“Sit by my side for a moment. A life changing adventure awaits you, little god of Lemuria.”
Zyla sat on the seat next to the throne as bidden. He threw a shrewd gaze. “Vral, did you say little god of Lemuria?”
“We are all gods. Capable of many things.”
“What are we capable of?”
“You’ll soon find out.”
Zyla noticed the Vral’s dark blue eyes dart from one corner of the courtyard to the other. His huge built of almost eight phantoms and dazzling robe on the mountain-like throne amazed the young man. A tall Lemurian himself, Zyla thought the Vral cut an extraordinary portrait with his height and mystique.
“Summon the stone-wings,” the Vral said to his chief counselor watching the scene at the edge of the steps to the throne.
“As it pleases the Wise One,” replied the chief counselor, departing towards the outer sections of the courtyard.
“To what purpose do we owe this breath?” Zyla’s thoughts broke into Vral’s with the departure of the chief counselor. “We appear so blessed and gifted. It must be towards an end.”
The Vral fixed his gaze on his son of near six phantoms. Zyla’s curiosity reminded him of so many things he’d like to explain to the fast growing boy. “Nothing happens by chance,” he said. “We’re not a cosmic ruse either.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re not a game of chance, that’s what.”
“So?”
“Come with me, little god of Lemuria. Time to sate your quest.” The Vral rose with agility from the throne.
“To where?” Zyla demanded, trepidation choking his voice.
“We’re exploring Lemuria. To find purpose to your existence.”
Zyla scurried after the Vral. They made a detour to the open space beyond the courtyard with the palace courtiers trailing behind.
“Go back to your duties,” the Vral ordered the courtiers. “Zyla and I want to be alone for a moment.”
The Vral looked towards his right and saw the stone-wings berthed at the entrance of the palace.
“It’s ready for use,” the chief counselor said, noticing the Vral’s approval.
“Good,” the Wise One said. “We’re boarding right away.”
Zyla gaped at the giant boulder his father referred to as the “stone-wings.” His young mind played tricks with him, but he kept silent.
The Vral swooshed his right hand and graduated steps appeared at a corner of the stone-wings. He walked up the boulder to the top. “Come on, Zyla,” he called after his awe-struck son. ”This is one of the magic of the age.”
“What’s it for?” Zyla asked, climbing up the steps, following the example of the Vral. Once on top of the boulder next to his father, he sat and looked down in awe. “What next?”
“Patience, young man,” cautioned the Wise One. “Patience.”
The stone-wings began to buzz on its own accord, and the next minute it lifted off the ground and sped skywards with semblance of wings at its sides, almost unsettling Zyla who had not ridden on such a device before.
“Woohoo!” Zyla gasped. “This is scary.”
“Easy,” the Vral said, glancing sideways at Zyla. “Brace yourself.” The wind swept across their faces with its cadences as they flew higher and higher until the entire horizon came into view.
“How do you direct this stone?”
“Your mind. Everything is subject to the mind’s control.”
“How?” Zyla did not grasp his father’s allusions.
The stone-wings continued to soar, seamless, with their robes flailing in the gentle wind.
“The stone-wings is an extension of light. And what bigger light is there than man?”
“Light. Lemurian god. Too many concepts, Vral,” argued Zyla.
The wise One gave a shrill laugh. “This is the reason I want you to take this flight on the stone-wings. Have first-hand knowledge of the immense powers at your disposal as a Titan.”
Zyla cast his gaze into the far horizon. He saw several stone-wings cover the skyline like a flock of birds. He swung his hand in glee in their direction.
“Vral, look over there, stone-wings,” he exclaimed.
“Those things don’t exist in the true sense of it. We conjure them each time we have need for them.”
“You confuse me,” Zyla remonstrated in the whistling wind.
“We create our circumstances as we choose.” The Vral sat now on the boulder looking over the fields and sprawling splendor below.
“Tell me more.”
“Soon.”
