Eliot

By Marko Urosevic

Who am I? ...

A question that has been asked through the ages, it is also one that rings clear and strong within Eliot, a 14th-century boy born in Cairo at a time of great change on the planet.

Join Eli on his voyage of self-discovery as he weaves his way across lands of East and West, experiences of st

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marko Urosevic
• Release date: Sep 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218272043

Book preview

Sunny Boy

Sunny Boy

S top, Eli… Stop!—a loving and exasperated cry still echoes in my ears.

As I walk through the bustling streets of Cairo, memories of the past start flooding back, evoking a sense of nostalgia for my childhood… My dear mother running after me, knowing nothing could ever stop me. Worried, she’d always plead for me to come back, knowing my quests often made me forget about mundane things like food and water—my excitement was too overwhelming.

The thrill of the hunt ran deep within me. Cairo's alleys and hidden tunnels in Giza were my playground, its mysteries my obsession. The lure of the unexplored passageways beneath the pyramids was irresistible. Every day was a new adventure, with my crew and I ever on the trail of the elusive artifact we were certain awaited us.

But my mom had a trick up her sleeve… the irresistible scent of freshly baked bread. She knew her son well, and knew that even the hidden secrets of the pyramids couldn't compete with that aroma. It was a simple rhythm of life, a dance between a boy's desire for adventure and a mother's love.

I was forever that boy eager for life, constantly curious and always pondering what's next. I chuckled. I guess some things simply never change. Even now, I am searching for the next adventure, the next story to tell. It's that deep-seated desire to find out who I really am.

WHO AM I? I ask myself relentlessly. And even if I never get a clear answer, I always come back with a great tale. After all, life is just one big story!

Eli! I hear my name amidst the crowd.

Is that really you? My brother-in-law, Han, gazed at me, impressed. Who would’ve thought you'd ever change! It looks like you've grown into a real man, he said with a slight tease.

Don’t let me fool you, I added to his sarcasm with a smile.

And just like that, time seems to have stood still. Suddenly we are transported back to our childhood days, when we were just two mischievous boys roaming the streets of Cairo.

Come, give me a hug! Han exclaimed, rushing towards me.

How long has it been, Eli?

Sixteen years, my friend, sixteen!

Sixteen? We’re getting old, Sunny Boy. Those days are gone forever! Han laughed. Let’s grab some wine and celebrate! I want to hear everything!

And so, I regale him with tales of my adventures in the East, sharing all the anecdotes and troubles I encountered along the way. Some of my favorites included my unfortunate meeting with Four Arm, a monkey who could steal anything, including my sandals. Then, of course, winning Smiling Moses, my dear camel, in a dance contest in Rajasthan—a camel that was always hungry, and one that I sold for a pair of boots in the Tibetan mountains.

Soon enough, the house was filled with children from the neighborhood, elders, and even some goats who gathered to listen. They all seemed to know how much I love telling my stories, as it makes me feel like I am reliving them all over again.

Did the sages of the East speak at all about the pyramids? asked one of the elders.

Uncle Eli, please tell us! one of the little ones begged. We want to know all about the pyramids!

Who built them, and is there a treasure out there? another one chimed in.

I smiled for they all reminded me of my own curiosity as a child.

Your uncle is tired, he has traveled a long way, my sister interjected. It is late; tomorrow you can continue with all the stories, now it is time to rest. Everyone to bed, she commanded.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you the story about the pyramids and ancient Atlantis, I said with my mysterious voice, knowing that it would make them wonder about it tonight.

You promise? they begged in unison.

I swear on my sister’s bread, I responded, teasing Ela, hoping to get some freshly baked bread out of her.

Your stories better be good then, Ela teased back with her demanding eyes that I missed so dearly.

Meeting Sayid

Sayid

Ialways loved a good story, and Atlantis was by far my favorite. It is, after all, the story that changed my whole life. It is a tale that is coded within every human, waiting to be awoken. A code that serves as a reminder of our true selves—of the fire within.

The moment I first heard its tale is still ingrained in my memory, still echoing its desire to emerge within every human heart.

It all started in 1348. A plague swept through Cairo, leaving behind a trail of misery and despair. The air was thick with the stench of death. Once happily a teenager, I was now suddenly an adult.

My dear mom was a picture of serenity amidst the chaos. She went about her business as if everything was normal, telling us that all was well, that we were safe and sound, even though I could see the doubt in her eyes.

Tia was always taking care of others. That’s just who she was, and I adored her for it. She wore a smile on her face, for she knew that's what people needed the most, to feel safe, even if they were coughing up a storm and on their last breath.

Then the most hated day of my life came—the day when I heard her first cough. Sadness crawled into my heart as I remembered the painful truth we both knew was to come.

Regardless she kept smiling, and I smiled back. It was the only way we both knew how to cope with our sorrow. Tia was my hero.

Even now I can feel her smile upon me, and once again I smile back, grateful for all her love, but also for the sadness that propelled me into a new beginning. A new life.

