a strength flashed in her eyes. That strength will be tested in the coming days. "You and Tliksa are a good presence in Mother's life," he said to Klad. "And we will join you as soon as we can."

Klad exhaled. "I know. This is no time to think of one's own adventures. We do what we must. And so, farewell, my brother, until we meet in the new land." He stretched out his muscular arms and embraced Edak with a loving crush, nearly knocking his breath out.

Edak gasped, then returned the hug. "Farewell, dear Klad. How I'll miss having my ribs broken."

He went again to Ogra and they embraced tenderly. "Since we sent you off with Ropl Du Meh so many years ago," said Ogra, "it seems we are always separating." She sighed in resignation. "If only these were better times. But they aren't, so here we are." She hugged him again. "Stay safe, dear son, and may the days be speedy until you and Myreem join us in our new home."

"It always hurts to leave you," said Edak, "but especially now. I have never gotten used to it. But we shall all be so busy, the separation will not seem long."

He watched them board the ship, then lingered and waved as they left port. They returned the gesture and then gazed hard at their motherland. All this was finished. They had mourned the loss of Mu since first learning of the exodus, but today they would be strong. Safety and a new life lay past the river and across the sea.

When they were gone from sight, Edak looked back at the land. Yes, it was surely dying. At this moment, the skies smoldered red and dark with ash and smoke belching intermittently out of the volcanoes. He inhaled, coughed the sulfurous air from his lungs and set forth. There was work to be done and no more time for emotion.

* *

The moon waxed, was full, waned, waxed again and was now nearly full. During this time, Edak and Myreem's task was to evacuate every village possible. They insisted, on the queen's behalf, that everyone leave, for they would die without help. Ship after ship after ship, too many to count, left the ports of Mu, all filled to the limit with people migrating by the droves, heading out to the mountains across the sea in Mayra. They took with them their goats and looms, urns, nets and potter wheels. Tucked into corners were scrolls and clay tablets from libraries throughout Mu. And always there were the tears—so many tears—for leaving the motherland was no less painful than to chop off one's arm or to leave part of one's heart.

The once-pleasant ocean journey had become a major undertaking, worse each day. Underground tremors shook the waters and they churned up monstrous waves that hit shores, destroying everything. Ship captains brave enough to return for more passengers told of vessels that couldn't withstand the constant lashings of the storms and were lost with all aboard. Others barely got through to the new land, sustaining major damages which kept them from returning home for more passengers.

In Mu, the wind howled all night and all day with rarely a lull. The ground growled and shook, and volcanoes belched pumice and ash into the air. Breathing the stench of sulfur in the air caused people to choke and gasp, and they held cloths over their noses and mouths, to little avail. The red, black and gray sky reeked of evil.

Edak and Myreem struggled on, sweaty, grimy, their hair disheveled and garments torn and filthy. They took no time for their own needs—not to wash nor to change their garments nor even to comb their hair—but only to eat and sleep a bit now and then, after which they struggled groggily to their feet and continued. On they trudged through village after village, doing whatever they could to alert the people and lead them to the boats. But underneath their grime and sweat, beneath the calm voices and gentle touches, lay a cold fear.

And then one day, at last, the seacoast towns were evacuated. Myreem and Edak stood and watched a lone vessel leaving, making its way out to sea. This single humble ship carried the people of the last seaside village.

After all this effort, the first part of their assignment was done.

Edak put his hand on Myreem's shoulder and they found a large stone to rest on. He formed the oily, tangled mat of his hair back and retied the thong. Then he rubbed his smudged face and looked at his scratched and bruised arms.

He sighed and thought of the people living upriver. "We should be able to get the inner villages evacuated easily. At least we won't be hampered by animals."

"That's good," said Myreem flatly. She closed her eyes and rested her head in her hands. Her braids were tangled, the shells and beads long ago having fallen out. She was filthy and her unveiled face was red and creased. Her hands, trained to hold brushes and styli, were rough and calloused.

Edak observed this and was ashamed. This work is doubly hard for her; she isn't used to this physical labor. What have I done? I should have insisted she go to Mayra with the others.

Far off, a rumble sounded underground. It neared, becoming louder and louder until a deafening thunder roared as it passed beneath them. The Earth shook and jumped and knocked the two off the rock, hurling them to the ground. Violently twisting trees snapped, some crashing to the Earth. Stone huts disintegrated into rubble and barely missed the last two people in the village.

