Bumblestook: Book 1, The Accidental Wizard (16 page)

Bartholeumous reached over his shoulder, grabbed hold of the gnarled staff and immediately set off in the direction of the cloud. The path he took twisted and turned between boulders and bushes, then descended into a brush-filled ravine. He was followed closely by the triplets. Ignoring the path, they opted to leap from boulder to boulder with the fluid grace of mountain lions; each one landing in the precise footsteps of the sister proceeding her.

The plump woman (long, dark tresses now covered with a living hairnet of leafy vines and blossoms) produced a walking staff and waddled after them, huffing and puffing. The white-haired gent sent forth a final stream of cold-blue sparks to snuff out his miniature brush fire. He rose stiffly, bony knees cracking and popping, muttering complaints as he made his way down the path.

The two game-players once again gave a double clap, at which point all of the marbles ceased rolling. They tallied points as they scooped up the colorful spheres, tucking them away in their vest pockets. The tall, turbaned Indian produced a red silk scarf, which he lay over the surface of the rock with a flourish. With a wave of his hand, the fabric began to ripple. When the silken waves diminished, he whisked it away. The game board had vanished, leaving the rock surface unblemished. The two men hastened to catch up with their fellow travelers.

As Bartholeumous neared the cloud’s location, it descended, hanging in the air over a massive, towering boulder. For centuries, the elements had blasted away at the rock’s red, sandstone face, hollowing out a shallow cave. Buried in the earth in front of the cave was a wide slab of grey rock, in the center of which a bowl-like depression formed a small, dry pool.

Bartholeumous stood to one side of the rock pool. One by one, as his companions arrived, they took up places around it. All eyes were on the small, dark, cloud hovering above. Its roiling, purple-black substance flashed intermittently with miniature bolts of blue lightning. As they watched, it released a heavy load of water in a sudden shower; filling the rock pool to the brim, before dissipating into the night air.

“Welcome Osheanna,” Bartholeumous said.

The water splashed in answer, sploshing over the rim of the rock pool.

The Wizard waved one arm in a dramatic arc, bathing their meeting place in a soft glow against the gathering darkness. He addressed his companions.

“I think you will all agree that this is an ideal spot for the task we must now undertake—that of communing with the Earthbound.”

“It’s sufficiently rocky, if that’s what you mean!” the bent and bony, white-haired gent remarked acerbically.

Bartholeumous eyed his old friend, Walther, with fond amusement. He knew Walther did not believe that Bumblestook was the Humanchild mentioned in the Book of Ages. In fact, the old man had a candidate of his own; a young Australian Aborigine girl, who showed promising signs of prescience. But he was charged (as were they all) with assisting each other in the search. Bartholeumous knew that Walther, despite his doubts, would be fair-minded and zealous, in pursuit of the truth.

“A year ago I asked for your assistance in seeking out the Earthbound,” he continued. “Thus far, none of us have been able to contact them. I have summoned you here, so that we may pool our efforts. Perhaps all of our powers combined, will enable us to reach them. But before we begin, some new references have come to light which I would like to share with all of you. Our esteemed colleague from India, Rajashakhapoonipor—” (he waved an arm grandly in the direction of the tall Indian, who bowed his turbaned head graciously) “ has discovered something significant in an ancient scroll. Raj?”

The Indian produced a rolled parchment from one of his many pockets, pulled on the red, silken cord with which it was bound, and let it unfurl.

“This was written in the seventh century by a young Buddhist monk,” he explained in a stilted, melodic voice. “You will notice, at the top of the scroll is an eight-spoke wheel. This is the symbol for the Eightfold Path of Enlightenment, taught by Gautama Buddha, the founder of the Buddhist religion. Buddha’s teachings include meditation, a technique for gaining insight into the mysteries of life, by sitting in a quiet place and focusing one’s attention on simple things, such as breathing. Many follow his teachings, including the young man who wrote this scroll. I will read to you the relevant passage;

‘I have done everything just as Buddha instructed. I have tried to follow the Eightfold Path, exactly as it was laid out by the holy one. I have been successful in all ways but one—the eighth way, the path of meditation. Today is the fifth day of my stay in the forest, Uruvilva. I have come from afar, leaving behind my family and friends, in the hopes that here (where the great Buddha himself achieved enlightenment) I would finally be able to meditate in peace.

