Read Online Island of Echoes by Roman Gitlarz - Free Book Online

corridors began to open up on either side of the stairway, but we continued to ascend past them. We finally withdrew into one of the hallways on the sixth landing, much to the delight of an exhausted Lady Pearson. The long hall was parallel to the central wall and stretched the full length of the building. Three ornate doors stood closed along one side and large panes of glass marked its outer edges, illuminating the passage.
    Ms. Yawa opened the central door and steered us inside. The room we entered was ripe with the exotic. Beautiful slabs of onyx formed the flooring of the apartment. A long dining table of dark wood and tortoiseshell stood to the right of the entry door, with eight cushioned chairs of an odd three-legged design stationed around it. Regal couches with lion heads for armrests and paws for feet were positioned at the other end of the space, atop a luxurious crimson rug. Opulence bedecked even more opulence everywhere we looked.
    The corners and shelves throughout were decorated with great porcelain vases and beautiful unique statuary. I noted traces of Mesopotamian art in the golden accents affixed to the tables and armoires. An intricate white flower was carved into the tall ceiling above us, its petals stretching out across the vast space. It was an aesthetic feast for the eyes and I had no doubt that the furniture could equal that of any Sultan’s in intricacy and flair.
    But the most striking feature of the room lay not in furnishing but in construction. While the inner walls were fashioned of simple red and tan stone, the curved outer wall was wholly constructed of glass. I judged that we were some twenty stories up, and it provided a magnificent southern vista over the forested plain and the blue waters of the sea beyond.
    “We hope you will be comfortable here,” Ms. Sarmia beamed.
    “It is magnificent!” I acknowledged and walked up to the window. Every shade of green could be discerned among the sun-drenched treetops below and the crowns of the numerous white stone buildings nestled among the woodland erupted through the foliage.
    “We are very grateful to Etia Yawa for guiding you to Aleria,” the woman added. “She does not speak the Latin tongue, but she bids you welcome to our home.”
    The old woman who met us at the temple cast her warm smile upon us.
    “What is Aleria?” Father Daniel inquired.
    “Forgive me,” the advisor continued, “It is the capital of Capribo. This area between the mountains marks its borders.”
    “How many people live on this island?” I asked.
    “Almost one million,” she declared proudly.
    “A million!” Father Daniel and I exclaimed in unison to the surprise of our companions, and we relayed the new disclosure to them.
    “Incroyable!” Rémy gasped. “To imagine that so many people could be hidden from civilization.”
    “To develop a civilization all their own,” Ella corrected.
    The revelation sparked something within me, like a drop of water making contact with a parched mouth. The succession of events over the previous two days had kept me in a distant, almost dreamlike, state. But I was now promptly snapped back to vivid reality. Our situation and my surroundings were no longer marvels to observe, but tangible objects to touch and people with a culture all-their-own to discover. As a man of letters who spent his youth in the study of human civilization, I was suddenly overwhelmed with an unquenchable thirst for more.
    I must admit that, as much as I craved the intellectual pursuit, the awakened spark was equally fueled by personal motives. I recognized that our arrival on these shores permanently bound us to the island’s history. My companions and I were now inextricably linked to the discovery of Capribo, and I intended to lead its future exploration as it established its place in the greater world.
    “Tell me, Ms. Sarmia,” I began.
    “Etia Sarmia,” she corrected politely.
    “Etia?” I echoed.
    “Etia is the official title I