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Zatth

or; An Introduction

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“Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers in order to tell the tale.”

 

- Gabriel Garcia Marquez

 

 

 


          They said, tell it to us. It’s only dredges of a tale, clinging bits of a mythical past that dare not wash away. They won’t let it wash away, much as the once Endless Ocean was challenged by rebel islands that sprung up, and survived, against all odds.

          I think they have a feeling that that’s the only reason why we’re here. By ‘they’ I mean all of those who live in this thriving metropolis, and those who live in all the other great cities. The ones that jut into the sky with Coliseums and Towers of Knowledge as if wanting to reach upwards in order to cut a star from the cloth that is the night sky; the ones that call prototype masks and ritualistic tunics the carpets they walk on; those by the beaches and those under the waters and those clinging above the sky, all of them replicating the different cities of yore, lodged into our genetic memory, but forgotten to all.

          We thought it was better that way, the six of us. How do you encompass millennia of history? How do you tell those collected chronicles, of heroic Toa and devious Makuta, of deaths of Great Spirits and magical fusions of planets? Names like Kodan, Takua, Hahli, Kopeke, Tarduk…

          And how do you tell someone descended from a Makuta that they were once the cause of a near-extinction level event? How do you force a now-sentient Rahi to regress into history and into savagery, so much like the Zesk and the Vorox during their own time? We chose, for all of them, to keep away the dangerous and the old, in order to keep this tenuous peace.

          And now they say, tell it to us.

          Look at them. Caught unawares by their own youth and inexperience, as thirsty for knowledge as all of us once were, far removed enough that they see but fascination and awe in what we call ‘our history’. But I, I am… so old. The joints in my fingers hurt. Breathing is labored, in that I feel when they slow down because I become afraid that I have forgotten to take a breath. I’m nearing the end, that much is clear. With me, as accorded thousands of years ago, it all must go.

          But you will appreciate that, in typical me fashion, I have followed this to an extent. It’s equivocation, in that I am not technically going against what we agreed on. The tomes sit behind me. It’s all there, you know? The maps of every major island and of what were once the three planets, with the sites of every village and every battle. The entire travel log of the Robot, with all of its tales of the places we never saw (I suppose the Robot also died, and so those coordinates will remain just that). The parchment written after my investigations into Mata Nui and Voya Nui, the crystals and panels from visiting Metru Nui and the Southernmost Islands. Every weapon that’s saved my life, labeled with the thing that threatened me and that I barely escaped alive.

          And the Kanohi. They’re all here, almost all of them. It took us, what, seven thousand years to collect the Mask of each major player? Seven thousand years and the death of one of our own… and now I’m dying, and this will be here, but with no one.

          Ha. It almost feels like a meaningless sacrifice, at the end of it all.

          Is that what the six of us ended up being? Meaningless? Or sacrifices?

          They will never know, will they. No, of course not. It’s shocking to me I still find myself rediscovering this.

          No.

          No. No, no. No, they don’t get this. Not now, not never.

          I- no!

          I said th- Look, I-

          Y-


          A Rahi should have eaten you years ago, you know that?

         Fine.

         But I will keep the details to a minimum. And, I’ll have me an oath of secrecy!

         Yes. Yes, alright, I’ll let them in. Let me just get my affairs in order first.

 

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Edited by Zatth

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