“Karai, must this conversation succumb to your reckless sarcasm?” Mother said. “Or can we still speak like thinking adults?”
I turned my back and pretended to examine the books that lined the walls. As you know, Diary, I hate losing my temper. I commanded myself to breathe slowly and deeply.
“What Massarym was doing,” Mother continued, “was displaying our newest discovery, which will change the course of history for us and our country. Please control your feelings of jealousy toward him. You are seventeen now, almost a man.”
This, Diary, was the sharpest cut of all—this use of the word our that did not include me. This word that referred to a discovery so great that nature itself had been changed. Mother is renowned and beloved for her genius in the scientific arts, and I have no illusions of her including me in all her discoveries. But Massarym? Now, I know my brother is not hopelessly mush brained9, but, please, a scientist he is not.
“You . . . and Massarym . . . have a d-d-discovery together?” I asked with measured calmness.
Mother sighed wearily. “You and your brother are almost men, almost old enough to begin taking responsibilities in this government. The difference is that only one of you can be the future king.”
“Me!” I blurted.
“Yes, my dear,” Mother said. “Massarym is the second in line to the throne, Karai, owing to the fact that he was born ten minutes after you. Think about this, my son. Put yourself in his sandals and imagine how that makes him feel. So, at times, I let him in on a thing or two. At times, I indulge his desire to show off a bit. Give him these small things, please.”
You give him all things, small and large, I wanted to say. But, Diary, I kept silent about this matter, and I hope you are proud of me. Someone should be proud. “And this discovery?” I said.
“It is about the rift that resides within the Great Onyx Circle,” she said. “A . . . research project. Into the nature and substance of the mystical power.”
“The rift?” I said. “The orig . . . begin . . . sor . . .”
“Source?” Mother said softly.
“Source . . . of all that makes Atlantis great?” I exclaimed. “Mother, the scrolls say—”
“The scrolls were written by backward-thinking old men who lived on fneepfish and wartgrass,” Mother said. “We live in a different time, Karai. We have the capability of deep understanding. We can know why things happen instead of accepting them without question. Knowledge is ultimate power, and blind belief destroys civilizations.”
This last statement was true, of course. No one knew this more than I. But the rift? Never in the history of our continent has anyone dared approach the source of Atlantean magic, besides the ancient priests who spent their lives guarding and worshiping it. For years they have lived within the mysterious circular ridge we call the Great Onyx Circle. It is possibly to traverse this ridge in places on horseback, but in recent years I feel the entire ridge has begun to rise, as if protecting the rift. I wonder if the priests are doing this with their odd magic powers. “And what of R’amphos and the scholars of the rift—”
“I work with them, my son,” Mother said. “Their knowledge guides me. Together we have analyzed the structure of this energy. We have invented a way to sequester elements of its power into seven containers.”
“Why on earth—?” I began.
“To preserve and to spread,” Mother replied. “We are no longer the only civilization that uses the seas to travel great distances. Other countries have discovered Atlantis, and many envy what we possess. How long will it be before they try to take it away, before they invade and attempt to conquer?”
“So we s-s-steal away the energy in these—these—”
“Loculi,” Mother said. “And, no, we don’t steal. We stay where we are. No, Karai, with the ability to capture the components of energy, we can perhaps give them as offerings of peace. What better way to fend off invaders than to take away the need to invade? And they, too, will discover what our magic does to the air and to the earth and to the thoughts of men and women. Others will experience the wisdom and equality and peace that we have taken for granted.”
“What does this have to do with M-M-Massarym’s display?” I said. “I did not see w-w-w-wisdom and equality at the stadium, Mother . . . but terrible, unnatural w-w-wizardry!”
Mother was grinning now. “Ah, this is an unexpected result of our efforts, Karai. All we wanted to do was contain the elements of the energy. To be able to transport them and re-create them if need be. But, to our delight, we found that each Loculus conveyed its own specific power on contact.”
