Island of Echoes (16 page)

“There was a time, not very long ago, when the Lisispal was very different,” 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, his curiosity piqued.

“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 some very popular 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 within our resources, and passed many laws to protect the flora and fauna of the entire globe.”

“Protect them how?” Daniel asked. “You still eat 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-most alliance has always upheld a similar philosophy. They believe that every life, even the ants emerging from the ground, have a soul which deserves to be protected. Unlike us, they do not eat meat of any kind. While we have not adopted the belief to such an extent, our animals now 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 this era of productivity and our own practices at home. My travels had exposed me to the lack of concern toward 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?”

“Not quite,” the King replied. “It was in other parts of the world, but this island’s forests were at risk of permanent loss long before Káthodonou. Irrigation technology and planting have been priorities here ever since.”

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?”

“Beg pardon?” said Daniel.

“Ma’at,” I answered. “A goddess of ancient Egypt. She represented truth and justice.” The priest seemed to stiffen at the thought of entering another pagan house of worship.

“Not quite, Mr. Laurence,” King Eireas corrected. “You are right, but Ma’at is something much greater than a goddess. It is a philosophy. Ma’at is the very rhythm of the universe. It represents balance, but not from without, from within.”

“I don’t understand,” Daniel admitted.

“There was a time when people chose to believe that the gods had a predetermined plan for their life. Or that destiny shaped their fortunes, their attitudes, and their circumstances. It is only when we take responsibility for our actions and pledge to grow in mind and heart that we see how archaic those beliefs truly are.”

“And this is Ma’at?” I inquired.

“Yes. The philosophy was often represented by a white feather in ancient times. A goddess of the same name was then created so that these qualities may 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.

“I suppose the title endured over the eons,” Eireas confessed. “You already know the structure. You slept at its base on your first night upon 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 exactly 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 road 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 knowledge of the last week, its bronze doors now stood open and welcoming.

“This is an area of serenity,” said Eireas. “The communal spirit of thought helps to clear the mind and provides inspiration and support.”

“Please take all the time you wish,” Sarmia 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. The ladies and I decided to enter the Temple of Ma’at. 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 subsequent visit.

I scrutinized the rich carvings at the top of the monument and chuckled. I had initially believed them to be lacking in skill. Mind you, this was before I became privy to the simplified ancient garments of the locals. 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 at its center, from which radiated scenes of people and monuments of every culture. 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 corner and sat upon the colored little 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 disappeared into the dimness, rejoining a group of people seated at the center of the vast space.

“This monument is stunning,” Ella observed once we were comfortable upon the seats.

“Indeed,” her grandmother said. “It is a desirable respite from 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.

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 would lose both if we were to leave. 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 choice.”

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.

We were surrounded by the dark of night as we walked through the woods, dressed in the soft rich robes of Capribo. 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 overhead, 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 of Ma’at 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 white robe acted as a beacon. Daniel, Rémy, and Travert already sat in the midst of the Capribian entourage atop a thick woolen throw.

“Have you reached a conclusion?” Eireas asked as we approached the group.

“We have,” I announced, and smiled brightly. “We are staying.”

No other words were needed. He and his advisors stood to embrace us on that green lawn, so delighted they were to hear of our decision.

I heard Rémy’s footfalls close behind me as we walked through the dark wood. I turned to look upon him. His face was still full of that youthful enthusiasm which I so admired. His beautiful blonde hair seemed to glow in the starlight. He met my gaze and I smiled at him. He had made the decision to stay before any of us, and I could not be happier to know that I would remain at his side. I neither lied nor exaggerated when I referred to him as my closest friend.

The life of an academic was a lonely one. Professor Fay had been my closest colleague over the last few years, but I would never have considered him a friend. He was a mentor, and the social structure of respect prevented anything more. Rémy, on the other hand, was informal and open right from the start. We could converse about any topic and share anything we wished without fear of judgement. I was truly lucky to have found such a companion, and it pleased me greatly to know he felt the same.

Traveling behind him, I saw the fifth member of our silent procession. Captain Travert looked very odd in the local attire. Not that it didn’t suit him; I was simply unaccustomed to seeing him out of his old-world clothing. I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t entirely comfortable in the tunic, but his disposition was not the type to fight tradition. I smiled recalling the surprise of his words to us the day before.