Unfortunately, as always I am experiencing great difficulty. Whenever I begin to meditate, I become aware of a strange sound, like that of many grains of sand being ground underfoot. It assaults my ears from all directions, until I am unable to concentrate for even the smallest of moments. None of the other students seem to have this problem. When I mention it they look at me most curiously. Even today, as I sat beneath the bodhi tree—the very tree beneath which
Buddha himself sat—the sound washed over me, like an incoming tide, until I was swept up in the noise and could concentrate on nothing else. Indeed, it was so intense, that I began to imagine that I heard individual voices, trying to communicate with me. Incredibly, the voices seemed to come from the rocks and pebbles scattered about on the ground upon which I sat. How tempted am I, to abandon my futile attempts at meditation, and listen instead to those mysterious voices, which even now—as I write these very words—are calling out to me.”

Reverently, Rajashakhapoonipor re-rolled the scroll and tucked it away. “In the end, the young man decides the life of a Buddhist monk is not for him and becomes, instead, a very successful caretaker of the Uruvilva Forest,” he concluded.

Bartholeumous thanked him, then gestured to the plump, golden-skinned woman with the floral arrangement in her hair.

“Our dear friend, Kalikalakalani, has found a possible reference to the Earthbound on the island of Hawaii. I think you will find it informative and, if I know Kali,
most
entertaining!”

Kali’s dark eyes twinkled merrily as she favored the group with a broad, beatific, gap-toothed smile. The light of the moon was reflected in the beads of dew, sprinkled amongst the blossoms in her tresses; causing them to sparkle, like a network of diamonds, against the coal black of her hair. When she spoke, her voice bubbled over like a merry brook and her hands flitted about like butterflies.

“First you must know of the Hula!” she instructed happily. “Silly people! Think the Hula just an island dance for fun, for entertainment—but no! The Hula is much, much more, as you will soon learn. Hula is old,
very
old.
Mele Hula
is the dance.
Mele Oli
is the chant. Ancient dances, ancient chants. Some Hula sacred, not to be meddled with! Some Hula tell stories, legends. Some Hula tell history. Ancient Hula, ancient history. New Hula, new history. Even today,
new
Mele Hula,
new
Mele Oli being made. Now you know truth about Hula!” she exalted, obviously pleased with her explanation.

“Now I tell you what I find. Very old hula dance, from time of Goddess Pele, Goddess of Fire. Goddess Pele, granddaughter to Earth Mother and Sky Father. Very powerful! Hot-headed Pele leave land of parents, to find own home. Search many islands. Come to Hawaii, to Mauna Loa. Mauna Loa biggest mountain on Earth, from bottom of ocean, to top of sky! Now I show you lost steps of
Mele Hula
, sing lost verses of
Mele Oli.
”

So saying, Kali removed the purple bandanna from around her neck, unrolling its water-soaked length upon the ledge of the rock pool. In the center of the cloth, protected by the fabric and preserved by moisture, was a lei of colorful Hawaiian blossoms. She placed it over her head, lifting her heavy hair so that the string of flowers encircled her neck and hung down on her chest. Arms lifted to the sky, small, plump hands making fluid, wave-like gestures and broad hips swaying, Kali sang in a lilting voice. She was accompanied by a haunting island melody, which seemed to spring forth from the night air, plucked by unseen fingers upon invisible stringed instruments.

From the lap of her ancestors,

Fiery Pele in her glory,

Hops the islands as she searches,

for a place to call her home.

