Stone Of Matter

by B L Barkey

  Since he was a child, Ammon had imagined hearing a sky lullaby as the last sounds of each day, orchestrated by the low, ringing vibrations from celestial bodies as they rotated on their axles.

  Ammon grabbed clothes for the week and threw them into his duffel, along with other hygienic items. He looked for his favorite shirts and pants. He then found his backpack, which was already stuffed with his various study materials and supplies. He checked to see if his current fiction novel was in there, and it was. Ammon often misplaced things, which was quite frustrating. It was satisfying to find something where it should be.

  He slipped both arms through his backpack and threw the duffel strap over his head. He turned to leave their room, then noticed Mikael’s bags just before shutting off the light. Mikael’s bed was a mess, with his packed bags on top. Ammon grabbed Mikael’s two bags, placing the second backpack on his front, and the other duffel on his opposite hip. He flipped off the light, allowing the moon to spill her illuminating caress through the windows.

  He waddled down the first step. Another step came, as did an unwelcome shuffle. The sound was recognized in his mind after it was too late. Both duffels had caught several pictures, tossing them from the walls to a spiraling death down the stairs. He cringed while each frozen memory somersaulted. All he could do was watch. Of course, as the clatters ceased, the pictures were intact. He remembered them to be indestructible, having been tested for many years now.

  “The heck are you doing up there!” Mother shouted over the sounds of two other conversations. She knew exactly what had happened, and just wanted to make it a point that she heard him. Tobias appeared from around the corner, looking concerned. He didn’t approach or creep up. He just appeared, as if standing there the whole time, waiting to serve.

  Ammon patted him on the head, sighed, then stood. He stripped the duffels from his shoulders and gathered the indestructible pictures together to return them to their rightful places. He was impatient at first, but was softened as he looked at each photograph, hanging them up with gentle hands. Him and Mikael jumping in leaf piles as kids. Mother and Father standing on either side of their two kiddos. A family photo including all three boys and Tobias, each wearing matching shirts. What a crew, he thought, shaking his head.

  Ammon returned to the first floor, dropping the bags off by the door. He then jogged to the bathroom near the kitchen, punching Bastion in the arm on his way, locking the door, and hopping into the shower. Not five minutes into his shower, he heard a slight chuckle. Knowing it to be far too late for evasion, he crouched with his arms above his head.

  A hailstorm of ice chunks came hurtling down upon him, along with cascades of freezing water. Flashbacks of Mirror lake hit him, leaving him gaping in shock. It was a prank that Mikael and him would often pull on each other. The old ice bucket. It happened at least once a month. Ammon let loose a half-fake scream, knowing Mother would chastise Mikael for it. Good enough for now, he thought. Revenge will be swift.

  “Some guard dog you are, Tobias!” he yelled at his pup, who then pushed through the now open door while rapping on the walls with his tail.

  Ammon got out, kicked Tobias outside, closed the door, then dressed before checking his appearance in the mirror. His reflection stared back at him once more, clearer than in Mirror Lake, but somehow less real. His hair was still awry, just how he liked it. His bright blue eyes captured light and played with the structure as electricity, before releasing it back into the world. His jawline was defined like that of his Father, shaped by the unabashed smile from his Mother. Mikael also had blue eyes, though they were accompanied by more gentle and relaxed features. Bastion had green eyes, with a more reserved and serious smile.

  Ammon used to wish he had different features than what he was given. He had outgrown that, though, and had learned to love his appearance the way it was. He smiled at himself, as if he were two different people, one giving approval to the other. You know what, he thought. You look good.

  He breathed in deep, then exhaled slow, giving himself another look, directly into his eyes. And you’re ready. This week is going to be tough. Almost everything will be different after this. It may be the most crucial seven days of your life. But no pressure. You can do it.

  Ammon switched out the light and joined his family for home-cooked supper. It would be the last one before the Prelims.

  III

  “You done fixing your hair yet, babydoll?” Bastion called out, gathering food on his plate as Ammon appeared.

