Stone Of Matter

by B L Barkey

  As these four young adults of the latter days walked on, the evening of Sevensday was drifting upon them. Excitement rose in each of their hearts, sharing the same unspoken secret. The secret that good things would happen that night. After all, the Prelims would start that next morning.

  They continued east along the path. The only lights in the region came from the lanterns and sky. Stars endeavored to outshine the moon, each growing brighter with sparks of energy. Ammon knew from his studies that Proelum spun on its own axis, causing the stars to appear ever-drifting like pond fish.

  He still couldn’t fathom where such truths were first born as ideas. But with this truth in his mind, it seemed consistent with the smaller happenings of life. Gravity, acceleration, revolution. Deep truths such as this seemed like rain tossed upon mankind from the pond of all-knowing. But where was this pond, and by whom had it been created?

  Hushed voices floated throughout the mists surrounding them, outlined by occasional giggles. There was almost always mist in these valleys. Voices gusted from behind and ahead. Most younglings would be at the Wind Caves this night, enjoying the start of something new. To celebrate the few to pursue future transformation through the Trials of Guardians.

  It was common for all to appear at the Wind Caves, even for love of art and social energy. Old friends would reconnect, romances would rekindle, and dreams would be relived. In the Gardening profession, more would already be paired up with a companion, with whom they would build a life and grow as one. Their visits were then a lot less frequent to the Leviticum, being more focused on profession and family life. It was this very thing that made Ammon envious of them.

  He wanted to be a Guardian. Someone had to protect all the families, even their united Forest family. But he also wanted to start a family of his own. To commit and devote his life to another human being. To hold the beautiful figure of his woman, fitting into one another. To protect her from harm, and build a shield together. To see her every day, dressed with different clothes, transformed by colors, wearing her shadows, shifting emotions, or nothing at all. To share jokes and whimsical thoughts. To shake their heads because they know each other too well. To share their families with one another, before building their own branch. A new branch on the family tree. A new world.

  It all sounded so miraculous, so beautiful. Watching others have what he could not yet experience… It was painful. A physical pain, as if his heart were being squeezed in the claws of unseen creatures. He tried to want it less, only to want it more. The best he could do was be happy for those who had it. And he was. He loved seeing his friends happy. But he also longed for that phase of his own life. He hoped to survive that long. For he knew that anyone could die, since life held few guarantees. One being that the Sun will always rise. And another, that all things living will die.

  His thoughts were dark. I need to distract myself. He thought upon materials from his current textbooks. One explored different theories on how Proelum was formed, while considering modern day processes that reshape the land. Another ventured into the subconscious of the human mind, seeking to open the deepest doorways within us all.

  One chapter touched on a much greater power, intertwining both physical and mental, living in the deepest parts of ourselves. “Where our three selves interlace,” the book had said, though he was unsure what the three parts were. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It seemed a bit out there.

  The lights of the Leviticum came into view, illuminating both halves of the building. The black half to the south, the white half to the north. The entire structure was a perfect circle that stretched upward for seven floors.

  He traced the breeze with his eyes. He spotted a burst of mist springing from the ocean shores, indicating the dolphins were still in rehabilitation. I will go visit them later this week, Ammon promised to himself and to the oblivious mammals. But perhaps they heard his thoughts after all, for he felt comforted.

  Deciduous trees now lined the path alongside boulders with etched words of remembrance to the origins of Cephas. His favorite boulder was at the top. It was painted with one quote from his Father’s best friend. His name was Darak. He had died ten years ago during a storm in the Shadows. It read ‘Do unto the environment before it does unto you’. The outright irony of it was hilarious. Or so Ammon and his Father thought.

  The land climbed during the last mile to the structure, with cobbled steps lining the path at random intervals.

  “Race ya,” Bastion panted, sprinting past.

  Why…is everything a race? Ammon thought. He was annoyed at first. But then he felt enticement, and finally, thrill.

  “That’s not even fair. I ran up Cloud today,” he yelled back as he leapt forward. Even with his good excuse, he beat Bastion to the top. Both boys collapsed in the grass, letting the cool breeze flow over them. It was here that the forest pine and ocean breeze collided to create a unique scent. It’s like a salty, maple acorn, Ammon thought, closing his eyes and taking deliberate breaths. He heard Mikael and Krys approaching and slowly stood up. The grass within the landscaped perimeter was well-groomed. They stepped onto the cobbled path which crept from the trees and to the Leviticum entrance.

  All four friends stood still on the path shoulder, their noses raised to the sky. Then a light caught their eyes, along with lyrics of raw emotion. They turned toward a glowing yellow entity just to the north of the Leviticum, right where the Lake of Light would be. But before they would make it to the lake, they would walk past the Wind Caves.

  Beneath the distinct voices from the Wind Caves came a deep tone of thumping music. They could hear it well over the smooth roof of the Leviticum. This produced a wonderful aura over the tops of rocks, while leaving the subtle undertone of nature unwilted.

