Atlantis

This is part of my first real story called "Atlantis". It is just the opening 'chapter' or what have you. I started this piece when I was twelve and what you are reading is the most recent [recent being two years ago] edit of what I wrote back then. It is much the same, I just changed grammar and the order of some things to pull it to a higher standard than that of my twelve year old self! Enjoy!
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It was early afternoon. I could tell by the fact that from where I was standing, the sun was just left of the second tower. I didn’t have any kind of sun dial near me, but managed to use the towers at the front gates as my little trick to telling time. While the rest of the students my age were smart in most ways, including languages, math, sciences, and whatever else they felt like teaching us throughout our young lives, I was still the street smart kid who knew tricks to keeping things in perspective, without freaking out over specifics. I still wasn’t considered to be ‘smart’, at least not as smart as my brother, Andrew. He’s a few years older than I am and has always been seen as a brilliant mind with unlimited potential. At the moment, he is an apprentice to one of our city’s philosophers, Cimotis. Being an apprentice to a philosopher is the highest state of honor a young person can be granted around here.

Andrew was the apple of my parents’ eye, at least that’s what everyone else said. He was the perfect son in every way. I always felt like he and I were competing. What we were competing for, who knew. Our parents’ attention? The approval of the rest of the city? Both? When you really took a moment to think about it, neither could be possible. My parents never judged us or saw either one as inferior to the other; one thing I love about them.

The Square was buzzing with conversations by the time I got there. There were plenty of early birds who woke before dawn to be the first to try and snag a deal from the foreign merchants, many staying well into the afternoon before returning to their homes with their bags full of newly discovered treasures. There were merchants from all along the Atlantic coasts, some having traveled many months to reach our own continent. The things they brought with them from their own nations were fantastical. They had items of various colors, sizes, textures…all unique in some way but all the same in that they were usually amazing and worth taking a peak at.

The cart that caught my eye a few days before was one from a man whom had traveled many months to get here, having stopped at various posts on the eastern coast before making his way to the western coasts and eventually into Gentue. He was from a land called China. The name itself was beautiful and from the things I saw in his cart, not to mention his own physical appearance, I longed to learn more. He was of darker skin and charcoal hair with thin eyes that squinted in the sun. He had high cheeks bones and a slender build. He looked very serious, though when you came closer you could hear his cheery laughter as he spoke with customers and other merchants nearby.

Coming up to the cart for the first time, I wasn’t sure what all to expect. The things I had vaguely seen from a distance were stupendous and gleaming. When I came closer, I realized my eyes had deceived me; I had greatly understated the items’ beauty. The one item that caught my eye more than the others was that of a small doll made of glass. Further investigation on the matter taught me that the glass was called ‘porcelain’. The doll was pure white with bright features and colorful clothes made of smooth, shiny cloth with patterns so simple yet so divine, I couldn’t help but long for a larger piece to perhaps fix a similar dress for myself. If you’d have seen the fabric, you would have been caught in a selfish desire as well.
One doll in particular drew me in like a fish on a line. Its eyes were a vibrant blue and seeming to sparkle as the sun hit the painted glass. Her lips were pale and natural, one of the few who’s makeup wasn’t over done in a dramatic style –though I do admit that dramatization of colors was fascinating- which appealed to me for whatever reason. The hair made of thin yawn was a soft brown, much like that of my mother’s. Ah, that was why I loved this doll so! The eyes, the hair, the facts of simplicity still causing a shocking discovery of beauty; I might as well have named the doll Marina straight away. There was no doubt that it reminded me very much so of my mother, whom I have always adored. While I had originally loved the dolls for reasons any young girl would –beauty, color, perhaps the excitement of being from such an exotic and distant land- I came to realize that it was my mother that inspired me to love it. At this point, I couldn’t possibly walk away without purchasing it.

Purchase. Purchasing involved money, which I had very little of. My hopes suddenly failed, my fear of the price being far too much for me to afford and still keep a few spare coins in my pocket startled me to a point where I nearly cried, even before finding out what I would need to pay for such a doll! After realizing my foolishness I managed to pull myself together and grasp at what little nerve I suddenly had and walk up to the foreign man with the fascinating eyes and at least get the pain of asking over with.

Let me just say, this was not an easy task. With my bag tied around my waist, holding the coins that could be my saving grace or traitorous ex-ally, I managed to get a few words out, hardly audible. “How much for this doll?” I chirped. More like croaked. My voice nearly cracked, my shyness around strangers coming into effect, a strange quality in an outgoing soul such as myself.

