We have commissioned the digditchers to construct a monument to Neb. He will not be forgotten, ever a ruler in our hearts.

  Bo-dar, Sentinel City Chief of War

  Redbrick: History of a Galaxy - Book I

  Neb stared confounded at Sentinel City. If it was even Sentinel City. He was definitely, very definitely, late. Or completely lost. How long was I lying unconscious? He tried to process what he saw, but was overwhelmed with a sense of insanity. The Kor Mountains were right there, in the west. To the north was the plain, and he recognized the dark, frightful edge of the Rahn Swamp to the east. Yes, this had to be Sentinel City. But everything had changed. The city he knew was a walled fortification with six sides and stocky guard towers overlooking the plain. Two gates, one on either side of the city, were the only way in. But now, everything was… different. The city was anything but a walled fort designed to protect the southern tribes from foreign invasions. Instead, it was a sprawling urban area, with houses running as far as the eye could see. People scurried everywhere, running to this or that place, ignoring Neb as they continued their daily routines. There was still a wall, but it was a long, straight line, cutting across the northern plain, a permanent barrier between the southern jungles and the northern savanna. It was so far away, he wasn't sure if it even had gates… he'd come in from the jungle, far south of the wall and well within the borders of the city. Giant watchtowers stood at either end of the plain, peering past the wall unto distant lands.

  Entering the city, Neb wandered the streets in shock, trying to understand what had happened. Instead of small huts, the homes were better built, of clay or wood, and the campfires had been replaced with roaring communal stoves. A tall building at the city's center drew him in, and he eventually found himself at its base, staring up in wonder. He had no idea that he was standing on the site of the old armory. The new building was four stories high, twice as wide as it was tall, and unlike anything he’d seen in his last visit.

  I'm getting nowhere. I need to find Kalu. He'll remember me. Neb wandered the streets, looking for the building with the red door, but the roads were unfamiliar. It seemed unlikely that he would find the same building anyway… there had clearly been quite a bit of recent construction. After a half hour random walk, he finally swallowed his pride. A young girl carrying a jug of water was hurrying past.

  “Miss?” he called. “Do you know where the Keeper of Knowledge is?”

  The girl gave him a strange look. “The Keeper of Knowledge?”

  “Um, yeah. His name is Kalu. He takes care of the red bricks. Have you heard of him?”

  “Kalu, no. But I can take you to the library. Is that where you need to go?”

  Neb nodded like a lost child.

  “Okay, follow me!”

  The girl went zipping down the street with Neb chasing after her until they came to a large building of red stone, not as large as the armory, but still a major fixture of the city. A square plaza was in the front of the library with a bronze statue of a thin, youthful man standing prominently in its center.

  “Here's the library,” she pointed, “but I have to get this water to my mom. Have fun!” She turned to leave, and then stopped, looking back at Neb with narrow eyes. “Ya know, you look just like the statue,” she declared, scanning him up and down. With that said, she dashed off, leaving Neb alone in the plaza.

  He walked over to the statue, curious. The metal had become old and dull from years beneath the hot African sun. It was of a young man, about Neb's age, standing alert, as if on watch for something. A large square object was nestled in the crook of the figure's arm. Even though it was of fading bronze, it reminded Neb of the red stone he'd found in Baddig. He circled the statue warily, as a heavy feeling of discomfort fell upon him. The girl was right; no matter which way he looked at it, the figure looked exactly like him. Neb's heart was racing, though he wasn't certain why. The world suddenly seemed very confusing; nothing made sense. He backed away from the statue, closed his eyes, and opened them–but it was still there.

  Am I hallucinating? I know I was out for a while… but this is ridiculous. He surveyed the city around him. This is a dream, he reasoned. It didn’t make any sense. How could the city have grown so much while he’d been unconscious?

  A voice behind him made him jump.

  “That was some storm that swept through. Come and gone, before I finished my daily poem. Sign of a long rainy season, it is.”

  “Woah. Um, yes, sure.” Neb turned to face a wiry man with sharp, angular features and long, tangled hair.

  “I'm Pablu,” he said, reaching out to shake Neb's hand. “And you... you're the spitting image of Neb.” Pablu patted the statue. “Neb has been guarding this plaza for a long time.”

  Neb stared.

  “You're not from around here, are you?”

  “I am Neb. I was just here yesterday... or, I think I was here.”

  “You're Neb? Oh, you mean your name. I suppose there are some who bestow upon their sons the names of kings… even unlucky ones.”

  “What do you mean? I don't know any kings named Neb.”

  “Where are you from? Surely you've heard of Neb, one of our first three kings. See, it says so right here.” He pointed to a small silver plaque at the base of the statue.

  “Um, I... I can't read.”

  “It says Dedicated to our fearless friend Neb, who gave his life whilst protecting the great land of Atakala from the mighty Romans.”

  “Sir… what year is it?”

  Pablu gave him an odd look. “Two hundred and ninety-five.”

  “Two ninety-five? But, that's impossible! The Chief Kuma's Fall was five hundred years ago.”