“Well I am very glad to hear it,” he had rasped after I made our announcement, “for I would have been too guilt-ridden to send a pair of ladies into a storm without a captain at the helm of their ship.”

“Are you implying that you will also be staying, Captain?” Lady Pearson asked after a few baffled moments. “I must confess, I did not expect to hear that!” We all nodded in agreement.

“As Rémy pointed out to me,” he explained, “I am a man of the sea, and the sea has changed little, even here. Mind you, my choice would have been different if our final destination was no mystery. But as it stands, I shan’t risk the loss of my nephew, and this utopia, for nothing.” Rémy beamed at the words and I rejoiced for us all. All except Daniel, that is, who sat in silence. He would be making the journey alone.

“We must celebrate this wonderful news!” Sarmia had exclaimed. “Etia Yawa is a high priestess of the universal connection. We must plan a ceremony for tomorrow night!”

“What is the universal connection?” I asked.

“It is a belief this world holds quite dear,” Daniel answered. “It intrigued me, and so I asked about it in Alexandria. If I remember correctly, it is the belief that all living things are bound by a sacred energy, which can be felt by the mind as well as the body, though we may not always be aware.”

“Yes,” Eireas affirmed. “You surprise me, Daniel. I did not think you took an interest in our ways.”

The priest gave no response.

“What kind of ceremony?” Rémy asked.

“We call it a binding ceremony,” Sarmia informed us. “It is typically first undertaken at the age of twelve, though it can be repeated for any significant event in life. It is performed at night, at one of the ancient temples.”

“What is required of us to undertake it?” I asked.

“There is a chant which will be sung by those attending,” she divulged. “You will be asked to read it, and only participate if you believe in its message.”

We continued walking through the dark wood. I heard the chanting long before I discerned the light which marked our destination. Lady Pearson led us toward the ancient temple as she had been instructed. The chorus of the gathered locals called to us like the song of the mythical sirens. The melody was exceptionally beautiful. The trees acted as columns of a great outdoor cathedral. The sky above us, a brilliant and living ceiling. My arms erupted in goosebumps from the emotional toll of the ritual.

I consciously took in all the detail around me. I knew that I would be writing of it shortly thereafter. I had spent the remainder of the previous day devoted to these memoirs. I wished to conclude my recollection of this strange and fantastical voyage. But I also realized these pages were no longer written only for me. With the confirmation of Daniel’s return, I intended to send this journal into the storm as well, in the hopes that it should reach the shores of Earth and convey our tale.

We had dined gloriously upon returning to Paphos yesterday evening. It seemed as if all of Capribo became aware of the ceremony which should take place the following night. Laughter and music emanated from countless homes in the port town as we feasted on braised fowl, seasoned vegetables, and a delicious taro root stew. Beer was served in place of wine that evening, and the brew complemented our fare wonderfully. I remember that we had retired to our apartments after dinner, and I was about to prepare for sleep when I heard an unexpected knock at my door.

The chanting of the gathered masses had gotten much louder as we walked through the dim wood. We emerged from the darkness of the trees into a clearing. The ancient temple stood at the center of the little field: a set of simple columns around a circular platform of dilapidated white stone. The assembly was undoubtedly ancient. Two of the pillars were broken and the cracks of the foundation were thick with emerging flora. A fire burned from within a large bronze bowl at its center. Yawa stood beside it in the elaborate garb of a high priestess. King Eireas, Sarmia, and a hundred other Capribians encircled the little monument as they continued their entrancing hymn. Torches protruded from the earth and engulfed the area in dancing light.

We followed Lady Pearson up to the platform. I distinguished the indentations of countless sandals which have stepped foot onto the polished stone steps over the centuries. Our procession fanned out into a crescent before the priestess. The chanting around us increased in intensity as we bowed our heads to the little woman who first greeted us on these foreign shores. She radiated the same kind smile. Her eyes were as warm then as when she first gazed upon me. She turned to Lady Pearson and placed a wreath of herbs around her neck. She moved in order through our group. Ella and I, Rémy, and Travert likewise received a necklace of dried herbs. At the rear of our group, whom I hadn’t seen in the darkness of the wood, was Daniel. He bowed his head as he accepted the wreath and I looked upon him and smiled.

