This one is from a family holiday to Orkney, ages ago. Okay, perhaps not really ages. Skara Brae is a must see if you find yourself on Orkney (or Earth for that matter.) The path leading you up to the site has a timeline running along side it, which truly puts into perspective what ancient truly means. The place makes the Romans seem like young upstarts and the Great Pyramids like new trendy architecture.
Our visit there was crowned by watching seals playing in the surf at the beach below the settlement.
I pressed my back against the stone wall and relaxed as the sun-warmed heat bled into my sea-chilled body. Behind me the water hissed gently as the tide climbed up the beach. I allowed myself a moment to bask in the glory of it all. But only a moment. This visit wasn’t for my enjoyment, although each trip was always a pleasure.
I understand that other people have favourite places in the world that are not this one. ~A strange concept and one I don’t think I can fully wrap my head around. Truly, I’m glad of it though, or evenings like this one would be few and far between.
I turned and wriggled a loose rock free from the wall beside me. Behind it were my treasures. I gently drew out the first book and lifted it to my face. I sat still, again granting myself another precious moment. Time not wasted but spent. The dry, dusty scent of the pages tickled my nose. An alien experience where I come from.
I held the book on my lap and slowly allowed the pages to fall open to the place where I’d finished reading the night before. I’ve read of things called ‘bookmarks’, a concept so outlandish that I’d not believed at first. Imagine taking so little care over something as wonderful as reading that you wouldn’t have memorised exactly where you’d left off. But then, I suppose for some reading is commonplace.
I checked the sky. The sun was already well into the soft arc that would kiss the horizon before it climbed again to usher in a new day. I turned back to my book. I had only a few hours left to study all that I could before morning would bring another horde of tourists. It would also bring a smaller group of, more considerate but just as intrusive, archaeologists. Plenty of time, but none to waste.
In some ways it was the archaeologists that brought me here in the first place. They meant well but were utterly wrong. Dangerously so. While I admire their efforts to discover a truth, their headlong rush risked uncovering something that should be left buried. This was at the core of my mission. They needed to learn the truth. About my people, who used to inhabit this place so very long ago. More than that, they need to know why we left, what they will awaken with their questions and their digging.
My job was to teach them these truths. Ultimately to prevent our enemy rising once more. To do that I would first need to learn about them. I had to integrate into their society. Become respected in their own terms. I had a great deal still to learn.
So I read. That night, as many before, I read all I could. Archaeology, history, politics, everything really. You mustn’t underestimate the importance of fiction in my cause. Other topics could tell me about society. Only fiction could teach me people.
When I next looked up I was surprised by how much time had passed. The sun had already dipped its toes beneath the horizon before changing its mind and returning to the sky. During summers this far north it never fully set. A new day was upon me.
The sounds of people pacing steadily along the path drifted over the grass to my ears. I replaced my books as quickly as I could and wedged the stone in place. Inspecting my work, there was no obvious sign of disturbance. I grabbed my seal-skin and ran for the sea. For home.
Brandon Lim 