The Story of the Creation of the Miniature Man

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The second backstory recounts a Bronze Age Period when the Minoan volcanic eruption of Thera reduced the Mediterranean Island  to rubble.  Sixty cubic kilometers of rock was jettisoned into the atmosphere, and a 200' thick layer of rock fell back onto the houses.  This event caused the collapse of many Middle Earth  civilizations, and much that went before has been lost.  Recovered, near Thera, from the bottom of the sea, is the Antikythera Mechanism.  A wondrous clockwork capable of predicting the eclipses and events of the heavens.  Until its discovery, the ability of ancient peoples to construct such an Orrery was not  expected.  It is not known when it was built, it could have been an heirloom when lost. No known equivalent device has been known to have survived the travails of the ages.  This narrative is intermixed with the main account when Richard, the Mycenaean midget, plays a significant part.

Here was where he, Aleks, was born, here was the jewel of the Aegean Sea, surrounded by deep blue waters, a harbor protected from both storm and raider by the ring and reef of neighboring isle Aspronisi, with only a small opening for Phoenicians and other sturdy sea-traders.  The citizens had even repelled the Pharaoh’s attempt at Satrapy, dropping the mighty howrse-hair rope across the gap and archers firing a continuous torrent of arrows at the melee below until the Egyptians sued for peace and withdrew.  Here was a pleasant and comforting climate, nurturing both persimmon and olive, safe and secure, with centuries of peace and fair trade and enlightened governance, culminating in the pinnacle of mankind, where advances in thought and invention were continually nurtured.  Aleks lived here in a comfortable white plastered home with his family and father who was the King’s Master Maker and Smith.  Oh, the laughter and companionship which defined his family built the memories and strong foundations which sustained Aleks throughout his lifetime.

Remembering as he worked, he was always impressed when the King brought his guests into the smithy shop and proudly showed off Μάρκος, his father’s,  work, whether it be the Astrological Orreries which predicted the seasons, the movement of the wanderers, and foretold the disappearance of the Sun-God, or the astounding life-like motions of the mechanical men.  Why, Aleks had watched as royalty from far Persia, the exotic Hind, and the fabled Cathay jostled to look and buy.  The last work had been bid on by a representative of the Pharaoh, and by a giant covered in yellow fur.  The Pharaoh was offering a hundred-weight of gold from the highlands of Ethiopia and gems from the Kingdom of Kush, and the Wildman had twenty stone of star-metal from the far north.  The King wanted the gold, and his father wanted the star-stone.  Aleks didn’t know the outcome, it seem to include drinking at the late-night revelry which he was not allowed to attend.  Afterwards, the King had offered the master Smith his weight in gold in appreciation and was astonished when it was turned down.  What could gold buy what he didn’t already have: peace, security, respect and family.  Gold would only get in the way and create envy and tension.  Use the gold wisely, he counselled, to protect the Kingdom.

Cool air from the morning shore breeze blew into the window where Aleks and his father worked on the wind-up Automatons, all gears and springs and shafts and which were practically alive.  Leaving his work bench, he carefully damped the ash wood fire, which made the unsurpassed soot that clung to the chimney.  Gathering the glazed ceramic cup, and using the finest camelhair, he gently brushed the black dust into the bowl, careful not to sneeze, or touch anything until after he washed.  Then returning to the worktable, he applied the smallest amount of the powder to the gears of father’s latest creation, and turned the crank of the brace. Although this was a little mechanical man, it was also a tool, and could transform between one and the other as one turned the crank.  When Aleks completed cycling the motions, he selected the crystal of power and peered intently at the movements.  This mechanism was father’s pinnacle achievement, utilizing all the best craftsmen on the Island because a creation of this complexity and miniaturization required the countless effort of many many hands, and Aleks knew that no where else in the world was a wonder like this.  While Aleks had been woolgathering, his hands had dipped a small cedar stave in the secret dust, carefully removed two of the gears and began rubbing the bright spots on the metal that the movement had exposed.  His father had not yet entrusted that what that secret dust was to the apprentice, his son, but the mechanism worked smoother when he was done.  Today, the shop was all business.  Little did Aleks know that life could change at any moment.

Aleks hurried along the King’s Way at his father’s bidding.  Poseidon’s shaking of the land during the last twelfth day and the following tremblers had everyone nervous.  The ship’s boy whom he sometimes wrestled with told him in confidence that their mate was talking into his beard about the bones and signs, fish boils breaching the surface and descending again, seabirds aflutter and screaming up and down the beach, and who foretold tales of fires at the Pillars. They were casting off today, he said, and every wise person would be too, he, to return to his Villanovus home.  Worst of all, the smiling dolphins who were the patron animals of the Kingdom had all disappeared.  The boy continued his haste down the King’s Way, looking at the troubled bay, then again over his shoulder at the forested mountain and then at the King’s villa where rocks rattled past the great houses of the rich and royalty.  Oh, what did the fates have in store?

