The Nibiru Effect

Memory 63

We walk in silence. The jungle is eerily quiet. All I hear is the crunch of our steps and the occasional sigh that escapes Kara's lips. She would never admit it, but I can tell she's worried about her father.

I'm about to apologize for Jonn and Korri's unknown fate when the sound of cracking branches reaches my ears.

I freeze.

Kara slams into me, but she doesn't seem to notice. She makes her way around my fallen body and marches on. I hesitate, but the cracking of branches has stopped, so I scramble to my feet and hurry after my distraught friend.

"I'm sorry," I say once I catch up to her. "I shouldn't have told Korri to go right."

It takes a moment for Kara to emerge from her dream state.

"You only did what you thought was right," she says.

I can't believe it. Her father is missing—or worse—yet she still finds the time to comfort me. For some reason, that makes me feel worse than if she had yelled at me.

Desperate for a distraction, I ask the first question that pops into my head.

"Why do Atlanteans only have one name?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," I say, "everyone from my time has two names. My full name is Will Save, but people just call me Will."

"Things are slightly different where I come from," explains Kara. "Atlanteans have four names."

"Four? How do you remember them all?"

"We don't," admits Kara. "We take the first letter of all four of our names and use them to create a new name."

"Like an acronym?"

"Exactly. Take my name for example; Keera Avalon Ra Aline. That spells K.A.R.A. Kara, for short."

"You're name's Avalon?"

"Avalon isn't her real name," reminds Kara. "It's Avva."

She's right. An avalon is the Atlantean equivalent of a chameleon.

"What's her full name?" I ask

"I'm not sure. All I know is that it spells A.V.V.A."

"And Jonn?"

"His full name is Jakk Oro Nix Neer."

It sounds weird, but who am I to judge? My name is Will Save. It doesn't get much weirder than that.

"What if your full name doesn't spell anything?" I ask.

"Parents are careful when choosing their children's names," explains Kara. "But sometimes they mess up. I once knew a kid whose name spelled out P.U.K.E."

"Puke?" I ask.

Kara nods.

We stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. It doesn't last long, but it helps evacuate the stress that had built up within me.

"What was it like growing up in an orphanage?" asks Kara after a while.

"Lonely," I say. It's not much, but that one word describes my life up until a few weeks ago. Sure, there were some good times, but my childhood was, for the most part, a series of disappointments intercut by spells of boredom and the occasional moment of despair. The one bright spot in my life was Grace. She was the closest thing I ever had to a mother. Just thinking of her brings tears to my eyes.

"Don't worry," says Kara. "You'll see her again."

Was I speaking aloud this whole time? Dammit!