There were over a dozen Stations of Remembrance, each appearing as its own single column of light, each presenting me with scenes from my life as Anatolios. These were not merely vivid recollections. I was actually there, hearing the sounds, smelling the odors, and interacting with the people that had been a part of my life. When each episode was complete, the scene around me would fade, and I would again be on the labyrinth’s path.
I learned that the Essenes of Kyropos were a splinter group of the parent community that lived at Qumran, near the Dead Sea. They took me in, and for five years I worked among them, sharing the duties of tending the goats, cooking the food, and washing clothing. All members, including Marcus, shared equally the tasks of every aspect of their communal life.
Marcus had taken Joshua and me as his special students, and it was during this period that he taught us the Three Measures of Wisdom. I was so convinced that these teachings were somehow associated with the lost wisdom of my ancestors that I began to record them in a parchment scroll with the dream that someday I would return to Pialigos bearing the gift that had been lost to my people. Because I believed it would lend authority and credibility to the teachings, I carefully compiled them in the script of my ancient ancestors. Joshua, assisting me with the task, quickly learned the language and often practiced making the letters in the sand.
The day came when Joshua announced that he was ready to go back to his homeland and become a teacher. This came as no surprise to Marcus, who had often urged Joshua to do this very thing. Marcus himself intended to retire to the Rock, to the complete ascetic life, and he urged me to go with Joshua. Without the companionship of my friend, Joshua, life on Kyropos would no longer be suitable for me. Though it would mean that I was farther away from Panagiota, I reluctantly agreed. I had no place else to go.
A merchant ship carried us to the port of Caesarea. There, Joshua’s brothers and sisters, and a mother overcome with joy, greeted us. His father, a famous artisan in the region, had, sadly, died. The family took me in as one of their own.
For two years, I traveled with Joshua through his homeland. He drew a large following by successfully merging the teachings of Marcus with the Judaism of his people, a system of ideas that people simply called the Way. At the request of his closest followers, I recorded many of Joshua’s sayings in his native tongue of Aramaic. Few of Joshua’s followers knew how to read or write, and these writings became a rare treasure that they guarded jealously.
In one of the Stations of Remembrance, I found myself waking from a fitful, unsatisfying sleep. I was having another dream of Panagiota. Chilled, lying beyond the warmth of our waning campfire, cold smoke hanging like wool in the heavy, predawn air, I yearned for her.
Not far from me, I could see Joshua sitting alone, huddled in his blanket, staring into the dying embers. There were others, a dozen or more, men and women, sleeping around scattered fires. Camped a good distance from the main road, we were hidden in a familiar grove of olive trees that we frequented to escape the crowds.
Joshua watched in silence as I stepped to the fire, stirred warmth from the embers, and added more wood. It was not until I settled back to warm my hands that he spoke.
“You cannot sleep, Anatolios? You were awakened by more thoughts of Panagiota?”
“Yes,” I said with a deep sigh. “I would give my very life for the chance to see her face once again.”
“And your home? You miss your home?”
My eyes settled in the growing flames; my mind drifted. “There was a place among the cliffs where I could see the sky and the seas come together in an indefinable mist. As a boy, I would sit with Panagiota in this spot and watch the sun rise in the east. We wondered about the strange and mysterious lands and people that we might encounter if only we could sail into that mist.” I laughed. “And now, here I am. I have sailed into the mist. I see the land, and I have come to know its people. They are not so mysterious, not so different. It is a strange turn that my heart now follows the sun when it sinks to that very place in the cliffs where, as a boy, I sat with Panagiota, dreaming of all the mysteries.
“I can feel the warmth of Panagiota’s hand. I can smell the sweetness of her perfume and feel the gentle breeze that touched our faces. I hear the calming music of her voice, like the song of the birds or the rush of the sea.” I turned to my companion. “She vowed her soul to me, Joshua. Before I was banished, Panagiota swore to me that she would touch no man. I miss her more than I can say. My soul remains on Pialigos with Panagiota.”