My pregnant sister left Cairo with Han in order to protect their child. And now with my mom gone, I felt like the only light remaining in the city had faded away. There was nothing else left for me in that damned city. So I left.

I journeyed straight into the desert with the Bedouins and their caravan to the east. They were always on the move, always looking towards the next adventure, and that was the only kind of life that suited me—running away from the past and into the unknown.

The Bedouins let me take care of their camels in exchange for food and shelter. It was there that I began learning the art of storytelling. They had the best stories, full of passion and drama. Even though I knew the endings to every single one, I couldn’t help but be fascinated by them.

There was always an adventurer in their tales searching for some secret object, and after much drama, finally finding it. And of course, as the newly rich hero, he would receive 30 wives and 100 camels, at least. It always made me wonder, though—would all those wives and camels truly make him happy? Sometimes, I would dare to ask the Bedouins the same question, but they would just scoff at me.

Oh, Philosopher, you and your dreams. Boy, stop dreaming, what else is there other than having all that you can buy?

We were in the same desert, but worlds apart.

However, we all loved a good story, and it was in our shared love of adventure that we found our common ground. We were all heroes in search of something—I just didn’t know what that something was.

After a week in the desert, we stumbled upon a place where we had to dismount and walk on foot. I couldn’t help but wonder why.

Why are we walking? I asked.

Patience, boy. All will be revealed soon enough, the Bedouins replied.

Look there, boy, they said, pointing to the rocks.

And lo and behold, we were suddenly in front of a long strait made of red rock. This stunned me. Hundreds and hundreds of small man-made caves were carved into the red rocks everywhere.

Wow, what is this place? I asked in amazement.

They just smiled, leaving me in mystery.

The stones inside looked like they were perfectly cut, and it made me wonder, if they were truly man-made, how could someone create such a thing?

Who made these, and why? I asked the Bedouins.

They shrugged their shoulders, as it seemed it didn’t matter to them.

This was something I never understood in humans. How come people don’t ask themselves the simple question, why? Is it just me and my curiosity, I wondered.

They call this the Devil’s Passage. Some call it the city of Petra, one of them said.

Listen, he continued, at the end of this passage, there is this old man named Sayid who helps take care of our camels. He knows all about this place. You can ask him—he’ll tell you about this cursed place.

It’s cursed? I asked, surprised, hoping to find out a bit more.

Well, isn’t it? There are all these caves and no one in them. Seems cursed to me, he said with a chuckle.

We finally got to the end of the passageway. It seemed like the portal through time was now closed, leaving everyone who passed in a veil of forgetfulness. The mystery was now over, but at least I could ask the old man all of my questions. Nobody else seemed to care but me. Thirst and hunger made everybody forget about all the secrets left behind.

Welcome, my friends, Sayid addressed the Bedouins, make yourselves comfortable. Allow me to bring you some fresh tea—you must be weary from your long journey. He then continued his usual tasks, caring for those passing by. His presence left me in awe, yet it appeared I was the only one who noticed.

Sayid was a fascinating man unlike any I had ever encountered. His appearance was simple and elegant, yet utterly ordinary. He presented himself as nothing more than a camel caretaker, but I sensed there was much more to him—something I was irresistibly drawn to understand. I needed to discover what made him stand out.

What are these caves? I rushed to ask him while he was preparing the tea.

They are not caves, he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

When our eyes met, a sudden feeling of recognition washed over me. It felt as though I had known this old man my entire life. It was a sensation I couldn’t comprehend. I had never experienced such a thing before. He simply looked at me and smiled, seeming to acknowledge my perplexity, which only added to my confusion. It was as though he felt the same thing.

What are they? I asked eagerly.

Shelters, he said cryptically.

Shelters for what? I asked, confused.

He looked at me, and his tone suddenly changed. Well, you certainly seem curious, young fellow! he exclaimed, as it seemed like I was the first one to ever ask him so many questions about the place.

How could one not be? I asked, wondering how people could miss such obvious magic and mystery of this grand place.

Yet another question that made him stop and ponder. Now, I had all of his attention.

How old do you think these caves are? he tested.

If they’re truly made by humans, then I would say a few hundred years.

He laughed, My dear boy, these are thousands and thousands of years old.

My eyes lit up.

He smiled.

Please, tell me, what is this place? I asked, unable to hide my excitement.

Have you always been like this? he inquired, as it seemed to me he was more interested in me than I was in his tale.

Yes, I answered impatiently.

He smiled again. Alright. You see, long, long ago, there was a civilization called Atlantis. Have you ever heard that name before?

Atlantis? I remember thinking. I’d never heard of such a name, but it sounded intriguing. It triggered a feeling of awe and amazement, even though I couldn’t fathom why.

No, not really, I responded.

"Well, this was hundreds of generations past. These were extraordinary people. They built the pyramids and laid the foundation of Egypt, or the Land of Khem as our history knows it.

"They possessed objects that could soar above water, crystals that illuminated even the darkest corners, grand temples, and palaces with resplendent gardens and magnificent fountains. The people were beautiful, gentle, kind, and prosperous. It was a true paradise on Earth.

Can you picture this place? he suddenly asked.

