Mesopo

By Eva Dietrich and Ingrid Kallick

Twelve-year-old Ankido is on a quest to save his missing father through the magical realm of Mesopo, the land where all fantasyoriginates, a land whose words and language are in peril. Can Ankido save his father and restore all these words in time?

It was a red velvet box, the size of a school book. Ankido lifted the lid, revealing an old-

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sable Books
• Release date: Dec 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781087856544

Book preview

Chapter 1

Words

An angry autumn wind blew across the hedges of the Gulzar Estate at number one Lexington Road. The wind grew stronger and the hedges seemed ready to take off. Outside, clouds heavy with rain were ready to burst at any moment. Only the majestic, snow-white turrets of the Gulzar Estate itself seemed unaffected by the storm. Inside the house, and equally angry, Ankido Gulzar, a twelve-year-old British-Iraqi boy, woke to the dull and grey November morning.

Frantically, Ankido looked for a piece of paper but couldn't find one in the mess that was his room. As often happened, during the night he had dreamt of new words. Only this time, the words had been rather disturbing. Angsture. Dolony. Egony. But there were also others; more comforting ones. Loveness. Newment. He couldn't make much sense of them and he was desperate to write them down before they escaped his memory. Where was the notebook he had left on his bedside table last night? Ankido stomped his feet on the floorboards. His shoulders tensed. Why was it that he could never find his things when he needed them?

He gave up his search and grabbed up a pen. He then started writing the words down on his forearm. This was not the first time Ankido had used his skin as an emergency notebook. Firstly, as he always pointed out to his grandmother, it was quicker than switching on the computer, and secondly, this way the words felt as if they were joined to some secret place inside him. He enjoyed this physical closeness to his new words. When Ankido looked down at his forearm, he smiled. His shoulders eased and the more he scribbled the more he felt the tightness around his spine relax. Ankido was aware that it was highly unusual for a twelve-year-old boy to have such a passion for words. In this sense, he thought, he was not unlike his grandmother.

A quiet knock on his bedroom door interrupted his scribbling. Ankido looked up as the door slowly opened. His grandmother's tall, slender figure appeared in the doorway.

Morning, Habubti.

Morning, my Word Boy. Her kind expression turned into a glare as she noticed her grandson's forearm, by now completely covered in words. Ankido, what exactly do you think paper was invented for? Think of those poor, old Mesopotamians having to write on clay! Look at the state of you!

I know I am a tiny bit bonkers. Ankido grinned. He knew his grandmother loved words as much as he did. It was just her usual grumbling.

I like you bonkers.

Habubti looked at her grandson and couldn't help smiling. After what had apparently been a restless night, his jet-black hair stood up in all directions. Habubti shook her head slowly. Ankido's unruly hair was not unlike his personality; smooth and even, yet uncontrollable and wild. Habubti gave a quick, hearty laugh. With every passing day, Ankido looked more and more like his father. He had his golden skin, now covered with black ink, and his father's long, straight nose. But he definitely had his mother's deep, almond-shaped, hazel eyes. For a moment, Habubti's face became grave and her eyes filled with tears.

She stepped into the room and, with a heavy sigh, sat on the edge of Ankido's bed. Again, she shook her head in disbelief as she took in the mess around her. Scattered across the floor were dirty socks, trainers, books, games, a tennis racket and a pair of rollerblades. A half-eaten apple lay forgotten on the bedside table. Carelessly thrown over the back of a chair was a mountain of smelly clothes.

A wardrobe stood against the far wall, and the doors were wide open revealing half-empty shelves. Next to it, on the far side of the room, was the fireplace. The mantelpiece was cluttered with pictures of Ankido and his father. Ankido as a little boy sitting on his father's shoulders with a big grin on his face and a pirate's sword in one hand. Ankido and his father dressed up as astronauts at Ankido's fifth birthday party. Ankido and his father camping. They had caught a particularly big fish that day and Ankido was proudly holding it up to the camera. Habubti smiled in remembrance.

The one safe haven was Ankido's desk. Only his laptop and the neatly arranged books and pens disturbed the smoothness of its clean and polished mahogany surface. Habubti sighed but said nothing. Then, with one hand, she motioned Ankido to sit next to her. In her other hand, she held a book.

Ankido, dear, something terrible has happened. Something unexpected.