“And it is this you want to give others?” I asked. “They will abuse these powers, Mother. They will attack us—”
Mother put her finger on my lips. “You must trust me, Karai. Only those with the blood of the royal family can activate these orbs. I have engineered them that way. Yes—in my laboratory I isolated special markers within our own blood and designed the Loculi to respond to them.” She beamed with pride at her own accomplishment
I immediately felt myself blush. Yes, yes, Diary, I do indeed know about these markers. I did not mean to see her notes, but she leaves them around the lab, and what can she expect? Still, I never imagined this use for them! “Flying . . . invisibility . . .” I said, scratching nervously behind my ears, “these are extraordinary p-p-powers.”
“Also superhuman strength . . . and a power that accelerates the body’s healing beyond the reach of either natural regeneration or modern medicine and science . . . the ability to transport oneself from one place to another instantly . . .” Mother gave me a deep, penetrating look. “And this is, ultimately, why we are here. Because I would like to know, dear Karai, are you truly surprised at this news—or have you known about these Loculi?”
“H-H-How would I—?” I sputtered. “Of course not!”
“Because one of the Locular powers is the ability to understand other tongues,” Mother barreled on.
Yes, Diary. The plot, shall we say, thickly grows.
“So you . . . s-s-susp . . . think I’ve stolen this energy?” I said.
“I might have given you permission to use it, had you asked,” Mother said. “I gave Massarym permission to demonstrate one of them—”
“Two of them!” I said.
“One,” Mother said. “I was not happy he used the Loculus of Invisibility.”
“Rest assured, Mother, I know . . . knew . . . n-n-nothing about . . . Loculi,” I said, “because this ability with f-f-foreign s-s-speech is . . . my own.”
“Then it is even more spectacular,” Mother said with a smile. “And I will rest assured.”
With that, she dismissed me. But as I left, the last thing she said was, “I will include you from now on, my son. Perhaps tomorrow you can join me at the rift.”
“Thank you, Mother!” I said.
“Along with your father,” she said. “And Massarym, of course.”
“Of c-c-course,” I said through gritted teeth.
Progress, as they say, is often slow. But it is progress nonetheless.
Diary, I confess. I cannot wait.
Wednesday night, racing the sunrise
SLEEP HAS ABANDONED me. Writing will help.
You are saying that I lied to Mother, dear Diary. I imagine you wagging a finger at me. THIS IS KEEPING ME AWAKE!
But it is the truth—the ability to learn languages is indeed “my own”!
I did not have to tell her exactly how I got it.
I admit that hours after our discussion in my chambers, I am still a bit stung by her accusation, but I want to know everything. How did she build these containers she calls Loculi, and how did she cause the markers in our blood to activate the powers within?
And, yes, I am racked by the question: WHY DID I NOT TELL HER ABOUT MY RESEARCH??
I could have leaped up and announced that I, Karai, know about these so-called markers. That after seeing her research, I became interested in the mysti
cal secrets of blood. That I, too, have tinkered with the very fabric that makes people who they are. Connecting these markers to the Loculi, as Mother has done—this is genius indeed. But consider, Diary, what my own paltry scientific ability has achieved!10 It has led to my proudest achievement—altering the markers themselves. You remember, I began first with a few creatures such as Kav’i the vizzeet. At first I wanted to create super-beings—men and women who could fly of their own accord and such things. But humans have physical limits. So I sought to change the natural abilities of a living, breathing human being. To magnify a particular talent that he or she already possesses. To stretch the untapped regions of the brain itself!
Most exciting, Diary, I believe each such altered person will be able to pass this trait onward, so that not only Atlanteans but their children and their children’s children will have these special abilities!
Why is this not equal to Mother’s achievement? Well, it is. Although absolute proof of this last part will have to wait. I will meet Mother tomorrow and learn about the mysterious Loculi. And in the meantime I will let Massarym bask in his excitement. But I will hope that he heals promptly. News has just arrived that he landed badly from a Loculus flight and twisted his ankle.
Ah, well.
