The Seer

by Roberto Ricci

“I’d like to know, too. We found you here, lying on the ground,” said Cestia.

  I recalled the events of the night before. “Danayd gave me something to drink last night and-”

  I suddenly realized that the sun was high up. “Andahar! There’s no way I’m going to be able to reach him by tomorrow!”

  “Oh pity that,” said Cestia, her voice not exactly disappointed by the fact that I would not make it in time for my rendezvous.

  “Danayd did this to me! He drugged me!” I said, trying to make sense of what happened.

  “That’s absurd!” said Cestia. “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know,” I told her. Then I looked at Thalassino. “Where is he now? In his wagon?”

  I was furious. Even with my head spinning, I would drag the leader of the Violets out into the open. Then he would have some serious explaining to do.

  I got up, but Thalassino stopped me: “Calm down, Asheva, you won’t find Danayd there. As a matter of fact, you won’t find him at all.” Thalassino was not as tall as Danayd, but he was far more muscular. I expected him to apply some pressure but that wasn’t the case. He let me go, almost as soon as he touched me.

  “What do you mean?”

  Thalassino did not respond. Instead, he lowered his head.

  “Where is he, Thalassino? Answer me!”

  “He left, Asheva,” he replied.

  Thalassino walked over to a large oak tree and placed his hand on its trunk. “He did this for us. He did this… for you.”

  “He did what for me?”

  “He went to meet your Black friend… disguised as you.” I detected a tone of anger in his words; directed toward me.

  “He did what? But there’s no way that… ” I bit my lip; suddenly it all made sense. The short dark hair he was sporting last night… it was not a Violet style. The somber mask he wore… and the tisane… and my endless nattering about Axyum. Our friendly drink had all been planned by Danayd to impersonate me. We were not too different in height and build. He was an expert mimic and a mask would accomplish the rest. Andahar, who had spoken with no one else, would never expect an imposter. Still…

  “Andahar and I grew up with each other. We were very close. Danayd knows next to nothing about me!” I told him. “Besides, I no longer wear masks. Andahar knows this and surely will find out.”

  Thalassino spoke softly: “Danayd has studied you. He knows more than you think. And he knows very well how to impersonate others, believe me. All he needs is to get close to your friend. After that, he will not have to continue with his charade.”

  “What do you mean?” Cestia asked. “I do not understand. Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Danayd saw this as a perfect opportunity to get into Axyum. He is not concerned about getting out.”

  The expression on my face must have been one of bewilderment and confusion for Thalassino shook his head. Then he said something I would never, in a thousand years, have imagined.

  “Danayd is a Harlequin. A real Harlequin.”

  “What are you ranting about, Violet chrome?” Cestia exclaimed.

  “It’s true!” he said, “He can change colors. He has changed colors.”

  I did not have any reason not to believe Thalassino, but then again, I had experienced while traveling on my own, the power of superstitions and false beliefs about Harlequins that held sway in the territories. By now I had my doubts about the existence of real Harlequins — although another chrome I respected, Chtomio, had told me otherwise.

  The issue was complex for a lot of chromes, who refused to entertain the idea that their birth color was false. Yet Chtomio had proven this to me using his scopium, a spyglass-like device that was supposed to display the colored aura surrounding a chrome born of each nation: Red, Black, Blue, Violet, Yellow, Orange and Green. Chromes revered these ancient devices, seeing only the unerring, visual proof they offered of their individual ancestry. I was just as shocked when Chtomio was able to alter the device to turn my aura into any color he desired. He said he could do so because all auras were false. The color was a mere projection of the machine. It took me awhile to accept this, even with the bald facts laid before me. Rejecting my color meant jettisoning a vital part of my core being – but it also meant I was no longer a prisoner of my chrome. Our colors had never allowed us to inter-marry and even friendship between different members of chrome nations was frowned upon. Few would ever consider living in another territory.