  “Oh… you use the classic calendar. I should have guessed; perhaps you are a scribe, or a poet, as I? Is that why you tarry outside the library? But you do not know the year? It is now the seven hundred and ninety-fifth year after the Chief Kuma's Fall. That is, the two-hundred and ninety-fifth since the passing of King Neb.” Pablu looked up at the statue wistfully.

  King Neb fainted.

  Someone was banging on the door to the library. Igawa, a hefty scribe in his forties, sighed and set his pen down sideways to mark his page. “Who is it?”

  “It's me, Pablu! I've got a body!” Pablu pushed open the door and shuffled in backwards, dragging Neb behind him.

  “A body? What have you done? I don’t want that!”

  “Nothing! We were just talking, and he fell over. He's not from around here; I don't know what to do with him.”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  The scribe pushed the table to the side to clear a space in the cramped, musty room. “Lay him down. What happened?”

  “I have no idea! We were discussing the statue of Neb… I think something about the inscription upset him. He wasn't making much sense.”

  The scribe bent down and scrutinized the motionless figure. “I can imagine. But fear not, he will be fine… he has only fainted. Hand me the jug on that shelf.”

  Pablu carried over the jug. “He looks just like the statue. It's uncanny.”

  “And he fainted when he read the inscription?”

  “Well, around then. He said he couldn't read, so I read it to him. Then he asked what year it was, and I told him. That's when he fell over.”

  The scribe dumped the water over Neb's face.

  Neb sprang up like a jack-in-the-box. “Okay, I’m up already!” he whined, wiping his narrow face with his shirt. He looked around him. “Where am I?”

  “In the library.” Igawa stood up and put the pitcher back on the shelf. “You’ve been gone a long time, Neb.”

  Neb frowned. “You know my name?” He scanned the room and spotted Pablu. “Oh, Pablu told you.”

  Pablu frowned. “Actually, I don't think I did. How did you know his name?”

  “Who around here doesn’t?” A look of sorrow swept over the scribe's face, his thick lip dropping towards his chin. “Well, most people have forgotten, I suppose. No one cares for history anymore. The youngsters, they enjoy football and races and dynamite. Not history. History is left for the librarians and the scholars. Shelves overflow with books, bundled and sealed until they are as old and forgotten as history itself. We wander the stacks, communing with the great ones of the ages, while the world races by in search of the next new thing, longing to shed the heavy cloak of the past and forget the lessons that were much too hard learned. It is no easy thing to write history, for many quills and many nights are lost in the effort. Yet it takes more effort to read it, for the one who writes does so out of passion and zeal, lest the experiences so vividly remembered be lost. But the one who reads does so as one looking through a muddied veil, for no craft of words can fully convey what was once reality but is now names, dates, and reams of prose to those who do not take the time to lift the veil and see history for what it is.”

  “And what is history?” asked Pablu in jest.

  “It is our present, and our future. For it is only by inspection of the past that we may understand our current reality, and more, see what lies ahead. It is how I know your name, Neb.” The scribe looked into Neb's blue eyes, pulling his spectacles off his face. “Your name is recorded in many writings. You were prophesied in the redbricks… they said you would come, heralding the Time of the Great One. You came, and not just you! Jaw, and Zartro also, and later, countless diplomats from diverse tribes. Jaw and Zartro became the first kings of this nation, but Neb… nothing remained of Neb but a bronze statue in his honor, and his name penned in now dusty scrolls… Neb, the third king, who never saw the throne. He went missing, the books say…” The scribe's gaze had again wandered, but it shot quickly back to Neb. “Where have you been? And how are you still alive? You are surely greater than Umanion proclaimed!”

  “I haven't been anywhere; is it really the seven hundred and ninety-fifth year after the Chief Kuma's Fall?”

  “It is. But you were last seen on the five hundredth. What happened on the night you disappeared?”

  “I was on a mountain, looking down on Kor Pass, when I saw an army crossing the northern savanna. I was supposed to light a signal fire, but my companions unknowingly left me without flint. In my haste to warn the Sentinel City army, I rushed down the mountainside in the black of night, and... I'm not sure, I must have hit something. I remember a collision, some noise and smoke, and then... darkness. I woke this morning, lying in the jungle and hurried on to warn the army. But the entire city is different; I fear I am hopelessly late.”

  “Astonishing. You claim to have lain in a jungle for nearly two-hundred years.”

  “I claim nothing; you’re the one telling me I did that! But, what happened to the army? Did the invaders win? Is that why everything looks so different?”

  “No, they were thwarted. For although your warning did not come and a siege was laid against the Tief, your companions Jaw and Zartro brought the help of the Adalet Tribe, and the invaders (Romans, they later learned) were utterly destroyed by their hard work and quick thinking. The Tief were thrilled, and thus the advice of the redbricks was followed to the letter. A new nation, Atakala, was formed, and Jaw and Zartro were elected Kings, along with yourself, a third king, to honor your part in those early days, for you were one of the three who first arrived in Sentinel City, the first ambassadors of many. Now, all but a few of the tribes have united and the land has prospered. We have unearthed many redbricks, each with wisdom and advice to make our nation stronger. Sheer knowledge is overcoming the barriers of the past; tribal fighting has almost ceased.”