A terrifying minute passed, then the thunder and shaking rolled past them until it was a distant rumble down the churning river.

It was quiet now.

Edak caught his breath. Myreem lay on the ground near him. He reached out for her. "Are you all right, dear one?"

Myreem moaned, then slowly raised to a sitting position, her face contorted with fear. "All right?" she screamed. "No, I am not all right! I am scared nearly to death! Every day these earthquakes and eruptions! Every day! How much more can we endure? I am so frightened, Edak. What can we do to be safe?" She broke into sobs.

Edak wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He stroked her hair. "I am scared too, Myreem. More than I thought I was capable of being. And there are others out there as frightened as we are. If we leave now, who will help them? They do not know where to go. We have to find them and get them to the ships."

Though he spoke his feelings, he too wondered how they would succeed. There were so many, many people left.

In deep despair, he closed his eyes and pleaded, Spirit of All, speak to us! Don't leave us in this desolation! We need to know you are here!

He waited, searching his mind for a message, a symbol...something!

No answer came, no feeling of comfort. Nothing. Discouraged, he opened his eyes and rocked Myreem gently.

A movement to his side caused him to look up. A deep fog covered one area where a man stood. It was hard to see him fully because of the mist, but Edak could make out someone—a man—tall, in a white robe. Everything about him and the fog seemed brighter, more beautiful. Edak stared hard at him. It was hard to see his face. He thought of his father, but of course his father had died many years ago. It must be the yearning for protection that made him think of Rehm.

Around the man's neck hung the gold medallion of Mu. Edak blinked. Where had he come from? There was no one within sight moments before.

An aura of loving warmth emanated from the stranger, and Edak's terror subsided. "Be not afraid," he said. "You are not alone, and your work is noble. You are never alone."

Edak felt heartened. "Thank you, friend," he said. "We so appreciate your help."

Myreem looked up. "What did you say?"

"I said I am happy he can help."

"Who?"

Edak looked up. The man was gone. The fog was gone.

Puzzled, Edak looked in every direction. There was just Myreem and Edak. "But..." he stammered, "didn't you...he said he would guide us...we are not alone."

They sat quietly for long moments, Edak trying to grasp what had happened. Then Myreem climbed shakily to her feet. "Let us get on with the work."

He recalled the words of the sacred visitor. "Yes," he conceded, shoving the odd occurrence from his mind. "We will finish this."

They would have to take a boat up a fork in the river, which would lead to the next village. Unfathomable work lay before them, but they had each other and they had the words of the stranger in white. It would have to suffice.

* *

Califia was tired. How good it would be to have a fruit drink to sip, to stroll in her garden. But those days were gone. She stood on board and looked at her anxious subjects' faces, their eyes full of worry and uncertainty, mournfully crammed onto the ship, fussing toddlers, llamas and bleating goats by their sides. The vessel rocked and swayed in agitated rhythm and small children called for their fathers to fix it.

It was the children who warmed Califia's heart most. Always the children, and they gathered near her now, that she might touch their cheeks, caress their hair. She loved each one as she would her own, for had her fiancé not died those many years ago, surely she would be a mother today. She sighed. It wasn't meant to be and she accepted that as surely as she now accepted Mu's fate. She was the mother symbol for all who lived in Mu and she knew what she must do.

A disheveled man approached with his equally worn wife and three children. "Honored Queen," he said, "we are so happy you are journeying with us. Perhaps good fortune will shine upon us once more."

Califia smiled. "I would very much enjoy traveling with you, but not today. I am here to see that all the people are situated as comfortably as possible. No one must be separated from his or her family."

"You are not leaving with us?" exclaimed the woman. "But surely you must know Mu won't last another day. Dear Queen, look around! Come with us! We need you in the new land!"

"I appreciate your kindness, friends. But you must understand—there are still people waiting to leave Mu. How frightened and confused they must be." She looked at the woman with resolve. "I will stay another day to help my people."

The ramp was steep and Califia took care to walk slowly, lest her bulky frame tumble while leaving the ship. Her advisor Disnak met her halfway down. "Honored Queen, I have a special surprise for you."

Her weary eyes looked at Disnak, then to the dock where he pointed. A sea of faces—so many faces—fraught with confusion and worry, stood before her. But over there!—that one she knew well. A flash of recognition struck her and she rejoiced.

