THE LOST YEARS

by Soledad

PRELUDE: CROSSROADS

Disclaimer: see Introduction.

Rating: 10 and above, for this chapter – just to be on the safe side.

Author's notes:

The customs and beliefs portrayed in this chapter are the results of my imagination. I don't know of any existing cult that would match the descriptions. Uhura's son is supposed to look like a very young LeVar Burton.

EPILOGUE

It was early spring of the year 2269 in Earth reckoning, but nobody in Munguroo really cared for how time outside their home was counted. What mattered was that the great feast of Spring Equinox wasn't there yet. The people in the village lived their lives and did their work in a rhythm that was older than either Earth or Federation reckoning. A rhythm that was naturally coded in their very genes.

Kitharo Nikeria walked barefooted on the stomped dirt path that led to the temple area – although in the opposite direction. He was heading towards the flat-roofed white limestone house of his family, a house that branched out into every direction like a labyrinth. This house had grown with the clan through the centuries ever since Nyota Kahama, the First Mother had begun to build it. For outsiders, it looked like a confusing maze, but no small child had ever got lost in it since the clan had been founded. It was their home.

Kitharo was the firstborn son of the most respected Wise Woman of his clan and thus bound to the traditions even more than the other children. He climbed the flat, sometimes broken limestone steps that led to the central building of the Great House slowly, thoughtfully. Yes, this was his home – the home of every First Daughter, regardless if they walked the paths of the jungle or that of the stars, as his mother did. In the basin of the anteroom, a basin covered with a colourful mosaic of small ceramic tiles, the water was gleaming softly, invitingly. The youngling let his brightly striped shroud fall to the floor and submerged into the ritual bath, as tradition demanded after visiting the temple. His teenaged cousin, Yva, with whom his aunt Kamala had raised him while his mother was out among the stars, appeared wordlessly between the columns of the anteroom with a rough linen towel to rub him dry after leaving the basin.

"The message has arrived," the tall, thin girl, already a head taller than Kitharo, although three years his junior, said quietly. "Kiha Uhura and the new brethren has left the spaceport at sunrise and will be here, soon. I have laid out your festive robes, amuntu."

Kitharo hated festive robes (which fourteen-year-old boy did not?) but during the seven years spent with his mother's family he had learned that in this matter – like in many others – the opinion of women decided in Munguroo. Thus he accepted Yva's decision without arguing and put on the wide-sleeved, richly embroidered, long robe, which, in fact, suited him well, elongating his short, stocky body due to the parallel folds. Then he hurried out to the Place of Meetings to join the waiting crowd.

By that time, nearly the whole village had gathered there. The women, wearing gold-embroidered, brightly-coloured shrouds, one end of which they threw forth over a bare shoulder, with small golden bells decorating their plaited hair, looked more like statues from the temple than living people. The men looked very dignified in their festive robes and the round or square, embroidered caps on their heads. Only one was bare-headed among them: the tall, slender, beautiful Sahel, the first prophet who had dwelt in the temple area of Munguroo for the last three hundred years.

Kitharo knew Sahel well. Once – by the order of the Mothers – the prophet was engaged to Kitharo's mother. However, as their mesq did not resulted in children, it was nullified after the proper period of time. Sahel and Uhura remained good friends, especially after Sahel had married Kahama, Uhura's younger sister. This marriage, finally, was blessed with children, and though Kitharo genuinely liked Sahel, he always regretted that the prophet was allowed to live in the temple, while his mother, the true guardian of it, had to remain separated.

But the time of separation was finally over. Uhura had told the Mothers through subspace radio (a tool present but extremely rarely used in Munguroo) that she had entered the mesq with her new partner, and that their love has fruited in a new life. The Mothers not only allowed her to return home, they also gave their consent to bring with her the lost brethren, who finally had found a way home, after a long journey through far-away, cold space. They would settle in the neighbouring villages that had been abandoned during the dark years of servitude and partially still not repopulated, until their new home among the stars was ready for them… or beyond that, if they wanted.

Kitharo, who had been born on a distant planet and spent several years of his childhood with his mother aboard a starship, waited for the newcomers in excitement. If he only considered what beautiful and frightening new tales the newcomers would tell, his heartbeat increased immediately. In the heart of his hearts he knew that once he grew up, he wouldn't remain between the sacred and safe, but narrow borders of Munguroo. Not possessing the mystic abilities that forced Sahel back from the stars to serve the temple, he didn't have to fear that anyone would keep him here against his will.

Suddenly, a murmur spread across the gathering. Someone plucked the strings of a kissar, and the singers of the temple raised their clear, ringing voices to begin a hymn to great the homecomers.

Rarely were modern transport vehicles allowed in the temple areas of East-Africa. This conscious return to an earlier, simpler lifestyle served to protect their ancient culture that had nearly fallen victim to foreign slavers and oppressors, and the reconstruction of which had cost great efforts. But this was an exception. The large, solar cell fuelled hoovercars were transporting several thousand people: Kitharo estimated their numbers between eight and nine thousand. Their simple clothes were different from everything he'd ever seen, and many of them were wearing a uniform.

One of the uniformed people, a small man probably in his early forties, sat next to Kitharo's mother in the small glider that was leading the caravan. Uhura flew the glider personally, but she wasn't wearing her short, red Starfleet uniform anymore. She was wearing the ceremonial robe of the eldest daughter of an Old Family.

The caravan held on outside the temple area. The people, who, by their looks, could have arrived from any neighbouring village, get off the vehicles and continued their way to the Place of Meetings on foot. Kitharo backed off unnoticed. He was familiar with the rite of greeting already, and though as a member of the family he was entitled to participate, he didn't want to be publicly reunited with his mother.

The anteroom was pleasantly cool after the heat in the outside. Kitharo sat down on one of the mosaic-covered clay benches and waited patiently. He knew the official greeting was a lengthy ceremony when someone like his mother returned – someone who once had been supposed to become the guardian of the temple – but it would find an end eventually. Munguroo's children were taught patience from a very young age on, and during the recent seven years he'd had plenty of opportunity to practice this particular virtue.

A shadow was cast on the tiled floor. Kitharo didn't need to look up to know who had arrived; he'd recognize his mother's personal scent anywhere, at any time. He rose, and – as tradition demanded – knelt before his mother and touched his forehead to the floor.

In the next moment he felt his mother's light touch upon the nape of his neck.

"Rise, my beloved son," the long-missed, dear voice said, and he obeyed.

His mother didn't seem to have changed in the recent years at all. On the contrary, she looked younger and more beautiful than he had her in his memories. True, last time they had met, she hadn't been in a very good shape. Now, however, she was positively radiating happiness.

"Welcome home, Mother – it has been a long time," the youngling said quietly; then he turned to the silent man accompanying his mother, a man who seemed to have gone through a lot. "And I welcome you, too, who made it possible for my mother to return. This house will be your house as well, as long as the Ancestors will watch over your love."

The newcomer answered his greeting with a wordless nod, and Kitharo turned back to his mother.

"Has he already received his name? A name that he will be able to use in the temple as well?"

"His name, as told by the Ancestors during the Dreaming, is Imaro," Uhura replied, "which means 'he-who-is-loved'."

Kitharo bowed to his mother's new bondmate. "Welcome to the temple, Imaro. May the Ancestors make your name a blessing for you – for both of you – for the rest of your lives."

The End

Copyright: Soledad Cartwright1995-08-14.

This story is finished. The next part will be posted to the Star Trek – Original Series section.

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