Aurea laughed and shook her head. She loved his sense of humor and the way he entertained her.
“I’ll have to admit, the flowers were a beautiful surprise, but the parakeets saved you!”
She laid the flowers on the table, took Valerian’s waiting hand and danced with him to the compliments of a sunset sky.
“I have a surprise for you too,” she whispered after a moment.
“Oh, you do?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And just what might that be?”
Aurea slid his hand from her shoulder to her tummy.
Valerian stopped dead in his tracks. Speechless, he took a step back and stared in disbelief at Aurea, her face radiant with expectancy.
She smiled at him with a telling grin. He waited with baited breath.
“We’re having a baby!” she gushed.
“We’re what? We are?”
“Yes, we are! It is just as Philon said. In our love we have conceived a child.”
Valerian’s eyes watered. “This is wonderful! It’s amazing! Is that why you were working on the basket?”
“Yes, that’s why—for our baby. Valerian, I can already feel its life within me!”
“You can? You can actually feel it moving, you mean?”
“Yes!” she beamed.
He hugged her, then quickly let go, thinking he had squeezed her too tightly. Then he cupped his hands around her expectant face. “My sweet love, my Aurea, my very heart!” And he kissed her nose.
He waved his arms in the sky as if flagging the setting sun. “Wait! Did you hear? We’re having a baby!”
The next morning, after visiting with Philon, they strolled through the Garden discussing their family’s future. For upon hearing of Aurea’s pregnancy, Philon had let them in on a secret, saying that the child was a boy. Elated, and full of gratitude, they resolved to name their son Eliam, for he would be the first of Abba’s earth-born children.
As they walked along, they heard an unfamiliar voice. Looking around, they saw no one. But as they neared the Frame they heard the voice again. There, a short distance ahead, a tall, lean man-like being moved confidently toward them, his complexion olive-toned. The stranger’s long, black hair, glossy in the midmorning sun, lay in rich contrast to the white linen tunic he wore—both flowed in concert with his motion.
The two stopped in surprise as the newcomer picked up his pace to meet them. Waving, he hailed, “Good morning, good morning!” Then, before they could gather their wits, he was upon them, smiling brightly. He pointed to the Frame, and feigning surprise said, “Oh, my. What an exquisite piece this is! Tell me, is it magical?”
Taken aback, Valerian blurted, “Magical? What do you mean? Who are you?”
“Oh, please, do forgive!” begged the imposing stranger. “In my excitement I seem to have forgotten my manners. My name is Primus. And you, I expect, are of that new species called human, correct?”
“Why, yes. That is correct. This is Aurea, and I am Valerian, and we, being human, are the only ones of our kind.”
Primus tossed back his head, clapped his hands together, and laughed. “Ah, yes, your kind indeed!” He looked them up and down, and then added, “So adorably made. . . even if slight of stature. But I am sure your design is adequate!”
Valerian did not appreciate the backhanded compliment, but sizing up the magnificent creature and meeting his penetrating gaze, he could understand why Primus might refer to them in diminutive terms. Nonetheless, feeling territorial and wanting to challenge him, Valerian pressed, “Philon never mentioned anything about you, Primus. Tell us, from where have you come?”
Aurea chimed in, “I don’t suppose you know Philon, do you?”
“Do I know him? Of course I do! I know him well. While the two of you may be the only humans, surely they have not let you think that you are the creatures of highest order.”
“Uh. . . well, we haven’t really had that conversation yet,” admitted Valerian, suddenly wondering why.
“And you have been here how long? Listen: There are no other humans, I’ll grant you that, but your little garden, albeit divine, is not the only place where life is lived!”
Valerian, surprised by the stranger’s obvious point, asked, “Then tell us, Primus, if life be lived elsewhere, where does such living take place? And why have you left it to come here—to our home?”
“Firstly, I can’t help wondering why neither of you has even the slightest notion as to what lies beyond the confines of your allotted spot. Secondly, the reason for my being here is simple. In view of my inquisitive nature and affinity for travel, I have been given leave of my duties elsewhere, and have been granted liberty to journey across the stellar cosmos and its planetary range. Furthermore, everyone is talking about the Image Maker’s new human race, and I just had to come and see for myself!”
