by M. Arcturus
“I have not been unfaithful to my Lady!”
“But you had to try very hard to maintain yourself.”
“Okay, I had an affair on her once, but it was not with Campanula,” Oberon stated as he released a heavy sigh. “It happened a really long time ago. The regret that lives in me still torments me every time I see the light in her eyes beaming brightly because of her love for me. It pains me to know that my love for her died when I chose to leave you!” Oberon spat out of spite.
“So you finally admit that you’re without deep emotion. Was that admission to me, or to yourself?” Oberon looked down in thought. Juron was right; he had never admitted it to himself, never even realized it until now. Without Juron, he was a half-life, an empty shell. Juron smirked knowing he had hit a chord, yet his victory was short lived. Juron’s smile faded as he added, “It pains me too, brother, to feel love for someone that I can’t touch! Just remember, one time of cheating is all that it took.”
“You mean ‘takes,’” Oberon corrected. Juron didn’t respond. Feeling worried, Oberon asked, “What do you mean by that?”
“All I can say is this. You should have kept your eyes in your head and your barn door zipped!” He murmured through clenched teeth, “I can’t wait until you die.”
Oberon stepped back, not knowing how to take the low growl under Juron’s breath. “Then go on and reincarnate. Come back and challenge me. The one who wins the fight takes the Lady of Avalon for his wife,” said Oberon with a small chuckle trying to lighten the situation.
“I can’t, not yet. That requires you to die and crossover so that our soul can be completely severed. Until then, I will be waiting here for you, brother.” With the dark seed of anger growing in his voice, he disappeared.
With his other half gone, the atmosphere lifted, and the heavens responded with a massive explosion. In a wave of white light, the sun was replaced with the bright colors of the galaxy. Hills in the distance moved only to reveal that they were not hills at all. As the enormous mounds stood up, there was no mistaking it. He was surrounded by gods. The earth started to quake as another god approached.
Its branches reached all the way into the cosmos as the roots on its feet tore at the ground, creating earthquakes. Where the earth was torn grew deep valleys, and chasms overflowing with trees that quickly sprung up into life. The tree god’s body was covered in deep crevices filled with bright green-colored lava. Oberon ducked and ran as the god stepped over him. Using his own abilities, Oberon summoned rocks to his aid. Just as the earth fell from under his feet, in response to his summons, a rocky mass shot up from the base of the new chasm to catch his fall. The tree god paid him no heed as he walked on into the distance.
Looking up into the galaxies, Oberon saw a skinny god wearing what looked to be a jester’s hat. He couldn’t see any features. She was all black, outlined in a yellow light. As she leaped from planet to planet, she caused them to rotate. Watching the planets turn, he started not to feel so well. His head felt like it was spinning, and he grew nauseous. A noise penetrated his ears. It was almost like the sound of something grinding. As he listened more carefully, it was more like an aluminum can rolling across the floor.
The noise never left his ears, his eyes blurred, and his sight faded, only to reveal him walking down a hallway of some kind. He knew it had to be a vision, for he could still feel the energy of the dream plain hug his body and could hear the footsteps of the tree god creating the chasms off in the distance. He could only pray that the tree god did not come back his way as he gave into the world shown to his eyes.
The hallway looked very familiar. Shadowy figures walked on down the corridor leaving him behind. Whatever was making the noise finished rolling across the floor and came to a halt when it tapped the base of the wall beside him. It opened up with the sound similar to a pop can tab being pulled. He could hear thick liquid oozing out of the metal-like container. Everything became perfectly clear to him.
He was in the tunnel through which the Elders had left the archive. It was evident that they had left something behind, seemingly by accident. A metal canister must have toppled from one of their carts, and they didn’t hear it roll away from them. Those canisters were from one of their many labs. If it was from one of their experiments, the fluid inside could be from a wide range of anything good to anything catastrophic, and it was spreading all over the floor. His initial thought was relief that Atlantis had sunk, taking with it the unknown ooze. Then again, it sank in the ocean. Who knows what would happen to the ooze as it washed away, spreading throughout the oceans.
As his vision came to an end, there was a heaviness growing behind him up in the sky. Three dark figures blocked out the mesmerizing cosmos. With a sigh of exhaustion, he muttered, “Dear God, what now?”
“Oberon, we need your help. Please come back to Atlantis,” a voice said. Her voice was soft and filled with desperation. There was something very familiar about it.
“Selené?” he asked a little confused.
“Please, we’re trapped.” The other two figures, though remaining dark, manifested themselves more clearly. Their faces continued to be shrouded in darkness. One of them had furry horns sticking out of its head.
“How, Atlantis sank?”
“Follow the earthquakes leading south. They will take you to a world of ice and snow. We’re trapped in what used to be the top of the Earth.” They faded into an enormous cloud of lightning that drifted away, dissipating into the cosmos. “Come help us!” Her ghostly call echoed.
Oberon shot up out of his trance. His heart was beating so fast, he worried about cardiac arrest. From head to toe, his body was freezing! His whole body was covered in snow. Trying to take deep breaths, he calmly looked around. It was apparent that night had come and gone. Daylight fought to peek from behind the thick layer of clouds. At least three inches of snow lay on the ground. Was there even a winter for such an arid place? How long had he been out? Months? Years? Zimbaja still sat on the log frozen over with icicles hanging from his nose, beard, and hair. Oberon jumped to his feet.
