Journey to Water's Heart

by Lea Ben Shlomo

  Dedicated to my grandchildren,

  Ben, Shani, Eden, Shai, Eviatar and Avigail

  - loving them is an absolute pleasure

  and their love is the sweet taste of life.

  Journey to Water’s Heart / Lea Ben Shlomo

  All rights reserved; No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author.

  Copyright © 2017 Lea Ben Shlomo

  Contact: leabash@gmail.com

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Part One The White Queen

  Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22

  Part Two The Blue King

  Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Chapter 27; Chapter 28; Chapter 29; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32; Chapter 33; Chapter 34; Chapter 35; Chapter 36; Chapter 37; Chapter 38; Chapter 39; Chapter 40

  Part Three The Heart of the Water

  Chapter 41; Chapter 42; Chapter 43; Chapter 44; Chapter 45

  Part Four Choice

  Chapter 46; Chapter 47; Chapter 48; Chapter 49; Chapter 50; Chapter 51

  Epilogue and the Beginning

  Acknowledgments

  I am deeply grateful to my daughter, Yaara, who accompanied me with love, passion and a clear head during the writing of this book. Her comments and advice enable me to raise the bar and write on a level I hadn’t achieved before.

  I thank Rotem, who attentively read each word and allowed me access to her expressive lips.

  To my daughter, Hagit with her big heart, always ready offering a good word.

  A special thanks to Jonathan, my son, wise and sensitive, for his help translating the poems.

  Thanks to everyone involved in the process of translating the English edition and its publication.

  Thank you readers – who transform writing into a dream come true.

  Prologue

  The trees in the ancient forest of Nadam stood straight and separate. Their white canopies drooped, and they were surrounded by sparse, pale vegetation. From afar, they looked like a group of sad, withdrawn old men, mourning lost periods of life that had sunk into oblivion. One tree stood there, more ancient than all the rest. Its trunk was extremely wide, its roots thick and exposed and twisted, the damages of time obvious. Its branches had been devastated by lightning; ants, worms, and ravenous beetles ate its trunk from within, so much so that a person could get sucked into it without being seen from outside.

  He sat , his back hunched, his long hair and beard as white as milk, merging with his pure perfection, listening to the song of the forest—diligent birds and their brief, cautious chirping, the rustle of insects in the grass, the foliage brushing against the branches. He listened to the sound of leaves folding, falling, and uniting with their withered brothers on the ground, nurturing the roots of the trees, devouring their blessed moisture and decay.

  The wounded tree trunk groaned. Or maybe it was him, feeling his bones lengthen and press on his nerves, causing unbearable pain. His curved nails dug into his thigh, scratching until he bled. The pain had reached its peak, and now had stopped. Then came a great relief.

  Halohalamana. This world would pay for its terrible deeds. Revenge would be terrible on those who had locked him in a basement so he would rot there, forgotten. They didn’t know that walls couldn’t stop him. Nor could the depth of the pit, nor the gates, nor the guards, who obeyed him without understanding the force motivating them to do so. They feared him. His power grew and was even stronger than it had been during his glory days. Fury and the fire of revenge had increased his abilities. He plotted and planned. In the shadows of the basement and tunnels, he came and went as he pleased, preserving the secret of life and wondering if he would really live forever. The queen was dead. So was the king. Yet he was still here, his limbs growing and lengthening. His heart continued to pound powerfully, like that of a young man. Could his spirit endure the weight of the years?

  The guards, under his authority, gave him everything he lacked and conveyed his orders to those loyal to him. At his instruction, they’d dug the long tunnel ending in the depths of the trunk of the old tree. None of them survived in order to discover his escape route.

  Hamalahola. He knew how to proceed cautiously.

  He emerged from the tree trunk’s charred entrance, straightening and breathing in the cold air. In his hand, he held a tiny alabaster vial, which contained the elixir of life. In it, darkness and infinity. He feared its contents. He craved it. He was at its mercy. Yes. Among the basement walls, he could come and go as he pleased, and order the guards to bring to him anything he desired. Here, in the forest, he was like one of these trees, locked deep in his desire and his absolute loneliness.

  Part One

  The White Queen

  Chapter 1

  Topaz

  The narrow goat trail twisted up the mountain, among boulders and abundant foliage. The clear mountain air smelled like mint and sage. Tanti Marin picked the herbs that he’d come across: rosemary, fresh wild mustard leaves, the inflorescence of fennel seeds, hyssop, and lavender. He placed them all in his rucksack. His mother would be pleased to season her cooking with them. He could already smell the rich aroma rising from the pot, as well as her renowned bread. From where he stood, he could see the valley and the gully below. Straight ahead were the mountaintops, towering side by side like pointy hats, their heads in the sky. Just then, he wanted more than anything to return home. He’d had enough of the silence and majesty of the high peaks. However, he knew his father wouldn’t give up on his search for the deposit of the precious stones. Especially now, after discovering signs indicating it was close by, chances were slim that his father would announce their return home. Tanti had had enough of his father and two brothers’ thorough investigation of the ground and boulders. He craved following his senses, which he believed would bring him more quickly to the desired discovery.