  Father watched them goof off from the head of the table as he massaged Mother’s shoulders. They all grew silent then, though their lips wore jokes and smiles. Mikael gave thanks to all the animals and plants that had died for their benefit, as well as for those hands which gathered and prepared the food.

  Several bites later, the front door burst open. A familiar tumble approached from the hall. Krystal sprang into sight, enthused and energetic. She was only like this around them, her best friends. Really her only friends, Ammon thought in shy truth.

  “Oh good. Why don’t you join us,” Father groaned, clearly teasing. Krystal sat in a chair next to Bastion, leaning to shove him off. Despite her considerable strength, he didn’t budge.

  “Nice try,” Mikael said as everyone else feasted like animals pretending to be civilized.

  Krys was almost as tall as them, though her bodice was laced with chords of leaner muscle. Her skin was tan too, though it was much smoother. She was rarely at her own house. Her parents seemed nice enough to Ammon, though Krys never spoke of them.

  “What’s for dinner?” she asked, looking it over.

  “Suckerfish,” said Ammon.

  “What?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Suckafish!” cried Bastion and Mikael at once, roaring with laughter.

  “Har har,” mocked Krystal, shouldering Bastion once more. “Pass the suckerfish, suckafish.”

  Supper was when they shared their experiences from the day. Mother started them off, telling of her newly finished painting. She had also started a new one, outlining some inspiration she had received that afternoon. Mikael elaborated on his date with Elizabeth, which he described as ‘fun but nothing extraordinary’. Ammon and Father had both done some reading, but Ammon had also gone over to Bastion’s for a while to play with the animals, before he had hiked Cloud Mountain.

  Father had read some new archives found buried in the Leviticum, all further illustrating the conflicting beliefs of the origins of Proelum from the ancient world. Father’s study of such things was often done in science, while Mother was more of a believer.

  She was artistic, well-rehearsed in the violin and flute, and always painting or drawing new pieces. Their living room had a mural that covered the entire back wall, all done by other for her interpretation of the creation of the planet. It was cool to find similarities in their interpretations, despite their different sources.

  She would adapt Father’s name of Gen at times for her own purposes, partly teasing him and partly finding her own truth in the nickname. “The Painter is ‘gen’-uine. He is ‘gen’-tle. He is ‘gen’-erous. “He is ‘gen’-ius.” They had grown accustomed to calling this unseen, spiritual force by the name of Gen.

  The entirety of their home was covered in her arts and crafts, seldom one square inch of untampered space. Fur rugs and quilts from their hunts also draped across the floors and furniture. There was a large fireplace and couch in the family room. On the short table by the couch were many different games they would play together. Many good times and fruit-juice stains lingered in this room. Mother kept the house as clean as she could, striking them all as some sort of thorough sorcery.

  Ammon loved Mother’s pictures and Father’s studies, but he had not yet decided for himself what he believed in spirituality. It was something he hoped would develop over time. However, he did know a few things for sure. He loved his planet Proelum, with all its ever-shifting beauty and sacrifices to sustain life.

  Krystal
carried on with a story from her day, speaking over them all. “…So we had learned this new move, which is especially effective on dudes much larger than yourself. You get behind their body and trap their neck within the nook of your arm,” she stood and jumped behind Mikael, demonstrating her new hold.

  “You then apply pressure on your own arms to tighten the vice grip, and if tight enough, he will be out in a matter of seconds.” Mikael’s face began to turn the color of the blue walls.

  She let him go and he coughed twice before taking a drink. “I knocked out like three kids like that, it was awesome,” she finished. “One of them wanted to get dinner with me after. I just ignored him, though I wish you guys offered me gifts for choking you out.”

  Mother tried to get more details out of Mikael about his date, but her efforts proved fruitless. Mother wanted herself some grandbabies. That much was obvious, though all her prying ended with, “Just teasing, I can wait.” She might be waiting for a while, Ammon and Mikael thought at once.

