Zollocco: A Novel of Another Universe

by Cynthia Joyce Clay

  The next morning the pool was full. We swam in it and ate some of the willow's bark.

  "We're going to have to go back soon," Artoin called as he splashed.

  "Go back?"

  "When the sun reaches its zenith I have to step back into the mirage."

  This was sudden news to me. It hadn't occurred to me he might become a mirage again. I stopped eating the bark I was chewing. My throat constricted. My eyes itched. Artoin came up to me, his comically skinny form dripping wet. He slipped his hands around my waist and gently kissed me.

  "I've got to step into the heat waves and disappear, but I existed here in this world for awhile. I sang, I swam; I ate bark. All of this I did because you gave me this. You are my whole life. I love you. No one had said that to me in a very long time. I had feared I would never hear it again. I put my arms around his neck and burst into tears. He held me for a long while, occasionally rubbing at his eyes, but mostly tenderly rubbing my back and wiping the tears from my eyes with his broad thumbs. All of a sudden, I saw the sun was very high in the sky.

  Frightened, I asked, "What happens if you don't make it back to the mirage in time?"

  Artoin looked at the sun, and then at me, "I would burst into flame and burn until I became a sheaf of charred cinder."

  "We'd better hurry then!"

  We set off. The tree disappeared behind us. The town was nowhere in sight. At last we came to a place where the heat waves rippled like a stream in the air.

  "This is it. Now listen to me," Artoin said earnestly grasping my arms firmly, "To get back to the town, keep the sun on your left, and the noon-star on your right."

  "Sun left, noon-star right."

  "Yes," Artoin nodded, "you must remember that; if you stray from the directions the dessert will become dangerous to you. As long as you keep the sun to the left and the noon-start to your right you will be under my protection and will be safe."

  We looked at one another and then hugged.

  "In seventy pregnancies, if you are still alive, come back to this spot if you can find it. That will be the next time, and the last time, I will have a chance to come to this world for you, but I will always love you." Artoin kissed me sweetly and stepped into the mirage, just as the sun reached its zenith. The mirage lingered a moment, Artoin's large black eyes glittering solemnly at me. He raised his hand in a mournful farewell, and then the mirage faded completely away.

  "Artoin!" I rushed to where he had just been standing, but nothing except desert was there.

  The sun was high, and the sand spread for miles around me. I placed the sun to my left,the noon-star to my right, and walked. Keeping the appropriate bearings of my celestial guides while I trudged along, I mulled over the happenings of my desert quest and what they must signify. I felt I had found the answers I sought concerning the mystery of the desert and its connection to the rite of womanhood. But whom did the old men free from a mirage? Maybe they found no one; maybe they simply found the Willow and the Pool and baptized their infant grandchildren in the magical water. These reflections served to ease the dreary length of my march.

  As I walked, the town slowly took form before me. I stumbled over something half buried in the sand---it was my boots and socks. I shook the sand out of them and put them on. I was glad to have found them. The sand had been growing hotter and hotter, burning my feet. Boots laced, I got to my feet again and refocused my attention on the distant town. I walked steadily towards it. For a moment, the long adobe wall shimmered. Was it about to fade too? But no, I was resting my hand on the base of the staircase and looking up at the blue, rich sky. At the top of the wall, I looked out across the desert. The hot air shimmered; the sand lay gold and vast; the sun and the noon-star promised to set soon. I turned, and looked out over the town. I would leave again. To stay in the town would be to plague myself with the thought of Artoin. I clambered down the steps and moved towards the well house.

  Old men in sagging, wrinkled clothes, smiled knowingly as though they could possibly share in my knowledge of the desert. Middle-aged and younger men, reaping their roof lawn reeds, weaving their mats, noticed, acknowledged, and feared the portend of my sunburnt nose and cheeks, hands and arms. I made my way to the well house. I took a bright red apple from the white floral design on a blue bowl. Earth, a large blue bowl with white floating across it like floral mists, was out of reach for me now. Who was I to be, and where was I to live in the numerous planets of Imenkapur?

