by B L Barkey
They reached the apex in record time. They had been resting the last few weeks in preparation. This final week was where most young ones were eliminated before the Trials began. It even had its own name, often referred to as the Preliminaries, or ‘Prelims’.
The Sun appeared once more as a burning ball touching the horizon. The brothers stepped through a wall of warmth, then walked around the tabletop peak to take in the sights.
Palettes of color splattered before them, blended in symphonic sporadicity. Yellows and baby-blues of a younger day had become the purple and orange of crafted memories. They were pastels on an ever-shifting canvas of sky chalk.
Each sunset was as if an artist started anew, using similar colors with different designs. No sunset was ever the same. None would last forever. All unique, all temporary. In that there was beauty. In that, there was an artist.
There was a bright star in the sky. It was always there at the coming and going of the Sun. It was actually a planet, or so said research from the ancient world. Its official name was Venetia, though it was rarely referred to by that name. Most knew it as the Morningstar. It was a funny name, since it appeared in the evening as well as morning. It also wasn’t a star. Still, the name had a ring to it.
"Curious. You would think the Sun would be the Morningstar. It is the star that brings the morning,” Ammon said.
"Yeah, true. Of course, not all names make sense. Cloud mountain? Puffy cloud and rocky mountain?" said Mikael.
"But the mountain is in the clouds," Ammon said.
"And Venetia is in the morning from a star?” Mikael asked, still confused. “Perhaps it wants to become the Sun, where the mountain wants to become the cloud."
"And so it goes," Ammon conceded.
"And so it goes," Mikael whispered, looking away.
And so it goes. These four words might mean little to others, yet they were significant to the brothers. It meant acceptance. It meant being okay with not understanding everything at once. Regardless of worry, things had a way of working out.
The brothers sat on their usual rocky outcrop near the north edge of the peak, looking over Cephas Island.
“So,” Ammon started. “Did you tell her where you were going this afternoon? You did end the date rather early.”
“She asked,” Mikael said, looking out towards the Corals. After half a minute passed, they laughed.
“And I suppose you will tell her where you were afterwards?”
“Nah,” Mikael said, tossing a rock over the edge.
“Well, in any case. I’m honored you chose me over her, your grace,” Ammon said, tilting his head and placing his hand over his heart, mocking monarchal respect.
Mikael dropped his fist on Ammon’s thigh.
“Ouch,” said Ammon, keeping his voice and face emotionless.
A wave of vertigo swept through him then as he thought of the immense height of Cloud Mountain. A fall from any side would be fatal. The shear altitude was enough to create separate biomes on the island. Seasons took their turns, first splashing all leaves with yellow and orange, then dropping frozen rains as crystal flakes. Ocean storms were faced down by the mountain, intimated into dissipated intensity, then scattered as humbled waters. This was what kept the center of Cephas in a protected calm, shielding their homes and resources.
He had explored nearly every bit of the island with his brother and three best friends. Together, they had created many great memories in these outdoor adventures. Every memory was precious. The thought of losing even one was unbearable. He loved his home and his family. He hoped it would never change.
“If you had to choose one place to build a treehouse,” Mikael started, “where would it be?”
Ammon thought about it. “I do love the Corals. And the thick jungle down there with the humid canopy. I’d always have plenty of water. The geckos and frogs are everywhere, too.”
“What about the far east?” Mikael asked. “With its skyscraping trees and lush evergreens. It would be more of a forest like our home now, which could be dull. But you’d also have lots of wildlife there.”
They had been taught that the tall trees to the east caught wind-borne seedlings, depositing them into the loamy soils beneath to revive foreign species. Many plants in this area had yet to be discovered and compared to the Index in the Leviticum.
“Hmm, I dunno. There’s not much else over there,” Ammon said. “Now, the Shadows. That would be a fun place to live.”
Mikael laughed aloud. “And you said there’s not much out east. There’s practically nothing up north!”