  Yes, tradition was all. But it led to the most narrow and constricting of lives. Nobody knew this better than me. In the Black territory, we prided ourselves on our ability to subvert our individual needs for the good of our society. From infancy on, we were molded into a commodity: useful, efficient, obedient - never rebellious, never asserting ourselves above our designated professions, never declaring our own needs – subservience was rewarded, and deviation punished.

  The more pious and efficient a Black you were, the more respectable, and honored you became in the eyes of others. The most rigorous among us were promoted to the status of elders, no matter what their age, to guide the rest and ensure that our rigid values and traditions were maintained. Woe to the chrome who wouldn’t or couldn’t fit in. Exile, shunning, depression and suicide seemed to be their lot.

  As a young chrome, way down deep where the only freedom I could find was inside my own head, I used to compare us to the shiny black ants I saw laboring in the fields. These creatures kept their heads down and worked in tireless unison. They made a safe, collective home but they were oblivious to all the wonderful things life had to offer. What was the point? They did not truly live, I felt; they merely existed. But now, I could choose my own fate! The sense of freedom this revelation had stirred inside me helped me greatly in getting over my shock.

  My being and the evil intentions of the Black Nation did not go together. If the elders wanted us to serve without question, that to me, meant being a slave. I resented seeing those I loved being used by those in power. It cost my father, a loyal soldier, his life, and my mother almost her virtue. For me, it had cost me my nature when it tried to squash who I was supposed to be. Now all I wanted was to give others the freedom I had found for myself.

  When I became the Red Harlequin, I discovered that true rebels do not simply reject rules or what others say, just for the sake of being different. They believe in a particular cause, and can articulate it with conviction. There is wonderful method to the rebel’s apparent madness.

  “I don’t understand.” Cestia said, interrupting my thoughts and bringing me back to the present. “How can Danayd change what isn’t there?”

  “He is a chromatic chameleon, I tell you.” Thalassino insisted. “The Magnificent is capable… of anything.”

  I could see that Thalassino’s claim was based in reverence and true love. His feelings, looking at Cestia, I understood. But in reality, Danayd had gone on a suicide mission. Even if he was able to convince Andahar to take him inside the territory of the Blacks, he would no doubt be stopped by Nomius well before he got near enough to assassinate him. That Elder was too canny and paranoid to ever let anyone he had accused of being a Harlequin, draw near.

  “So perhaps Chtomio was right after all,” I said, to boost Thalassino’s spirits more than anything else. “Real Harlequins exist.”

  “Chtomio? Oh, I have not heard that name in a long time…” Thalassino said, surprising us even more.

  “You knew him? You knew my father?” Asked Cestia, even more surprised.

  Thalassino nodded, “We both knew Chtomio well, Danayd and I. From happier days, when we were younger.”

  “But how could that be? Danayd is a Violet and my father was a Red. And Chtomio was his name before he became King Quadrio, of the Reds!”

  “Yes, I know all about that, too. It’s a long story,” replied Thalassino. “Something Danayd himself should have told you, but now that he’s gone… and I do not know if he’ll ever make it back—” His voice br
oke.

  “He can’t be that far.” I said, “If we move quickly, we may be able to catch him before he meets up with Andahar tomorrow on the Cancerian road.”

  “No!” Thalassino cried. “Danayd’s orders were clear. You are to stay here among our chromes friends. If you go, Danayd will have sacrificed himself in vain.”

  “What exactly was his plan?” I asked.

  “He would not tell me. All I know is that he’s after Nomius.”

  “All the more the reason to go after him,” I told him and without waiting for a reply, headed towards my horse.

  “I’m coming with you!” added Cestia.

  “But the infant you carry…”

  “The infant will have to get used to his mother and father’s ways,” she replied smiling.

  I nodded and smiled back. Perhaps we were reckless. And perhaps we would not live to see another day, but in that moment, Cestia and I felt invincible.

  Thalassino, no doubt, saw the determination in our eyes because he said: “Then so be it. I shall come with you. For once, I’ll disobey my monarch.”

