KUVATA

-Introduction-

The twenty-third enclave, named Kuvata. Also known as the Artistic Community. Absolutely everything related to art and the cultural heritage of the planet is stationed there. At the very entrance to Kuvata, there is a complex of museums and buildings that can be visited by all interested. Those interested in dedicating their lives to art are allowed free, unrestricted entry and passage through the entire territory. Once they reach a sufficient age, they settle there and attend schools related to their future artistic career.

Chapter 1

Irta was very excited. She was shifting from foot to foot, waiting in line to enter the museum specialized in the written word. Her hand in mine, nervous, from time to time caused me pain, squeezing me tightly.

“Easier, please, you know my hands are more sensitive.” – I said with a painful sigh.

“Hmmph, sorry. I wasn’t even aware I was squeezing you.” – Irta looked at me sideways, with an apologetic smile. “Look, Treol, they’re moving, two more and it’s our turn.”

The museum dedicated to the written word was by far the largest in Kuvata. It stretched across nearly one quarter of the museum complex. To fully explore it you would need at least four days. We of course didn’t have that much time, although Irta emphasized that idea as completely legitimate. Irta was a future resident of Kuvata, as she kept repeating endlessly. And I was glad for her. But that meant that I too had to dedicate my life to art, so that we wouldn’t be separated. It seems that for love I will do exactly that.

That thought, somewhat frightening, that I would dedicate my life to art, somewhat confined within one territory wandered through my mind, while I was trying to listen to the guide’s explanations.

“As you can see, here we have examples of messages carved into stone. Somewhat clumsily written messages, in some places somewhat unclear. Do you know why that is so? Because the ancient Virteleonians carved those messages with stone tools. Now follow me into the next room.” – the guide gestured for us with his hand.

“Here there are much clearer and more precisely written messages. They were carved into stone using wooden twigs – setretia. Although it takes more time to write messages in that way, you will agree that the method is much more efficient and better. The technique by which they did it is now unknown to us. But those writers were considered, and still are considered, the first true artists of the planet. Today, in the modern age, we truly have no need to communicate in that way, so it is logical that there is insufficient knowledge of the exact technique.”

In the next ten or so rooms we passed through, all the books ever written were arranged, but the original versions, first editions.

I did not share Irta’s fascination, although I had maximum respect for the size and genius of the works presented there. All the time, the thought lingered in my head that I would sacrifice freedom for something I was not fully interested in. Love certainly was the motive. But was I truly ready. For Irta there was no doubt. She had already resolved everything in her mind.

The guide was already explaining the methods of sending messages between the ancient Virteleonians when a huge statue caught my attention. It was a statue of Boroi, the greatest writer of all time. A powerful statue, twice the size of a natural one. Boroi held a massive scroll in his left hand which extended from his hand to the floor, while in his right hand he held a writing tool. The expression on his face was captured in a moment as he thoughtfully explained his thoughts to himself or to someone else.

Turning my gaze toward the guide, I saw Irta carefully observing devices in the shape of squares in which our ancestors left messages, which were then delivered in various ways. The main methods were by land, someone would receive that package and set off toward the desired address, delivering it to the recipient. There were also methods over water, as well as through the air but they were so complicated for our ancestors that they were practically neglected and soon abandoned methods of delivering letters.

There was not much progress until the discovery of the energy that allowed messages to be sent instantly in any direction, in the same second. The energy that enabled that we simply call – kelek.

The guide was finishing his presentation talking precisely about those latest achievements. Irta turned toward me at the end and pulled me slightly aside.

“Thank you for being here with me. You have no idea how much it means to me.” – she said, kissing me, placing her finger over my mouth at the end, not allowing me to speak.

I understood her, it was her dream. She wanted it so much that she didn’t even want to hear a contrary opinion. And she saw from my expression that I was hesitating a bit.

In the end we briefly entered the part of the museum complex dedicated to painting where what fascinated me the most was the depiction of the Great Drought, a period that was the darkest in the history of Virteleon. Temperatures reached such heights that more than half of the plants, trees and other vegetation were destroyed by fires or simply withered due to lack of water. The painting showed all the horror of that state. A Virteleonian who, because of the wasteland, looks toward a tree that stands half dried in front of him. He tries to touch it, but from exhaustion he only manages to helplessly await the inevitable end with both hands in the air. The painting was simply called Thirst. The author unknown. It was believed that the author also died of dehydration.

In a way I was sorry that we did not have time to visit the museum dedicated to music as well.

I knew what was coming. Unprepared, I heard the guide’s words.

“Dear visitors, is there perhaps among you someone who would like to join us here in Kuvata and dedicate their life to that sacred act of creating art?”

Irta raised her hand. One long moment passed. Another passed as well. The guide was already scanning the crowd for the fifth time, searching for someone else.

I raised my hand upward. Irta looked at me, spreading her lips into a wide smile.

Chapter 2

Life in Kuvata turned out to be very pleasant. Dedicating one’s life to art, no matter how limiting it might seem, really was not that dramatic. Irta and I were accommodated in a complex of buildings dedicated to writers. Although I still did not know exactly what art-related field I would pursue, everything regarding the accommodation and life there was perfect. We did not have to worry about anything except creating. In the beginning, it was enough for only one of us to create, while for the other, in this case me, it was enough to just start creating at some point in the future. They were, of course, considerate, they knew that separating two people who are in love would harm not only those in love but the artistic community itself.

Irta dedicated herself to writing. Poetry and prose, she was talented, dedicated. She already had some earlier materials that were excellently received by critics. Of course, the fact that you wanted to live in Kuvata and dedicate your life to art, was not enough. You had to make a contribution. Luckily, Irta had enough material to keep us residing here for at least a few Virteleon rotations.

What happens to those who run dry of materials? They get deployed to positions that are oriented towards hospitality. Museum workers in all their variations. From guides, to cleaners. And that, only if they truly want to remain living here. If they do not want to, they can return to the enclave they came from. Nothing prevented them from doing so.

I still had not truly decided what I would do in life. I was not skilled at writing. Certainly not like Irta. Writing was, though, the most comfortable form of creation. You needed practically nothing, except writing tools, paper and inspiration. While Irta spent her days writing stories and poems, I visited book museums and libraries, reading and researching everything related to writing. I believed that in this way I would get inspiration for writing. I decided I would not start anything until I read everything available in the library.

One Virteleon year passed. Behind it, a second one too. I was near the end of my research when one evening, having returned home to Irta, I experienced a shock. Something that we both wished for, worked on, but considering multiple failed attempts, were also somewhat losing hope that it would happen.

She greeted me with an insecure smile. The one that says I am happy, but I am not sure how I should truly feel. Happy, scared, insecure and confused at the same time.

She gestured with her hand for me to sit on a chair. She brought me a glass of water, preparing me for some important news. Various thoughts were swarming in my head. Is she changing her mind about staying here? Has she come across some discovery, inspiration for some story that she wants to talk about with me? Does it bother her that my contribution is still not at the level desired here?

“Darling, I have something to tell you. Don’t panic, everything will be fine. We will manage. They will have absolute understanding for the short break we will take.”

“What is happening, Irta?”

“I am pregnant. We are having triplets.”

-To be continued–