“Three silvers,” replied the merchant in a tone much softer than anticipated. I worried he sensed my slight panic and awkwardness. If this was the case, I was grateful he at least felt complied to be respectful. I pulled the bag from my hip, crossing my fingers I would have enough without spending everything I had.

I pulled out two silver coins, known to my people as ‘jinkoz’. To foreigners, the term was not usually well known. All the nations used around the same form of currency, so the color or metal of which the coins were made of was usually what one used to communicate the appropriate price.

To my relief and thrill, the man cast me a kind smile and plucked the jinkoz from my palm, shaking his head and spare hand as to indicate that the rest of the coins were not needed. He pocketed the money and went back to work without a word. I nearly leapt for joy at the moment, carefully dropping the rest of the change into the sack and tying it around my waist once more. With the doll safely in my hands, feeling cool to my skin, I began walking towards the path that led down towards my own house.

I turned to look at The Square again, various noises catching my attention. The Square was beautiful during the spring. The Square itself was a large, circular area near the front of the village. Large stones with pieces of sparkling glass carefully and smoothly set into them lined the perimeter as well as a three foot wall that was more often used as a form of a bench. The main gates, including the two towers I mentioned before, were just off of The Square over the road that led one into Gentue before it turned at a sharp angle into The Square. Surrounding The Square on the opposite side of the short wall were the main five facilities in Gentue. The infirmary was the first building on one’s right once inside The Square. Gentue was always proud to announce how its infirmary was one of the top on the western coast and known for the doctors and herbologists whom have created numerous remedies and cures for various ailments that have stricken the nations.

The school was the next building; a large, two floored facility that was perfect for all the children in every age group. The younger kids remained on the first floor while the older ones got to climb the stairs each day to the second floor. When I was little, I use to imagine how cool the second floor must be, all the amazing and interesting things I could possibly find there. The mystery of not knowing, and the ever growing curiosity, made me wish I was old enough to go up there for my own classes. However, when I reached the age at which I was permitted to use the second floor, I came to realize it was more boring than the first. No bright colors or fun chairs, just books and scrolls everywhere. I was disappointed to say the least. But I came to appreciate it, even if I wish I would have enjoyed the perks of being younger while I had the chance. I sometimes feel cheated, as do many of my peers, seeing as they have recently installed a play area behind the school in a small clearing just before the woods begin, fenced off to keep the young ones from wandering. There were boxes full of sand and swings and slides. If I had had those things as a little girl, I probably would have enjoyed myself a bit more.

The first building on the left of The Square entrance is the storage building, a large, boring place that is used by the village to store food, supplies, weapons, and whatever else you could think of to store. It’s not very interesting inside –though of course I wouldn’t know…- and even duller to look out. The building next to it is much more entertaining: the Housing Center. Here, all the merchants who are currently stationed in Gentue, like the exotic man from China, stay in this center. All students are required to put in so many volunteer hours a week, something about building responsibility and character. Many of my hours have been at the Housing Center. It’s actually very nice with a few basic, large rooms on two floors. There is a main room where food is served and chairs and tables are provided so the merchants can relax and perhaps converse if they wish to. The entire upstairs is a room filled with beds for the merchants and wardrobes beside each bed for him to store his personal belonging. There was talk a few years before about adding a smaller room behind the building for women merchants, but the idea is unheard of and was quickly dismissed by the all-male council. The large back room is where the merchants keep their carts during the night. A large door on the side of the building allows them to bring their carts in and lock them up away from the public. While many merchants have complained about the possibility that another merchant could come in and steal some of their goods, that particular situation has never occurred in Gentue and is laughable among my people. My father is a merchant and his comment on the subject was to point out that merchants are working class and what helps to keep their nation or their village’s economy up and steady. There is too much honor and pride among the men whom are allowed to sell in Gentue for such crimes to ever occur. There are a few scattered nations throughout the Atlantic Islands, such as Belligan and Atlantis, that would commit such an offense if given the chance, but our council and elders are wise enough to not allow their kind to trade here.

The last building is positioned directly across The Square from the main entrance. It is extravagant with beautiful architecture and beams. Our Chief Elder, Kiamin, says he received the inspiration for the design when on the Eastern Coast in a nation called Rome. It is by far the grandest structure in all of Gentue, and for good reason. This particular building is the Council Hall. Our elders, whom make up half of the Council, reside in this hall in luxurious dorms. All Council meetings are held here in a large, grand room in the back of the building. The steps up to the building are many and often when Gentue hosts some form of entertainment or have speeches made, those steps are where it is done and The Square becomes a form of auditorium for everyone.

