The world changes but man himself doesn't change, believe me on that one. No matter how much time passes, or how many awesome technologies are discovered, lost and rediscovered, humanity shall never change. And neither shall I. My name is Abimilki Maharbal, although I go by Abe these days. A lot of people I meet nowadays think it's short for Abraham, and after a while, I stopped bothering to correct them. Let them be, I say.
In the City of Boston, Massachusetts, which is full of people of all hues, I'm just another face in the crowd. And I love it. I'm studying law at Suffolk University, for the American legal system has begun to fascinate me since my resurrection. I have over two thousand years worth of learning to catch up on since I escaped from the tomb where my own brother buried me, eons ago. The world has changed since I was trapped, and it's more fascinating and complex than ever.
I'd like to think that I'm adjusting fairly well to life in modern times. Carthage is far away and a long time ago, but I remain. I'm six feet tall, lean and athletic, with long black hair, light brown skin and golden brown eyes. In today's day and age, I've been called everything from biracial to mulatto or just plain old African-American. In my mind, I am who I've always been. A citizen of Carthage, the last great civilization of the ancient world.
I was born in the City of Carthage, crown jewel of the Carthaginian Republic, around 800 B.C. My father Sahama originally came from the City of Axum, Ethiopia, and my mother Ayzebel Maharbal was born and raised in the Capital region of the Republic of Carthage, to a wealthy Phoenician family. In those days, the Republic of Carthage was a great power in this area of the world and had peaceful relations with Mediterranean and Indo-African powers. I am the son of two worlds, East Africa and Tunisia, as it were.
I led a fairly normal life for the first thirty years of my existence, attending the Royal Academy of Carthage, the school attended by the princes and sons and daughters of the nobility. Now, you modern folks might wonder about what life was like for such as I, born of a tall, dark-skinned father from East Africa and a short, slender, bronze-skinned and raven-haired Tunisian mother. The ancient world was far more progressive along racial lines than today's world, this I swear.
People from a variety of African kingdoms and Asian nations traded with the diverse and enlightened Carthaginians, and these people sometimes intermarried. The Carthaginians weren't just traders, warriors, artisans and statesmen, they were a thoroughly civilized bunch, traveling from Europe to Africa, Asia and the Mediterranean realms, acquiring goods and spreading their civilization and knowledge wherever they went. They were respected, and feared, by many.
My father Sahama was a merchant, traveling from Ethiopia to Tunisia, and the day he met my mother Ayzebel, he knew down deep in his heart that she was the only woman for him. As a wealthy young Ethiopian princeling, he'd done business with Carthaginians and knew of the legendary fairness of their women. Ayzebel affected him like no other. Relentless he pursued her, and they eventually got married and had little old me, along with my brother Zaracas.
Zaracas and I were born of truly unique parentage, to be sure, and Fate, like the cruel mistress that she is, had much in store for us. We were oddities of nature, my brother and I. You see, the night we were born, there was a celestial event. A meteor shower which generated a bright light which flashed across the Tunisian sky, dazzling the hell out of the locals. They praised the Gods, for in those days, they viewed celestial events as a good omen.
When Zaracas and I came into the world, our mother, like the eccentric woman she was, insisted on giving birth on the same hill where she was born. As it happens, the first time we opened our eyes, we saw the meteor shower. Judging by its effect on us, it was no ordinary meteor shower. We grew to manhood as ordinary men, albeit sons of a wealthy and powerful and politically connected, decidedly influential family.
The meteor shower affected Zaracas and I, and these changes became evident as we grew to manhood. We could do extraordinary things. Although only six feet tall and weighing approximately a hundred and eighty pounds, I could lift close to ten times my body weight, if not more. I also recovered quickly from any injuries that I sustained. I was like the Hercules that our Greek allies often spoke of in their drunken rants, a man endowed with extraordinary powers.
"You and your brother were blessed by the Gods," said our trainer, Xaxos, marveling as I stood in the atrium near our father's villa, and lifted a stone bigger than my whole body with an ease that three stronger men wouldn't have managed. I was barely twenty years old at the time, and quite slender, come to think of it.
"I will only use my power to defend our beautiful homeland of Carthage, my friend," I said to Xaxos, then I tossed the stone away, and gently laid my hand on his shoulder. A short, stocky Grecian gentleman, Xaxos had served in the Carthaginian military beside my father, shortly after he married my mother and did the duty of every Carthaginian male and defended our nation in times of war.