Every island she finds wanting.

Every island does not please her.

Till she steps upon the warm sands

of Hawaii’s shining shore.

Upon the mount of Mauna Loa,

In the deepest smoking crater
,

On the highest craggy reaches,

Pele hears the mountain speak.

Mauna Loa sings to Pele,

Music meant for her ears only.

From the center of the Earth,

To the highest of her peaks,

Mauna Loa sings to Pele,

Mauna Loa calls her name.

Goddess Pele, fiery Pele,

Here at last the home you seek.

With a broad smile and a final, fluttering, fall of fingers, Kali ended her performance to a mutter of appreciation from her audience.

“Well done, Kalikalakalani,” Bartholeumous said. “That does indeed appear to reference communication with the elusive Earthbound.”

Kali beamed as she removed her lei, rolled it back up in the purple bandanna and tied it loosely about her neck.

Bartholeumous turned to the black-skinned, white-haired, old man.“Walther, if you would be so kind, as to tell us what you have discovered in Australia.”

The roadmap of fine lines, crossing Walther’s dark, leathery face, deepened into ravines as he scowled fiercely. The wild halo of wiry, white hair and the scruffy tuft on his chin, gave him the appearance of an old lion. He bared his startlingly-white teeth in a grimace of distaste.

“Waste of time, this!” he spat. “If rocks could talk,
I
would have heard them by now. Oh, all
right
!” he snarled as Bartholeumous folded his arms and cocked a bushy brow in his direction.
“But don’t expect a song and dance!”

All eyes followed his bent figure, as he headed for the overhang of the red boulder. He stepped inside the shallow cave and rummaged through the deep pockets of his baggy shorts. Finally, he pulled forth a short, carved stick. At the touch of a finger, it telescoped into a three foot wand.

“We’ll begin with a short lesson on the subject of the Aborigines—which is not their true name, by the way. I don’t suppose any of you know what they call themselves? I thought not,” he snapped, glowering at them as if they were students who had not done their homework. “They call themselves the
Koori
. Now, pay attention and you
might
learn something!”

The tip of the wand glowed as he touched it to the rock wall and drew a large circle. Pointing to the shape he instructed;

“The Koori tell this story. In the beginning, The Land was flat. Nothing grew. Nothing lived. All was in darkness. There were no hills, no rivers, no mountains. No people, no plants and no animals. Just flat, shapeless,
nothing
!” The old man tapped the drawing sharply with his stick, as he spoke.

“Then, came the Dreamtime. In the Dreamtime, the Ancestors of the Koori rose up out of the earth and walked upon The Land. They were shaped like giant plants and animals, but they looked like men as well.”

With a sudden burst of speed and surprising skill, Walther used the wand to draw the shapes of several great beasts (with some likeness to Humans) around the perimeter of the circle.

“They had magical powers and could change their shapes. They walked, creating rivers and valleys and dunes of sand. They sang, creating hills and mountains. Their footprints filled with water to became lakes and waterholes.”

As the old man tapped them, each of the sketchy beings became animated; moving onto the circle, leaving trails of squiggly lines and shapes to represent geographical features.

“They created air, rain and fire, as well as the sun, moon and stars.”

Walther dragged the wand tip around the outside of the circle. Simple symbols for these, sprang up to surround it.

“They created men and beasts and all living things, by simply thinking them into being.” From the wand’s tip flowed a parade of tiny figures. Plants, animals and men spilled forth to populate the rock environment.

“As the Ancestors traveled, the stories of their lives taught men how to live, how to take care of The Land and how The Land would take care of them. When the Ancestors grew tired, they went back into the Earth, taking the form of rocks and mountains, which can still be seen today. These are the sacred places, where the ancestors dwell in a state of ever-watchful dreaming.” Again, the old man touched the wand to each of the Ancestral Beings. The figures shrank in size, to become shapes resembling boulders and mountains.