Habubti paused and gently took Ankido's hand in hers. He felt alarmed. Habubti's voice sounded more serious than Ankido had ever heard it before. It was clear to him that his grandmother was struggling to speak.

Your father is missing, she managed finally, and she squeezed Ankido's hand until it hurt.

What? Ankido jumped to his feet, abruptly letting go of Habubti's hand and breaking the connection between them. Habubti's hand dropped back onto the bed like a lead weight.

That's not true! You're lying! he cried wildly. His face was red.

Ankido, please, sit down again, Habubti begged.

NO! I don't want to sit down! I want my Dad! Ankido shouted. His face muscles tensed, his fists were like two balls ready to hit whoever had wronged his father.

Ankido, do calm down.

Habubti's voice was stern now. She knew her grandson's outbursts only too well and now was not the time for one of them.

It happened during one of his field trips in Iraq. No one seems to know his whereabouts, she continued in a barely audible whisper.

Ankido sighed. She is telling the truth, he thought. And as suddenly as it had come, his anger disappeared.

He searched his grandmother's face for clues. His father was a distinguished archaeologist. Ankido was used to him being away from home for long periods of time. Sometimes he could not communicate with him for days. His father would take him along on his excavation trips in the desert whenever he could, but mostly Ankido remained home and waited for him to come back. He always missed his father, but he was used to his long absences. But now, Habubti looked extremely worried. Ankido had never seen her like this and something about the tone of her voice told him that this time was different, that he might not see his father again. He felt suddenly sick in his stomach.

Don't fret, Ankido. We will get him back, safe and sound, Habubti said with a smile, but Ankido noticed that her voice was shaking. Poor Habubti, she was trying her best to reassure him. I shouldn't have yelled at her, he thought. He was sure there was something she was not telling him.

I need to go immediately in search of your father. Aunt Geraldine will look after you while I'm away. She arrived late last night with your uncle. They will stay in the estate until my return, Habubti said.

You can't possibly leave me alone with Aunt Geraldine! he yelled before he could control himself. This couldn't be happening! Ankido fought back tears of anger.

Habubti gave a heavy sigh but said nothing. She knew how much Ankido hated his aunt. But Aunt Geraldine and her husband were Ankido's only relatives. Ankido's mother had died when he was only a baby and his father had done his best to raise him on his own. Ankido sat back on the bed and closed his eyes. He imagined his dad there, smiling his slightly crooked smile, like the very first time Ankido had beaten him in a chess game.

Ankido, open your eyes and listen to me, Habubti said after a short silence.

Ankido made a grimace but opened his eyes. The image of his father popped like a soap bubble.

I need you to do something for me, Habubti continued, undeterred, promise me you will take care of my book while I am gone. Unfortunately, I can't take it with me. It's the latest book I've been working on. It's not finished yet but it's already a very special book. Like no other you have seen. Under no circumstances are you to let it fall into the hands of Aunt Geraldine!

Habubti handed him the book she had been holding. The cover was made of fine, gold-inlaid leather. The title read, The Land of Mesopo. Ankido wondered why it was so special but thought it best not to ask. His grandmother had her own ways that he didn't quite understand, but he knew better than to disobey her.

And one more thing, Ankido. Promise me that you will look after your cousins. Leila and Salma were like sisters to Ankido. Not unlike himself, they had inherited Habubti's love for words and books. They were the most gifted story readers Ankido knew. Together, their voices would invite characters to spring out from the pages until they were looking straight into the eyes of the listener. Each time this happened, Ankido's heart thudded faster. They seemed so real. But for some reason it only worked when they both read aloud together.

You know I will take care of them, Habubti! Ankido sounded almost offended.

I know. I'm sorry. You're are such a dear boy. Habubti patted Ankido on the leg. I know I can trust you. It's just...I am worried, that's all. Those poor girls haven't been very lucky with that stepmother of theirs, have they?

Habubti smiled a sad smile, and Ankido shook his head.

Not that their father is any better... Habubti mumbled under her breath.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Ah, Ankido, one more thing, no more outbursts. Are we clear on that, young man? Habubti said.