“What are you talking about!” Ammon yelled. “There’s loads to do up there! You have the Northern Mounts, the hidden hot springs, the ironsand beaches. Not to mention the Emerald Whirlpool for food.”
Ammon grinned, for they both knew he was joking. Though the Shadows held a beauty of its own, it held the toughest conditions for living. The Shadows was entirely covered in black ironsands. Ironic to the name, the darkened sands actually grew quite warm from the Sun, whilst swirling in mild gusts caused by their magnetic properties. The ironsands came from the iron and carbon of an old volcano. It was upon this volcano that the isles had grown, and where the north part of Cephas was anchored.
Just offshore of the Shadows was the island’s greatest source of fish. It was a perpetual vortex called the Emerald Whirlpool. It pulled nutrients and small fish into its realm, therefore attracting larger fish and mammals.
“I guess that leaves the South Bay,” Mikael said, exhaling in resolved defeat.
“It has all one would need for treehouse life,” Ammon said through the corner of his mouth. “It takes the least impact from storms compared to the other beaches. It’s surrounded by rock croppings for protection, tree groves for materials and views. Plus, you’d have access to fish without the dangers of drowning in a whirlpool. What more could you want?”
“Or,” Bastion said, raising one finger. “We could build a treehouse in High Forest.”
“Ah, yes. Right next to our large home and warm beds. Why sleep in a lovely home when you can sleep in a treehouse?”
“You know, brother. I’m glad we understand each other,” Mikael said, tossing a handful of gravel at him.
“Thanks for that,” muttered Ammon, dodging the projectiles.
He looked out then, trying to picture where else he would actually live on the island. On the distant Guardian Isle to his left, Ammon could see the illuminated white of the Guardian Temple as it stood forever-lit as a beacon of hope. To his right was the central valley of Cephas. In this valley were the three main areas of the island.
The closest was High Forest. This was where they built their houses, integrating their humble abodes into the branches of coniferous trees. Land gradually rose at the eastern foot of Cloud Mountain into an isolated mesa, providing a temperate forest climate. It felt soothing and safe there. It was home.
Next was the Gardens. These surrounded three-quarters of the High Forest mesa, providing most of their food. Within them were all sorts of growing vegetables, fruits, and flowers.
And finally, there was the Leviticum. The Leviticum was, in essence, a library of the ancient world, as well as a school for the Cephasonians. Countless resources were kept and protected there, including those for education, entertainment, enlightenment, and progression. The artifacts ranged from data stored in glass discs called ‘gliscs’, to leather-bound books and items dusted with time. There were replicas of tools used in the previous world, including some tools used solely for sports and recreation.
“So this is it,” Mikael said, leaning back. “The final week. Are you sure we don’t want to try for a different calling?”
“Hmm,” Ammon mused. “Well, let’s consider our options. We have three possible callings. The first and greatest being the Guardians. And then there’s… Remind me of the other two?”
“Levitians and Gardeners,” Mikael said, hiding a smile.
“Oh, right right. Guardians, Levitians, and Gard
eners. And we are ignoring the floating mountain we saw, along with our innate, burning desire to become Guardians?”
“Naturally,” Mikael said.
“Ok. Assuming these things, then we should look at the purpose for each calling.” Ammon cleared his throat and sat up straight, speaking deep from his belly. “As Levitians, we would pursue education and leadership, as well as research. Anything that pertains to the Leviticum would fall under our jurisdiction, including the countless gliscs, books, electricity generation, technological advancements, and even caretaking for the ARC.”
“You mean, the Animal Rehabilitation Center,” Mikael corrected. “Come on man, abbreviations are for the uneducated.”
“Naturally,” Ammon responded, his voice still deep. “My apologies. As the Animal Rehabilitation Center is home to thousands of different species of animals, it would prove a lively mission for us to undertake. Though taming leviathans would be much more noteworthy.”
“And there is our natural likeness and kinship with animals,” Mikael said, waving his hand.
