The Island of the Altaelans Soon after setting sail from the island of the Kikones, the skies

turned a mottled grey, and our ship was ravaged by a heavy storm. With every sheet of rain we felt the creaking in the boards beneath our feet, growing more doubtful by the second that we would live to see land. As the days passed, my men quickly sank into despair; we were all soaked and chilled to the bone, and most of our stores of food had been ruined by the torrents of rain. Adding to our frustration were the powerful waves working to throw us off course. It was slow going and miserable, and a constant pain knotted in our stomachs and stretched our muscles taut across our stiff bones. But we gritted our teeth and perservered, sending up silent prayers to the gods to cease the downpour. It was seven days before we caught sight of land. At first we were reluctant to believe it, thinking it to be perhaps another front of heavy, low-lying black clouds, but as it became more apparent that it was truly an island, we turned course for it. The first flickers of hope in our hearts made the torrents more bearable as we invested all of our energy into reaching the island. When we came upon the island, we hurriedly secured our ship and fell to our knees on the grassy shore, exhausted. The feel of solid ground beneath us was heavenly, and the storm had been slightly subdued by the twisted trees that bowed and branched over the shore. Through the droplets of rain that coursed down their faces, my men appeared to be crying tears of relief. We gathered some of our belongings and weaponry and trudged inland, unsure of what we would find. I prayed that if the island was inhabited, that it would be by nothing hostile. After about an hour of walking, we came upon a smattering of quaint wooden houses that resided beneath a canopy of thickly tangled tree branches, almost completely sheltered from the rain. Relieved, we rapped on the door of the nearest house. "We are travelers!" I sputtered through the film of water on my face. "Please let us in!" A kindly middle-aged man opened the door, greeting us with an inquisitive smile. "Travelers," he mused, ushering us inside. "We rarely see travelers on Altaela." "Altaela," I repeated. The name was unfamiliar. "No, it was not our intention to come here. The storm drove us to seek refuge wherever we could." The man poured us each a hot beverage, and my men and I nodded silent thanks. "Yes, this area is known for its storms. No one comes here intentionally." He gave us a sad smile. "What is your name, traveler?" "I am Euaristos, Alexander's son," I replied, lying with fluid ease. I sipped the sweet, hot wine. "And your name?" "My name is Akakios, son of Evaristus." He made a sweeping motion with his hands. "Guests, you are free to stay as long as you like, though I have not much to offer." "My men and I thank you, Akakios," I said, bowing my head. The next day, we learned that there was a funeral being held on Altaela for one of the people of the village. Curious, we followed the families to a large hall with a brightly decorated interior. Thinking the air of the funeral strange, I approached Akakios inside. "Akakios, why is a funeral being held in a hall, and not a temple?" I asked him. He gave me a quizzical look. "A temple?" he asked. "Altaelans do not believe in gods."

I raised my eyebrows. "You do not believe in the gods?" I asked, incredulous. "Then how do you explain your very existence?" He shrugged, smiling placidly. "Does it matter? There are so many people here, and I am not special. Does it matter if I know the origin of existence? Not at all. I don't feel the need to know." "Then what is the purpose of life, if not to learn more?" I pressed. Akakios shook his head. "Purpose, I do not know. But look around you," he said, gesturing at the lavishly decorated room. "A funeral is a celebration of life. This man lived fully, and we will cherish his memory. We value life greatly, because we do not believe in an afterlife as some do," he explained. He paused. "There is nothing after this." "Why bother to cherish life if it is so insignificant?" I challenged. Akakios frowned deeply. "Would you want to be forgotten? Why do you adventure? To make a name for yourself. You do not want to be forgotten after you are dead. In that we are all the same." I shook my head. "Indeed not. But I live to serve greater powers. How do you shape your morals without divine guidance?" "We are a content people," Akakios replied. "We are good for the sake of good; we do not let any obsession with deities command our actions. Tell me, Euaristos, had you known of Altaela before you and your men washed ashore?" "No," I said, confused. "But what--" "No, no one has," Akakios interrupted me, his tone rueful. "No one knows we exist. If there are gods, we have never seen them or been touched by them." "That doesn't mean they are nonexistent," I said, utterly perplexed. "Even the gods do not know that Altaela exists." Akakios shrugged his shoulders. "Show me proof, Euaristos, and I will believe you. You know," he paused in contemplation. "There are sometimes people here that find themselves speculating about the existence of the world, about divine beings. But they are never happy. They keep asking questions that can never be answered! You outsiders are all like that, constantly yearning for more, never being satisfied with things as they are. Don't you see how destructive that is? They wear themselves away!" "It is not destructive," I disagreed. "It seems much more fulfilling to question and to wonder than to just accept things as they are. What about the afterlife, Akakios?" I asked. "After you die, what do you believe happens?" The man tilted his head and said simply, "Nothing. What is there to happen? Death is the end for us all." Thoroughly perplexed, I had nothing to say in response. Looking around, I recognized the lack of belief in the people's dull eyes. The absence of any kind of drive was disturbing. I watched them leisurely float about the room, sipping wine and laughing contentedly, unhurried and purposeless. They all seemed resigned to their fates, trying to make the best of a faithless life. Those few days we spent on Altaela passed us by gently and slowly. There was no intensity there, no curiosity of any kind. I felt completely out of place among the Altaelans, though I couldn't help but admit that they all seemed content to be just the way they were. It seemed to me like a comfort to not desire much from life. After four days, when the rain had subsided into a gently swirling mist, my men and I arranged to set sail from the island. We trudged out to the shore just as the rosy-

fingered Dawn gently painted the horizon pink. The sobering mentality of the Altaelans had left us all deep in thought, and there was little talk as we prepared to leave. Aboard our ship, I watched Altaela fade into the distance. The small island was unremarkable, barely inhabited, yet it and its citizens had struck a chord in the hearts of my mariners and I. Was the purpose of life truly as insignificant as Akakios believed it to be? Were there such things as morals, or did we all just desire a bit of recognition so that we were remembered after we died? Lost in thought, I stared out over the rails into the vast ocean, watching the early morning sunlight glitter as it danced across the crests of the waves. When I turned back, Altaela was gone.