  “Almost?”

  “There are a few enclaves far to the south which have chosen not to join us… the Arush, the Riamb… others even more mysterious, dwelling deep in the swamps where none dare visit. They despise our vision for unity. They have opposing cultures to ours; skirmishes continue to this day. The redbricks insist they be treated with respect, that they not be forced to join the nation–but the advice of an ancient scholar does not wipe out generations of hatred and mistrust on both sides.”

  “I remember Kalu spoke of uniting the tribes. Yet, I cannot believe that we have come so far… what of the other tribes: the Oklag, the Khand, the Malak? There must have been great difficulty bringing them together!”

  “You forget–I am only sixty years old. Atakala is all I have known. The history books speak of these ancient divisions, but it seems they were not as deep as you think. Our tribes are united by an even deeper, more ancient unity… for we all were once members of a single tribe, that of the Chief Kuma. But in practical terms, it seems the Roman invasion startled the tribes; made them more aware of their weaknesses. The lure of a unified front against future enemies was compelling motivation to follow Umanion's advice. And those who did not immediately join were quickly won over when they learned of the new technology.”

  “Technology?”

  “Yes… the most interesting part of the redbricks. We uncover a few new stones each year, containing reams of information that have helped us develop faster than any surrounding nation. Telescopes, dynamite, lanterns, eyeglasses, watches, aspirin… we learn more every year. It has kept us ahead in every subject: math, science, economics, warfare, agriculture... this knowledge is only shared with the Atakalan Tribes, those who have agreed to join the nation.”

  “Who leads this nation? Surely Jaw and Zartro are no longer king.”

  “Zartro's descendants have maintained the throne, though it is the tribal leaders who govern their people. Yet ultimately, it is the Great One who rules. We follow every word we find inscribed on the stone tablets. Though he wrote them hundreds of years ago, it sometimes seems as if he writes them yet.”

  “You really believe they were written by him? As I recall, the whole thing seemed rather sketchy. The only reason we came to Sentinel City was to find out what they meant. Kalu kept insisting they were written hundreds of years ago… but it cannot be possible! They predicted something that hadn't happened.”

  “You believe they were forged by our own people?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Could one of us have predicted the invasion of the Romans?”

  “It is no less believable than the alternative which you propose.”

  “You have a point, though I must tell you that both of your companions, Jaw and Zartro, eventually came to agree with Kalu that the stones were written long ago, by one with great insight and a good deal of luck. No, there is no simple explanation for the accuracy of his predictions. Perhaps they are divine, we do not know. In any case, our land has become a great nation. We are envied by all those around us, though we take great care to keep our wisdom hidden from them, as ordered by Umanion.”

  Neb frowned. He still wasn't sure what he thought of this 'Umanion' character. Everything had happened so fast. And what about his hundred cattle? When was he going to get those hundred cattle? His head hurt.

  “You don't happen to have some more water, do you?” He looked longingly at the empty jug.

  “I'll get it,” said Pablu cheerfully, rushing out the door with the jug. Listening to Neb's crazy story had given him an inspiration for a new poem, but penning it down in front of Neb and Igawa seemed impolite.

  Neb and the scribe continued their discussion, stopping only for a brief visit by Pablu, who dropped off the water and disappeared just as quickly, citing a breakthrough in a free verse sonata. The two had much to tell each other and Igawa eagerly penned Neb’s every word.

  “Ah, never has the writing of history been easier, when history itself stands before me!” he proclaimed.

  Night turned into late night until finally Neb was offered a room on an upper floor. He was unable to sleep, his mind running over everything he’d learned. The next morning, he made a decision. He would travel to Tsyanou, the capital city of Atakala, to meet Zartro the Tenth, the current king, a descendant of his friend Zartro. Apparently, the throne had been in Sentinel City for many years, but was later moved south to be more centralized. This was, of course, the will of Umanion, and Zartro the Third had happily signed the order into law. Just because it had been on a redbrick. It didn't make sense, but then again, Zartro had never made much sense, so maybe it all averaged out. It cannot be as simple as this scribe says. Surely there is another explanation for the bricks, and if anyone knows, it is he. Zartro was a good man. A bit nutty, but good. Perhaps his kin will help me find my place in this strange new world.

  “Be sure to come back!” called the gregarious scribe. “There is so much history left to discuss.”

  Neb smiled and left the library. He walked past the bronze statue which stared eerily back at him, and turned south along a wide street, bound for a city which was once a tiny village, to meet a king who was once… well, he hadn't existed back then… Zartro got married?

  He laughed, thinking of the funny looking youth who'd raced through the jungle climbing trees and singing ridiculous songs while their trio journeyed to Sentinel City. He was one in a million. Maybe this is all a dream and I will wake up to see him again. Doesn’t seem likely, though.

  Neb was clearly unaware of another of Igawa's maxims: History always repeats itself.