History of Earth

  - 1500 B.C.

  Construction of the great pyramids of Egypt is complete. The Xenonites intervene shortly thereafter.

  - 184 A.D.

  The nation of Atakala is founded after the discovery of a set of ancient red bricks by Neb, Zartro, and Jaw.

  - 476 A.D.

  Odoacer the Barbarian is defeated at Oort Pass.

  - 674 A.D.

  The printing press is invented in Tsyanou, Atakala.

  - 684 A.D.

  An old, gray-haired mountain stood tall above the African lowlands, its peak covered in rings of rocks over which a rambling king stumbled.

  “Ice cream, ice cream,” muttered the king, pulling his golden crown tighter around his brow to keep it from falling as he peered over a steep ledge. His other hand reached out to an ashen, conical boulder for support. Seeing nothing below the ledge, he turned to the boulder, which only remotely resembled an overturned ice cream cone.

  “You haven’t seen an ice cream stand, have you?”

  The boulder stood silent, enhancing the effect of the wind whistling past its narrow face.

  “Now, the king told me there was an ice cream stand up here. The other king, that is. There’s two of us.”

  The quirky king raised two skinny fingers up to the boulder, then caught himself and raised a third. “Three, actually. Three descendants of the first kings of Atakala. But Jaw’s son isn’t interested in the throne. He’s a Corporal. Doesn’t care for kinging.”

  The boulder gave an imperceptible nod for the sake of showing interest.

  “Jaw’s line has never cared for the throne, so that leaves two kings, I guess. But what I need right now is an ice cream stand. Didn’t hike all the way through Sped Swamp and up this mountain to converse with a rock. Now, Narnuk said I couldn’t miss it. Maybe it’s behind that shrubbery…”

  The king wandered off, muttering. The erroch went back to sleep.

  * * * * * * * *

  Many miles south, Kiri’s canoe bumped against the verdant island in the center of Lake Yaro. Kiri was a princess of Atakala, though this title she held with little regard, for a princess, she thought, should have power, or at least freedom. She had no power, for her older brother Jarib was certain to inherit the throne, for always three kings there were of Atakala; no more, no less, and always they were men. Nor did she feel free, for her father, King Narnuk, was requiring her to marry a commoner, Tylar Dor-buk. An author. The land was swarming with them, thanks to the recent invention of the printing press. And she had no interest in this one, even if he was so wealthy as to lavish gifts on both her and her father for his cause.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  She glanced sadly at the silver ring on her finger. It's worth could purchase an entire Atakoran marble quarry.

  I'd rather have the quarry, she thought. I'd rather have nothing.

  She felt like one of those distant worksites along the Amono cliffs. Her exterior was smooth but cold and unfeeling. Her heart had been carved out.

  This island in Lake Yaro was one of the few places she could find to escape it all. The world was changing too fast. She felt like she was chasing it, and couldn't keep up.

  The year was 684 A.D. While the kingdoms of Europe staggered into the dark ages, this gem deep within Africa was experiencing a time of unimaginable growth and prosperity, bursting at the seams as the population grew. The massive collection of red bricks nicknamed The Tsetse Files provided the denizens of Atakala with a wealth of information in the sciences. With them, the Atakalans prospered, greatly thankful for the knowledge despite its mysterious source. The stones testified of a time when the nation had once before prospered, acquiring knowledge and riches. And then, suddenly, it had fallen. The author gave no reasons why, but only proffered that the knowledge was being written on stone for future generations. The Old Atakalans apparently foresaw their imminent destruction, and with their last breath copied the entirety of their knowledge to these stones, that perhaps one day the nation may once again flower. And flower it had.

  Pulling her canoe onto the lush shore, Kiri brushed aside a stand of reeds on the edge of the large island and made her way up a short slope. She drew her breath in swiftly. Each time she saw it, she was amazed.

  Before her was a flowing sea of ferns. Great trees stretched their limbs high into the air, locking their branches in unified prayer, but underneath their dusky shelter the ferns grew alone. They formed a solid sea of green blanketing the entire island. There was something ancient about the sight, giving the island a strong sense of age and solemnity. Atakala was growing crowded, but not here.

  Kiri stepped forward through the plants, careful not to break them as she wove a path to one of the trees. Ferns were common in the African rainforests, but only here did they grow in such thickness. Free from wandering travelers and roaming animals, the confined island held the ferns in splendid safety. Kiri loved it. Feeling only somewhat remorseful, she pushed a few flat to the ground, and sat down against a tall tree, relaxing in the serene environment. There was no wind and the air was silent. There was a smell of earthy loam and all her cares and worries seemed distant. She toyed with the idea of staying on the island forever – or at least until Dor-buk counted her dead and married someone else. This thought amused her greatly, but it too fell distant as she sank back against the mighty tree in sleep.

  Two hours later, a soft breeze rustling the ferns woke Kiri. A solitary green leaf floated to the ground, weaving graceful arcs as it fell.

  Kiri wondered why it had chosen that moment to leave the tree. It landed beside her to rest on a large rock amongst the semi-crushed ferns. Kiri picked up the leaf from the square-edged rock and marveled at it. The veins of leaves had always interested her; she wondered at the Creator’s humor in adorning a simple leaf with such an elaborate display of lines and angles like a trigonometry lesson in which you are given one number and asked to find nineteen more. Pulling it across her dark brown fingers, Kiri tried to ascertain whether there could be a pattern in the seemingly random choice of lines. Random, yet with structure. Nature amazed her. She looked back through the dim patch of ferns to where between two stately trees a tiny patch of blue lit the way to her canoe.

  Doubtless they are searching for me, eager for more wedding preparations. How I wish I could fall away unsought like that mild leaf. She pulled herself up from her resting spot and sighed, taking in a deep breath of the damp air. After one last look over the fronds unfurled and spread like sails, she slowly headed back down her small trail. She took care to place each delicate step into the track she'd left on the way in. The green leaf dropped from her hand like a forgotten friend, destined to join its siblings on the forest floor beneath the waving fans.

  Settling into her canoe, she reached for the oars, still wondering at the intricacies of such a plain natural object. It was like an anthill with its conical shape, or a crystal with its geometrical configuration. Somehow, the fruits of mathematics and geometry, those great results of Umanion’s teachings, seemed mocked when found in nature.

  Kiri frowned.

  But not a square rock.

  Her eyes widened in astonishment and forgetting her former care for the ferns, she dashed back to the tree leaving a trough of destruction in her wake.

  King Narnuk was the son of Nabiru, son of Jaineb, son of Bo-Neb (who did not live to see the crown), son of Neburi, son of Ebeni, son of Neb, who with Jaw and Zartro were named first kings of Atakala.