Yes! I replied, without even a blink.

You can? he smiled.

I was now confused. Why would he ask me such a strange question?

Most people can’t, you see, he added.

How come? I asked.

Because they’ve forgotten about Atlantis, he said with a sigh.

This statement made me stop for a moment.

What do you mean? How can you forget if you were never there in the first place? I asked, growing more baffled.

Oh, my young fella, maybe, just maybe, you were.

That night in the camp, my dreams were wild and vivid, unlike anything I could remember. People were running and screaming in despair, trying desperately to escape certain death and the destruction that loomed all around them. Despite the chaos, I somehow managed to survive while everyone else perished. I had no idea why.

When I woke up, I was covered in sweat, as if my body had been there in the dream as well.

The Bedouins were now preparing to continue their journey, but I still had the same question rolling around in my head. The desire for answers was growing stronger and stronger.

What did you dream, boy? Sayid asked, as if he already knew.

It was horrible, I answered, still overwhelmed by emotions. There were people dying everywhere. Whole cities were being destroyed, I added.

Have you had such dreams before? he asked.

I did as a child, but I forgot all about them.

You had a dream of Atlantis falling, my dear boy, he explained.

This statement struck me in place. Mixed emotions were now getting even stronger. I was sad about the dream, yet excited to learn more about it, as it woke up something else within me: the passion to know.

So, what happened to Atlantis? I asked.

You see, Atlantis was a magnificent civilization that endured for countless generations. But towards the end, a massive destruction spread everywhere, and reached every corner of the Earth, even here in Petra, he went on.

Why did their civilization end? I asked.

The need for power. You see, with technology comes great power, and power is seductive. Eventually, power seeks more power until it spirals out of control and destroys itself. That’s what brought Atlantis down: imbalance.

Come on, Eli! It’s time to leave, let’s get those camels ready! one of the Bedouins said, calling out my name.

I looked at Sayid and then at the Bedouins.

I am staying! I answered. This statement surprised even me. It felt as if I couldn’t control what I was saying, as if someone else was saying it for me.

What? the Bedouin replied, completely perplexed.

I turned toward Sayid with a stern look he had probably never seen before—at least not from a 16-year-old boy—and asked, Can I stay with you?

Are you sure, boy? Sayid asked.

Yes!

I will ask you one last time! He paused, looking straight into the depths of my Soul with his piercing deep eyes, and said again, Are you sure?

Yes! I answered without any doubt in my heart. I’ve never been sure about anything in my life, but this I am! I said sternly once more.

So be it, I will take care of the boy, he swiftly answered to the Bedouins.

But who will take care of our camels? they said, trying to barter.

You don’t have to pay me for my service! You can leave, he said with such a commanding yet compassionate tone that I had never heard before. I felt no one could oppose such a voice.

Oh, how I miss that voice.

The Blue King

Blue King

Even though it’s sixteen years later, I still reminisce about that moment I chose to stay with Sayid. It was a moment that changed my life forever.

Like Sayid, I like telling a story from the end. So I’ll do that with my audience tonight—I will start with the fall of Atlantis.

The sun was slowly setting behind the pyramids, serving as a sign for all in the neighborhood to gather at my sister’s house.

Have you guys ever wondered who built the pyramids? I asked my audience, starting my tale.

The pharaohs, one of the elders answered.

"Yes, most of them. However, the first and most magnificent were made by the ancient ones—the ones that came from the lands of Alt, as they called it.

"Their lands were being destroyed by earthquakes, floods, and fires. So the only safe place for them was to go underground. They were hiding there for thousands of years, creating underground tunnels and cities like those beneath the pyramids in Giza.

"The surface of the Earth was almost impossible to live on, and if there were pockets that were still allowing life, they soon became overrun by wild and ferocious animals.

"When the time came to resurface once again, the Atlanteans started building the pyramids from the ground up. They had many purposes. But the most important one was reminding people of their divinity and their heritage—the land of Alt.

When was the Great Pyramid of Khufu constructed? asked one of the elders.

Around 25,000 years ago, I said, waiting for them to try to even imagine such a long time. And by the way, it wasn’t Khufu who built it, okay? I said to their surprise. He just had too much lotus flower tea one night as he was sitting beneath the Sphinx, and started believing he did. But no, please, he wasn’t that bright, I joked.

A few giggled.

Who built it then? asked the elder.

Hermes or Thoth, however you want to call him, I said with my proud voice, knowing that history itself wants some things straightened out once and forever. But alas, before I get more questions about the pyramid, I better get back to my agenda—Atlantis.

In its beginnings, Atlantis had many kingdoms. These kingdoms were led by wise and kind leaders who considered themselves guides, not rulers. They loved their people deeply and were respected for their wisdom, beauty, and grace. However, over time, people began to turn away from the natural ways of life and turn instead toward fear.

Fear? asked Mara, my little niece.

Yes, fear, I replied.

What were they afraid of? she asked.

Life, I answered.

I don’t understand, said Mara.

I knew this was going to be confusing, I said. Are you afraid right now?