The spectacle of the sunset at Mandeley remains a vivid memory. Even now, with my eyes closed, the fragrance of the green fields wafts to me, warmed under the setting sun. At day's end, from our rooftops, I would watch a human tide flowing back from the fields surrounding our honeycomb settlement. Teenagers, adults, and the matured - all weary from labor but content, returning home.
Mandeley was a melting pot. We welcomed anyone willing to join - from distant places and nearby lands alike. What you were or where you came from didn't matter; the moment you chose Mandeley, you became a Mandeleyan. To outsiders, the concept might seem peculiar. To us, it was our reality, a vital part of our identity.
Contrary to what one might expect, field workers didn't return home with the air of the defeated. We didn't fight against nature or try to control it. We worked with it, understanding that we were part of it, as transient and ever-changing as the seasons. As a result, joy and laughter seasoned our air, superseding the gruelling labor.
From the roofs, the hunter-gatherers awaited the field workers. Their work often ended around mid-afternoon, after which they returned with the spoils of the day, perhaps a wild animal, luscious berries, or a variety of fruits, roots, and herbs. Our mature ones, wise in their years, utilised these to remedy various ailments.
As the farmers drew closer to Mandeley, they would set their tools down at the entrance, freeing their hands for the climb up the stairs that led to the rooftops - our streets. Conversations sparked easily among the Mandeleyans; tales of close shaves with wild bulls, or amusing incidents during daily chores, exchanged with easy laughter. From roof to roof they moved, until they reached their house and descended into its comforting interior.
Outwardly, Mandeley may not have impressed many. It was a humble agglomeration of reddish mud houses, blending seamlessly into the plains as if it were a natural feature alongside the river, the fields, and the tall trees to the west. Yet to every Mandeleyan, these were the most beautiful homes they had ever seen. Each was a fortress, protecting us from the elements, a welcome upgrade from the tents that offered little more than an illusion of shelter.
Athya, my sister, remembered those days in the tent all too vividly. The icy cold that would sneak into the thin fabric and take residence in her bones still haunted her. Shivering at the memory, she muttered to herself as she descended the stairs to our family home, "No, I wouldn’t do that again."
"What wouldn’t you do again?" Ma’s joyful voice echoed from within the house.
"Live in a tent!" Athya retorted.
"In a tent, hmm... how can you repeat something you’ve never done before?" Ma questioned.
"I have slept in a tent. I remember it..."
"You dreamt about it because, as far as I can recall, we never lived in one."
While the exteriors of the Mandeleyan homes were nearly identical, the interiors were a tapestry of individual expression. Red ochre art adorned the mud walls, each stroke depicting the simplicity of our daily life - the farming, the hunting, the gathering. These artistic endeavours transformed the seemingly dull exterior into a vibrant sanctuary filled with warmth, comfort, and joy.
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Just as the cool evening was setting in, Athya's voice echoed from the heart of our house. "Ori, can you please come down and start the fire in the oven? It's going to be a cold night and we still need to cook dinner."
"I'm coming," I sighed, brushing off my friend Elitié to avoid causing any drama. Upon entering the house, I found Ma and Athya busy preparing the vegetables brought from the field that day. Their conversation, their laughter filled our house with a comforting melody.
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"Ah, always the dreamer," Athya would often say, teasingly imitating my voice. "Don't let your dreams cause you to forget your chores again, or you'll be spending the next month cleaning after the goats and sheep." Her threat was enough to send shivers down my spine, as an unfortunate encounter with a particularly aggressive goat at age seven had instilled in me a deep-seated fear of these animals. This led to an eruption of laughter from Ma and Athya, their joy momentarily eclipsing the constant strain of our loss.
"Has anyone seen Jahkot?" Ma inquired suddenly, as if just realising his absence.
"He's with the mathematician, you know how he is. Loses track of time," I replied, starting the oven fire. "They converse in a language all their own, this language of numbers. The mathematician says it's the language of the multiverse, the language of Light."
"The mathematician needs a bath more than he needs multiverses, I reckon!" Athya chimed in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Our brother seems to have lost his sense of smell, associating with him."
Our shared laughter echoed through the house, lightening our hearts. The mathematician's lack of interest in personal hygiene was a well-known fact amongst the residents of Mandeley. pastedGraphic.png
That night, under the glow of the full moon, Jahkot journeyed home from the distant end of the settlement. Mandeley, perched atop two mounds, seemed to be bathed in a silvery glow, with the river that ran through it shinning like the most beautiful crystal, as if proudly announcing its presence. Yet the formidable mountains surrounding it provided natural protection, shielding it from the outside world. Beyond these mountains, was a great desert, and beyond it were the grand cities, and the grandest of them all was Bracarea Dag, the empire's center.
Memories of our father's stories about the capital city filled Jahkot's mind as he neared home. Da had been a loyal soldier of King Ismaelyrys the Fortunate, winning the Grabrichy and Sackoy battles that led to the king becoming an emperor. But a severe injury forced Da to leave his soldier life behind, settling in Mandeley as a forager.
Seeing our home, the last house of Mandeley, at the edge of the eastern settlement under the silver sheen of the moon reminded Jahkot of its relative isolation. The nearest city, he had learned that day, was eight days away, beyond the first of treacherous mountains that encircled the Konykua plain.
As Jahkot neared the entrance to our house, he saw Ma waiting with a soft lantern light dancing around her, highlighting her long dark curls waiving with the wind. The mathematician once said she was "the perfect example of symmetry, the golden ratio in full display." Jahkot, taken aback by the thought, smiled.
"Apologies, Ma," Jahkot began, as he stepped into the light. "Today's lessons on mapping and calculating distances held my attention longer than usual." Ma just smiled, wrapping him in her warm shawl and leading him indoors. "Well, we've got hot bye waiting for us. You can tell me all about these distances and maps.”, Ma replied with a smile he knew well and that only mothers make to their children.
Jahkot smiled, thinking about how Ma, a peasant woman from Mandeley who had never left the Konykua plain, was open to learn about the world beyond her reach. It was one of the things he admired about her: her boundless curiosity, despite her limited exposure to the outside world.
It was already very late when Jahkot decided to return home. The mathematician lived in the other end of the settlement, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else on the rooftops that winter evening.
As Jahkot relayed his learnings, I could hear his voice echoing throughout our house. It was a comforting sound, reminding me that we were all home, safe and together. Losing our Da had shattered our tranquility, and I longed for that stillness again.