Newport, Rhode Island
1865
My father is dead.
I don't mean he's gone on a long journey or he was lost. I mean, he's dead. As in, he's never coming back.
At least that's what mother told me as we left our village in Ethiopia and crossed the Mediterranean sea to Rome, Italy.
My little sisters Debebe and Lemma, my mother Addis Adinew Mekonnen, and my little brother Barnabas and I have been living in Rome, Italy since I was 12 years old. Which had been when my father, Debaleko Girmai Ezana (a village chief) had apparently died. His oldest son, Amanuel, was now the chief of our tiny Ethiopian village Dahama; he never liked my mother since she was my father's second wife. (Amanuel's mother, Sofia Dejene Amensisa, had died when he was born.)
Yet, when my father died, my mother decided to flee from the hut where we lived; Amanuel's mother's family had made it explicitly clear that we were not welcomed in the royal hut. Instead of returning to her family, mother decided that we should go to Italy and live there. That year we left Ethiopia was 1863, right when many people in Europe and the Americas were so wrapped up in the civil rights of the Africans being forced to live in the United States as slaves. My mother (who was a healer) was recruited to assist in the Atlantean army camps, where the nurses showed her how to wash and bandage injuries. She refused to leave me and my siblings behind, so we stayed with her at Fort Adams in Newport, Rhode Island. There, I saw and heard many horror stories from the soldiers who came in from the battlefield, both Atlantean and Americans; they spoke of death and destruction, which kind of put off my desire to become a warrior.
And if being a warrior meant that I would bring death and suffering to my enemies, I would have no part in it.
When I repeated the stories to my mother, she said, "War is never a good thing, Saida. Yet there are times when we must fight to defend ourselves, and there are times when we must fight to defend those who cannot defend themselves."
"So, does this mean I have to fight?" I said as I was filled with fear.
"Yes, my child," said mother. "You may not carry a weapon or fight in a battlefield, but that doesn't mean that you're not a warrior." She gestured to a map laying on a table in the middle of the room, where it was covered with markings of various battles and skirmishes, saying, "There are wars that must be fought daily; winning those wars depends on the choices that you make."
"So why are they fighting this war?" I asked.
"They fight this war to erase a mistake they made," said mother. "They knew what they did was wrong, yet some of them persisted in that wrongdoing while many others repented of their sins. This is why they fight; to correct a mistake and to make amends."
I nodded, wondering why people would fight to correct a mistake that never should have been made in the first place. What use was it to make amends to a group of people that you never should have mistreated in the first place?
But I felt a hand clap me on the shoulder; Leopold Trichenberg had entered the tent, intending to speak to my mother. He said, "In about three days, the king's airships will rain fire upon this country. You are advised to take your children and return to Rome tonight."
"Why should we leave?" said mother. "I am to serve the American army."
"Not anymore," said Leo. "My father requested that you and your children return to Rome."
"Why must we leave tonight?" I cried out.
"I hate to say this, but this place is no longer safe for you, or your children, Addis," said leopold. "There is a battle coming, and that battle is to decide who lives, and who dies."
At once, mother and I raced around the tent, grabbing as many things as we could and shoving them into bags. I also wrestled my siblings into their coats as mother grabbed a powerful staff and wrapped it in her coat. As soon as we had everything ready, Leopold took us to the airship docks.
Before we left, however, Leopold's father (Sir David) said to us, "You have served us well, Addis Adinew Mekonnen. But alas, the country known as the United States of America will be destroyed in three days and though it will be made pure in many years, it would be for the best if you and your children do not return here."
"So, will you come back for us?" I asked.
"I won't make any promises, but we will find you at the end of all of this," said Leopold. "Even if it takes us many years."
I nodded as the airship The Revelation came into view. Sir David said to me, "Be careful, Saida, as you will hear the magicians saying some very cruel and untruthful things about my son and me. They might say some awful things about your mother."
"I have heard enough people saying horrible things about my mother, especially when she married my father and had me," I said reluctantly. "When my father died, they said such horrible things about mother that she took us and left our village."