  The exuberant green growth of the well house gardens provided a stark contrast to the stretch of the pale yellow sands that had just surrounded me. I smelled what I expected, life, and the enticing aromas of food. Each and every mealtime food was available at the well house. The town believed the starvation of one meant the hunger of all and so food was available to anyone. I entered the Spring Room and helped myself to a huge portion of sweetreed bread, fresh vegetables, and pea soup. I sat down at a small poolside table.

  Who was this entering though? He, too, helped himself at the community food table and surveyed the room for a table. He was old, but didn't wear the beard and long hair of the older men of this community. He wore the robe of the Blue Dawn, with a long purple belt about his waist. This was no Holy time. Had he been requested to give a blessing at the rite of womanhood? Maybe I should speak to him. I stood, gathered up my shyness and told it not to interfere, and walked over to the now seated old Blue Dawn Priest. His deep-cut crows feet stretched all the way down his cheeks to his jaw line. The quintuple creases of his brow extended, circuitous, round his face. Sharply chiseled lines connected his nose to his mouth, and his mouth was set off by a multitude of parenthetical lines. When his eyes looked about in observation or contemplation, and when his mouth moved in speech the effect was that of the rippling of lake water after a stone has been cast in it. Thick snow-white hair framed his face. His eyes glittered with vitality beneath white tufted eyebrows. His was the most beautiful and interesting face I had ever seen. He looked up at me and smiled sadly.

  Encouraged, I said, "I, ah, I found a sister of Saemunsil standing alone in the desert. She remembered me to the Forest of my Dawn. Now, I return to town and find Saemunsil has another Friend riding these desert winds."

  The Priest started, his eyes brimmed a moment at hearing the formal greeting. Then he smiled again. "A sister in the desert? Methinks thee rode the winds of a dream. I greet with pleasure the Friend from Elsewhere."

  I broke into a light sweat. Had the whole experience been an illusion? What was the illusion he was referring to? Artoin? Earth? The Forests knew, of course, that I was from "Elsewhere" but They would never tell. The Forests knew what would happen to me if humans ever found out where I was from.

  "Elsewhere?" I managed to squeak from my painfully tightened throat.

  "If thou met the desert Willow, thou wert not in Imenkapur when the news was given. Thou wert elsewhere," replied the old man. He patted the seat next to him. I sat.

  "Friend," I said, "only the town's women and old men know of the Willow. Today is no Holy day, and yet thou dost wear thy robe. The Blue Dawn members do not wear a belt with their robes, but thou dost. This belt of thine methinks I have seen but once before. What does it mean? What is this mention of news? Saemunsil rustled in my dreams last night, but news I remember not. Who art thou?"

  "In life we speak..." since I wasn't wearing my robe, the old man was seeking to verify if I was of the Blue Dawn by looking for the completion of the Blue Dawn Responses.

  "In death we listen."

  "The tree of Divinity..."

  "Sprouts fertile, as a beautiful bud, through us all."

  "So wisdom is gained..."

  By now, he was sure who I was, but he enjoyed reciting the passages, and I enjoyed replying. "And shared among us as from root to leaf and back again."

  "Friend from Elsewhere, Member of the Blue Dawn, I am a Friend entwined in the Realm of Circle. The news is one of the entwined in the Realm of Circle has given pause to listen. During
this time of ninety-nine, the Forests are soon to request a Member of the Blue Dawn to become entwined in the Realm of Circle. Thou art, therefore, to speak for Grace."

  "I know nothing of the Realm of Circle, and therefore do not understand thy meaning," I said.

  The white tufted eyebrows of the old Priest rose, "Surely thou hast heard stories of a Secret Sect possessing great magical powers?"

  "No, I have not."

  "I am surprised," mused the old man sadly, "many a child goes to sleep at night imagining himself a member of this most hallowed, most secret, and most powerful Sect. It is said that the one hundred members found within the Realm of Circle can transport a woman or man through the power of their minds without the need of any mechanical apparatus. It is said that those within the Realm of Circle speak with ease the Remembered Tongue and so can converse with the Forests Themselves. It is said that those within the Realm of Circle can heal with a touch, or fly through the air, or break the chains of bondage."