  The three of us mounted our horses and sped off in the direction of the Black territory. As for our friends and allies, we decided to say nothing to them, since they would only try to stop us. Cestia hastily scratched out a missive for Ewy to read to all the other leaders, explaining our actions.

  –––

  As we made our way across the great plains of the Blue territory, I could not help but think back to the first time I had traveled this way. A lot had changed since then. Now, I felt I was no longer a stranger here; I knew these lands. They belonged to me, just like they belonged to all Chromes. Now that I thought about it, perhaps the only place where I actually felt like a stranger was Axyum itself – the city that was supposed to be my home.

  I gazed back at Ayas, the fabulous, wealthy city of the Blue. Gone was the shining Blue pyramid that had been the pride of that place for generations. We had taken it down and replaced it with a multicolored sphere that favored no territory, but honored them all. It also served as a memorial to the battle we had barely won. Many loved ones, including my dear friends Daerek and Shaina, were buried underneath, resting in one another’s arms.

  I glanced at Cestia and I could tell she was thinking about them, too. Without a word, we both urged our horses off the road and further into the endless sea of wheat. Thalassino followed us without question. No doubt, he was preoccupied by his own thoughts, too.

  The sun was warm on our backs, while a brisk wind whipped our faces and the ripe wheat around us. We rode through what seemed a sea of gold as far as the eyes could see, with a cloudless blue dome of southern sky arched above our heads.

  We had galloped tirelessly through the plains and I could sense the horses’ fatigue as well as ours but we couldn’t stop. Not if we wanted to catch up with Danayd. The best we could do is have the horses walk for a while allowing them some rest.

  With the slower pace, we made room again for conversation.

  “I still don’t understand how Danayd and my father could have known each other when they were young,” Cestia said. “Given how suspicious and condescending we all are toward other colors.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” I told her. Turning to Thalassino, I asked: “Are you going to tell us or not?”

  “It’s a long story,” he sighed.

  Cestia regarded him with a stubborn, set expression that I was all too familiar with, “It’s my father you’re talking about, not just Danayd. I deserve to know.”

  The Violet chrome looked at her and sighed. “Very well. I will tell you about Danayd and your father. But in order to tell you about them, I have to tell you about Sybilla, the Orange Seer, first.”

  40. The Seer

  Sybilla’s last glimpse of Crodya faded behind her, in the distance. She was part of a group of sisters that resolutely proceeded away from the ancient Orange city, in a single row, walking on top of a sandstone plateau. The sound of their spears tapping the ground in a unified cadence, gave her a sense of urgency.

  She was excited and nervous at the same time. And scared. And happy. This was it, she thought, there was no turning back. Soon, she would be free to do as she pleased. The path to the temple was a long one by foot, but it was nothing compared to the path she had undertaken when she had only been seven solstices old. It was then, she decided, that she would become someone very different from the rest of the Orange Chromes.

  “Is everything all right, Sybilla?” asked Arunthia. She was the oldest sister in charge of leading the group. “Do you want to rest?”

  “No, thank you, I’m quite well…” she replied.

  “I know the path is tiring, nevertheless you will only do this once. Think about us, for we will need to walk this path to honor you at every full moon.”

  She nodded and thought that the other Sisters had indeed been very kind to her throughout their journey. She was genuinely grateful for their love and silent, caring ways. She would miss them. But she was even more excited by the notion of her newly found freedom.

  Sybilla’s dark brown eyes soaked up the view. All around her, the spectacle of nature was incredible: the rusty plateau competed with the azure sky in a race to see who reached the horizon first. She felt the warm rays of the sun on her arms and on her legs, while a delicate breeze caressed her honey-colored hair. She had never been this alive before! She thought that, yes, this simple joy was exactly what she deserved. She had recently been through so much and the goddesses knew it. This was a sign that truly designed a favorable future for her as their reward for her suffering. But Sybilla only allowed herself to feel this way for a moment. Reason kicked in and she remembered that the outcome of her fate depended on her and her alone.