"Then you understand," said Sir David. "They will tell you lies about me. They will say that I am a monster. You must never believe those lies."
I nodded as mother pushed me aboard the airship. I knew that I would have to hear some of the most insulting things about Sir David's involvement in the American civil war and my mother's role in that war.
Yet as I remember from speaking to the soldiers, war is not glamorous, nor is it good. But we have a war to fight, and that war is against ignorance and hatred. We must fight to defend ourselves, and we also must fight to defend those who cannot defend themselves.
That's all there is.
Within four days of our return to Rome, mother informed me that King Ihon Fitzgerald of Eirebul had ordered the firebombing if he entire United States. As many people died in those bombings, the Mages living in Kanurhold grew angry upon hearing the reports of deaths and devastation. Some of them called for Sir David to answer to the charges of racial genocide and destruction of America. (As was expected, I had discovered that the country formerly known as America had been named after Amerigo Vespucci, who mapped out the place during the 1400s.)
But with the firebombing, the civil war was brought to a well-deserved end. Yet I knew that it wasn't over for anyone, as there was so much cleaning up that the country had to do before the place could get back to normal. At the same time, Sir David saved the life of President Abraham Lincoln when he fought against a man who tired to kill the man in question. That act endeared him to many people, yet many other people were angry with him for saving the president. (And if someone can't pull a piece of cotton from behind their toes and turn, then they really have no business trying to be with the president!)
So, what did that have to do with how I had to survive living in Rome while there was a war being fought? Why were the Atleanteans so big on judging people? It wasn't like the magicians saw how the people lived their lives. Or maybe they did. Who knew how people operated?
About that, mother said to me, "There will always be people who are quick to judge us because of who and what we are; we can't avoid them if we tried. The best way to deal with them is to pay no mind
to whatever they say."
If only that was easy.
Anyway, I spent almost everyday standing by the dock where the airships landed waiting for Leopold to return to Italy. I frowned, knowing that I would have to wait a long time for him to return, as he had to help his father rebuild the country and clean up the mess that the war had left behind. My sisters teased me about me waiting for Leopold; they assumed that I was infatuated with him. But how could that be, if I considered us as friends? What did they know about romance, being that they were 11 and eight years old?
Mother noticed me standing by the docks while on her walks; she said, "He might not come back when you expect him to, Saida."
"Why not?" I said.
"He is only a man, and a man like might have other people he speaks to," said mother. "Plus, you must know that the perils of love are everywhere. Do you know realize what happened when your father died and I was forced to leave our home?"
I nodded, knowing that we were banished from the village after father's death. My brother Amanuel was 18 years old, and he and his mother's family wanted us to leave the village and never return. If we refused, mother would have been sold as a slave and we would have been separated from each other and sent to various missionaries and boarding schools.
But when mother took us and left for Italy, I knew she was taking our futures into her own hands. When that happened, mother angered many people who lived in our former village for failure to follow the traditional woman's role as a chief's widow.
But for those who don't follow the rules, they were often rumored to suffer from pain and disappointment because they had disobeyed the gods. Yet when I knew mother realized that the gods our people followed were false, as those who followed the false gods were suffering and those who didn't follow the false gods are happier than those who did.
I then said, "When father died, we left to avoid experiencing hardships that stemmed from being forced to follow a strict set of rules that don't bring any sort of meaning to our lives. Those who knew us realized that when we left, we were breaking the rules and we would suffer miserably for our failures."
"And what of the missionaries who come to our village and tell us that there’s another way to live, another god who loves us and wants only the best for us?" said Lemma.
"The villager leaders wanted us to drink from the well of ignorance while the missionaries wanted us to drink from the well of knowledge," said mother. "We must learn to decide for ourselves what kind of life we wish to live."
I nodded, knowing that my future was already compromised due to what mother had done after father died. Because of that, we were officially on the run, as it were. We made sure to never allow anyone to know who we were, lest someone would know our names and have us and mother bring forced to return to Ethiopia, where we would be forced to spend the rest of our lives as slaves.
And didn't I just witness a war that ended slavery in the place formerly known as the United States of America?