The Great Onyx Circle, Thursday afternoon
I COULD NOT rouse Massarym early enough to accompany Mother to the Great Onyx Circle. So I agreed we would meet her as soon as we could. Accompanied by Father, we set out in the late morning. Diary, it has been such a long time since my last visit that I’d nearly forgotten the booby traps constructed by my ancestors to protect the mazelike pathways. Some of them are downright lethal. But I brought along crazy old Kav’i to help us through. Largely this was because my experiment had given him extraordinary navigational powers. But it was also to impress and baffle my brother.
I had also forgotten what a foul, dark, godsforsaken, cramped path of sweat-soaked soil leads through the trees into the center of the ridged circle. The ground is so rutted and pocked with animal holes that it’s a miracle I didn’t break my ankle.
It was not surprising that an impulsive, monkeylike creature of small intellect would bound heedlessly ahead of me in the maze. But I didn’t expect Kav’i to do the same.11
It wasn’t until Kav’i sneezed in Massarym’s direction that I realized I’d forgotten to tell my brother a crucial detail. Unfortunately, a side effect of my experiment with Kav’i had imbued this generation of vizzeets with acidic, acrid spittle.
“Don’t let s-s-spit make contact with your skin!” I shouted, racing toward my brother.
“GEEEEAAAAAHHH!” Massarym bellowed in pain. “Now you tell me!” He was jumping up and down in agony. “That . . . thing sneezed on my leg! What on earth did he eat for breakfast—scorpion venom?”
Kav’i was crouched guiltily at the base of the tunnel wall, all elbows and knees. “Little Kav’itaki, I asked y-y-y-you never to spit on me, you scamp!” I said.
“You? What about me?” Massarym burst into sudden motion, swinging for the back of my head. I ducked, but not quite fast enough, and his arm caught me lightly on the ear. Kav’i began screeching and bouncing up and down, eyes rolling in his head, pounding his tiny fists on the rock floor.
Our commotion brought back Father, who had walked on ahead. He grabbed each of us by the wrist and stepped between us. “Careful, boys! That insane monkey doesn’t know you’re playing around. You’re just winding it up. Behave.”
“Uh, that monster just sneezed a layer of skin off my thigh,” Massarym said. “Maybe we should release him into the wild.”
“Without him, it w-w-would take us t-t—”
“Out with it, my son,” Father said. “You are among family who love you.”
Diary, when will he know my slippery tongue has nothing to do with that?
“Twice as long to find our way through the m-m-maze,” I pointed out. “When was . . . last time you came out here—three, four years ago? I can’t remember the path at all. That insane monkey . . . he r-r-remembers it all.”
“You slugabeds could have woken up early with your mother, who also knows the way, and then we’d be spared the company of a dangerous little vizzeet with questionable sanity,” Father said, eyebrows raised. “But it is advantageous to have him, considering your mother is the only one of us familiar with the correct path these days.”
“So . . . you knew about her p-p-project, too, Father?” I said. “About the Loculi?”
“Well, yes,” Father said.
“And you never s-said a thing?” I pressed on.
Father tugged on the end of his beard. “As the king consort it usually serves me well to not let on how much I know, for various reasons relating to matters of state.”
“I knew, too!” Massarym said with a grin.
“That is obvious, after the public sh-show you put on, Mass,” I said.
“Speaking of public shows, Karai, since when have you been studying Akkadian?” Father asked. “Your mother was very upset. She confided that she believed—”
“She believed I s-stole a L-Loculus!” I said. “But she doesn’t anymore. I told her.”
Father shrugged. “Well, you may need to work on her a bit more . . .”
I could not believe my ears. After our talk, she still thought I was lying!
“No human being can learn languages that quickly,” Massarym said with a mocking grin. “Especially one who can barely speak Atlantean. You should learn to rely on the truth more often, Brother.”
Diary, I can keep my temper for an admirable time, as you know. But when I am pushed to the wall, I push back. “The t-truth?” I blurted out. “The truth is that I’ve been conducting my own exp-p-periments! While you’ve been eating g-g-g—”
“Grapes?” Massarym said. “I love grapes.”