  “Krys, you’re so loud,” Ammon announced across the table. “Some of us like silence when we eat.” She stuck her tongue out at him, her wavy brown hair falling to the table, her bright green eyes rebellious as always.

  She was so beautiful, but Ammon knew they should only be friends. He loved her, but couldn’t imagine taking it further than that. He enjoyed their sweaty bouts of sparring, which would inflame the playful animal within them both.

  But emotions would cease there, like a fire halted at lakeside. Perhaps she was too spontaneous for him. Or maybe too rough. He wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing. Krys liked her nickname. It made her feel like one of the boys.

  “Alright people,” Father started. “Hear ye, hear ye.” He took another drink, then took upon himself a look of gravity.

  “This week is huge. I know it’s difficult to fathom. But the next few days will determine the rest of your lives. Work hard this week. Treat everyone with respect, grow little by little, and read lots of good books. And try to avoid those certain distractions. If you can.”

  They all rolled their eyes. They knew the week before the Trials was important. Every Cephasonian knew that. And yet, a part of Ammon wondered if he knew it deep enough inside. The Prelims. The trial before the Trials.

  They cleaned off their plates and the table, then washed the dishes as Mother returned to her paintings. Krystal reeked from all the sweat saturated in her clothing, so Ammon splashed her with water while wearing an innocent expression of perfect justification. Naturally, this progressed to everyone else throwing washcloths around the room, creating a bigger mess for them to clean.

  Despite the larger mess, the task seemed smaller now, alleviated with laughter. Tobias was also content, taking upon himself the honorable task of vanquishing the fallen shrapnel of perfectly edible leftovers. Father referred to these fallen crumbs as ‘soldiers down’, to which Tobias would take up his own calling.

  Ammon patted Tobias on the head, ignoring the jests from the others. “Stay here this week, okay buddy? We will be back before you know it,” Ammon said, while the hearts of man and pup could be heard breaking.

  “Oh brother. You’ll survive,” Krys said.

  As they prepared to leave, Ammon could hear Mother’s voice rising from the other room. She was reading from her book again. She would always share with them a message from her spiritual book before they left the house for the week.

  She said it would help them have an even better week. Ammon tried to listen, but it wouldn’t usually stick with him. Something about keeping commitments, and being honest with all people.

  Maybe it was just the way he was raised, but these little sayings always seemed like common sense to him. Mother’s voice grew louder as she walked into the front room, concluding her passage. She looked up from her book and slightly grinned at Ammon.

  “I love you Mom,” he said, walking over to kiss her goodbye. Mikael and Bastion gave her a hug, but Krys refrained due to her filthy appearance. “Love you too Mom!” Krys half-mocked. Then they were out the door.

  Just above them hung Mother’s final decoration. Painted over it with black, cursive letters was her favorite quote.

  Don’t rush in the morning.

  Don’t rush in the night.

  Just breathe it all in,

  And know it’s all right.

  They pushed each other past the stairs and followed the moonlight towards unforeseen trials and new memories.

  Chapter VIII

  Wind Caves

  Ringing laughter born from old friends filled the air. Mother and Father wished them luck from the porch. They entered the thicket of pines, and soon High Forest ended by opening up to a second stone staircase leading downward and eastward from the elevated abode. The partial moon shined from the center of the dark sky, changing the view from an unknown black to a deep-blue welcome.

  Lanterns lined the entire path, starting from the top of the stairs and ending at the Leviticum. Ammon always found this interesting. The illuminating lamps were channels to the source that was responsible for the enlightenment of every Cephasonian. The lamps were constructed of sturdy wooden poles with glass lanterns, each housing a large candle. Every night at sundown, robed figures would appear from the shadows to light the candles. The dark figures could be a bit creepy, though they had gotten used to it over the years.

  The ceremony was for one of the three apprenticeships. The robed figures were all training to become Levitians. Ninety-five percent of them would fail and seek a different calling. This was the first of many trials to becoming a Levitian. What little Ammon knew he had learned from Jonah, who was early in his apprenticeship. He had started a few months before, making him the youngest Cephasonian to ever pursue the Trials of Levitians. This calling required the longest trial period of the three. In turn, it also demanded consistent performance. Therefore, those apprenticing for this calling were younger than most.

