by Mario Routi
They learned to create clothes from wool, cotton and plant fibres, and to make utensils from clay and wood. From cactuses they made needles, thread and paper, turning their edible parts into food. They learned how to climb the tallest palm trees to cut down coconuts, from which they extracted milk and made bread and sweets. They milked cows, goats and sheep and made cheese and other dairy products. Finally, they were taught how to sew, knit, and weave. There was no distinction between genders. Boys and girls did all the same tasks.
In the evenings they would meet up or visit each other’s houses and Bull was usually a part of the group. When he was with them he acted as if he were their age, talking about anything and everything that interested them. He was a good friend as well as an invaluable teacher. All this time however, he was observing their individual progress closely, advising them and boosting their morale and confidence. He taught them games to help them relax; games they’d never come across before.
“It’s easy to parrot the alphabet,” he said as they sat together one evening, “but the important thing is to learn each letter individually, out of order, without forgetting any of them. We depend on the Orizons to keep the balance in the universe. You’ll spin the thread of life, weave it into precious dreams and then strive to make them all come true. You’ll embroider emotions and stitch up wounds. The mind must always fly free, able to soar like an eagle with strength, speed, confidence, a clear target and a successful result!”
12
A few days before Present Time
One evening, before starting their flying lesson and at a moment when she could be sure she had their full attention, Princess Felicia spoke on another matter.
“You all have a good idea of the kinds of difficulties and dangers you’re going to be asked to face. When you were born we gave you the Flame of the White Sun to start you out in life as Orizons. But to remain Orizons you will soon need to receive the Flame again, so that its power will stay with you for the rest of your lives. For us to go ahead with this procedure, you, and only you, must choose which path you want to follow. One of the paths open to you is to return to Earth, forget everything, and live a normal human life which will, in all probability, give you many good experiences and allow you to be happy and peaceful. If you make that decision you probably won’t face wars or dangers beyond those encountered by most other humans; nor will you have to endure the heavy obligations and the struggle against Evil that Orizons have to cope with, in order to protect the Sacred Flame.
“But if you decide to follow the other path and remain Orizons, you will set your life on a course of adventure, danger and constant hardship. When the powers of Good need you, you will have to fight with all your might. You may live for a long time here in our land and you may be fighting continuously. You may even be killed on your first day in battle.
“The decision must be all yours and it must be made carefully, after serious consideration. Whatever your decision is, put it aside for the moment and think about it calmly, dispassionately and wisely. Thinking, not feeling, should guide this choice of yours. But do also remember this: Whatever you decide, you cannot ever change your mind in the future. If you take the Flame again to remain an Orizon, you cannot reverse your decision later. And if you decide to live like ordinary people, you cannot change your mind afterwards. I must stress that there’s no shame in deciding to live your lives as non-combatants. Don’t think that anyone will criticise you if you decide not to go on. Whatever decision you reach will earn you the same respect. Any questions?”
Nobody asked anything.
“May your path lead you always towards Good. And now, let us fly!”
13
Present time
Turgoth was staring at Rebecca, apparently deep in his own thoughts. She waited patiently for him to begin the story.
“Originally,” he said eventually, “I’m Egyptian. The Pharaohs were egotistical, arrogant and vain, as powerful people so often are. They built those huge pyramids with the sweat and blood of others, supposedly in the hope of gaining immortality for themselves. They used to inspect the works, strutting about like little clockwork penguins. The people working there were mostly slaves. One day I said to a Pharaoh who had filled Egypt with statues of himself: ‘Why do you need so many statues? They’ll be adorned for all time with bird droppings. That will be your only accolade. As for me, when I die I’m going to ask the gods to break up my soul into little pieces so that I can be eaten by those birds and enter into their bodies.’ He looked at me as if I were already a bird and as if my droppings were already falling on his head. He didn’t send me away, though, because he wanted to be on good terms with me in case I really did become a bird in my next life. He was as superstitious as a fisherman and, being Egyptian, he also believed in reincarnation. He summoned the priests immediately and got them performing ceremonies, offering sacrifices and doing whatever else they deemed necessary. He told them to beg the god Osiris not to make me a bird and to beg the rest of the gods to make all birds disappear.”
Rebecca laughed, taking the King by surprise, as if he had forgotten she was there. He allowed himself a glimmer of a smile before continuing.
“I used to go to funerals and watch the dead and I realised that they all looked alike. I tried to think my way inside their heads to understand how they felt. Were their souls still there or had they departed in search of other haunts? I had hoped to find an orphaned soul, one as restless and footloose as mine. Maybe, I thought, the two of them could then become friends and play together like homeless dogs. I asked the dead questions and they answered many of them clearly.”
Rebecca had stopped laughing. She was unsure now whether he was teasing her. “But how can this be?” she asked. “Can the dead talk?”
“Of course they can talk,” he said gently, aware that she was unsure of how to react to him. “Mostly they talk about the nothingness of life. They urge us to be humble. They advise us not to go to war, telling us that all that matters is to love each other and to not cause anyone harm. The dead keep shouting: ‘Do only good!’”