“—And taking long ch-ch-ch-chariot rides, I have been t-training with wizards, learning the s-secrets of nature. In fact, I’ve used science to give myself the ability to p-pick up languages just by listening!” I couldn’t help smiling with pride.
“Very good little speech,” Massarym said. “Perhaps you won’t stutter when you speak Ak-k-kadian! So tell me, are these the same experiments that made this vizzeet into an acid-spitting little monster?”
“Well, yes.” My smile faded, remembering how my experiments had also transformed the vromaski . . . and the griffin . . . but that could wait. “But only by exp-perimenting on animals could I refine my t-t-t—”
“Taste? Tongue-twisting ability?” Massarym asked. “Oh, no, wait—technique! It must not be that refined, if you can’t cure your own speech issues.”
Enough.
“You’re r-r-right—in fact, my spit burns like Kav’i’s!” I said, hocking a big wad of phlegm. As I pantomimed spitting it at Massarym, he hopped away with a very unprincely “Eeeew!”
Father sighed. “Can we continue? It is rather . . . close in these woods.”
We walked onward, letting Kav’i go on a safe distance ahead. Soon the smell of sulfur began to waft toward us as we neared the center of the circular ridge. “Pee-ew,” Massarym said with great maturity. “Sorry, everyone, guess I shouldn’t have had figs for breakfast.”
No one but Massarym laughed.
As we entered the clearing at the center of the Great Onyx Circle, I glanced around at the ridge. Once overgrown with trees, it was sparser now. The ridge itself had indeed begun to rise, for reasons completely unknown. Uprooted pines lay in chaotic brown piles, some having rolled to the bottom of the slope. To our right was the great Atlantean waterfall, fed by the magic spring. Higher than I’d ever seen it, the cascade of falling water thundered into a pool underneath. Diary, this spring feeds many rivulets and underground waterways, a network of magical water flowing deep into the land itself.
Mother was walking toward us now, out of the watery mist. “Come,” she commanded, turning away.
“Good to see you, too,” Massarym said, flinching away as Father raise
d a threatening hand.
Mother led us across the vast, flat center of the Great Onyx Circle. In the distance I could see the glowing mists of the rift.
As boys, Massarym and I had attempted to sneak into this place. Time and again, we were defeated by the complexity of the maze—or the scoldings of the great priests, who always managed to appear out of nowhere as if spawned by the trees.
Now nothing was stopping us. Soon I could see that the rift was no longer a mere crack in the earth, wreathed in thick vapors. First, the hilt of a golden sword jutted from its center. Second, a circle of carved marble had been constructed around the rift. Within that circle were seven smaller hemispherical depressions, each filled with a clear, glowing orb. And inside each orb was neither liquid nor gas, but a tangle of shifting shapes that seemed to flow freely from sphere to sphere, changing colors and intensities by the moment. Each had a translucent, filigreed casing, as if someone had drizzled molten silver over the lot. The whole construction looked like a shrine to a god I had never heard of.
“Welcome to the Heptakiklos, the Circle of Seven,” Mother said with a broad smile. I sensed a lecture coming on.12 “This rift energy is why our people are healthier, stronger, and live longer and more productive lives than people anywhere else in the world. Our scientists and philosophers are centuries ahead of even the best in the Greek academies. Even our plants are healthier. Why? It’s not because we work harder or because we’re more disciplined or because we have good bloodlines. It’s because of this.” She reached out her hands, cupped in a bowl, scooped up a handful of mist, and let it flow through her fingers.
Massarym puffed up his cheeks and blew on it. “It changes colors.”13
“This mist—what we call Telion—has elemental power,” Mother continued. “It infuses the water of the spring, and a small amount flows into the very groundwater underneath every Atlantean’s feet. While we of the royal family come here, directly to the source, for our healing and restoration, every single one of our citizens partakes of this water without even realizing it.”
The Promise Page 2