"Edak! How wonderful, so very wonderful to see you!" She finished descending the ramp with a happy stride and rushed to him where, instead of putting out her hand as protocol dictated, she hugged him tightly, extending one arm to take Myreem's hand.

Edak was stunned. "Gracious Queen! How can this be?" He embraced Califia in return, then joined Myreem and bowed low. "Why are you still in Mu? There is danger here."

Califia laughed. "Yes, there is danger here. That is why I have stayed. Do you think I could rest easy in a strange new land, knowing my people are suffering in Mu? No, I will not leave until all the people are safe in Mayra and Og."

"Honored Queen," said Myreem, "it is not necessary for you to stay. Only a few villages remain in the east, and Edak and I will see to their evacuation. You must leave now."

Califia looked at her two friends. "Tomorrow, perhaps. Today, no." Her eyes wandered over the heads of the people, beyond the crumbling huts to the shaking, quivering forests, the belching, smoking volcanoes. "I belong here, in Mu."

The realization of her intent hit Edak. He suddenly felt cold. He clutched her hands and dropped to his knees. "Please, Gracious Queen, please, I implore you..."

She tugged at his hands until he stood again and her gentle voice silenced him. "I must ask you to honor my wishes. Mu is my home. I am the end of the monarchy of Mu. A new world must have a new government."

He tried to speak but she touched a finger to her lips and shook her head. "No more," she said quietly. "It is as it should be. My mind is made up."

She squeezed his hands tightly and glanced at the crowd waiting to board the ship. "You must excuse me now for I have work to do. Farewell, dear friend Edak. Farewell, good Myreem."

She broke her grip and looked proudly at her two subjects. Then she made her way to the anxious refugees. "Be not afraid, my people. I will help you to find a place on the ship. Please come with me."

Edak and Myreem stood and watched her ascend the ramp, followed by a thunder of people and animals. Edak drank in all he could of her with profound pride and sadness, knowing he would not see her again.

* *

And now days and nights mixed together like a nightmare, until the memory of days before this fury seemed like a long-ago dream. The river roared and tossed hideously. The winds howled, screamed and moaned, forming a hellish symphony that tortured the eardrums.

Edak and Myreem strained and ached in the struggle of forcing their little boat upstream. Califia stayed in Edak's mind and the memory made him strong, then proud, then saddened, then furious. His anger gave him more strength and he rowed harder and glared. "How is it possible, Myreem?" he asked in a loud voice over the racket. "How could it ever be that the most honorable race of people on Earth should be destroyed, and the underdeveloped, self-centered barbarians survive to rule the world?"

"I know, Edak," she yelled. "But we cannot waste time or energy. We must focus our energies. Anger must wait for another time, in the new land."

Edak nodded. She was right. He glared at the swirling waters all around. Would they ever see Mayra?

More days passed—long lifetimes of sulfur and flames, ground eruptions and cracking black clouds, rains of hot ash; and now—the horror—bloated bodies of animals and people. Sometimes the two dug through rubble to find a baby, a child, one or two adults, and they helped them to the river. Usually there was only death. Still, they struggled, looking for anyone, anyone at all.

But then one day—finally!—they reached this, the last village marked on Califia's map.

They scanned the area. Houses had all crumbled to the ground. Bodies of people and animals lay stinking and bloated in the rubble. Volcanic ash covered the landscape, and a ghostlike air had settled.

It was dead. Everywhere.

They stood silently, too numb to cry, no words to say.

Then they made their way through the debris. "If there were any survivors," said Edak, "they must have fled. I hope they made it." He rested a hand on the back of her neck.

They tarried in silence a while longer, then forced the heartache from their consciousness. They would grieve another day, but not now—not now.

Edak looked up at a cliff that loomed over the village. Where a waterfall once cascaded down the mountain, spurts and splashes now gushed forth, symptoms of the Earth in throes of death. He slipped his arm around her waist. "Look, Myreem. This is the birth of the river. No more towns. The work is finished."

Myreem studied the cliff and took a deep breath. She exhaled slowly, with a shudder, and rested her head on his shoulder. "I am so tired," she said.

Just then the Earth retched and heaved again. Myreem tensed and looked around.

"We must make it to the boat!" cried Edak. "Let us hurry!" They grasped each other's hands and ran for the water.