Ankido blushed and nodded ever so slightly. He looked at his beloved Habubti, suddenly afraid that this might be their last time together. Her skin and hair were white as snow. Her kohl black eyes were fierce and soft. Around her neck she wore a pink scarf dotted with little wild roses. Ankido smiled. The scarf had been his birthday present for Habubti. It was the perfect present because his grandmother always smelt of wild roses.

Sometimes, she reminded Ankido of an ancient fairy queen. And Habubti was a queen of sorts. She was a much-acclaimed writer. Ankido was Habubti's number one fan. He loved all her fantasy novels and had read most of them twice. Once, they had even done a play at school based on one of Habubti's stories. Ankido had played the main role.

He knew that, for some mysterious reason, the current book she had been working on was especially dear to her. He would do anything to help her.

I promise, he said solemnly.

Habubti smiled and Ankido watched a dimple appear on her face. I am going to miss that smile. He lowered his eyes, hiding his tears.

Word Boy, I want to give you something else before I go. Remember, it will be our only means of communication. No internet where I am going, I am afraid.

Ankido gave her a quizzical look.

Where are you going?

I am going to Iraq, Ankido, the land of your ancestors. I might be gone for a while and the place I am going to has no internet connection, so we will have to revert to the old-fashioned ways. Habubti smiled, and Ankido's eyes opened even wider. He could not imagine a place without internet access.

You will understand later, Habubti said, and handed him her gift.

It was a red velvet box, the size of a school book. Ankido lifted the lid, revealing an old-fashioned quill made out of a reed. It smelled remote and otherworldly. Ancient. And for a reason he couldn't explain, everything felt all right for a moment.

Thank you, thank you, thank you! he said. It was the best gift Habubti could have given him. Ankido loved old quills.

Habubti bent forward and kissed Ankido on the forehead.

I feel so lucky to have you, my dear Word Boy, she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Ankido closed his eyes. He thought he caught a sound flowing out of the quill, a word maybe? Meso? Mesop? He wasn't sure and he shook his head. This was ridiculous. He looked questioningly at Habubti. But his grandmother was staring out of the window, seemingly deep in thought. No, he surely must have been mistaken. But there! There was the sound again. This time Ankido was sure of it. Meesopooo - it was whispered in a way that slipped around the room like the warm breeze of the desert. Again, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but instead of crying, he took refuge in his recently-dreamt words. He looked at his forearm. Loveness. Newment. Ankido repeated the words under his breath like a mantra. The words melted on his tongue like chocolate. He chose to ignore the other, more disturbing words, hidden under the sleeve of his shirt.

Chapter 2

The Gulzars

What did you say? asked Mrs. Gulzar sharply.

Crouched behind the armchair, next to Ankido, Leila rolled her eyes at him. She knew only too well that her father had not said a word. It was just her stepmother's way of starting a fight. Ankido peered from behind the chair at his aunt and secretly stuck out his tongue at her. She looks like a bony donkey. Right then, Geraldine Gulzar gave a grunt of annoyance.

Mr. Gulzar, Ankido's uncle, sat in an armchair opposite the one the children were hiding behind. He sat in front of a cozy fire eating his full English breakfast in silence. Mr. Gulzar was much older than Ankido's father but he looked like a big baby with eyebrows as thick as his moustache.

What did you say? his wife shouted in his ear. Mr. Gulzar jumped in his armchair.

Nothing, nothing... he managed to answer. Ankido watched while Mr. Gulzar stroked his moustache. He doesn't look very happy.

Yes, yes, it's all very sad, said Mrs. Gulzar, but the boy has to go. There is no other way.

Again Leila rolled her eyes. Her stepmother always referred to Ankido as the boy.

Mr. Gulzar opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it, and mumbled, I suppose so.

To the outside world, the Gulzars had everything they could wish for. They lived in a splendid, old mansion and had two beautiful daughters, Leila and Salma.

But the reality was different. The Gulzars were poor. Stark naked poor. It was their darkest secret.

Habubti had appointed Ankido, her oldest grandchild, to be the heir of the estate and not Mr. Gulzar, her good-for-nothing son. Mr. and Mrs. Gulzar were only too aware of this.

You're not making enough money, James! she reminded her husband for the umpteenth time. We can't pay back the credit for the mansion. We'll end up living in the streets.

So? he snapped.

Well, I just thought...maybe...now that Habubti has left in search of the boy's father...you know...