  Below, around the turn, he could occasionally hear their voices. He’d distanced himself from them and climbed higher, to the mountaintop, wishing to soothe the restlessness that had plagued him and gripped his heart, squeezing, making breathing difficult.

  He raised his eyes. The quaint sight of caves and the hyraxes peeking out of them against the background of the blue sky was mildly soothing, but it wasn’t enough to ease the pain in his legs, weary from walking and climbing up the mountain. His heels screamed with every step he took. He continued walking in spite of the pain, making his way among prickly shrubs, sensing that the direction he took was leading him to the right place.

  In the end, succumbing to exhaustion, he sat on a wide, flat rock. Tulips rose around him. His mother would’ve been pleased had he brought her a bouquet of these majestic flowers, their orange-red crowns rising proudly. Nevertheless, he stopped himself from picking them, aware that his brothers would mock him if they saw the flowers in his hand. “Mama’s sweet little boy,” they’d say. “Maybe you’d like us to braid your hair?” No, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. As it was, they jumped on every opportunity to laugh at him and tease him about his rashness, innocence, imagination, short stature, and more. As much as he tried, he couldn’t avoid their mockery. His brothers, older than him, tall and proud, and liked by their friends, were successful. They always se
emed so sure of themselves and smug. Next to them, he felt like someone stumbling down a long corridor, constantly bumping into jagged, sharp stones, hiding and waiting to trip him.

  This time, he would find the precious stone. He’d find it his way. He had to burst through the strait.

  Tanti raised his eyes. The mountain loomed like a vertical wall. Close to its peak, the entrance of a cave was visible. The voices pounding at his stomach grew louder as he stared at the gaping entrance. It’s there; it’s there. The words buzzed in his head. His father had taught him to listen to those voices. If only the mountain weren’t so craggy and steep, he’d start climbing immediately, with no hesitation.

  “Am I a lizard that I have to climb up the escarpment?” he said. “Who says that I’m the one who has to find the stone and risk myself with such a dangerous hike?” The cluster of tulips to which he addressed his complaint responded with a detached silence. The hyraxes rubbed their paws together and watched him from a safe distance.

  He pulled down the hem of his tunic and straightened his back. The look in his eyes, slightly sunken in their sockets, seemed to be emerging from distant chasms. A few freckles meandered from his nose to his cheeks, giving him an excited and curious appearance. His short stature caused him grief, just like those freckles, which emerged and grew more prominent after extended exposure to the sun. He wanted to be tall and handsome and tan, like his brothers. Even here, in the mountains, wearing hiking attire, Tanti took care of his appearance. The wide sleeves of his shirts were folded sharply at the cuffs. His sleeveless jacket was tight around his waist. He removed his hat in order to refresh himself, running his hand over his dirty-blond hair, with its golden fringes at his temples and forehead. Here, in the mountains, by himself, he could stand tall and feel the wind on his neck. He could enjoy the strength of his developing body and imagine himself tall and growing.

  Muffled sounds of conversation reached his ears. He thought it was time to return to his father and brothers. They’d find the place themselves. They were, after all, experts in locating minerals. Let them climb. If he told them about this place, Blaind and Sinbar would probably mock him and dismiss him. If he didn’t, he was shirking his responsibilities and violating his father’s trust.

  The pressure in his stomach grew. His inability to decide paralyzed him. He felt a shortness of breath, and his chest felt as though it were gripped in a vice.

  “Stupid tulips!” He suddenly yelled, and slammed his hand down on the corollas. The cluster of flowers bent. One flower was torn off, and several stems were permanently broken.

  Tanti bent down to pick up the decapitated tulip corolla. He tried to straighten the stems. “I’m sorry.” He turned away from the sight of the wretched flowers and sat motionlessly, closing his eyes and trying to soothe his soul. He felt the heat of the sun on his eyelids. A strong red-orange light permeated his eyelids, flooding his face, flowing, and filling his limbs. “I really am sorry,” he said again.

  The red color engulfing him deepened and darkened until it became black. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Once, then twice, whispering and rocking slightly. Finally, he sank into the darkness, and time disappeared.

  He didn’t know when he had started climbing. At a certain point, he found himself gripping the rocks and dragging himself up, as though he were a lizard. His palms bled. His knees ached where he hit them and from his body’s weight. The rock he had sat on before seemed far below him. If his hands slipped, if his foot didn’t correctly grip the stone ledge, he would tumble down, crashing on the rocks. No one would be there to save him.