Rocks were strewn everywhere and they stumbled, coughing sulfur fumes from their lungs. Their feet slipped on wet stones and mud, and they sank in other places. Their lungs burned, but they ran on.

They reached the boat and threw themselves over the side, choking and retching water, then grabbed oars and pushed off into the water. Waves splashed in over the sides. "Give me your oar," shouted Edak. The howling wind worsened. "Bail!"

Myreem snatched two wooden scoops that lay in the boat. One hand after the other, she bailed and bailed water into the thrashing river until her shoulder ached. "Switch places with me," she called. "I will use other muscles until these no long hurt."

And so they struggled, alternating positions, floundering to keep from capsizing. All the land and water was chaos—violently tossing, pitching, screaming and roaring. Black and red clouds flashed and thundered overhead.

Edak searched the shoreline hard. Was there anything familiar in this eerie twilight? Spots of fires burned, started by glowing ash falling from the sky. Stone heaps that were once villages lay strewn about, remains of thatched roofs smoldering. The wind was hot now.

Water sloshed above their ankles. The boat was sinking!

"It's too much!" Myreem cried. "Oh, where is our village?"

Edak aimed the craft toward shore and bogged into mud a distance from it. "Hold my hand! Be certain you have solid footing in the water!" he shouted.

The mud came to their knees, the water chest deep here, neck deep there. They locked hands tightly, struggling mightily in the suction of the ooze. One foot, then the other—over and over and over—they made their way until they crawled up on land and lay flat on the warm trembling ground, coughing out water and gasping.

Edak caught his breath and struggled to sit up. The river bent in a familiar twist just ahead. "Look! We are almost to our village," he shouted. "Can you continue?"

She fought to stand and brushed muddy hair from her face. "We must! We must..."

Boulders shook and rolled, fissures cracked open in the ground and narrowly missed the two running figures. Now, get around the bend, and there will be the village.

Edak groaned loudly.

The village was gone!

Only the partially standing ruins of the temple remained, standing forlorn in the distance. Everything else was rubble. Hot sparks showered the town.

"To the harbor!" he cried.

They raced to the shore. Broken planks of wood trembled where the docks once stood. All else had fallen, or burned, or been washed away.

There was no ship.

They gaped hard in stark realization. "They must have sensed Mu's end," he shouted. A thrill of terror paralyzed him. He stared at the waves. Great Force, please calm the land—just a bit, just for a small while—that we too might escape.

But he knew it was too late. He stared with a grisly fascination as the waves lapped and lurched higher, ever higher.

"We cannot be saved!" shouted Myreem. She yanked at his tunic. "The temple is our only shelter!"

Edak blinked and looked up. "Yes, of course!" Again they locked hands and pelted through the rubble, leaping over fissures, around fires and stumbling over stones rolling with the heaving ground. Hot ash fell from the sky and they frantically brushed it from their bodies, coughing and retching from the stinking black wind.

The steps of the temple lay cracked and fallen in places, but they made their way to the top. There they fell onto the shaking platform.

Their eyes met and, for a long moment they didn't speak.

It was over. All over.

Myreem's eyes watered. "Why now?" she shouted in despair. "Is there nothing we can do?"

Edak's terror had faded. There was no more strength, nor determination, nor will, nor hope. "I'm so sorry you must die. I should have sent you on the first ship."

She shook her head adamantly. "I would have refused. You know that. We belong together—in life, and if we must, then in death also."

They clutched each other, then struggled to their feet to enter the temple. The darkened interior would be their place to rest.

But there, at the entrance, Edak saw the man in white—calm and smiling, and now Edak saw his face and his heart leapt. "Father! It is you!"

"Yes, son, I've come to take you home. Come with me now," he said, beckoning to the two. "Come home."

The ground jumped just then, and shook with a terrific magnitude.

Throughout Mu explosions thundered and volcanoes blew apart. Trees toppled. Crevices opened and swallowed everything around.

Fire, pumice, gas, steam and ash covered the Earth and rose in depth.

In the little harbor village, the roof and walls of the beautiful temple cracked into pieces and toppled, and buried instantly Edak and Myreem.

Under the wreckage, under the weight of tons of polished stone, their still-clasped hands told a mute story of two noble companions.

Far out at sea in every direction, all ships within two days' voyage were lost, surrendered to the violent wrath of the sea.

For another day and night the holocaust raged on, until the once-glorious and beloved continent sank beneath the waters.