"You've got a good head on your shoulders and a good heart, Abimilki, I just wish your brother were more like you," Xaxos said, and we left the atrium and went for a walk about the nearby marketplace. My mother's forty-sixth birthday was coming up and I intended to surprise her by buying her a rare jewel or something to that effect.
My parents villa sat atop a hill, about two kilometers from the City of Carthage's walls, and it overlooked the nearby ocean. We had a lovely house, one large enough for five families, come to think of it, with walled gardens and magnificent stables for our well-bred horses. We had servants who dwelled in modest quarters near the villa but kept no slaves. My father detested the practice of slavery, which he has seen much of in his time as a tradesman.
"Zaracas isn't so bad, he's just headstrong," I said to Xaxos, who smiled and shook his head. Last month, while at a tavern, my twin brother Zaracas got into a fight with some traveling merchants over some bad joke, and he accidentally killed a man. Only my father's wealth and connections spared him the punishment that would have befallen any man who accidentally killed another. Any other man would have had his right hand cut off. Zaracas walked away, unscathed, because the Courts found in his favor when he claimed self-defence.
"Abimilki, your brother shares your blood and your unique talents but he lacks your good heart and good judgement, he's only twenty and has already killed a man and felt no remorse for it, I shudder to think of what he will do next," Xaxos said, somewhat angrily as we approached the tent of a jewel salesman, a stocky Thracian named Xhanatos.
"My young prince, I have such fine jewels to show you," Xhanatos said, and I smiled at Xaxos, who cautioned me, and then I took a look at Xhanatos jewels. I found a bright red ruby which I knew my mother would like, inspected it and then bought it for sixty Punic coins, and hastily hid it in my leather pouch, then Xaxos and I returned to the villa.
Xaxos words haunted me, and I couldn't shake the feeling that he was right. Visually identical, Zaracas and I were radically different in personality and temperament. I have a love of learning, and was fond of collecting books. I bought books about science, religion, medicine, the arts and a variety of other subjects, from kingdoms, empires and nations far and wide. I learned African history from the Axumite library that my father kept in his study.
One day, I endeavored to explore the motherland of Africa and other distant lands. As much as I loved the Carthaginian Republic, my home, I yearned to travel and see the world. I knew of the Ethiopians, the Greeks, the Iberians and others. I had seen fierce, sharp-featured and wickedly intelligent men from the Chinese realm, who came to Carthage to trade, and their knowledge astounded me. One day, I would very much like to visit this forbidden land that they call home.
"Hello dreamer," Zaracas said, startling the hell out of me as I sat in our father's study, sitting on a plush couch and sipping some wine by the light of a lamp as I read a book about an ancient Egyptian king named Menes, supposedly the first modern ruler of the world. The arrival of my brother stunned me, for with my acute hearing, another one of our shared gifts, I should have heard him coming.
"Greetings brother," I said, and shook Zaracas hand, and as usual, he gripped me tighter than I deemed acceptable, and tried to crush my grip. Of course he couldn't, for we were a match in strength and speed. Always had been and always would be. I smiled at Zaracas, who wore a bright red and black tunic which contrasted sharply with the yellow and white tunic I wore.
"Abimilki, don't you tire of reading these books? I've just received confirmation from Admiral Baal-Haan that I'm to be elevated to the rank of Captain after helping our naval forces put down that skirmish in Sardinia," Zaracas said cheerfully, and then he sat next to me and described, at great length, the sheer pleasure he took in killing Sardinian men and women during that last climactic battle where our Carthaginian soldiers crushed their foes.
"I'm happy for you, my dearest brother, but I'm afraid war doesn't interest me," I said, and Zaracas shook his head, then snatched the book out of my hand. For a moment I was worried he might tear it apart, I wouldn't put something like this past him, but Zaracas simply put the book down, and smiled coldly at me.
"Damn it, Abimilki, you're as strong as I am, if you fought by my side, the Carthaginian Navy would be invincible," Zaracas said, and he shook his head, sighed deeply and then, quite surprisingly, rested his head against my shoulder. Something he used to do all the time when we were little. I wrapped my head around Zaracas shoulder and shook my head.
"You are a warrior, Zaracas, and I, Abimilki, want to become the greatest scholar the world has ever seen," I said, and Zaracas laughed merrily, and then looked around the huge stacks of books in our father's study. Zaracas doesn't spend much time hitting the books, even though he's as smart as I am. Mother nature, or something, gifted us in many ways.
