by Roman Blair
Daniel nodded.
“Of course, the money in your case would be of little use here,” she added almost as an afterthought.
Daniel sighed. “I realize my quality of character is forever tarnished in your eyes,” he said mournfully. “These are my final hours with some of you, and I would hate to be remembered as nothing but a liar and a thief."
"So you admit to your crime," Lady Pearson stated.
"It was an impulsive mistake, one I have regretted ever since. My monastery’s estate had the funds to send me to Africa, but they refused. So I took matters into my own hands. I thought enough time had finally passed to allow for a return to Europe. And then this happened. I was absolutely wretched with remorse when we landed here. Truth be told, I believed I was being punished for my sins.”
“Did you think us equally guilty of something to be cast away at your side?” Ella asked.
Daniel looked embarrassed. “I don't know. But the more I learned of this place, the more I felt I was banished here to spread the word of god. My teaching serving as eternal penance.”
“And now your penance is over, just like that?” Lady Pearson raised an eyebrow.
“Perhaps I have been forgiven.”
“That is the problem with religion,” Rémy said defiantly. “It can be twisted to mean whatever the speaker wishes.”
I nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”
A furrow of agitation formed on Daniel’s brow. “Surely you are not saying that you are godless?”
“We said nothing of the kind,” Rémy countered. “Once again, you heard something which was not there.”
“Though I must admit,” I stated, “I never had much faith. I followed the traditions of my family, and found joy in them, but never believed the stories at their foundation.”
“You are American,” Daniel waved a hand dismissively, “a nation of such cluttered beliefs that your words do not surprise me. Many of your founders shared those sentiments.”
“Well I have always felt the same,” Ella chimed in proudly. “And it is refreshing to admit as much without fear of ridicule or damnation.”
“We are truly free here,” Rémy observed. “The beliefs we hold are not important. In fact, they are private and of no concern to others. This world values acceptance. It’s ironic that compassion for our fellow man, the bedrock of any faith, is found more prevalently in a faithless land.”
Daniel shook his head wistfully. “Who would have thought such a thing?”
“But you do recognize it to be true?” I asked.
The priest took a thoughtful sip of coffee.
“Yes,” he finally declared. “In these people, I find it to be true.”
The journey to Paphos was very brief, lasting scarcely more than twenty minutes. We felt the staytee slow to a gentle stop and watched its door hiss open within a large and beautiful terminal. The station was monstrous, with brightly lit wall-screens, great arched doorways, and a hefty glass dome at its apex. I spotted dozens of staytee tracks, and many more of the little vehicles. Excited people watched us exit our little vehicle, though a line of purple sentries kept them at a distance.
We were led through a side door and into a horseless carriage which transported us through the city. I looked out at the hilly terrain and admired its beauty. Aleria was a city of white stone hidden beneath a canopy of tall trees. By comparison, Paphos was wide and lit. Its charming ivy-covered buildings were multicolored and exceptionally picturesque. Flowers of every type grew from beautiful pots beside the road. In spite of its size, the city reminded me more of a quiet European village than a sprawling Mediterranean port. It was busy, but nothing compared to the bustle we witnessed in Alexandria. Life seemed to flow at a slower pace on Capribo. I inquired about this distinction.
“The Lisispal was very different not too long ago,” Eireas informed me. “Self-interest reigned. Everyone sought prosperity, but few were happy. Lives were busy and people were constantly connected to the world at large, without connecting to their deeper selves. Our larger cities retain much of this old lifestyle. While I admit that it’s invigorating, I cannot endure it beyond the occasional visit.”
“If they were more connected to the world, how did they become more interested in themselves?” I asked.
“It is ironic, I know,” he affirmed with a smile. “Our philosophers study this period closely, and they believe that focus simply shifted. Everyone wanted to be seen without seeing. Ideas were expressed without thought. And deep connections were lost in the face of speed and convenience.”
“So why is Capribo different?” Daniel inquired.
“There was a social movement about a century ago known as Káthodonou, the return of thought. Capribo was among its early practitioners.”
“His highness wrote a number of papers on the subject,” Sarmia proclaimed proudly. “They brought him great popularity during the elections three years ago.”
Eireas beamed. “And I have devoted my term to practicing those ideals.”
“How long is a King’s term?” I asked.
“Seven years,” he responded.
“What does it entail, this ‘return of thought’?” Daniel questioned. “I assume there is a desire for increased education?”
“The name is a bit misleading,” Eireas admitted. “The movement does not concern itself solely with thought, but more with the practices of our daily life. Over the last century, the alliances have rediscovered an appreciation for our lands, devoted technological progress to the elimination of waste, and passed many laws to protect the flora and fauna of the entire globe.”
“Protect them how?” Daniel asked. “You still eat some meat, so surely the killing of animals is not forbidden.”
“It isn’t,” Eireas went on, “but the treatment of animals used to be unregulated. It pains me to think of an era when productivity was more important than decency. But never again. The Eastern Alliance has always upheld a similar philosophy. They believe that all life has a soul which deserves to be protected. Unlike us, they do not eat meat of any kind. While we do, our animals have a legal right to a happy life with no unnatural treatment and a gentle death.”