“Now I understand what you mean. But I’ve never observed the dead, so I haven’t had such an important experience. I have sometimes wondered whether they’re jealous of the fact that we’re alive while they’re in the ground.”
“It depends on how they lived their lives and what there is where they are now. During the period when I was studying them, whenever I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, I felt as though I was being buried alive. It was as if I was enclosed in a painted sarcophagus and could hear the soil falling from the spades of the gravediggers onto the lid. I’d gasp and leap up, terrified. Then I’d stay awake for a week.
“I was full of passion back then, but the pain of life had wrung out my heart. One evening I went walking in the desert to soothe my troubled mind. Buzzards circled menacingly in a harsh blue sky. I remember I was wearing matching khaki trousers and shirt, my face covered to the eyes against the wind, and so I walked along the dunes.” He paused. “Are you sure I’m not boring you with my personal story?”
“Absolutely not,” she said, surprised by her own vehemence. “Please go on.”
“The sun set faster than I expected and by morning I was lost among the carcasses of camels and the skeletons of those too troubled, or too foolish, to turn back. My eyes dried out from the sun, I crawled up a dune and collapsed. Days passed and I managed to cling to life through sandstorms and burning heat until eventually I became aware of the shadows of horses and riders falling across my half-buried body.”
“How did you manage to survive?” she asked, impatient for more.
“The Bedouins who found me believed I would die. They took me to their camp and put me in the tent of the Lord of the Oasis, a wise old Bedouin with vivid eyes. When I eventually regained consciousness I saw his worried, windswept face, as wrinkled as a prune, leaning over me. An
d there she was - his daughter - standing beside him. My God, what sweet eyes Haruma had as she gazed down at me!”
Turgoth looked up, startled to find that Rebecca was staring at him through exactly the same beautiful eyes that he was remembering. Lost for a second in the space between his memories and the reality of the girl sitting in front of him, he stumbled and averted his gaze as he tried to find the words to continue.
“Her sublime, moonlit face was like an intoxicating flower of the night,” he said in a voice so quiet she had to lean forward to fully catch the words. “I fell instantly in love. The old man examined me as she stood beside him, so young and so beautiful.”
He stopped again and raised his eyes to hers. It seemed that he was summoning all his courage to say something else.
“Yes,” he said, “I can see it now. She strongly resembled... She looked - she looked just like you.”
Rebecca jumped back in shock at such unexpected words. She tried to think of something wise to say, but nothing came apart from a blush to her cheeks. She took several deep breaths. “So,” she said at last, “this is how you met... And what happened then?”
“They cared for me well and, having found peace in Haruma’s eyes, I stayed to learn about their wonderful culture.”
“And, did you marry her?”
Turgoth sighed deeply and continued as if every word was bringing him fresh physical pain.
“The chief and I grew close. There was mutual respect. He sadly confided in me that, had he known it was Haruma’s destiny to meet me, he wouldn’t have promised her in marriage to a prince who lived in another oasis. They were fiercely honourable people and there was no way he could break his word to another tribe.”
“Oh,” Rebecca said, struggling to work out the conflicting emotions she was feeling as Turgoth opened his heart to her.
“It was sweet agony. I could feel my senses stirring every time she looked at me. Our gazes would lock and our lips would meet in invisible, ardent kisses. At night we slept opposite each other in the round Bedouin tent and our feet would slip outside the covers to touch. Our hearts were like magical boxes - mine was just for her heart and if you had looked into hers, you would have seen my heart in her care. In my imagination I would take her by the hand and we would climb to the far side of the moon, beyond the eyes of the world, and stay until morning. We would stroll over the violet, moonlit dunes and make love.
“I wanted to stay there forever, if only to embrace her shadow. But they told me she was moving to the other oasis to marry and start a family. I collected my bits and pieces and my weary heart and, like the prodigal son, returned to my own village. It seemed to me that even the lilacs were fragrant with grief. Whenever the moon was full I would go to my tree, dip my thoughts into the silvery lake, and draw Haruma’s face on the moon. The stars recognised her! In their delight they all ran and took on the shape of the letters of her name and the lake would fill with love. The tree, my faithful friend, would put its arm around my shoulders. And my companions, the birds, would awaken from their sweet dreams to dance and sing in joy.
“I flicked through the pictures I had committed to memory during those days and sorted carefully away in my mind. I showed them to the birds and the tree by the faint light of the crying moon. The branches folded in like an umbrella so that all the leaves could see and hear every detail as I described each image to them passionately, pining for her.”
Turgoth was completely still, enduring the pain as the memories flooded through him and waiting for it to pass. Rebecca stood and walked to him. She put her hand on his cheek and wiped away a tear with her thumb. Still, he did not move but his eyes appeared to melt as they looked up at her.
“So much pain, Rebecca,” he said eventually. “It wrung out my heart and stripped my soul bare. What could I do with a dry heart and a barren soul? I tried to find the last flickers of fire, a few glowing embers.
“Now, thousands of years later, the pictures of my first and only love have faded, but I haven’t forgotten. In my heart there is a room where there are palm trees, sand and moonlit skies and Haruma sleeps there, in the attic. On rare occasions, she wakes up, dances and weeps with a smile. I watch her like I would gaze at a masterpiece.”