The stone-wings began to detour. The Vral swiped his hand and a fog parted like a veil before the flying duo. Zyla could make out giant beings going about their everyday businesses beyond the parted fog.
“These are the Titans,” the Vral said. “Giant beings that once walked these terrains. They were genies of some sort. The Guardians’ idea of masquerading amid human consciousness. . .”
“The Guardians?”
“Yes, the Guardians?”
“Who are they?”
“We are, little god of Lemuria! You’re a Guardian.”
“I’m a Guardian?”
“We all are.”
“What does a Guardian do?”
The Vral grinned. “A Guardian is a higher being assigned with the task of taking care of one form of human existence or the other. Like the one we just left. A god in human form.”
“That’s it? Nothing else?”
“There’s more to it. We’re here to express the gift of life. Be in tune with the Light. Retrace our steps back to the Source.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t. You’re a god! Nothing is impossible before a god.”
Zyla’s nod was more out of stupefaction rather than an assent to the Vral’s line of reasoning.
The stone-wings now touched down on a field populated with a horde of giants. Zyla had never seen this band of humans before. He could hear their thoughts as if they emanated from the depths of his heart.
“I can hear them speak. Their future opens up like flower petals or microfilms before my eyes,” he quipped with an air of fascination.
“It’s part of the adventure I wanted you to experience,” his father said. “We don’t need to speak to hear each other. It’s inherent in us. And we can travel too by any means. Now you know why I said we’re gods?”
The Wise One outstretched a hand and a large blackbird flew down and perched on his palm. “Go tell the clan, the Vral is coming,” he said to the bird, which squawked and flew away to deliver the message.
“You speak with birds too?” queried Zyla stunned by what he had seen.
“We’re wired to speak with all creatures. They are condensations of Light just as we’re Light too. We only need to tune into their frequency to understand them.”
Stepping down the stone-wings, the Vral strode leisurely on a moist bed of grass toward the community in sight. He beckoned on Zyla to follow suit.
At the edge of the field, the Vral touched a blade of grass and spoke to it in his heart. “May I know your significance to our existence?”
Zyla stopped in his track, confused about the Vral’s theatrics without the grass.
The sharp edged grass wheezed and then a small, still voice echoed in the Vral’s heart. “I’m a healer. Use me for the treatment of ailments.”
The words filtered into Zyla’s stream of thought. “So plants talk too?” he asked, astonished.
The Vral ignored him and focused intently at the spire of grass. “What sort of ailment do you cure?”
“The kind that numbs the heart.”
“Wow! Medicine for the heart,” Zyla bellowed.
“Shhhh, be quiet,” the Vral said with a finger across his lips. Turning to the grass, he
asked, “How do we apply you?”
“My fluid is sufficient.”
Enthralled, the Vral probed further. “That’s it?”
“Sure.”
“What else can you offer our kind?”
A raucous laughter from the grass rent the Vral’s heart. “The gods always want it all. But I’ll tell you. Magic!”
“How?”
“Speak to me in your hands. Make a wish and see it happen.”
Nodding his head, the Vral plucked the blade of grass and placed it on his left palm.
“Easy, man. That hurts,” the grass lamented, squirming.
“Sorry about that, friend,” the Vral apologized. “Never meant to hurt you, but I was eager to test your potency.”
“Go ahead then.”
“Take me to the pristine beginning of things.”
“That’s a tall order. Doable though. Hold your son’s left hand with your right hand.”
The Vral did as bidden.
“Repeat these words after me,” the grass said. “I’m an energy form, free and boundless, pulsing through creation. Let my essence unfold like it was in the beginning, for I desire unity of purpose.”
The Vral’s feet tingled as he recited, “I’m an energy form, free and boundless, pulsing through creation. Let my essence unfold like it was in the beginning, for I desire unity of purpose.”
Zyla and the Wise One could feel an instant tremor course their bodies as an energy field swirled around them, lifting the mist in the green field, and with it, the duo’s souls into a portal in the hazel sky.