Ankido knew all too well what his aunt wanted. She wanted the Gulzar Estate. And she wanted him out of the way. He shuddered. How could she be so greedy and mean? Was his uncle not going to speak up for him? But Mr. Gulzar only sipped his tea in silence.

I will get the boy ready. The car will be here soon, announced Mrs. Gulzar matter-of-factly.

Mr. Gulzar cleared his throat nervously. Say something! Ankido willed his uncle, fists clenched on his knees.

Er - Geraldine, dear - wouldn't it be better to let Ankido stay with us?

No. The boy leaves today, Mrs. Gulzar replied in a voice that sounded like screeching tires to Ankido's ears. He's been here for too long. Habubti should have sent him to boarding school when his father left for Iraq.

What's the name of that boarding school again? Mr. Gulzar asked.

Blue River Academy for Troubled Boys. I can promise it's a very good school, one of the best in the country, Mrs. Gulzar said. But Ankido could hear the lie in her voice.

Oh yes. The Blue River Academy, that's right, Mr. Gulzar replied.

Ankido started to tremble next to Leila. He had heard all sorts of things about the Blue River Academy, none of them encouraging.

He saw how a sly smile formed on his uncle's lips. He is not going to speak up for me. Ankido's stomach dropped. I will have to leave the Gulzar Estate. Aunt Geraldine has made sure of it.

Chapter 3

Farewell

Back in his bedroom, Ankido stared unblinking at the ceiling too exhausted to even blink his eyelids. His mind floated back to recent events and the conversation he had just overheard with Leila. Everything had happened so fast. Habubti had left exactly 24 hours ago and now here he was, leaving for boarding school. He dreaded that horrible school. It was far up in the north of the country, his aunt had told him. The school had a strict no-electronic-devices policy. No iPod. No mobile phone. No internet. That left only the landline. Ankido didn't know what to do. He wouldn't be able to communicate with his cousins Leila and Salma, which was probably what his aunt had intended. He'd bet Aunt Geraldine would be watching over the phone in the house like an angry dog over his bone. He shivered and went to feed the fire.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs – Ankido's heart skipped a beat. His bedroom door opened without even a knock.

Aunt Geraldine! She knows I've been eavesdropping, he thought for a terrible second.

And then, with a quick sideways glance, he realized that Habubti's book lay open on his desk. Aunt Geraldine had seen it too.

Give me that book! Aunt Geraldine yelled, by way of a morning greeting. Ankido shook his head. He could tell his aunt was flying into one of her rages. Her deep-red curly hair was a mess; she looked like a wildfire on legs.

Not now. Not ever. Ankido crossed his arms over his chest, ready to stand his ground.

Give - me - that - book, Ankido. I am warning you, Aunt Geraldine hissed, fists on her hips.

Just go away! Ankido shouted back. His face was suddenly hot.

Ignoring him, his aunt went straight for the desk. The book lay next to Ankido's laptop. But Ankido was faster. He got hold of the book and ran to the door.

Just what do you think you're doing, you selfish, stupid boy?

Aunt Geraldine screeched and jumped at him like a wildcat. Ankido stumbled over the tennis racket and fell on his back.

The book hit the floorboards with a loud thud.

Ankido crawled quickly towards the book. Just as his fingertips touched its spine, his aunt grabbed his wrist, nails clawing into his flesh. His eyes watered. He had promised Habubti to keep the book safe!

With one final shove, he tore himself away, grabbing the book as he ran to the door. But his aunt took hold of him before he could reach the hallway. She tore and pushed at him as if her life depended on that book. Ankido let his teeth sink into her forearm. If he had ever promised Habubti not to lose his temper, he had momentarily forgotten about it.

Aahh! Aunt Geraldine let go of Ankido and stumbled backwards in pain. She fell over a rollerblade and landed awkwardly in the doorway.

Ankido held the book close to his chest and looked wildly around him. The door was out of reach. His aunt was back on her feet, slowly closing in on him. He could feel her ragged breath on him. Ankido closed his eyes for a second.

Please, forgive me, Habubti, he mumbled, and threw the book straight into the devouring flames of the fireplace!

Noooooo! shrieked Aunt Geraldine.

Seconds later, without as much as a backwards glance, Ankido's aunt left the room, calling her husband in despair. If there