The words resonated deeply within me. I thought of the similarities between the Lisispal's era of productivity and our own practices at home. My travels had exposed me to the lack of concern for the abundant life which shared our planet. The reminder of our habits unsettled me.
“This land is far greener than I expected,” I remarked. “Is this likewise a result of the movement?”
“It was in other parts of the world, but this island’s forests were at risk of permanent loss long before Káthodonou," Eireas explained. "Irrigation technology and planting have been priorities here for quite some time.”
Our coach proceeded silently along the cobblestones until the buildings around us had all but vanished. I spotted farms in the distance, with neat rows of vibrant crops lining the hillsides, though the area around us had become empty of civilization. We gazed out at the open field. A number of large red flowers protruded from the native grasses, their waxen petals shining brightly in the sunlight. Black bumblebees floated among them.
A variegated wood began not far beyond the outskirts of the city. Thick shrubs and dense trees soon conquered the landscape. We passed a number of people walking in both directions on the path. The coach came to a standstill at the heart of this wood. We followed our hosts out onto the thelísta stones and watched our vehicle turn back to the city. Two purple sentries stood waiting for us on the road, though they kept their distance as we continued our journey on foot.
“Your highness,” Daniel began after some time, for he had spent the remainder of the journey deep in thought, “might I inquire to our destination?”
“You have a great decision before you,” Eireas answered softly. “What better place to consider your choice than the Temple of Ma’at?”
“What is that?” the priest asked.
“Ma’at,” I
answered. “A goddess of ancient Egypt. She represented truth and justice.”
“You are right," said Eireas, "but Ma’at was something much greater than a goddess. It was a way of life, believed to connect us to the very rhythm of the universe. It represents balance, but not from without, from within.”
“I don’t understand,” Daniel admitted.
“As you know, people once chose to believe that the gods had a predetermined plan for their life. Or that destiny shaped their fortunes, attitudes, and circumstances. But when we take responsibility for our actions and pledge to grow in mind and heart, we see how archaic those beliefs are. We must give love to receive it. We must try to understand others to be understood ourselves. It is a balance of give and take in all things. Universal harmony."
“And this is Ma’at?” I inquired.
“Yes. The philosophy was represented by a white ostrich feather in ancient times. A goddess of the same name was then created so that these qualities could be worshipped. In modern times, however, we believe that Ma’at is represented by the self. We do not worship it; we only hope to emulate it.”
“Then why is there a temple dedicated to it?” Daniel scowled.
“The title simply endured over the eons,” Eireas replied. “You already know the structure. You slept at its base on your first night on our shores.”
As if on cue, we rounded a patch of trees and the landscape opened up before us. I saw the same familiar park, with scattered trees and thick grass, upon which we stumbled one week prior. But how different it now looked. Locals were clustered throughout the area. They appeared to delight in the simple pleasures of nature around them: the shadows of trees, the fresh sea breeze, and the smells of untainted flora.
Our path wound up through the grounds and I spotted the familiar temple at its terminus. Its massive white columns reverberated majesty and the crimson tiled roof shone like a field of poppies. As if in response to our newfound knowledge of the last week, its bronze doors now stood open and welcoming.
“This is an area of serenity,” said Sarmia. “The communal spirit of thought helps to clear the mind and provides inspiration and support.”
“Please take all the time you wish,” Eireas added. We thanked our hosts and they sauntered to the nearby trees.
My companions and I continued our trek to the temple. The locals looked upon us with curiosity, for Lady Pearson, Captain Travert, and Father Daniel were still clothed in their stuffy nineteenth-century garments. Despite the interest and scrutiny, we were not approached.
“Granny, are you sure you want to keep walking?” Ella asked, taking hold of her grandmother’s arm.
“I am fine, dear,” the old woman replied. “Rémy was kind enough to travel to the medical center with me after breakfast. They injected my knees with a fluid, and the pain has all but disappeared.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going?” Ella inquired.
“I did not want to worry you,” Lady Pearson replied. “Nor did I want to get your hopes up.”
“Look,” Travert interrupted with a whisper, and we gazed out beyond the precipice.
The Bigorneau. How nostalgic the little ship appeared out on the water. It remained anchored just as we left it seven days earlier, yet a century could have passed in that time. It brought me a pang of homesickness to see something so familiar after a week in this foreign world. But for all its sentiment, I likewise became keenly aware of its simplicity. It was a floating anachronism, representing not only outdated construction, but an outdated world.
Travert asked Rémy to join him on the lawn overlooking the ship, and the pair left our group to talk privately. Daniel likewise excused himself to stroll alone amongst the trees. I noted that his behavior had changed drastically since that morning. Indeed, since I first came to know him. He was more introspective and his conviction seemed thoroughly unhinged.
The ladies and I decided to enter the Temple. I recalled first walking up the wide polished steps, the chill and dampness of the fog creating an atmosphere of enigmatic suspense. By contrast, the warmth and light of the day made for a comfortable second visit.