The portal parted the space between Lemuria and the outer worlds. Zyla and the Wise One hurtled through it, still holding hands, gazing upon the infinity of stars, feeling ligher and lighter in their ascent, shedding their ethereal bodies one at a time.
The longer their upward drift lasted, the more they lost touch with the consciousness of Lemuria and its load of problems or worries. The more bodies of ether they shed, like freight trains dislodging their cargoes at various terminals, the more they became conscious of the hollowness of their existence, which was nothing but condensations of Light.
Zyla became aware for the first time that the magnificent blue sky held other secrets other than its awe or vastness. It was not all about clouds or stars or rotating planetary bodies, it certainly led to the Source, the beginning of life itself in its pristine state. He realized their bodies were gone, yet their consciousness remained in another dimension as specks of Light.
As they reeled further into the unknown, Zyla heard the voice of the Wise One saying, “Man’s sojourn to Lemuria and many other Playhouses from the Source was as a speck of Light from the Blackhole. Now, we are back there, swimming in the ocean of Light?”
Bewildered, Zyla tried to appraise the Vral’s words, but noticed instead a swift shift of consciousness.
They were back in Lemuria with their bodies intact in the field where the stone-wings had landed moments ago.
# # #
“Those were the Titans,” Numa said, still standing at the palace of the Vral. “We had to shrink the height of those men and women to appreciable sizes in subsequent epochs because of the apparent disadvantages of size in furtherance of our goals in later splendors."
Numa snapped his fingers and a whirring ascent began. In a few swirls, the Guardians were back in the Wisdom Hall, Blackhole. The screen at the Hall’s backdrop brightened up with full slides of pristine beings, hulky but human in every way.
“The Titans,” Numa said. “Great beings they were. We want to construct the next millennium of uninterrupted harmony, bliss and enhanced psychic and creative intelligence on the planet along Titanic lines. Not in size though, but in their psychic abilities. The TITAN RACE billed for year 2023 and beyond will be non-compare. Guardians are going to inhabit the PlayToy in transmigrated bodies to teach the humans how to love and why peaceful co-existence is imperative. The Blackhole will have its replica on new Atlantis for as long as a thousand calendars, and then we will hands-off and watch human affairs as we have always done. So we came here to talk about the TITAN RACE and the moves that demand urgent attention before we enter the super-psychic age proper.
Part Five
NEWLAND, RIAGENA
MODERN DAY
Chapter Fourteen
At the sight of her kitchen bound mother, Anne Ofino bustled out of the half-shut ladies' room where she had been peeping. She gave a slight twirl and then posed like a model on the walkway in front of her mother, in the kitchen.
“How do I look, Mama?” Anne inquired, flaunting the result of a meticulous dress routine she had just done.
"Honey, you look like Remwill District’s Cinderella in that dress!" responded Mrs Rewa Ofino. "And what’s my little girl doing dancing in that exotic dress this morning?"
"Visiting someone."
"Who?"
"You already know him."
"That Netu of yours?"
"Yes, of course."
Mrs Ofino regarded her ravishing daughter with a clinical mind, shifting the quaint bundle in her hand to the left.
Anne wore a lace bustier dress of re-embroidered floral, complemented with a double organza coat, flowered at the neck with a large bow. The ensemble made her look like a princess, who had just stepped out of the pages of a fairy-tale. The dress accentuated her lithe physique and gave an emphasis on her provocative curves. Her hair, which was neatly combed to the back, had few strands of hair bobbed in front and swished close to her right eye. Anne’s brown eyes sparked of innocence in spite of the inflections of the dress. Mrs Ofino thought she had never seen her twenty-five-year old daughter look so young and tempting.
Mrs Ofino’s brow arched. "You really must be dancing fast. Netu is all I hear every day around here."
Anne spurred to the remark. "There is song in my heart that has overwhelmed my thoughts.”
