The Last Syntactician

The Last Syntactician

Chapter 1: Where are the others?

It was early morning, and the sun was just a glimmer on the horizon. The veld stretched out for hundreds of kilometers in every direction, covered by dense thorn bushes and acacia trees. There were no hills or mountains as far as the eye could see. There were no roads or buildings or any sign of human life at all. The only paths between the bushes had been made by wild animals.

Little Hajer sat next to his father, with his palms facing the fire and a kaross on his back, trying to keep warm in the brutally cold winter air. He could see his breath in the flicker of the flames. His mug of bush tea sat in front of him in the sand. Occasionally, he would take a sip, and enjoy the minty flavor with a hint of honey from the mooka bee hive they had found the day before. 

Father and son, sitting next to the fire, getting ready for the day. Hajer had been troubled all night long.

“Dad?”, said little Hajer quietly.

“Yes.”

“Where are the others?”

“What others?”

“The other syntacticians, like us. Where are they?”

The father sat looking into the fire, thinking. Little Hajer was growing up. He would have twelve years soon. He had already killed his first eland. He deserves an answer to this question, but it is not easy to give.

“Other than you, the last time I saw a syntactician was over a decade ago. That was your mother.”

“My mother?”

Little Hajer was familiar with the concept of a mother. He knew the animals had families, and that the children stayed close to their mothers. That is what made them so difficult to kill. They were always protected. But this was the first time his father had ever mentioned his own mother.

“What happened to my mother?”

“She died soon after you were born.”

The two sat for a while, silent and staring into the fire. In an instant, a whole world opened up in little Hajer’s mind, and he did not want to waste time finding out about it.

“How did she die?”

“She fell under a spell, and fled the camp into the bush.”

“What spell?”

“The Dark Magic.”

Little Hajer sat silent for a while, lost in his thoughts.

“How did it happen?”

“There was a forbidden cave near where she had grown up. The elders had warned her tribe to stay away from it. They said therein lies only madness. But her curiosity was great, and she was always looking for ways to sharpen her analytic skills. She was absolutely fearless.”

The father paused, and sipped some of his steaming hot bush tea. The hot cup warmed his hands, giving him the strength to finish.

“After you were born, she said she felt a new strength. Your birth had given her that strength. She wanted to enter the forbidden cave and explore it. When she went in, she found symbols and formulae painted all over the walls. The artwork was intricate and engrossing. There was much to keep her hands busy. She stayed there for months and months, mastering what she found. When she came out of that cave, she had changed.”

“How was she different?”

“She started seeing ghosts in all the shadows, and became unhinged. It was way too much for her to bear. The cave gave her a sense of euphoria in the ease with which problems could be solved. There seemed to be no limit on what she could do, and her confidence soared to unnatural levels. But in reality, the Dark Magic provides no genuine insights because its power is illusory. With her great intelligence, she soon realized this, but the spell had been cast, and there was no way out.”

“How did she die?”

“Finally, she ran off deep into the veld at night, when I was asleep. I started tracking her the next morning when I woke up, but she had managed to cover her tracks. In her madness she had forgotten even the most basic survival techniques. I found her lifeless body a few days later lying under a tree. Luckily, I got to her before the hyenas did. She is buried one day walking distance in that direction (pointing towards the great sea to the south).”

The father was silent for a long time, and then continued:

“Your mother was truly a great syntactician. She painted many caves in her life. When we next move south, we will visit her resting place and study her caves.”

Hajer was overcome with great sadness to learn that he had had a mother and that she had died alone on the veld, her mind gutted by what she had discovered in the forbidden cave. The boy and his father sat for a long time, both lost in thought and pain. 

“What was her name, Dad?”

“Jobres.”

“That is a beautiful name.”

Daylight was now upon them, and the biting cold had become no more than a cool breeze. Little Hajer wanted to escape from the troubling thoughts that his father’s words had brought to him. He looked at his father and said:

“Hey, Dad, what is our lesson for today?”

“Island Constrains.”

Hajer’s favorite topic, and first love. He loved the great power of them. He loved learning the ins and outs of them, and figuring out how they worked. He hoped to stand on the shoulders of his predecessors and make his own discoveries one day. He was happy about the day’s plan.

He and his dad finished drinking their bush tea, put the camp site in order, and headed out to find a flat sandy spot, big enough to do the work on. Following his father into the bush, he gazed on the name written on the back of his father’s kaross: Nǂom Xamǀi. Hajer’s wish was to follow in his father’s footsteps, and become a great syntactician.

Characters from Chaper 1:

Son Little Hajer

Mother (deceased) Jobres

Father Nǂom Xamǀi