  I smiled at the old Priest. "And none of these stories are true."

  "On the contrary," said the old Priest, "they are all true."

  "What is meant by the `time of ninety-nine'?" I asked. The old Priest drew a long breath, "Our number which should

  stand at a complete one hundred, has fallen short by one. We needs must find our new member."

  "So the `time of ninety-nine' means there are only ninety-nine of you," I commented.

  "Ah, it is not so simple as that. Usually the one who leaves the Realm and the one who enters are well aware of the fact, and a simple ceremony is performed to bid farewell to the departing member and herald a welcome to the arriving in such a way that the Realm of Circle is not broken. No such ceremony has occurred. All unexpectedly, the Realm of Circle has been broken by the grievous loss of a priest. This abrupt disruption of the Realm means the continued health and harmony of Imenkapur may fall into disease and discord if the fullness of the Realm of Circle is not recast. Already the first malignant seeds are evident---the Toelakhan engages in the trade of human zitam, and the many worlds close their eyes to the fact of this slavery. Soon other forms of corruption will be over-looked, and then the body of human affairs will fall into a putrid decay."

  I was intrigued that the priest would light upon a subject of personal importance to me. "Friend of my Dawn, surely the human zitam trade, vile though it be, is not so terribly important to the continued balance of Imenkapur. There are, after all, only seven of them and they must have ways of freeing themselves of their bondage."

  The old Priest studied me, the deep gouged lines of his face expanding and contracting the ridges of his skin with the tenor of his thoughts, "Young priestess, human beings can not be made into playthings; thou dost know this. It makes it worse for those Listed as zitam that there are so few of them when the Toelakhan and their willing buyers are so many. How can these seven hope to truly escape? While they are listed as zitam, they will be hunted down if they flee, hunted down not just as run-away toys, but also as symbols of the wild the Toelakhan wishes to control and disrupt. The zitam trade is a symptom of a disassociation with the part of human existence that is Nature-Wise. These symptoms have a way of quickly escalating into a malignant blight upon humanity. The people of Imenkapur have suffered the ravages of this enough in the past. The Realm of Circle was cast to protect us all from its reoccurrence."

  The old Priest offered me a slice of his bread and I accepted it.

  I asked, "Thou art looking for members of the Blue Dawn to enter this Realm of Circle?"

  "Yes."

  "Why only the Blue Dawn? Why not the other Sects and Orders?"

  "While all entwined within the Realm belong to the Blue Dawn Sect many within the Realm do also belong to other Sects or Orders. However, all are members of the Blue Dawn for the work of the Realm requires the psychic talents of those who have basked in the Blue Light of Saemunsil's teaching and do perceive the Divine Reality where past, present, and future are one."

  I was pleased that I was at last learning what the Realm of Circle was. But I sensed that something bothered the old Priest. I hoped that by keeping him talking he would at some point say what his inner unhappiness was about, and by saying, be relieved. "Thou didst mention that I should speak for Grace; what didst thou mean?"

  The old Priest swept his long, elegant fingers through his hair.

  "Simply that if thou dost aspire to enter the Realm of Circle, thou must tell me of thy desire and what thou hast done to merit thy ambition. Also, thou must needs meditate upon thy desire to become entwined, and upon thy good works so that lpernia may consider granting thy desire."

  I responded, "The Forests would not grant that I be entwined for I have made my living through theft. Such Grace cannot be bestowed on me. Thou hast been so kind to explain so many things to me of which I have been ignorant that I imagine the one lost to the Realm of Circle must have been likewise kind and patient. Methinks thou dost grieve for the one who hast so unexpectedly departed both thy Realm of Circle and the realm of the living."

  The old Priest turned his face away, "Thou must needs speak for Grace. The Realm of Circle must be made complete again."

  I felt the rustle of Saemunsil in my soul, like a gentle reminder of a covenant to be kept. I gently laid a hand on the old man's arm to comfort him. "I can not speak. Since I can not, I shall spend five days robed and silent in honor of the one who, in death, does listen." The old Priest turned back towards me and gripped my hand.