Even after witnessing the grandeur of the Tower of Marble and the impossible heights of the Alexandrian buildings, the temple continued to awe. The Corinthian columns alone, at the height of twelve men, were enough to fire the imagination.
The interior of the cavernous space felt like a long-forgotten sanctuary of mysteries. The ceiling was lost in shadow high above us. The unbroken panel of glass which composed the lower portion of the building provided low tempered lighting and an extraordinary vista of the surrounding landscape. By some trick of the imagination, the darkened interior added saturation to the world at large. The grass had never looked as green, or the sea as blue, as it did from within this hall. The elaborate mosaic upon the floor was, indeed, the only internal embellishment to the structure. It depicted a large white feather hieroglyph at its center. Scenes of people and monuments from every culture radiated out from it in all directions. I discerned the pyramids of Central America in one vein, the moais of Easter Island in another, and countless other structures which were wholly foreign to me. How much there was left to learn of the Lisispal!
In spite of the enclosure, I felt the stirring of a breeze within the hall, and I suspected it possessed some mechanism of ventilation which was lost to me. The slight gust carried with it the echoes of hushed voices, for we were not alone within the temple. Capribians of every variety sat on large cushions throughout, reading from the feeble light of that electric paper, some sitting stiffly in poses of deep meditation, while others were lost in whispered conversation. We three proceeded to a vacant corner and sat upon the little colored stones.
Almost immediately, a young dark-skinned woman approached us. She smiled and bowed her head welcomingly. I was about to stand to address her when I saw she carried three large cushions at her side. She gave them to us silently.
“Amthel,” I thanked her quietly. She smiled again and rejoined a group of people seated toward the center of the vast space.
“This monument is stunning,” Ella observed once we were comfortable upon the seats.
“Yes” her grandmother said. “It is good to be in a place of such calm after the trials of the day.”
“That reminds me,” I began, “thank you for your words this morning, Lady Pearson.”
“About Father Daniel?” she asked.
“And for the change of subject,” I clarified. “I have no doubt he would have liked to see all our reputations in shambles before the day was through.”
The old woman sighed. “He is a troubled man. And as for young Rémy, no one deserves such a blatant attack. Do not worry; I have no doubt his uncle will come to understand that.”
“Granny, you surprise me,” Ella remarked. “How unlike you to come to the aid of strangers.”
Lady Pearson smiled. “When you reach my age, dear, you’ll know how gratifying being surprising can be. Though I am quite biased in this matter. My late brother, rest his soul, was a man of the same condition, yet he was as fine a man as I ever knew.”
“I did not know,” said Ella.
“Of course you didn’t,” her grandmother stated. “And I cannot blame the young man for his choice to remain here.”
“What about us?” I asked. “I must confess that I am no closer to a decision. My desire is torn between both prospects.”
Ella shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve made no progress either.”
“Then it is time that I confess something to you both,” Lady Pearson proclaimed. “The medical treatment which was started on my legs this morning was the first step of several. I must return in three days’ time.”
Ella and I looked at each other, our eyes wide. “Then you’ve chosen for us all?” she asked quietly.
"I had to before I changed my mind." The old woman showed no remorse. “I see the way you look at Mr. Laurence, my dear. And I see the potential this world has to offer
. You two are so young, with your entire lives before you. It aches my heart to think that you may risk it all in the pursuit of something unworthy. I implore you to stay.”
She extended her hands to us. Ella looked to me and I couldn’t help but release a small chuckle. The women gave me a questioning look.
“I would never have expected to hear such words coming from you, Lady Pearson,” I explained. “But now that you have said them, I realize it is the right decision.”
Ella beamed. We took a hold of Lady Pearson’s outstretched hands and, in the inner shadows of the Temple of Ma’at, the three of us embraced the new life before us.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
W e were surrounded by the dark of night as we walked through the woods, dressed in soft rich robes. There was silence all around us, with only the soft patter of sandals against grass and the occasional crunching of twigs underfoot. I looked up to the sky, countless points of light dotting the vast cloudless expanse. The weather was of such a pleasant sort that it seemed as though mother nature herself intended to contribute to the wonder of the night.
Ella walked in front of me, her graceful form clothed in a tunic of white. Everyone was clad in white this night, for it was a representation of purity. And this was indeed a time to celebrate purity. We had willingly chosen to give up our old lives in the pursuit of a new one. A life filled with love, compassion, and the quest for knowledge.
Lady Pearson walked before Ella, and I could just make out the circlet of flowers in her hair through the dark obscurity. She held her head high as she strode forward at the head of our group. I looked upon both women and I was reminded of the announcement we made the day prior.
The three of us had remained within the Temple for some time, talking of our hopes for the future. Our excitement overpowered all sense of time, and it was late into the afternoon when we emerged from the sanctuary. King Eireas was easy enough to spot among the trees; his brilliant robe acted as a beacon. Daniel, Rémy, and Travert already sat in the midst of the royal entourage atop a thick woolen throw.