Mu was gone, forever.

* * * *

Chapter 22

Ketzah awoke with a start. Someone had called out. Had it been his own cry—or was it Edak's? It still echoed down the marble hallway. He lay in bed staring into the near-black room. It was silent now, save for his labored breathing.

He stretched and looked out the window. Dark shadows cast eerie forms down Poseidl's streets. Far off a light glowed from the Firestone building. The stars' positions told him it was after midnight. He waited while his pulse and breathing slowed to normal.

He remembered his dream, shook his head and groaned. His companion through life was gone. Pain welled into his forehead. He rolled to his side, his chest cramped with grief.

But then something came to him, and he sat up again. He rubbed his eyes on a blanket edge and wondered: Is this my fate also? To struggle so nobly, only to die ungallantly in a pile of rubble? And for what?

He sighed heavily and the tightness of his chest eased. Everyone must die, he decided, so the struggle may as well be noble. But, do we invent these causes, or is there a Divine Plan? What is Truth, and what is our own self-made delusion?

He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin in his hands. As he had done countless times in the past days, he tried to make sense of what was happening. Edak lived selflessly. His people came before himself, right up to the end. Do I have such courage and strength—and nobility?

"Oh, Divinities!" he moaned aloud. "I don't want to know! I implore you, do not test me!"

A gray dawn slowly lit the sky. He forced himself out of bed. Maybe if I go to the temple, I can better pray. I need courage for whatever happens.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and the floor wobbled slightly. A small earthquake shook Poseidl yesterday also. This was theory no longer; whatever the ordeal would be, it had started.

He dressed quickly and left for the temple.

No one was on the streets yet, and even the birds were silent under the hazy green-gray sky. A glint here and there of dew on the vegetation hung like tears. The silence magnified his aloneness. He wrapped his cloak tightly about him, but still felt the chill.

Tomorrow his group would leave for Og. We've all been trained for this. We've been taught to be in control, of ourselves and our lives. Why then, am I so very frightened? I'm not a boy!

Fears, begone! I must concentrate on today's work. He raged at himself for this pitiful lack of bravery. With steely resolve he insisted, I shall pray for strength, then gather my belongings for the boat.

He thought of their small galley. Unbidden, the image changed in his mind, and he saw a different ship—one of Edak's day—floundering in the stormy sea. His pulse quickened, and sweat beaded on his brow. No! Stop it! I'm not Edak! My life is not his!

He strained again to contemplate the day's duties, but the cold wave of fear returned. "Great Forces," he pleaded, "allow me to live a while longer. I am only twenty-four years old. I'm not ready to die!"

So was Edak—just twenty-four! We tread the same path! He shook his head until it hurt and he refused to think further of Edak.

He was at the temple now, and he plodded up the steps. His knees were weak. He forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply.

The rooms were empty and silent; all the priests but Atel and Mot had gone to the new lands. Mot was spending these last days with his family nearby.

Atel must still be in bed. Let the old man sleep. The journey will be long, and he needs his rest.

In the back of his mind, he was relieved Atel didn't see him so upset.

Ketzah's sandals patted lightly on the polished floors, echoing in the large temple room. He tried to absorb the beauty of every frieze, every pillar and adornment. The new world is wild and will have none of this. He went to the eternal flame, smoldering under a night's white ash. He stoked it, adding aromatic pitch and wood to it, standing back at last to inhale the sweet scent.

He dropped to his knees, and touched his forehead to the floor in humility and desperation. "Give me strength. Give me courage. Let me live, O Forces, let me live!"

A part of him wanted to run and hide, but he knew the supplication would be in vain if he didn't focus all his energies calmly upon it. He sat up and breathed deeply, calming himself, then lowered his head to the floor once more. Again, whispered prayers escaped his lips—harder, more fervent this time. He was desperate. "Help me, Divinities! Help me!"

He pleaded and wept until he weakened and his voice was silent. There was no comfort, no answer, within or without. At last he arose, numb. "I am a dead man, yet still I breathe," he groaned. He dragged himself out into daylight, desolate, knowing the Highest Force in the Universe had indeed forsaken him.