Kneeling before Zimbaja, he dusted off the excess snow from the old man’s body the best he could, but to no avail. Even the drummer was frozen with one arm above his head, ready to strike another beat. Knowing that the chance of Zimbaja still being alive was slim, he asked out of desperation, “Zimbaja, are you alright? Please say something.” The old man didn’t say a word and didn’t move a muscle.
“Ouch! That hurt! Ooooohhhh, this pack is way too heavy,” sounded a woman’s voice.
“Here, let me help,” said another voice. This one belonged to a male.
Oberon looked over the edge of the bluff and down into the valley. Three figures were stumbling around in the snow. They looked like they had been walking for days out in the frozen wilderness. He eyed them much closer. Flashes of his vision flickered in his mind. They were the three dark figures asking him for help. He could now make out the third figure; the furry horns were not horns at all, they were ears. Tears filled his eyes as he watched his most trusted ally, Sorbek. The female was Selené! He was sure of it now!
Looking down the side of the steep bluff, he estimated the drop. Surely, he could make the jump. He walked back to his ceremonial circle and prepared himself for a running start. Springing into motion, he sped across the snow and jumped into the air. Then, out of nowhere, his body made painful contact with a hard, vertical surface.
His body slid down the upright rock until his butt hit the ground, and then he fell backward onto his back. He couldn’t believe it! The snow, the people below, it had all been a vision. He had never had one so vivid! Vaguely, he remembered the upright rock before he had opened his circle. The question was, was he still on the dream plain, or was he back in reality? The snow was gone, and his body felt dry and warm. Through blurry vision, he saw the night sky. Hearing soft rhythmic drumming, and a light chuckle, his heart r
aced. No, the soul reapers, they must have found him! He hopped up onto his feet. Zimbaja snickered again, trying to hold it in.
Oberon turned and looked at him. “You’re alright!” He started to run toward Zimbaja for an instinctive embrace, and then he stopped short, “Wait, are we back?”
“Back where?”
“Are we still on the walkabout, or have we stopped?”
Zimbaja knew the answer he was searching for, but he wanted Oberon’s confusion to last a little bit longer. The old man didn’t reply, but looked at him with confusion.
“You know, are we on the dream plain, or are we back in reality?”
“What exactly is reality?” Zimbaja asked. Oberon’s confusion was starting to turn into frustration. Zimbaja serenely answered, “Yes, we are no longer on the dream plain.”
“Wait, I can understand you?” He thought back to his time on the dream plain. He could understand Zimbaja then, too.
“That’s because you are listening with your heart, not with your ears.” Zimbaja motioned for Oberon to take a seat, and for the drummer to stop.
“It is truly good news that your daughter is reincarnating. She has chosen a beautiful name for herself.”
Oberon didn’t ask how Zimbaja knew. Just looking at the old man, he understood that Zimbaja had his way of knowing. Still, Oberon continued, “She has chosen, Nualah, my mother’s name, and Hecata, which is the Lady’s mother’s name.”
“Why do you always call her that?”
“What?”
“Why do you call the Lady of Avalon by her title and not by her name?”
“She hates her birth name,” Oberon said as he gave the old man a wink and stood up. “It looks like I have another adventure ahead of me, and a family that needs me.”
“So, you are going after them?”
Oberon painfully looked back at the vertical standing rock, “Yes, and may the actual journey not be quite so painful.”
“Then, you are going to need this.” Zimbaja removed a very unique whistle from around his neck and gave it to Oberon. He had not seen the whistle earlier because it had been hidden by Zimbaja’s beard. It looked like a dog whistle, roughly four inches in length, and appeared to have been carved out of a smoky quartz crystal. The flecks of gold embedded inside of the smoky quartz gleamed in his eyes as he examined the whistle’s exceptional craftsmanship. He had never seen anything like it!
“What does it do?”
“You’ll just have to find out on your own. Use it only when there is a purpose, and there is no limit to how many times you can use it.”
Oberon graciously took the whistle and gave Zimbaja a heartfelt look. “Thank you, my friend was right; you are truly a remarkable teacher!” He took a deep bow, waiting only a moment to start gathering his belongings.
As he slung his backpack over his shoulder, Zimbaja added, “Tell Kyrah that I said hello.” Oberon stopped dead in his tracks, shocked that he knew her name. Remembering who he was dealing with, he shook it off and was on his way. There were some things that the old man was going to take with him to the grave. His way of ‘just knowing’ was one of them.
Author’s Note
Atlantis has been on the minds of many for centuries. It has been immortalized in stories, legends, and fables and in doing so, has inspired us to believe in that which cannot be seen. There have been supposed sightings from off the coast of Alexandria to the Bermuda Triangle where remnants of sixty-foot stone walls are standing in a watery grave. While in our reality, Atlantis has sunk, we need to ask if there truly is a moment in our circular timeline that she still exists. Like the seven phoenixes that sank her, may she rise again.