"Hello," Amelia," said a man as he approached us. "Still looking for the Trichenbergs, I see?" (Mother changed our names to Amelia, Sadie, Deborah, Lyanna, and Barney when we came to Italy; she made sure that our true names were never used in the presence of another person outside the family.
"I've been hoping he would return here," said mother as she stared at the man. “Why do you ask?"
"I hear sir David has returned to London," said the man. He and the king are being forced to answer to Queen Victoria and Czar Alexander about the attack on America."
"If anything, I’m sure the queen would have been horrified to learn about the firebombing, yet the czar would have been pleased," said mother. "As far as I heard, so many atlanteans have stopped doing business with the United States when the truth about slavery was revealed."
The man nodded, saying, ""Well, you might not have heard the story, but the United States of America is no more," said the man.
"Why not?" said Debebe.
"In fact, the new council has elected to rename the country as Columbiana," said the man.
"And why would they do that?" said Lemma. "I thought it was simply known as America."
"I thought so," said the man, "but most people living in the world wanted to change the name the country to something less ...racist inducing. But it seems that we just can’t think properly, as Christopher Columbus is now considered a villain to the Native peoples of the countries he visited instead of the explorer currently being celebrated all over the world.”
“History is written by the victors to punish the losers,” I said, reciting the quote that the nuns had taught me in school.
"Exactly," said the man. "The Atlanteans have won the American Civil War, so they have every right to rewrite American history."
"But should they?" said mother. "I mean, the Americans have thrown the British off their backs due to nonrepresentational and having a tyrannical king, so why shouldn't they be allowed to keep their history?"
"As was said before, because they have harmed other humans, the Americans have no right to their own lives, nor are they allowed to have their own culture or history," said the man. "As they stripped the natives and Africans of their history and culture, the Atlanteans must give the Americans a taste of their own medicine."
I frowned, knowing that the Americans weren't exactly the good guys or the bad guys, but did they deserve to be written off the page of history due to their many sins?
Otherwise, did the Natives and Africans deserve to be written off the page of history because of ignorance?
Just then, another man came towards us, saying, "There you are, Phineas! We have to get to London immediately!"
"Why?" said Phineas Bardell as he glared at Zebulon Osborne. "What's going on here?"
"The king wants us all to meet him in London," said Osborne. "He wants you to bring Miss Amelia Atwood and her children with him."
"Indeed," said Phineas. To mother, he said, "I don't know what's going on here, but the king wants us all to come to London, probably to make sure that we were all on the same page about the attack on America and the rebuilding of Columbiana."
Mother nodded, saying, "I believe there's no way we're escaping from this unscathed. So many people are angry that America was destroyed in the firebombings and the lands bordering that country are occupied by Atlantean soldiers, but what do they know? Did anyone bother reaching out to the Natives and African slaves and helped them? Did anyone set them free or stopped the illegal slave trade or forced Native removal? Why did the Atlanteans have to stop this senseless crime against humanity by inflicting violence upon a group of people by firebombing an entire country?
What was this nonsense what I'm thinking?
Yet at the same time, I also knew that I could also see Sir David and Leopold Trichenberg if my family returned to London. And with us returning to London, I could finally hear from Leopold about his contribution to the war effort (as well as get the truth about why he had beaten up Derrick Carroll during the infamous tour of Richmond, Virginia).
With that, our family boarded the Revelation and returned to London in the summer of 1865. I had never been to London before, and I wanted to see that it looked like. Yet I had already heard so many bad things about the city, mainly by the mages and spellcasters who came to Rome from magical London in droves. they told me of a madman named Paxton Rothchester, who dubbed himself as a savior of the magical world, as he had claimed to have survived being struck by lightning that killed his grandmother when he was a child. (That story was believed to be a little more than a myth.)
So when the Revelation landed in London, I gasped as I saw the city for what it truly was. Londno was dirty, smelly, and quite ugly. How could Sir David and his family choose to live in such a terrible place?
Yet when I learned that my mother was summoned to the Dewmire Castle by the king, I knew that something wasn't good, not when the truth about our escape from Ethiopia was revealed...
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