Time Dancers

ancient style the potter called jomon. I turned to Sailor and asked, “Ainu?” Sailor nodded yes. The bowl also had “Sak” etched into the base.

That same night, there was a display in the skies over Kenai like I had never seen before, even in Norway. The northern lights shimmered and danced above us in five, six, seven shades of blue and no other color—only infinite folding curtains of blue, opening and closing all night long across the sky. Sailor and I walked along the shoreline, watching and talking about the Meq. Sailor spoke at length of missing friends and family. He shared memories of Eder, Baju, Unai, Usoa, and also related several adventures he’d had with my own mama and papa, Xamurra and Yaldi. We discussed Nova’s dreams and Sailor showed deep concern for Nova. We talked again about the stone spheres and Sailor asked a few questions about where they’d been found and by whom. At some point, I brought up the Fleur-du-Mal.

“Why does he do it, Sailor?”

“Do what, Zianno?”

“All of it…every despicable act! Murder, torture—name it. Why does he hate so much and so many? What happened to him? And why is he so obsessed with the Sixth Stone? Why doesn’t he believe Susheela the Ninth and just let her go?”

“Firstly, he cannot let anything go. There lies his true problem. Secondly, you have asked two questions, Zianno. It is ironic both questions seem to have the identical answer.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you recall in Norway when Zeru-Meq confronted his nephew?”

“Yes. Zeru-Meq told him he knew why Xanti wanted the Sixth Stone and he ‘saw what he saw.’ I have always wondered what he meant and what it was Zeru-Meq ‘saw.’”

Sailor paused and looked up again at the northern lights. He turned his star sapphire between his thumb and forefinger. “I also wondered these things. Once we left Norway, I confronted him directly and asked him to tell me what he had ‘seen.’ If Zeru-Meq had not been the one to tell me, I never would have believed it. But, alas, Zeru- Meq never lies.”

“What did he see?”

“And Xanti was only twenty-two months old at the time.”

“Sailor, what did Zeru-Meq see?”

“In my opinion, he saw nothing less than the birth of the Fleur-du-Mal!”

I looked at Sailor dumbfounded. “I’m lost. Please…start at the beginning.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, glancing up at the sky once more. Dawn was at least an hour away and the northern lights still danced above us, but we both knew a fog bank would soon be creeping into Cook Inlet and within thirty minutes everything would be obscured. “I suggest we return to the hotel room,” Sailor said. “I shall relate exactly what Zeru-Meq witnessed and then you divine its meaning. I tell you, Zianno, this incident explains everything.”

An hour later, Sailor had finished talking. He was sitting in the one chair the room had to offer and I sat on the edge of my bed. Like Sailor when he had heard the story, I could barely believe it. It sounded impossible, especially for a twenty-two-month-old Xanti Otso. The incident had occurred 2,128 years ago in Sabratha, Xanti’s birthplace. His father’s name was Matai and he was on the run from the invading Romans. Matai was Meq, but he had also been a known assassin for Hannibal and other Carthaginian generals. Hilargi, Xanti’s mother and Zeru- Meq’s sister, had asked to leave Sabratha and escape to Spain as soon as possible. Zeru-Meq was to assist them down the coast to a small village where he had arranged a clandestine crossing to Spain with a Basque fisherman. Hoping to surprise his sister, he arrived in Sabratha a day earlier than expected. As he approached the small house, he heard a woman screaming. It was Hilargi. Zeru-Meq rushed inside to see Matai standing over Hilargi, who was on the floor, bleeding and dying with a knife plunged deep in her throat. Rose stems and rose petals were scattered around her. Matai’s face and hands were covered with scratches. Xanti sat on the floor ten feet away. In his hands, he held two wooden toy blocks Zeru-Meq had made for him. He was staring without emotion at Matai. In the next instant, a kitchen knife came flying through the air and plunged into Matai’s throat. He fell to his knees, then looked once at Xanti and collapsed on top of Hilargi, rolling over and gagging. He died within seconds. Zeru-Meq glanced down at his nephew, but Xanti said nothing and did nothing. He simply stared at Matai. No one had thrown the knife. Zeru-Meq is confident there is only one explanation—Xanti did it with his mind. For what reason, he never found out. The boy never said a word then and he has never used telekinesis again, but Zeru-Meq thinks Xanti has been driven ever since by an insatiable desire to regain this ability and power. Zeru-Meq says Xanti believes the Sixth Stone will give it to him.