Yesterday, Aleks’ father had him begin to wrap the spice jars with cotton and papyrus to protect them from the rattles that were coming more frequently.  The boy from the Etruscan Peninsula with the strange accent was gone, along with his guttural pronunciations. At-an-tus indeed!  No proper way to pronounce Akrotiri, but his father chided him to be respectful of the foreigners, even if they sounded funny and dumb.  Father reminded him that they surely were respectful people in their own land, considering the ships and trade goods they carried, and not to judge too quickly or be subject to costly mistakes.  He shook his head, and refocused upon his task.  As he worked he watched his father gather the precious, the flask of Royal Purple dye, the astrological orreries and the priceless mechanical men.  He watched in awe as father removed the miniature man from the timbered safe room, his most precious, the one they had labored so hard over during the last cycle of the sun.  Father was making decisions to leave home, how could this be?!

Last night, the god had shrugged again and most of Goat’s Corner slid into the sea, many a sheep and even a few shepherds were lost to the tides.  Dust and dirt were still in the air, refusing to settle, being blown slowly out to sea.  Steam and stench crawled the land, gaging one unawares as he followed Father’s directions.  Oh woe.  No.  He must remain steadfast, to help Father with Mother and his younger brother and sisters, to prepare for departure.  People were in alarm, rushing to and fro outside his door as they  tried to gather their wits and their lives together and decide what to do.  He must continue his wrapping in the preparation.. suddenly the ground underfoot shifted, and swayed slightly, making him stop in fearful anticipation, but the shaking quit and after a moment, he went back to his packing.  His attempt at a fatalistic view was failing him.

Yesterday morning the King’s Mountain blew lightning and rocks into the sky, clouds streaming away into the glow of the sunrise.  Women had screamed in the streets, dragging their children behind.  The potter’s barn two streets up the Way had been damaged by a large stone that had fallen from the sky but the people were okay.  By the turn of the sand clock the event was over with the exception that a fine dust waft over the Island, swirling in the uncertain morning breeze.  Aleks joined the rest of the community to assess and clean up, even the King and his Council were in the streets helping, as it should be.  More of Shephard’s Corner had been lost, as well as a swath of villas perched over a ravine where a landslide had destroyed all.  Father had known them, but Aleks had never spoken with their people, the children had run in different circles.  Steam was still issuing from the mountain top, and as he swept the street he disturbed small clouds of dust, father tore and wet a small silk cloth at told him to wear it over his nose and mouth.  How could father treat silk like a rag?  The world was being turned over today.

The world was falling apart.  Last night was the largest shaking yet, things were thrown off of shelves onto the floor and roof tiles crashed in the street, and his insides had turned to jelly. Aleks’ family gathered together in the great room and huddled together in their fear and alarm.  Through the darkened windows they could see fires out of control in the neighborhood and father made him leave with him to assist guard with the other neighborhood men to put the blazes out.  When they returned home Aleks couldn’t rest from worry, and only listened to his mother and older sister whisper to each other and try to shush the youngest from whimpering.  He rose from his sleepless mat and went out to see that the mountain was now continuously venting great billows of steam and that portions of the bay were seeming to boil, although he couldn’t understand how.  Father said that the citizens would gather and discuss their choices today and that he, his mother, and siblings must wait upon his return.  The King will decide their fate.

The harbor was a madhouse, many overburdened ships leaving, a very few daring captains faced huge perils coming back in exchange for the immense profits being generated during this emergency.  Everyone who could were lined up on the pier, some stragglers in the city buffeted by poor choices of what to leave and what to take, and were risking being left behind, being.  Father had separated his hoard onto three vessels and arranged passage for his family on the king’s ship. Aleks and father waited on deck near the mast for the King to board. All the ships were overloaded with the citizens, most of whom were being mistreated by the crews, refusing even the smallest of personal possessions, and exchanging only gold and gems for travel, the wails of lost property and animals could hardly be bared.  There was an argument on the dock, shouting near the King, the ship’s mate was gestating at the King’s adjunct, who was shouting back.  Father begin to make his way from the ship to the turmoil.  After many a moment, his father returned and said that the King’s daughter had insisted that her maid be accompanied on this vessel, and that the crew appealed to the King that the ship was too far down in the water as it was.  Father had solved the crisis by volunteering him, Aleks, to ride on another ship, and also transferred all of his family’s tools and gold weight to ride with him.  The rest of his family, and the mechanical men an orreries would stay with the King. Aleks was stunned, it seemed that during crisis, some were more equal than others.