"Don’t tell me you are in love, honey."
"Well, I’m not sure what love means. But I do know that I feel something stirring within me.”
Mrs Ofino considered her daughter’s words for a couple of seconds. "Love is like a rare bird. You can try to tame it and analyze its complexity. But this bird could be elusive, disappointing, with strings of nightmares to its credit."
"You’ve always told me that."
"Come here, my daughter." Mrs Rewa Ofino drew Anne to herself. She placed a tender hand on her shoulder and asked in a whisper, "Does he also feel for you as much as you feel for him?"
Anne blushed. "You mean Netu? I suppose he does."
"You are not sure, yet he has written a symphony on your heart?"
"I have no doubts concerning Netu's love for me. But the issue of the baby with Mike-"
"What now, honey?"
"Mama, I’m just so damn scared of losing him," Anne confessed. She diverted her gaze, hoping that her mother would not see the anxiety evident in her eyes.
"The feelings that Netu and I have are real. Still, I fear that something may sever this bond between us.”
"No, honey. You must put these negative thoughts out of your mind," Mrs Ofino said, tightening her grip around her daughter’s shoulder. "I have no doubts that his feelings for you are true. Never allow fear to guide your emotions. As your mother, my advice is, always learn to have a clear head in your dealings with men. If you expect too much from this relationship, then you are bound to be disappointed. Every man has got his weakness, these you can exploit for good or for bad. And always learn to be on the good side of things. So let your dance be slow and steady, honey. Now don’t let me stop you from going to see him. Your happiness is what counts. Go my sweet little girl!"
"Mama, I don’t have the words to express my gratitude. You always understand my thoughts."
Anne knew her mother as a mercurial character who was soft and hard depending on
the mood. But at almost forty-five, Anne felt her mother looked much younger after giving birth to seven children. She still had a stunning physique with an angelic face. A paragon of beauty she could not match.
"What are mothers for?" Mrs Ofino intoned with motherly pride, interrupting Anne’s flight of mind.
“Thank you all the same!”
"Oh, don’t mention, Anne," Mrs Ofino said, and began to reminisce. "It may be hard to believe but I was in your shoes, once. I know what it’s like to feel one’s heartstrings struck for the first time as a young lady. The way you feel for Netu is how I felt about your father. You’re bound to have sleepless nights because your thoughts revolve around the man harping upon the strings of your heart."
Mrs Ofino retrieved her hand from Anne’s shoulder. Steering Anne by the waist, she gazed into Anne’s eyes.
"I was overwhelmed by such passion when your dad asked me to marry him. I accepted wholeheartedly. Though there were other admirers, your father’s care and understanding was unmatched. Those other men were pretenders.”
Mrs. Ofino sighed, as a shadow of grief crossed her face.
Anne could see the moisture welling up behind her mother’s eyes.
“I will never understand why God took him away from me so soon.”
"I feel for you, Mama. I know how it hurts to lose someone so dear," Anne said with great sympathy. "We all miss him."
Sensing that her mood was putting a damper on the situation, Mrs. Ofino’s lips curled into a weary smile.
"It’s all right, honey. You should go have some fun. I’ve come to terms with you fathers death. Your happiness is my priority and if I must find solace, let it be through the profound joy that Netu has brought into your life.” Mrs Ofino motioned to the baked goods that lay on the table. “You can carry some fried milk cakes for Netu. I think he may need them. Off you go now. And don’t stay too long," Mrs Ofino said, focusing on her kitchen chores.
For a brief spell, Anne regarded her mother affectionately. She thought about motherhood and wondered if she could ever emulate her mother’s kind of care and replicate same with her own children.
Anne’s energy often went in other insignificant directions. She either dotted around Netu Deo in faraway OldHill or searched for a job or a party to attend. Her mind was always on the move. Even when she found time to be at home and there were no social distractions as such, she would endure her son’s whimper and pestering not more than a few hours. Her mother always came to the rescue.
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