  He shook off those thoughts and continued climbing. Another little effort. He raised his body, pulling himself up by the muscles of his arms, and dropped onto the moist cave floor. Above him, he heard the rustling wings of fleeing bats. A heavy smell of mildew filled the place. He crawled forward a bit, exploring. When his eyes grew used to the darkness, he noticed lumps of rough, purplish stones, scattered in the narrow, deep end, a place his body couldn’t pass through and reach. Tanti crawled in a bit more and reached out. The tips of his stretched fingers fumbled and searched until they touched one of the stones. When he tried to grip it, the stone seemed to evade his fingers and slide further inside. He cursed and continued fumbling. The tip of his finger touched another stone, maybe even bigger. Tanti was excited. He’d get it, no matter what! His shoulder was blocked by the narrow entrance. He tried to stretch his hand. He sank his nails into the jagged stone, rolled it gently, careful not to press too hard so that the roundish stone wouldn’t slip away from him. Bit by bit, he drew the stone closer, until he could scoop it up in his hand.

  “I found you, beautiful,” he whispered and hugged the stone to his stomach. There was no need to crack it in order to see that it contained perfect light and purity, both delicate and powerful. He lingered, sitting on the ledge of the tiny cave, holding the precious stone in both hands. He wanted to savor the experience for one more moment, the joy of victory, before taking the marking flag of his rucksack and rope on which he would slide down.

  Chapter 2

  Bandits

  The mountains of Izmeran stood tall on both sides of the canyon, their peaks hidden among the heavy clouds. Sharp cliffs, sharpened by fiery winds, threw long, dark shadows, which looked like twisted animals.

  Tarkian and his two sons continued climbing up the path, ignoring the green vista, the whistling wind that threatened to blow them into the abyss, and the steepness of the path. They were used to harsh terrain conditions. Yet now, when they reached the flat ledge and stopped for a minute to take a breath, they felt the extreme weariness accumulated after several days of never-ending effort. They reached the large triangle of boulders and sat protected from the sun and wind under the shade of the Shernan tree, whose exposed roots bravely gripped the rocky terrain. Tarkian spread out the map he’d been holding and surveyed their location.

  Blaind, sturdy and light-haired, poured water into his hand and washed his face. “We’ve been wandering around this area for the last three days, and there’s no sign of the sapphire mineral deposit,” he said. “Isn’t it about time we give up and turn back?”

  “I say we turn east,” said Sinbar, his older brother. “Sapphire and ruby have been found near the ravine in the past.”

  Their father, Tarkian, continued perusing the map. “The minerals there are poor,” he said, “and don’t justify mining. In my opinion, we’re in a very rich, yet difficult to locate, area. The deposits here are hidden deep in the ground. Search for a cave entrance or the flowing of a spring. That may lead us to a new discovery.”

  Blaind ran his fingers through his golden mane. “We’ve searched here and there and haven’t found a thing,” he said angrily.

  “Patience, boys. I feel it is close. Please, let me think.” Tarkian shoved his boys aside. “Move. Please. I need some space.”

  “But Father…”

  “Wait. I’m entering Attunity. In the meantime, go look for your brother. He’s been missing for a long time.”

  Sinbar and Blaind respected their father’s wishes and bowed to his authority. Yet when he’d settled down, his legs folded, pressing finger to thumb and closing his eyes, they believed he was wasting his time with old-fashioned customs.

  Blaind pulled his brother by his arm and complained. “The Attunity again. It’ll take him hours. It’s the middle of the day, and we haven’t found even a sign of the mineral.”

  “Calm down, brother,” Sinbar said. “Our father is still the number one mine expert in Izmeran. Trust him. If we’ve come this far, it means that we’re close. If we return home now, it means we’ll have to start all over again. In the meantime, until he finishes his meditation, let’s go look for Tanti.”

  “Wait, Sinbar,” Blaind said. “Please listen to me. Times have changed. Nowadays, time is of the essence. With agriculture on its last legs, and all of Izmeran dependent on
the economy of precious minerals, we must rely on our knowledge of the land. Read the signs without missing a thing. Father is Attuned, and we’ve been following him for three days without results.”

  He picked up a stone and poured on it liquid from a vial he took out of his pocket. “Look, there’s no substance in it indicating minerals in the area. We’re exhausted and frazzled, all because of the intuitions and currents Father imagines he feels. ‘Listen to the stones; they speak,’ he says. Sinbar, I’ve been walking these mountains for my entire life, and I’ve never heard these stones talk.” He threw his hand out in agitation.

  “Honor our father, brother. Even if you don’t understand him. You’ve learned from him everything you know.” Sinbar turned to an ascending path leading to where he assumed his youngest brother had gone. Blaind, still refusing to calm down, followed him.

  “The old knowledge belongs to the past,” he said. “We need to move forward and develop new methods, based on the research of the structure of the ancient stone. It’s time to—”

  He was cut off by an avalanche of rolling stones. Their father jerked awake abruptly, and the three of them pressed against the wall of the mountain in an attempt to find shelter.

  “Hey, Father, Sinbar, Blaind. Look! Look!” Their youngest brother slid down after the avalanche of stones, stumbled, and then regained his footing. He was excited.

  “Tanti, are you crazy?” Blaind shouted, emerging from the shelter of the rock. “You almost killed us with those stones. Where did you disappear to?”

  “I found it! I found it!” Tanti said.

  “What did you find?”