“Hmm. We might be onto something here. But let’s look into the third calling. As both our parents, and even their parents were Gardeners, perhaps it is in our blood to take up the helm?”
“I do love to eat,” Mikael said, as if it were the most serious of qualifications.
“As do I,” Ammon agreed. “And should we direct our talents towards accelerating food growth, not to mention extracting more fish from the Emerald Whirlpool, then all would eat as kings and queens for decades to come.”
“Cheers to that!” Mikael cried. “Though, enough about food. I’m already starving.”
Ammon laughed before returning to his serious posture.
“Alas, there seems to be argument for all three. After all these years, we find ourselves at a crossroads.”
Mikael nodded, looking contemplative. “Perhaps we should look over our years at the Leviticum? It is a proving ground, after all.” His tone grew loud and formal. “Often seen as the heart of our land and people, the Leviticum is where young Cephasonians are taught the way of their people, as well as the ways of the ancient world. It is where they will learn, and eventually be inspired by one of the three callings.”
The brothers bent over, heaving with laughter. Finally, through teary eyes, Ammon said, “Don’t forget, young sixteen-year-old. I’ve been at the Leviticum longer than you. I’ve been there for eight years, while you’ve only been there for six.”
“And don’t you forget, dear brother, that I’ve been given express permission to attempt the Sector Guard Trials, despite my age difference.”
“They must have been thinking of a different boy named Mikael,” Ammon said, waiving the argument aside.
“Oh, right right,” Mikael started. “After going there five days a week since I was ten-years-old, they are probably still confused which Mikael I am.”
“My point exactly,” Ammon said.
“Well then,” Mikael huffed. “I’m surely stumped. We seem both qualified and imperfect for all three callings. How are we to choose?”
“Perhaps,” Ammon said, “and this is a stretch, but perhaps we investigate the term ‘calling’. It refers to that deep whisper inside us all. It seems to pull us in with a certain gravity, a phenomenon often termed ‘destiny’. What if we look inside ourselves to see what fits us best?”
“You’re right,” Mikael said, patting him on the shoulder. “That’s quite the stretch. If I were you, I wouldn’t talk again for a while.”
Ammon frowned and pushed away his laughing brother’s arm.
“Suckerfish,” Ammon said, folding his arms.
They sat back then, looking at the horizon.
“In all seriousness, though,” Mikael started. “Do you ever wonder why we want to join the Sector Guard?”
“Not really,” Ammon said. After a few seconds pause, Ammon turned to his brother and raised his eyebrows.
“Not at all?” Mikael asked.
“Well, no. Mikael, you remember that incredible power. Their ease, the peace that was felt even amidst utter destruction,” Ammon responded. He sounded more confident than he actually felt, for at times he actually did wonder.
After several breaths, Mikael continued. “Why do we feel the need to join them? Is that our true calling?”
“The power to move mountains, Mikael. It was the most incredible thing we have ever seen by far. Please tell me you haven’t forgotten…”
As he said it, he felt his own faith in the memories begin to falter. Mikael was asking the question for both of them, and Ammon was answering akin, with what they hoped to be true. Yet the song of doubt remained the same. Did we really see a mountain move, or was it all just metal? Bullets and machinery?
“Of course not,” Mikael responded, placing his hands behind his head. “I just can’t help but feel there’s something more, something bigger. Something more than just protecting our own island. This one island.”
“This is our home. It needs protecting from the outside world. Why not us as its Guardians?”
“Why not us indeed,” Mikael said, a tone of finality in his voice.
Ammon had never heard Mikael question their dream so fervently before. Though they had their disagreements and duels, as it was with all siblings, they had always agreed on the big things in life. Enter the Sector Guard Trials, become Guardians, grow ever stronger, and protect their island home.
“Think of the actual life that would come with each calling,” Mikael continued. “As Guardians, starting families of our own would become our last priority. Is that really who we are? Forsaking our friends to chase a dream?”