Turgoth took her hand from his cheek and kissed it lightly. For some reason, the story sounded familiar to her although she couldn’t understand why. She fought the urge to cry. Her feelings confused her. She felt as if she knew all this and the memories were just coming back. It was vivid and strange.
“I am imagining things,” she thought to herself.
Deliberately shattering the mood, Turgoth stood up abruptly. “Rebecca, please walk with me to the garden.”
14
Two days before present time
In the conference room of Utopia, Princess Felicia and Bull were deep in discussion, sitting around a large wooden table.
“They’ve all made the grade,” Bull said, “even if it’s been gruelling for them at times. Tomorrow they must choose either to embrace the Flame or to return to Earth. One thing I know for sure - young Rebecca stands head and shoulders above the others. She has a special gift. Surely we can’t risk letting her go?”
“I agree. Rebecca has the potential to be among the greatest warriors in the history of Utopia,” Felicia said, “but it’s still her choice.”
“Well, then we must pray she makes the right one!” replied Bull.
***
Meanwhile, a dark figure in a hooded cape galloped toward the castle gates of Beast and the gate guard moved to intercept.
“Halt! What is your business here?” he demanded.
The figure did not reply, remaining in silhouette, undoing the cap and lowering the hood. At the sight of the face beneath the hood, the gate guard stiffened in shock and quickly opened the gates to allow the rider to pass.
Inside the castle, Turgoth impatiently paced the floor as a messenger approached him.
“Sir, the visitor has arrived.”
Turgoth’s eyes flashed. “And the information I asked for?”
“Yes, sir. We have a name!”
15
One Day Before Present Time
In her room in Utopia, Rebecca was finding it impossible to sleep. Eventually, she gave up trying, rose from her bed and quietly dressed, pulling on her blue riding boots and making her way out to the stables. Without troubling with a saddle, she mounted her horse and set off towards the Fortress.
“Halt! Identify yourself,” ordered the gate guard.
“I am Rebecca Newton.”
“What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I’d like to talk to the Wise Tree.”
“You may pass.”
She trotted up to the edge of the small hill where the Wise Tree stood. Jumping off, she tethered her horse and approached the Tree, which seemed unsurprised to see her. Its gnarled mouth cracked into a crooked smile.
“Welcome, my dear child! Having trouble sleeping?”
“Yes. May I speak with you?”
“But of course. What is it?”
Rebecca paced around the Tree as she tried to gather her thoughts.
“I am wondering why the Gods made humans in such a way that they have so many flaws. Good and Evil, Utopia and Beast - I don’t understand why.”
The Wise Tree twisted a branch and scratched its nose. “How would you define Good if there were no Evil?”
She shrugged and shook her head, waiting for it to continue.
“Good and Evil coexist in all men and women, creating an ongoing internal struggle. Ultimately, everyone decides his or her path, according to their own heart. The Gods don’t influence or interfere with that choice.”
“But sometimes people can’t tell Good from Evil,” she persisted. “They get confused. Different people inter
pret an action or behaviour in very different ways.”
“Oh, you’re right. Something that is bad in the eyes of some people may be neutral, or even good, in the eyes of others.”
“Then there’s something odd that I can’t explain: Sometimes, the very same people who may show strength and humanity, suddenly become weak and cruel. And what about heartless behaviour from evil people who, under different circumstances, behave like angels? Like a dictator who tortures his prisoners but loves classical music!”
The Wise Tree lowered its branches, as if to demonstrate sadness.
“Yes, it’s such a pity. But, Rebecca, as an Orizon, with the wings of awareness that the Flame will give you, you can try to help people live together in friendship and love.”
Rebecca stopped pacing and hugged the Tree tightly. “But how can love exist alongside the sword, blood, war and death? Is there no other way?”
The Tree smiled sadly but said nothing. Rebecca didn’t wait for any more answers. Mounting her horse she cantered away, back past the guard at the gate and across to the lake in Domus Forest. Dismounting before her horse had even stopped, she stared out over the calm surface, frowning. The horse, sensing the troubles on her mind, walked over and nuzzled her gently.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, awakened from her daydreams. “You’ve been great tonight - carrying me. Thank you.” She stroked his face, making him snort with pleasure before he put his head down to drink from the lake.
Rebecca lay on the ground and stared up at the sky. She believed that the greatest crisis facing humanity was the corruption of young people by drugs. She couldn’t bear to see children with cigarettes in their mouths, alcoholic drinks in their glasses or pockets full of drugs.
When she was only sixteen years old she had a best friend called Leylah, a beautiful, rich and cultivated, intellectual girl. One day, a dealer, the middleman who provided Leylah with drugs, threatened to deprive her of her fix unless she promised to try to lure one of her friends - a rich young man - into trying drugs. The dealer instructed her to flirt with him and to pretend to be in love with him. Becoming desperate for drugs, Leylah did as she was told. The young man fell into her trap and, after a while, they started to live together, giving her plenty of opportunities to introduce him to the world of drugs.