“Do you not see the pattern, Zianno?” Sailor asked. “The Fleur-du-Mal seeks dominion over everything and everyone. He has developed acute abilities and skills which no other Egipurdiko Meq has ever possessed, before or since. He flaunts all things Meq simply because he can, as well as curses and spells, such as the one in Mali—the ‘Lie’ and the ‘Prophesy.’ However, all this aberrant and perverse ambition is driven by his true desire and obsession for the one ‘ability’ he craves more than all others—telekinesis. It is because he has lost this ‘ability’ and cannot regain it that his madness was born, thus the Fleur-du-Mal.”

I let a moment or two pass and thought about what Zeru-Meq had seen and Sailor’s theory about what it meant. I wasn’t sure if the theory was the correct one or not. There were so many contradictory facts concerning the Fleur-du-Mal. Sailor’s theory seemed too simple and predictable for Xanti Otso. I’d looked in his green eyes many times and each time there were more heads than one on the beast inside.

“Did you know Matai Otso, Sailor?”

“No, I did not. He had an unsavory reputation to say the least, yet he was never said to be unstable or particularly vicious. He was merely known as a reliable and efficient killer.”

“Did you know Hilargi?”

“Yes, I knew her well. She and Zeru-Meq had a bond as close as twins although she was five years his junior. Hilargi had a pure heart, a warm smile, and a quick wit. I shall never understand why she crossed in the Zeharkatu, nor shall Zeru-Meq.” Sailor paused and sat forward in his chair. “Zianno, regardless of the Fleur-du-Mal’s motives, we must free Susheela the Ninth. This is imperative!” Sailor’s “ghost eye” cleared instantly.

I hadn’t heard him mention Susheela the Ninth in some time. “Have you heard…the voice recently? In your dreams?”

“Do you mean Deza or Susheela the Ninth?” Sailor asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Either…both.”

Sailor remained silent for a full ten seconds. “No,” he said finally.

Sailor and I left Kenai for Anchorage soon after, where we lived through the winter and spring, the “long season” I called it because of the many short days and long, dark nights. In Anchorage, I was able to contact St. Louis. I was surprised but pleased to hear Carolina’s voice. She had returned to St. Louis earlier in the year when Jack told her he would be away from St. Louis for an extended length of time. I asked if she knew where he was going. Carolina said Jack told her he was “on assignment.” “For whom, the Post- Dispatch?” I asked. “He never said,” Carolina answered. She also mentioned she had been in touch with Star, Willie, and Caine in Cornwall, and Mitch in Paris. They all feared war was inevitable in Europe. Caine was in his second year at Cambridge and Carolina was worried. I asked if she’d heard anything from one of us. “Not a word,” she said, then added, “Z, are you all right?” I assured her I was fine and so was Sailor and I promised to write a long letter. It would be over two years before I did, and under much different circumstances.

During that spring in Anchorage, Sailor found and befriended a local taxidermist who had met with Tomizo Hiramura the previous year concerning various methods of mounting large birds of prey, such as hawks and eagles. This was puzzling information, but it was our first lead in months. The taxidermist believed Tomizo had relocated to the interior, possibly to Fairbanks.

After paying too much for a bush pilot and a flight to Fairbanks, our frustrations only began to multiply. Not one person we spoke with had ever heard of Tomizo, and life for two boys traveling alone became more difficult daily. It was much harder to remain anonymous in Fairbanks. We left two months later with nothing but a piece of advice, which Sailor construed to be a good clue—the best place to watch eagles. An old man in Fairbanks had told him to go to Homer where the eagles were “thick as crows.” We reached the little town of Homer at the far end of the Kenai Peninsula in six days, one day after war had been declared in Europe.