  "The one who listens now was my grandchild. I have spoken to many Blue Dawn holy folk in this time of ninety-nine. All those to whom I have spoken are eager to put on their robes and speak for Grace. Thou art the first who is willing to wear a silent robe of compassion."

  "It is hard to speak to someone who has suffered so great a loss. Those with whom thou hast spoken, I am sure, lost their ability to speak in the Blue Light of Saemunsil because of the deepness of that light."

  The old Priest looked at me, smiled slightly, pressed a wristband, and melted into the air like a fading mirage. I went back to my room, and looked in the mirror to see if I was intoxicated. My pupils were of normal size. Where had he gone? I would keep my word, but I had to get out of here! This place was too weird.

  I put on my robe and made mentally the formal oath of silence: "All words I hear will be lullabies for my tongue to sleep by, for the length of five days. So mote it be."

  The family that I stayed with kept a small transporter in the hall on a table by the door. This was customary for families who had non-Aridia boarders. I went and got the transporter, returned to my room, set the place selection button for lpernia, closed may eyes, concentrated with all may might on Zollocco, Zollocco, Zollocco, and faded from my mirror's view.

  Second Intermezzo

  Aug. 29, 2015

  Dear Mom,

  I am very gratified to hear that the serum I sent you is helping your poor suffering pine trees. Yes, it is hot here, but I don't want to think about the heat because it just makes me sweat worse to think about it. Guess what? The town voted to change the names of our streets: Nimitz Circle, Halsey Way, and Patton Drive. The idea was the names of generals tend to depress us by serving as a constant reminder of war, greed, and hostility. It is thought to be more useful to remind ourselves of healthier subjects, so the new name of our street is Florence Road after Florence Nightingale. Nimitz Circle is Nightingale Circle. Halsey Way is Theresa Way (after Mother Theresa), and Patton Drive is Coretta Drive (after Coretta King). At our recent neighborhood council meeting, we decided that everyone up and down our street would plant flowers all along the curbs because we like the double meaning of Florence as the woman who started the Red Cross, and of Florence meaning flower. We want Florence Road to be lined with flowers, a true road of flowers.

  Your baby granddaughter becomes more beautiful and wonderful everyday. Little Amanda is really the smartest little kid around, and I don't say that just because I'm her mother. Here she is only t
hree years old, running all around, chatting up a storm, telling her dolls little stories, and drawing pictures! She has an imaginary playmate whom she says teaches her how to talk to flowers and the bunny rabbit. You remember my telling you about how that wild rabbit taught her to walk---it came into the yard each day and hopped up to her. Amanda would stand up on her pudgy little legs to pet it, then the rabbit would hop away one hop and Amanda would squeal with laughter and take tottering steps over to it and fall down. Then the rabbit would hop away another hop and Amanda would climb to her feet again and totter after it laughing and laughing. This happened every day for about a week, and Amanda got very sure of her little steps. The rabbit still comes and lets her pet it even though it is a wild thing and runs off from anybody else.

  But to get back to the subject of the imaginary playmate, I asked Amanda what her imaginary friend's name was, and she answered it wasn't her friend it was her Aunt. This rather upset me because, of course, she doesn't have an aunt, two uncles on Leo's side, but no aunt. I asked what her "Aunt's" name was, and do you know she actually said my sister's name? I guess she over heard us talking about old times and decided she wanted an Aunt. But the story gets a little stranger; I decided to ask Amanda to draw me a picture of her imaginary "Aunt." Well she did, and here is a laser color copy of what she drew. See the long hair with its streaks of dark and light hair? Look at the shape of the head, the dimples, and the color of the eyes. Is that my sister or what? And here's another strange thing--I asked Amanda why her "Aunt" wears this blue cape. Amanda said, "That's not a cape that's her Priestess robe. She's a forest Priestess and that means she is helping our Forests get well." So I asked Amanda, "And how is she helping our forests get well?"

  "Well she is teaching me to talk to the flowers and find out from them when they are starting to get sick. The flowers feel sick before they look sick and they tell me, and that's why I tell you to give the flowers medicine."