Telemachos leaned in closer to the firstlings, and they reciprocated in silent symmetry.

“Tell me this, where do the stars come from? What of the world beyond the world?”

The youngsters looked at each other, a few craned their necks to look up at the towering wall and the sky above. Taking their silence as his cue to continue, Telemachos tapped a talon against the concrete floor.

“Who made this room? These walls?”

“Abba?” one of the older ones ventured, his brow furrowed. Telemachos nodded.

“Good. Don’t say it. Ask. Ask the question: did Abba make this room?” The youngster looked around again, now surveying their concrete recreation area in a new light. “So, did Abba make this himself, with his own hands? Did he make it, or did he cause it to be made?”

“When Baldur broke the window, another man replaced it, with help from others,” the same youngling responded.

“It was not Abba,” offered another. Several nodded in agreement.

Telemachos lifted his chin. “Yes, Abba commanded it, and it was done. So, think of the stories in your lessons. In the desert, who commanded the pillar of fire? Who parted the waters? Who cast the Titans into Tartarus? Who fought the jotuns at the walls of Asgard?”

“But…but… they are all different. They have different names.”

“Do they? How can the stories be different and still true? Tell me. Must a thing have only one name?”

They puzzled that, then one after another shook their heads.

“No, a thing can have more than one name. We call food by different names, even the same kind of food,” offered a bright-eyed youngster with protruding canines, giving him a slight lisp.

“Good. And what of the people? Only one name, or many?” There was a whisper, and some of the youngsters giggled. “Come now, the answer. You, Joktan, what say you?” Telemachos commanded. Joktan sat up straighter, suppressing a smirk.

“Some of the firstlings call Nireus by the name Stinky, especially when we have roasted meat.” The snickering threatened the order of the group, and Telemachos nodded while controlling his own smile.

“And what of others? Who else has more than one name?” Telemachos scanned the group and settled on one serious youngster. “Astyanax, tell me.” The youngster paused, looked down, then met Telemachos’ gaze.

“Xerxes has many names. Thunder. Growler. Father Bear.”

Telemachos nodded gravely. “Exactly. So who is it that bears so many names in our stories, the Maker of the stars and the far mountains, the Lord over all, even those who keep us in chains?” The group grew quiet at his change in tone and demeanor, immediately sensing the renewed seriousness. “We say Shaddai, the Light in the Hills. It is to him we pay homage and owe our allegiance. Not Abba, not Paroh, not any other grendel.” The Firstlings watched, rapt. Telemachos pushed on.

“Everything we do, all our work, is nothing, save one thing: preparing to go to Shaddai. It is our purpose, more important than anything Abba or Paroh think, say, or do. Only Shaddai, when the time comes.”

Two of the little ones whispered, and Telemachos turned to them.
“What was that?”

“The Heliodromos. He will set us…” Telemachos silenced him with a gesture and a snarl.

“Never! Silence! That is for us only. The eyes also have ears. You are not ready to learn of this, or even say those words. Do you understand?”

The youngsters nodded gravely, eyes wide at the rebuke. The lesson continued.

Chapters 42 and 43