Time Odyssey: The Soul's Memory; Part I, Dreamtime

by J. F. Weckesser

  “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 mento
rs. 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.