From the shadow of a marble pillar near the antechamber of the temple, a stooped figure lingered, his aged face furrowed with profound compassion. Atel had been on his way to matins when the hoarse pleas and cries of his young friend reached his ears. His first thought had been to interrupt and soothe, but experience and wisdom told him Ketzah must grapple with his soul in his own way. He sighed heavily, observing the despondent figure descend the steps outside; then he turned and shuffled to his place for morning prayer.

He would pray especially hard for Ketzah this day.

* *

By early afternoon Ketzah had gathered his belongings and headed out to the boat. He took the long way through the city to drink in each sight. Children played ball in the street and their shouts and laughter filled the air. A man and woman argued. A middle-aged woman sold fresh bread from her doorway. It smelled good, and he thought of his mother. A hum overhead caused him to look up at an airship passing. Down the street two politicians debated issues as a small crowd fed them questions. Two sweethearts sat on a bench. Normal life, on a day that was anything but normal.

The ground suddenly rumbled and shook and he struggled to keep his balance. All around he heard screams and cries. The tremor lasted only a short while but it was the third one that day.

Now it was still and, for a moment, silent. No one was hurt; nothing had crumbled. Nervous tittering arose as people realized it was harmless and over.

Ketzah shivered, then was angry at his cowardice. "I know my work and I will do it!" he growled aloud. He made his way to the bay.

The boat, a small galley, bobbed in the water at the far end of the dock. It was old, but it had been well taken care of. Its wooden hull shone with wax and polish, its red and gold striped sail folded carefully. Three pairs of oars lay neatly, ready for use.

He climbed aboard and lay down the bundles. The others had been there before him; their personal belongings and articles of food, fresh water, compass, sextant, blankets and maps nearly filled the small cabin built near the stern. He would bring the Records tomorrow while getting Atel.

He studied the equipment and was reassured. These were the most modern instruments they could afford with their meager wages. They would most certainly get them to Og.

His dream popped back into his thoughts—a ship sinking in the roiling black waters. He shoved it away.

He unpacked and rearranged the items in the cabin. His hands trembled uncontrollably.

Then he sat in the boat until twilight—just sitting and staring at the city. The descending sun behind him painted the stone, marble and stucco buildings and fountains a deep rosy pink. Then the sun was gone and the city turned blue-gray and shadowed. Tiny sparks appeared throughout the city as lamps and torches were lit.

He got up, sighed and walked home. Somewhere nearby a lone cricket sounded, searching for a mate in the night air. Smells of cooking wafted out of homes, and the muffled chatter of families inside made his heart hurt.

That night in bed, he lay awake. The air in his room smelled homey and familiar. He must remember it. He caressed his blanket. This would be the last night in a bed for a long while—maybe forever.

He couldn't sleep. The night was devoid of stars and he didn't know the time. Ages seemed to pass but it stayed dark. His bed was too hard, too soft, too lumpy. No positions he rolled to satisfied him. His neck was stiff. He itched. His head was tight, and it ached. "Forces, I beg of you—don't forsake me! I'm so afraid. Where are you? I need you! Help me!"

The words caught in his throat. At last he lay exhausted, disconsolate.

He stared into the darkness, his mind devoid of all thoughts. He couldn't move, nor think, but he simply lay there, inhaling and exhaling, inhaling, exhaling.

Then, as if from nowhere, a deep calmness wafted over him, a cooling, loving glow like nothing he had ever known. It was as if a cloud of cold fright shrouded him, permeated him, crushed him, and now it simply dissipated. His terrors vanished, and a magnificent, wonderful comfort of joyful peace enveloped him.

And then he knew—with an absolute knowing—that he would survive. He would survive!

He basked in this pure essence, and drifted off to a sound sleep.

He slept until dawn.

A beam of sunlight forced its way into his dream and awakened him. He opened his eyes and looked around, then stretched. The problems still existed before him—nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. He was confident, and realized he could accept the fate of Atlan, tragic as it was. He gave thanks to the Great Forces.

He dressed, and for the last time drank in every corner, every item, every wall. He picked up the pouch holding his panpipes and attached it to his waist cord. Music would be a good thing to have in the days ahead. Then he walked outside and, without turning around, closed the door behind him.

The temple was completely silent. He walked down the halls to the back room to get the Records. They sat on a shelf, two thick stacks of golden leaves, engraved with as much of the wonderful wisdom as the priests and students could think of that was important enough to be handed on to the future.

He gathered the heavy bulk, then put it back on the shelf, deciding to look around one last time.