Between each building was a small road that led down into a different area of the homes, all situated along a long, wide road that stretched at an angle around The Square, though hidden from view to those in The Square by the thick forest. The road closest to my own house was that between the school and the Council Hall. I headed around the low wall and onto that road, following it for a few minutes as it wound it way through the woods, beams of sun slipping through the trees and lighting the road like the spotlights on the towers used to watch the road into Gentue at night.

Behind me, I suddenly heard the rustle of something moving through the dead leaves from last autumn and of twigs being broken. Before I could turn around, I was startled by a loud shout.

“PEN!” cried the voice, coming quickly in my direction. “Wait up, will you?” the voice called as the person came around the trees and into view. I quickly jumped off the track as my best friend, Christopher, came hurtling towards me, sliding a bit on his heals as he attempted to stop. He ended up slipping right through the very spot where I had just stood and allowed himself skid to a halt.

“You could have run me over!” I yelled at him with a laugh, coming out of hiding at this point. Chris was bent over, his hands on his knees and his breathing quick. He managed a small laugh back, though it was faint as he was still catching his breath.

“If you would have stopped the first time I called, I wouldn’t have had to race after you,” he snapped back, sticking out his tongue childishly. “I called three times and you kept going.” He explained, pulling himself up and walking towards me.

“Sorry, I must not have heard you,” I said in my defense, plopping down on a tree stump beside him. “Yell louder next time.” I teased. Chris came over and sat down on the ground beside me, bringing his knees up and resting his arms on them. He sighed and shut his eyes, taking in the soft sun that was hitting him. I’ve always admired Chris’ looks. We are often called siblings, being we are joined at the hip most of the time. On a personality basis, perhaps siblings is an alright term.

When it came to physical appearances, we couldn’t be any more different. I was thin and petite with fair skin and a few light freckles across my cheeks and nose that only appeared in summer. My hair was a dark and boring shade of brown, same as my eyes. There was nothing that stood out about my looks.

Chris was my opposite. He was tall and average sized with muscles, but not over-toned like some of the men in the village. His skin was a perfect shade of bronze gold that darkened in the summer and lasted most of the year. With brown-blonde hair, like my brother’s, and a well structured, handsome face, I couldn’t even begin to see any sort of comparison.

When he reopened his eyes and looked at me, his gaze drifted down to the doll in my hand. I suddenly snapped back from my own thoughts and became a bit more aware. He gave me a coy grin.

“I didn’t realize fifteen year olds still played with dolls,” he laughed.

“I’m sixteen you dud,” I replied quickly. “And it’s not to play with, it’s for show. Reminds you of my mom, doesn’t it?” Once again, I looked down and admired the porcelain doll that I now owned.

“Sixteen? Since when? And yeah, I suppose it does look a little like your mom,” he commented, reaching out his hand in hopes of examining it. Reluctantly, I handed over the doll and allowed him to look it over.

“It’s from China,” I said confidently with a large grin. “Beautiful isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s different, that’s for sure.” Chris replied, handing it back with a smirk. “China you say? Never heard of it.” He concluded matter-of-factly.

“Sixteen huh? When did that happen?” Chris was suddenly back on the age thing again. He was obsessed with it at times, and I knew exactly where this was going.

“Since my birthday at the beginning of the season you dimwit,” I replied with a laugh.

“Well, I’m still seventeen and therefore older than you,” he said cockily, “which means you need to respect me, you know, respecting your elders and all.” Chris attempted to sound serious about this at first, but couldn’t keep it up and started laughing in less than five seconds. I picked up a twig on the ground and threw it at him teasingly.

“Ha! Respect you? Well, maybe respect –that’ll come with time though- but I could certainly never take you seriously.” I decided to play his game and attempt to be serious as well, and unlike Chris, I was pretty good at it. I closed my eyes and turned up my nose. Without any sort of a warning, I suddenly felt the brush of a twig against my arm. My eyes flew open, staring at him with a look of disbelief, a grin forming over my lips naturally. I grabbed a handful of dirt from the ground next to me and tossed it at him and he raised his arm to block it from getting to much in his face.

The little fight, full of throwing whatever was around and lots of laughter, didn’t last long. He had just gotten to his feet and began tickling me where I sat when we were both so startled that we fell over together onto the ground, I landing on top of him. With a blush and a whispered apology, I quickly jumped away and pulled myself to my feet, offering a hand to help him up. There it was again; The Horn. We dusted ourselves off, both red in the cheeks and avoiding the other’s eyes. I put the doll into my pouch and we both took off running.