Valerian, besides feeling confused, was flattered that such an impressive being, the likes of which they had never seen, had been so eager to meet them. He wondered who “everyone” might be.
The stranger stepped in close and softened his tone. “Aurea, dear,” he said in a gentle, compelling voice, “as you gaze in wonder at the starlit sky, does its twinkling not say to you, ‘I am alive!’? And Valerian, while lying on your back, tracing constellations, does your heart not whisper, ‘There is more...’?”
Then, as a father shows his children the wonders of the universe, Primus pointed far and away, past the clouds adrift in the sky, and said, “Tonight, if you look way up high and to the north, you just might see a blinking star. That is the planet where my kind resides. From here it will appear only the tiniest speck, but I assure you, it is grand and glorious beyond belief!”
Eager to hear more, Valerian and Aurea invited their new acquaintance to sit with them among the boughs of an expansive banyan tree, where cradle-like branches hung low, and provided the perfect place for them to recline. There, like wide-eyed children, the innocents took it all in as Primus regaled them with stories of realms beyond the scope of their imaginations, and of worlds beyond the reaches of the Garden’s pale.
Seeing them suitably enthralled, he at last brought his storytelling to an end, and thought, I shall soon have them eating out of my hand. Rising, he stepped clear of the tree, and Valerian and Aurea, like good little students, followed respectfully after.
“Watch closely, now,” he instructed. Then, whoosh! He threw wide his majestic wings, revealing the inner layer of their fine alabaster feathering. Then he leapt into the air and rocketed upward, leaving his hopefuls stupefied and gaping as he disappeared from view. Momentarily, a small dot came careening down toward them, growing rapidly in size, until it was plain to see that it was Primus returning. Landing at Aurea’s side, the pompous aerialist, arms folded across his chest, and feathers all puffy with pride, nudged the star-struck woman and boasted, “Impressive, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes. . . very!” she answered effusively. Primus winked at her. Valerian, feeling diminished, said nothing at all.
“So, tell me,” he prodded, “in what sorts of ways are humans equipped?”
His audience stared blankly at him. Then Valerian coolly replied, “Well, in that we are featherless, we certainly cannot fly, if that’s what you mean!”
“Why so prickly? I was in no way implying lack of ability on your part. In fact, I find your design rather inspiring! I sought only to understand it. Nevertheless, perhaps by now I have overstayed. So if you will excuse me, as prudence would have it, I shall be on my way.” He nodded to Aurea, and turning to leave, took only a few steps before spinning around.
“Oh! I almost forgot! Before I go, I’d like to give you a gift—if you would be so kind as to receive it.” In his hands there appeared an amber scarf, and in the scarf, a steaming loaf of bread. Slick as a magician he slipped the cloth from the loaf, and the tantalizing aroma escaped like a bird and winged its way toward the tempted pair.
“Shall we partake?” he suggested. “It is
the least I can do in return for your hospitality.” But remembering Philon’s counsel, the couple politely declined, saying they had not long ago eaten. Aurea accepted the loaf just the same, with a promise to enjoy it later. Primus made a chivalrous bow and tossed the scarf upward. It flapped through the air, settling on the bread, and enveloped it.
“Until next time, then,” he said. “Enjoy!” And the jaunty stranger left the way he came.
When he was clean out of sight, the flummoxed couple sank to the Garden floor, their mouths watering for the bread that Primus had produced out of thin air.
“What do you think, Valerian. . . about Primus and the stories he told? Do you suppose there really are other worlds?”
Valerian thought for a moment. “His stories seem a bit far-fetched, I think, but he had to come from somewhere, and if so, why not from a planet far away? He certainly proved he could fly!”
“Yes, and the bread! How did he do that?”
Valerian shook his head. “I have no idea, but I am starved!”