He walked through favorite rooms to sense each precious sight, odor, sound and feel. He wanted to remember everything.

But there was work to be done and time was short. He returned to the back room and gently wrapped the golden leaves in a linen cloth, placed the heavy bundle in a canvas sack and strapped it onto his back, then went down and entered Atel's quarters.

The aged priest sat on a cushion near his bed, legs crossed, hands on knees, his eyes closed.

Ketzah cleared his throat and Atel looked up. "Honored Master, I'm sorry to interrupt your prayers, but it's imperative that we leave now. All preparations are finished and the boat is at the dock."

Atel gazed quietly at Ketzah, a faraway look in his eyes. A strange and sad smiled crossed his face. "You must leave without me. I am a very old man. I would only be a burden to you."

The words struck like a thunderbolt. "Master Atel! You must come with me. I can't leave you here. I need you!"

"No, my Brother. You need only yourself. You are best able to carry out this journey without me. You are most capable."

He looked around the room. "I have lived in Atlan all my life, most of it in this very temple. Here I wish to remain and die. Do not deny such a simple request of your old teacher."

He gazed at Ketzah and smiled serenely. "Go now. Farewell, my greatest of pupils and gentlest of friends. The Great Forces will guide you, now and forever."

Ketzah heard, but could not grasp. He struggled to speak but was hushed by Atel, who held out his wrinkled old arms, and they embraced.

Low rumbles—a tremor—caused Atel to break the grip. He looked into Ketzah's wet eyes. "Go," he said. "Do not look back."

Ketzah stared at his beloved mentor a few seconds longer, then turned and hurried from the temple.

The sky was a hideous orange-gray. It stunk of sulfur. Black clouds rolled from the volcanoes toward the city. Ketzah hurried toward the dock. The Records were heavy, but he didn't notice. He did note the uneasiness of the people nearby, so slowed to a walk to feign nonchalance. As he passed, he heard bits of their nervous chatter.

A woman studied the sky nervously. "What's going to happen to us? The shaking is getting worse!"

"They're just pockets of pressure being released from the Earth," said a man. "Like a child who's eaten too much fruit, Earth must get the gas out of her system."

Catcalls and guffaws sounded at the comparison, but a young woman with a small boy and girl fretted. "Where can we go to be safe until this is over?"

"Go home," said a man. "Stand in a doorway. Or take your children to the country where there are no falling objects, though I doubt there'll be more tremors."

An older woman patted the small girl's cheek. "This is only a temporary thing," she reassured the mother. "It will subside and your children will be safe."

"It's the end of the world!" a crippled beggar cried. "Surely, we are all doomed!" A few nodded, but laughter arose from the crowd.

"Silly fools!" shouted still another. "You frighten yourselves over nothing. Let's get on with our lives."

Ketzah tried not to look rushed or out of place while he passed, and his heart lingered with them. He thought of his family and silently prayed they wouldn't suffer.

And he thought about Falima. No, Falima! I've too much to do. I mustn't think of you until another day!

The pier came into view and he forced his thoughts to the task at hand. His hollow footsteps on the wooden dock interrupted the stillness.

No one was there yet. He climbed aboard the little vessel and looked around. It rocked and creaked gently in the lapping water.

The boat was not very big. Strange that he hadn't noticed that before. But the waves hadn't been so high previously.

He removed the heavy Records from his back and stashed them safely in a corner of the cabin. Then he checked the boat over once more, hoping it would be seaworthy, that the waves and storms wouldn't be too great, that it would withstand whatever was before them.

He must now rely on himself, his comrades and his guidance from within.

###

A request to you, dear reader: I so hope you enjoyed reading this book. If so, I'd be very grateful if you would leave a review on whatever distribution platform you purchased this from. Readers' reviews often help other people in determining which books to buy. I thank you in advance for your kindness. May Peace and Love be with you!

—The author

About the Author

Legends and myths of lost continents have always intrigued J.F. Weckesser, and while studying in the Rosicrucian Order, AMORC, and the Association for Research and Enlightenment, one day "Time Odyssey: The Soul's Memory" began to unfold.

Weckesser believes even our greatest heroes and masters were human, and probably struggled with hopes, fears, desires, misgivings, lapses of judgment, joys and sorrows—especially during 'interesting times.' It is the rising above these roadblocks that make the hero.

J.F. Weckesser lives in Wisconsin, where her imagination runs wild.