A flash of remembrance hit Ammon, making him dizzy. He remembered his dream of darkness from the lake. It matched the tone of their current doubts. Then, in another flash, it was gone.
“Are you okay?” Mikael asked.
Ammon cleared his head. “Yeah, sorry. Dreams. Our dream,” he said, trying to remember what they were talking about.
“Yes. It’s been our dream to become Guardians for ten years now. Why would we change that? Even if we started our own families, they would need protection. We’ve been told the world outside is dangerous. If we give this up to live comfortable lives, do you think we’d ever truly be fulfilled?”
“But what if that’s why we are forbidden to go to Guardian Isle in the first place?” Mikael asked.
“Why, because it will inspire us?” Ammon asked, growing impatient.
“Because it will give us a desire to become something we’re not!” Mikael shouted, his fists clenched.
Ammon leaned back, his eyes wide. “Brother. I didn’t realize you felt this way.”
“I don’t,” Mikael said stiffly. “I mean, yeah I feel it. But I feel a lot of things, as it draws closer. It’s just a huge life decision, you know? With one decision, we will decide our future, forever. I want to make sure it’s the right choice.”
Ammon nodded, looking to the ground.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Ammon said, “remember that we still could fail. It’s only the Trials.”
Mikael chuckled. Ammon turned to him. “How ‘bout this. What if we go through the Trials, and we take the results as a sign of where we belong. We leave it up to fate.”
“That sounds all well and good,” Mikael continued. “But what if we get there and find out our floating mountain never happened? That it was our imagination? Will we still want to be Guardians then?”
Ammon nodded, not in affirmation, but in contemplation. The mind had interesting ways of perceiving change and strange things. The power of imagination over memory grew stronger as time grew longer. And they had been children. How else were their young minds to interpret and explain the phenomenon brought upon by a hailstorm of metal?
“Even then, we know we belong there,” Ammon said, his voice hushed. “Remember what we decided? The Guardians are still the wisest and most powerful beings of our island. They’re our protectors. The
Sector Guard called to us even before we swam to the Isle, and you know that. Why else would we have swam there in the first place?”
Ammon felt anxious and short of breath. He felt afraid. He was one to question, often more than Mikael. Yet over the last few weeks, it seemed they were doing more than questioning. They were second-guessing. Doubting. It felt bad. To doubt oneself was to orchestrate failure. But the doubts kept appearing and growing. He pushed them away, only for them to reappear, nourished and familiar.
Worse still, he felt afraid of the doubts. The feeling then compounded on itself, doubling in weight bearing down on the mind. He shook it away again, knowing it would return.
“We do it for them,” Mikael said, still looking out at the ocean. “It’s the only way. If we do it for ourselves, we are bound to be disappointed. Whether the power is real or imagined, we do it for them. To protect our island and the families within. We may even have opportunities to get married and have our own families. But first and foremost, we do it to protect them.”
Instant relief flood through Ammon. He grinned and nodded. “Yes, brother. That is the way.”
He looked over their island, wishing he could hold it all in his arms. The feeling was overwhelming. Overflowing. He was at a loss of what to do with himself in these moments, all while feeling he should indeed do something. Anything. To capture the beauty. He could feel himself become filled with elation.
It was as if he was a glass pitcher trying to hold the most brilliant lemonade, which shimmered like light itself. Knowing he could never hold enough, the lemonade-light spilled over, giving him taste while promising so much more, though he couldn’t yet hold or comprehend it.
To contain it, he would have to become a greater vessel. Larger, stronger. And even then, he would overflow again, only to desire more of the sweet nectar. He wanted to behold it. To contain it within him. The desire was impossible, yet still it remained. It even grew, as a hunger of his soul.
It was like looking at the Sun. The marvel of the massive ball of fire seemed to hold great secrets of truth, but it was pertinent to look away often, even if searching for these treasured secrets. The brightness could take away the sanity and eye sight of one who looked too long. Still, even with the discomfort, one would look again in search of answers and questions alike.