“Well,” reasoned Aurea, “Philon only said we should not dine with the Dark Prince, and Primus does not look like a Dark Prince to me, besides, he’s gone now.” Satisfied with her own argument, and taking Valerian’s silence for consent, she laid open the scarf. The loaf was still warm to the touch and almost weightless as she held it in one hand and pulled a sizeable chunk from it with the other. She took a generous bite. “Mmm. . .” she murmured with pleasure, her cheeks stuffed round.
“Oh, Valerian,” she mumbled, chewing, “you simply must try this. It’s out of this world!” And she popped a comparable portion into her soul mate’s mouth.
The earth lurched on its axis as she did so, but the two barely noticed. They simply steadied themselves and continued to enjoy the decadent fare. Bite after sumptuous bite they ate, and soon felt giddy and light, for the bread was laced with Rizen—an herbal panacea—and had brought them under a numinous spell. They gobbled up over half the loaf then, careful not to miss a crumb, returned the remainder to the scarf, wrapping it securely for safekeeping. Then off they went, the heedless couple, skipping and leaping and trying to fly, until the last of the afternoon rays brought daylight to a close.
Now, every day as the cool of the evening came on, it was their custom to entertain Philon as their guest, for they thoroughly enjoyed his company. But on this particular evening Philon arrived to find the veranda unusually quiet. He stepped inside calling, “Valerian? Aurea?” Where are you?” But no answer came. Anticipating their soon arrival he decided to wait for them, and sat alone amid the curious silence.
He hadn’t waited long before he heard them coming. They bounded through the entryway, and seeing Philon, averted their eyes. With only a quick nod, they slipped past him. He attempted to engage them in conversation, but it proved pointless. They were fidgety and unable to focus. Whenever he raised a topic, they either dropped it as quickly as it came up, or went jabbering away on a senseless tangent. After putting up with their peculiar behavior for some time, he finally asked, “What is the matter, Valerian? Tell, me Aurea, what has happened?”
Lips sealed tightly, the two exchanged mute glances.
“Valerian, please,” prompted Philon, “don’t hide from me.”
Hiding nonetheless, Valerian sheepishly responded, “Hide? Why would I do that?” And he shuddered at the impact of dishonesty as it reached the depths of his soul.
He looked up at Philon, whose gracious eyes easily spanned the newly formed gulf between them. “We met someone today,” he admitted, “a being unlike us. His name is Primus.”
“He said he knows you!” added Aurea. “He was remarkably striking.”
“And in so many ways,” said Valerian, with an eye roll.
Aurea, flushing face and neck, raved, “With such lordly wings he travels through space, where others live higher than we. And he said there exists, for their pleasure alone, beauty more rapturous than we’ve ever beheld!”
“Why can’t we be like him?” Valerian complained.
Understanding their ignorance, Philon answered, “Primus is not what you think he is. Although you wish to fly as he does, your design does not equip you to do so, for you are not meant to follow in his ways. Remember, no matter what he tells you or leads you to believe, no good thing has been withheld from you.”
The couple grew more somber as they weighed Philon’s counsel against the pull of Primus’ spirited appeal.
On a nearby table the amber scarf lay open, its contents reduced to a scant sprinkling of crumbs, for Valerian and Aurea had eaten the remainder of the bread along the way.
“Did Primus invite you to dine with him?” plied Philon.
“Uh. . . yes, he did,” answered Valerian.
“And did you?”
“Well, no. . . we didn’t. . . not exactly.”
“After he left,” explained Aurea, “we had only the tiniest taste of bread he had given us. . . just bread.”
Philon shook his head as one who grieves, and passed his hand over his troubled brow. Pausing, he looked away, as if seeing far into the distance, while the objects of his affection, oblivious to the gravity of their actions, wondered what he might say next.
“If only you had trusted me enough to heed my warning,” he lamented. “It was not without good reason that I cautioned you against eating with him. But Primus has wooed you with his charms, and already you are fully enthralled.”
“And that for good reason!” challenged Valerian. “Primus is a breathtaking masterpiece, and likely a glorious replica of the Image Maker!” Then, by way of comparison, he swept a hand from head to foot. “And look at us! What are we?”