  Thinking of these time periods made Ammon wonder. Time was an intriguing subject. One he had studied much. What does it mean to give my time, in order to study ‘time’ itself? It seems it should collapse on itself. Breaking from his own spiraling mind, he asked his friends a question. One that had been plaguing him for months.

  “Do you guys ever think about our structure of time?” His question surprised himself, his voice seeming strange. Though it came out of nowhere, Bastion responded with equal haste. Ammon sighed with relief, reassured that he was not alone in questioning common things.

  “Yeah, actually.” Bastion said, looking to Ammon as if searching for his own truths. “I’ve thought of it too, though it’s been on my mind more lately. What exactly do you mean?” He tossed the question back to Ammon. But before Ammon could respond, Krys chimed in.

  “You and your overthinking. Your logic and numbers,” she muttered. “Do you still do that weird counting thing?”

  “You mean how your last sentence had nine syllables? You bet.” Ammon winked.

  He saw the look on Krys’s face as her eyes rolled skyward and she counted the syllables of ‘do-you-still-do-that-weird-count-ing-thing’. She was fast about it, grinning with the answer of nine syllables, then sticking her tongue out at him.

  “I dunno if that’s crazy impressive, or just crazy,” she said.

  “Anyways,” Ammon said, dragging out the last syllable.

  “I’ve just wondered about how clean the system is. Year after year, month after month. All based on the revolutions of stars, planets, and moons. It fits perfectly into our numbering system. Each year made up of forty-eight weeks and twelve months.

  “Each month exactly twenty-eight days, which is the time it takes the moon to grow full with luster, then crawl behind shadow once more,” Bastion said, making his voice sound creepy.

  “Each week has seven days, which seems just long enough to work hard, then rest before lunacy takes us,” said Krys. Her tone was more mocking than exploratory.

  “Each day containing twenty-four hours o
n the dot, from sunrise to sunrise.”

  “The Sun is always rising,” mumbled Bastion. He looked up at them, then spoke louder. “There is always somewhere in the world where it is rising. Like a tidal wave of warmth, life, and hope continuously sweeping the planet.”

  “So deep,” exhaled Krys.

  “But it is,” said Ammon, bumping into Krys. “Come now. A world without light would be no world at all.”

  She huffed, then shoved her hands in her pockets. Ammon knew she enjoyed these conversations more than she let on. She just didn’t like to show her interest. It’s just the way she is.

  “I like how our weeks are set up, too,” said Mikael. His hands were also in his pockets. He kicked an apple from the trail. “The structure is… nice. I dunno. The routine makes it easier somehow.”

  Ammon nodded, thinking about the routine of Cephasonians. The first through the fifth days were used for personal growth and improvement, called the Days of Progression.

  The sixth day was used oft for adventure and new experiences, called the Day of Ascension. Some chose to go on mental adventures on this day, reading books or pursuing artistic desires. Others expanded even greater into their profession. Essentially, the spirit of the day was to ascend further in some desired skill.

  The seventh day was used for rest and family. It was also a day for giving thanks, while reflecting on all they had, rather than what they did not yet have, nor no longer had. Some thought of lost loved ones, but strived to be more grateful for the love, rather than sorrowful for the loss. This seventh day was known as the Day of Reflection.

  Each day was referred to by its number of the week, with the suffix ‘day’ at the end. Onesday, Twosday, Threesday, Foursday, Fivesday, Sixday, Sevensday. The days were called different things throughout the generations, often named after characters of legend, or gods of creation.

  This general cycle of seven days reached far into the roots of Proelum. Cephas Island had adopted this structure from ancient calendars dating back as far as four thousand years. It had been used all the way up until the world burned in the Great Fire. Though time was lost for a while to those in darkness who had survived the Great Fire, it returned to them once they emerged on the surface.