I had been thoroughly startled to see him standing at my bedroom door when I answered the knock the night before. “Father,” I said, “what can I do for you?”

“I wonder, Mr. Laurence, if you would be good enough to speak to me for a moment.”

I had scrutinized him for several seconds. His typically dour expression had been replaced by one of uncertainty. “Please, come in,” I finally replied.

“Thank you.” He stepped into my room and I closed the door.

“This truly is a surprise,” I admitted.

“I can imagine. I have not been easy to get along with on this journey, and for that I must apologize.” I could only look upon him in bewilderment. “It’s just that,” he continued, “I have given much thought today to the words of our companions, our hosts, and yourself. You saw something in this place from the very start, and I am beginning to realize how much of a fool I have been to reject it.”

“I see…”

“I did not come here for forgiveness,” he explained, “for words alone cannot accurately express my feelings at this moment. But I believe actions can, though I would like to ask your advice before proceeding.”

I had taken a seat on the bed, still quite uncertain of what was transpiring.

“The Capribians must think very poorly of me,” he confessed, “especially the King. But I do not want to be remembered as corrupt and unyielding. I was not always that way, and I do not wish to be again.”

“I am not sure how I can help,” I replied.

He looked nervously at the floor. “If our hosts allow it, and with the blessing of you and our companions, I would like to stay upon these shores.”

I could scarcely believe what I was hearing. “What changed your mind?” I asked.

“Something Rémy said this morning,” he had admitted, “about the irony of seeing so much care in a world without God. I began to re-examine my own values. I had been a devout follower of my faith, and yet I sinned. But these people, living in what the church describes as extreme blasphemy, have been more kind-hearted than any I have ever known. Their care is genuine. And you were right, Mr. Laurence, they did not have a price. Not a monetary one, anyway.”

“But they have expectations of another kind,” I warned. “Respecting others without discriminating against their beliefs is more than just a moral code here, it is a legal one as well.”

“That’s just it,” Daniel said. “Those are the very ideals which drove me to the priesthood to begin with. Faith can be a beautiful thing, Mr. Laurence. I know you do not share those beliefs, but I can understand your point of view a little more now; I realize how much the work of others can tarnish its beauty. The King was right when he said beliefs must be internal. I was so focused on spreading mine that I had abandoned them in the process. The organization of something as immaterial as spirituality is bound to fail.”

I could not help but smile. “It sounds to me like you have discovered the open mind which these words speak of.” I showed him the electronic paper which Sarmia had given to us. It contained the lyrics of the hymn which would be sung during the binding ceremony. “Perhaps even you are ready to take the first step into a new life.”

“I’m not certain it would be right for me to join the ceremony,” Daniel admitted. “I do not want to spoil a joyous event.”

“No,” I had agreed, “Not while you are on bad terms with those who are undertaking it. But you have all day tomorrow to talk with our group. I cannot speak for them, but I suspect you have time to make peace.”

The choir around the ancient temple continued to chant the lovely binding hymn. They sang of a purity of spirit, of open minds, and open hearts. The words recognized our connections to all life. They acknowledged the fact that we are all descended from the same parents. They rejoiced in being part of the eternal energy of the universe. Yawa stepped to the opposite side of the central fire, lifted her hands, and joined the masses in singing the final verse. We approached the large bronze bowl and grasped the herbs around our necks. The chant became louder and more powerful, with voices upon voices blending beautifully to create an altogether new melody.

And then the chanting ceased abruptly. We were engulfed in the silence of the night, with only the crackling of the fire before us. As we were instructed, we closed our eyes and tore off the packets of herbs from our necklaces. We associated each bundle with a part of ourselves which we would like to improve, a negative energy which blocked our growth, or an action which we regretted and would not like to repeat. I shan’t share my thoughts during this moment, for I wish to preserve the intimacy of the ritual. We threw the herbs onto the fire, symbolically releasing the negative energy from within us. The emerging smoke wafted into the air like heavenly incense and I could feel myself lighten with a release of emotion. We cast our last bundles into the flames and the throng of gathered people erupted in cheers.