“You must go back to her,” Joshua said.
“You know that I cannot.”
“But you must. She needs you, Anatolios. Your people need you. You have the Three Measures of Wisdom. You yourself said that this must be the lost wisdom of your ancestors. Send a messenger bearing your scroll. Write a letter and tell her to do what she can to prepare the way for your return. Humble yourself before your priestess. Find your way to this woman you love and to the people you wish to enlighten. I swear to you, Anatolios, the way will be opened.”
In the next Station of Remembrance, I was back on Pialigos with Panagiota, happier than ever. Having seen how the Great Mother had protected me through my trial, Konstantina accepted my return as fate. She forbade me, however, to ever speak of her devious practice.
In secret, I began teaching the Three Measures of Wisdom. The people of Pialigos, including many of the priests, were thirsty for the new revelation. A priestess named Rena, second only to Konstantina, began calling me the Prophet, the one who had come to restore Pialigos to its former splendor. Word spread quickly. Soon great crowds gathered in our hiding places, hungry to hear me speak of the Wisdom.
Konstantina found out, and I was immediately arrested by the temple guards.
“A real prophet,” Konstantina declared, “could walk the Labyrinth of the Cave, relying only on the voice of Zadim. You will prove yourself, Anatolios. You will walk the Labyrinth of the Cave without the use of your eyes.”
I knew it was a death sentence.
When Panagiota came to visit me in prison, I warned her that she must not be caught with the scroll, or she too would be faced with severe punishment. I knew that a merchant ship, due to sail east the following morning, lay in our harbor. “The scroll must be protected,” I told her. “Get it to the ship. Tell them to leave it on Kyropos, with Marcus. Tell Marcus that Rena will send for it when she becomes high priestess.”
Panagiota succeeded with her mission, but Konstantina found out.
“Did you write this scroll?” she demanded, her eyes flaring, her lips curled and trembling with rage.
“By my hand,” I said, “the Great Mother has returned that which was lost to our people. This is my destiny.”
“I am the Great Mother!” she shouted. “I am the one to decide what shall be returned to my people. You are nothing! Your destiny is to die like the worthless blasphemer that you are. You are at my mercy. Beg for forgiveness, and I may allow you to live.”
“I am at the mercy of the true Great Mother,” I said. “She alone has the power to deliver me.”
“Indeed,” Konstantina said. She called for the guards, and they appeared, holding Panagiota. “I want your lovely friend to see how such a great prophet is prepared for his walk of the labyrinth.”
The guards rushed into my cell and bound my hands. Another stepped in with a white-hot iron and pressed it against each of my eyes. I screamed at the sound and the smell of my own searing flesh. The pain was too great to bear. I lost all consciousness.
In the next Station of Remembrance, I stood at the Labyrinth of the Cave before an audience of priests, hands bound, my useless eyes covered with a rag tied around my head. I could hear Panagiota whimpering in agony over what was to come.
“Walk, Anatolios, O great prophet,” Konstantina said, her voice seething with contempt. “May the Great Mother lead your every step.”
I began to walk. In spite of my blindness, I could see the path. I walked to the center, to the statue of the Great Mother, and I returned without incident.
Infuriated, Konstantina ordered me thrown into one of the boiling pools.
Crazed with pain, I called out in a loud voice. “I will return to destroy the great lie of Konstantina. She is the wicked mother of lies, and she has deceived all of you. She cannot read the texts of our ancestors. No priest can read them. Only I can read them. They are nothing! Lists of grain! You worship lists of grain because of her great lie! I will come back; I will return to bring you the lost wisdom of our ancestors!”
There was an angry cry from everyone in the room: “Kill him! Kill the false prophet! Kill the blasphemer!”
Then, a great peace came over me. Suddenly I could again see with my inner vision. I watched as Panagiota struggled and broke free from the guards. She was screaming my name as she ran straight for me. I called her name. She hit me with her full force, clutching me as we tumbled together into the scalding pool and into the waiting light of the Great Mother.
J Douglas Bottorff 