They were finally at sea, and he returned his eyes upon the land, with the thunders and lightning continually burning at the top of the mountain, and rivers of fire flowing down its side.  His family had parted ways on the King’s ship.  They had made quick plans for getting together after the crisis, but he was here alone with a strange crew. The sky had been black for three days the sun did not show its face.  The Thalamian rowers were chanting to the drums to maintain a strong rhythm while beating against the currents and tides swirling close ashore.  The captain had reefed the sails, unwilling to trust the uncertain winds whipping about the island, the steerboard was dug deep into the running swells that the ship quartered in its hurry to get away from the approaching doom.  The hold was full of humanity and precious goods, crammed into the crew’s compartment vacated by the rowers, who were stroking with a fierce determination.  Finally, land was lost to sight, not another ship visible, and they were alone in the ocean,

The sea had become a roil, the air had become full of smoke and brimstone, impossible to breath.  Loud sustained thunder and booms smote the ears. The ship’s captain continued to curse, and had begun to throw most baggage over the side, despite his protestations, his father’s tools were tossed too.  The Old Man told the folks in steerage that if it did not clear up within the Babylonian hour that to save the rest and the ship he would begin to throw them into the sea also, beginning with the ones who made the most noise, his threats were backed up by the mates and their truncheons and staves.  His father would never do that.  He valued people too much, and could not condone the way the barbarians thought, they would cut their families in half to save some when they had rolled the bones and determined they could not save all.  Who knew when you could save some but not all, how cruel were these men?  He was glad his father had kept the mechanical men with on his ship.  They would never be thrown overboard. 

Oh the hell, the sea had risen up to the size of a massif and crashed upon the ship, having tried to crush them.  Oh, that horrible captain had slapped all the others overboard, and only his father’s reputation had saved him.  The boat had almost rolled over and Aleks had stared into a deep green maw of froth and chop, holding onto the gunnel with all his might.  The ship had abruptly rolled the other way throwing every loose item into the ocean, and ripped out with a bang many of the lines that held the mast sturdy, which proceeded to be swept out to sea.

With a lightened boat, they had not been torn apart and had righted.  Seven more times the seas had risen up, and seven times the captain had somehow saved them.  They had survived but were being driven away at the mercy of the waves.   The following hours must have become day and night again, but the sun did not appear, and the world was a black as a cave.  None of the ship’s supplies had survived intact and somehow the chandler had found small lamp in storage and the weak yellow glow by the remains of the mast was all the light there was to be had.  The subdued crew were dark and moody, many having to spend time in the hold bailing the leaking joints in the hull.  Just as daylight was beginning to peek a red eye from the horizon they heard a roar which must have been rocks and shoals on the steering board side, so close as to deafen him.  Oh, he would collapse from the beating the world had delivered, wanting to be dead.

Once again on land, the terror of the preceding days still gripped him tightly through the chest, he barely could breath and hardly think.  He stared with exhausted eyes at the other survivors that also looked devastated.  Gradually, he looked around until he found the ship’s captain who was standing adjacent to the mate, not talking, just slowly touching his raw hands.  He slowly walked over to them, trying not to stagger, and dropped to one knee, and thanked them for his life, and referred them to his father’s goods and gold in the hold.  He pledged all that was there to them for the miracle that they had accomplished, saving the ship from certain destruction, the goods were small tokens for the gift of tomorrow.  The captain stared at him with dull eyes, but after a moment, gave him a small nod of acknowledgment.  With that, Aleks slowly stood up, and backed away for a few feet with his head down, before picking up his kit and turning away. Looking around the foreign port, he was gripped with fear again. Oh, with a few residual gems and gold and one small astrolabe hidden with his few remaining navigation tools, he might be able to trade his way to safety.  But, what did the fates have in store?

Looking back, the memories of the lost days were beginning to fade, but the vision of the green and black mountains of water, the rivers of fire, and heaven being torn asunder stayed with him and would for the rest of his years.  Search and travel as he might, he found no indication of his family’s survival.  He finally met up with the boy he tussled with as a youth, the boy now a man, a Captain in his own right with his own modern ship, filled with Phoenician oarsmen on three decks, not at all like the penteconter he had escaped the Isle in.  He visited every port and islet along the Aegean, south to grand Luxor, to the now ruined Minos, north again to mighty Troy.  Never again did he see his Father, family or the fabulous mechanical men.  Never again would he hear the laughter or share in the smiles. They must have been lost with all hands off the coast of Thera and sunken to a watery grave the day his world ended. 

While travelling with his friend, Aleks made his living by trading the stories the golden halls and alabaster columns of his ancestral home, the greatest civilization ever seen by man. When strangers in a strange land cast shadows of doubt over his stories of fire and brimstone, and of the wizards and astrologers, he would pull out the wondrous Orrery in exchange for his lodging and meal.  His only regret was his inability to change the Captain’s rough accent and guttural pronunciations. At-an-tus indeed!  Not a proper way to pronounce Ak-ro-tiri at all.