  Sybilla resisted the urge to throw away her delicate, copper mask so she could feel the sun and wind on her face. It wouldn’t do for her sister guides to see how happy she was. This was supposed to be a solemn occasion, full of contemplation regarding the tangible world she was leaving behind and the spirit world that she would inhabit until the end of her days.

  The sisters continued marching, apparently unconcerned with the heat and fatigue. From time to time, they stopped to fulfill another in the long list of traditional actions that made up… the Rite. All the sisters accompanying Sybilla would cut a lock of their hair to hang from the wooden spear each carried. Then they would leave the spears along the path as a symbol of their unity with their new Seer, and as a final farewell to her.

  Delphica was first. She was one of the younger sisters. Sybilla heard her sigh behind her mask and she did her best to comfort her friend. “Your hair will grow back, you know.” She said.

  “It’s not about my hair,” said Delphica, cutting the hank of her long, golden brown ponytail with her knife. “It’s about you…”

  Sybilla nodded. “Though our hearts may be apart, our souls will never part.” She intoned. She noted, with secret pleasure, how Delphica’s eyes widened; her friend was definitely impressed by her lofty turn of phrase.

  The sisters finally reached a sacred spot on the plateau, upon which a tiny set of stairs had been carved, winding down into a narrow gorge nestled between other cliffs.

  Arunthia motioned with her hand for the line to stop. She said: “Sisters, our journey has come to an end. Let us eat one last meal with Sybilla and then each of you will give her your final farewell.” Sybilla listened to the words of her sister knowing that she would no longer be known as Sybilla, an Orange chrome, but as the Seer.

  Four older sisters prepared food while four younger sisters began to dress Sybilla for her new life. They carefully draped a white mantle on her shoulders and then replaced her simple copper mask with a richer, gem encrusted, filigreed version that glittered in the sun like no other mask Sybilla had ever seen.

  “It is made of spessartine,” explained Delphica, “It shines like a thousand points of light.”

  Sybilla admired it before putting it
on. She traced the delicate workmanship with her fingertips until she reached the large blue sapphire set in the middle of the mask’s forehead.

  “That is to symbolize your third eye,” Delphica added, “for you can see what we others cannot — the future.”

  Sybilla nervously adjusted the new mask on her face. Now that she had reached this point, the full weight of her undertaking began to bear down upon her. She wondered if she would be able to swallow any of the delicious treats the Sisters were preparing for her.

  All the other Sisters stopped what they were doing and bowed in sign of respect. “Oh, how beautiful you are,” exclaimed Cumana.

  “You are more luminous than the sun itself,” agreed Delphica. “Come and sit here next to me, so I can put the oil in your hair.” Another step in the Rite. Sybilla nodded.

  Young sister, Helespontina, took a flute from her sack and, placing it close to her mask’s mouth hole, played a nimble melody Sybilla had heard many times before. Still, this particular tune moved her. A few tears rolled down her cheeks, but no one saw them fall since they were hidden behind her new mask. She would have to learn to deal with her emotions alone too, she thought.

  Delphica gently brushed Sybilla’s long hair, mumbling a chant. Suddenly, she stopped and whispered: “I promise that I will worship you every day, My Seer, and that I will always come to visit you. Always!”

  Sybilla smiled inside her new mask. She knew that was impossible. The other sisters in Crodya would not let Delphica come to the temple alone; at least not right away, given her young age, but she nodded and hugged her just the same. Of all the sisters, Delphica was the one she would miss the most.

  At dusk, the nine female chromes removed their masks and ate together, laughing and chatting as they recalled Sybilla’s training days as a novice sister.

  “Do you remember when Sybilla touched the viper?” said Helespontina to Cumana, with a hearty chuckle.

  “Yes, I do!” replied Cumana. “Oh, it was awful, with that tongue… Ooh… And Sybilla caressed it too!” she added with disgust. The other Sisters giggled.