Just then, blackening clouds obscured the moon’s soft light, and darkness skulked in shifting shadows across the room. Valerian squirmed at the anomalous occurrence and Aurea inched closer to Philon. Dreading the news he must bring, Philon spoke in grave tones.
“The door is left wide open, and swinging on the hinges of your hearts, for the thief has come to steal your souls away. Although you may wander far and forget the richness we have shared, I will never forget. I will come for you.” He kissed their foreheads. Walking into the night, Philon wept.
For a moment after his departure they felt an incomprehensible loneliness, one resistant to the comfort of each other’s company.
But the moment soon passed, and Aurea rubbing her arms briskly, said, “There’s a chill in the air. Perhaps we should bed down for the night.”
Little did they know, as they nestled in, cozy and warm, that they had crossed a threshold where rite of passage would impose a levy upon every creature within the Garden’s scale, and beyond.
“Valerian?” called Aurea, when she awoke next morning. “Valerian, where are you?” She yawned, took one last stretch, then lazily rolled out of bed and made her way to the fruit basket to see what Zenia had included in the day’s selection. Strangely, the basket was empty, except for one over ripe banana, left from the previous day. Hmm. . . she thought. It seems Zenia is running late today. And where has Valerian gone? Concerned over his absence, she immediately went in search of him.
Meanwhile, down by the lakeshore, Primus tutored Valerian in the rudimentary practices of Intheism, a belief system he had developed in direct defiance of the Image Maker. Touting its tenets as being free from the choking confines and nonsensical restrictions imposed by the Image Maker, he set forth his primary dogma as one of ‘discovering the power of consummate self, independent of a distant Other.’
Aurea arrived at the lake to find Valerian kneeling on all fours, his attention keenly focused on the water. “That’s it, Valerian,” coached Primus, “concentrate.”
“Valerian, what are you doing?” she asked. Valerian ignored her.
“Primus, what is he doing?”
Valerian snapped, “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Doing what?” she asked defensively.
Primus answered for him, “You might want to see for yours
elf.”
Aurea knelt at the embankment and looked at length into the crystal blue water.
“Well,” prompted Primus, “what do you see?”
“Hmm. . . I don’t see anything of particular interest. What am I supposed to see?”
“Just keep looking,” he answered.
Stepping into the virginal waters, he defiled them with his wizardry. All at once the lake turned dark. Bubbles swelled like blisters on its surface, growing large, then popping. Aurea, by now a bundle of nerves, watched obediently, her hand to her mouth, until the water returned to its normal state. At Primus’s insistence, Aurea leaned forward to take another peek. Suddenly, she exclaimed, “I can see myself! I’m soaring above the clouds!” She leapt to her feet, spread her arms and spun round and round, shouting, “I can fly! I can fly!”
Primus caught her by the hand and spun her like a ballerina. “Oh, Aurea, you have only begun to soar!”
Using her experience as an illustration, he spoke eloquently to the earth bound couple about transcendence, dangling it before them as an attainable goal, one that he alone could help them reach.
With stars in their eyes and notions galore, they followed Primus’ advice and his example, too. For it was he, they thought, who truly understood them. After all, who wouldn’t want to fly?
Chapter 8
Within days, Valerian and Aurea began noticing peculiarities in the animals. Some, growing skittish and shy, scampered away at the slightest advance. Intellectual decline declared itself through altered speech patterns and diminished communication skills. Hisses and swipes portrayed signs of early aggression, and played out in the occasional skirmish. This triggered Valerian’s protective instincts, leaving him on high alert. Furthermore, Rexarius had gone missing.
Wary and ill at ease, Valerian set to work securing the veranda. He walled it in on all sides, leaving one window opening per wall and these he battened with makeshift shutters, designed for propping open or fastening shut.
Conditions worsened daily, and Valerian and Aurea became increasingly concerned about Rex. Although they had looked for him here and there, they decided that Valerian should make a greater sweep of the Garden, while Aurea remained in the veranda’s more stable environment.
Rise of Primus Page 6