  Ammon noted the behavior of the fireflies engulfing them. The tiny, living lanterns were drifting toward the audience, occasionally swept backwards by waves of sound. Flickers from the glowing dots seemed to synchronize with the tune as they drew closer to the Lake, creating a path for Ammon to follow for the second time that evening. Gradual and spatial synchronization, Ammon thought. Waves. A chill ran down his spine.

  They stepped off towards the Wind Caves as one, following the chords of light.

  II

  Centuries before this very night, rain and wind had swirled into the red rock face between the North Hills and the Leviticum, creating two adjacent caves. It was here where celebrations were held at the start of each Trials period. It was known as the Wind Caves.

  Both caves were gaping eye sockets to the face of a creature whose body was nature, whose voice was the wind. As the four friends crested the final hill, the eyes came into sight, seeming to read all who looked into them. The crowd of Cephasonians was blended as if part of the landscape themselves. The celebration had begun.

  Ammon liked to drop by large gatherings, if only to take in the sights and say hello, before soon leaving for something smaller on the outer edges. In this, he was usually accompanied by his closest friends. In fact, that was their plan tonight. Drop by the Wind Caves, say hello, then meet Jonah in the Leviticum, to wrap themselves in blankets and conversation, while looking over the throng of lights and sound through the windowed walls.

  Krystal was the only one who ever wanted to stay in the center of things. But with the usual, overly-dramatic begging from her friends, she would finally leave with good spirits. Jonah would be expecting them in about two hours, in the theater rooms of the Leviticum. He hardly ever left the place.

  Before they got very far, Ammon spotted a familiar face. It was a face that springs instant dread to the forefront of a mind. The face of someone you are bound to have an unpleasant experience with, every single time you cross paths. And your paths would always cross, for that seemed to be the purpose his life. To appear when least expected.

  His name was Chalice Amber. He was an ass, pure and simple. He wasn’t an evil person, as far as Ammon could tell. He was just rather irritating and unpleasant to be
around. That was all.

  Ammon remembered something then, like glowing coals gusted back to life. When they were younger, Chalice had threatened to break a boy’s arm. The boy had tried to escape, but in the process, he had ended up snapping his own arm. Ammon had seen the whole thing, watching the change of emotion sweep over Chalice’s face. He had then let go of the boy’s arm, watching him crumble to the muddy floor.

  After only seconds, Chalice had knelt down to the boy, and had whispered comforting words. “It will be okay,” he had said, helping the boy limp to the Leviticum health center.

  Chalice did not see Ammon that day, so naturally he still bragged about snapping the boy’s arm with merciless rage.

  In the end, Ammon knew Chalice was harmless. Mostly. There were other times when Chalice showed signs of severe derision. One day, not as far back, Ammon had stumbled onto the beach with Bastion, only to find Chalice pulling hermit crabs from their shells.

  He then proceeded with smashing their homes, and then moved on to hacking the chalk legs from baby blue-starfish. This had enraged Bastion beyond what Ammon would have ever imagined. Ammon liked to think he prevented a murder that day, stepping in between the two. Yet after Chalice had continued to run his mouth, as he often did, Ammon had then punched him, knocking him unconscious.

  They had history together. Some people had bad luck, and were followed by trouble. Others inspired trouble wherever they went. Chalice was of the second sort.

  There was only one person on the island who Chalice seemed to listen to. His name was Maison. The boy was his master. He was younger than Chalice by two years, and seemed to be the opposite of Chalice in every way. His manners were impeccable. He always wore a slight grin on the corners of his mouth, his facial expressions soft, seeming to show genuine concern, as if he were always contemplating the deeper tragedies of the world.

  Maison spoke little, perhaps one word to every hundred that poured from Chalice’s mouth. The girls loved him. The boys wanted to be him. And Ammon didn’t trust him. Chalice was often loud, rude, and quite obnoxious. Yet given all that, Ammon would rather go fishing with Chalice before he would say one word to Maison.

  The boy was different. Quiet. Polite. Mild. These traits in themselves were good things. But in Maison, they were worrisome. A disguising smile always played through his lips and eyes, as silent as the rest of him. This smile worried Ammon even further, for at least Chalice appeared as man that he was inside. Ammon had a strong feeling that the spirit inside Maison, and the person he looked on the outside, were not the same being.

  Bastion had been the first to point this out to them, though Ammon had already been aware of the oddity. Mikael saw some of these things, but thought it best to ignore it. Jonah, on the other hand, found Maison’s stillness to be impressive and praiseworthy. They all gave him a hard time for that. When asked what she thought, Krystal clearly stated she did not give a damn either way. That’s what Ammon liked best about Krys. She was swayed little by charm. She was their friend first and foremost, and would be loyal to the end, no matter the enticing from others.

  Tonight, Chalice had his arm around a younger girl named Leilani. As Chalice noticed them approaching, he snickered and whispered something in her ear. They both chuckled, then looked towards Ammon and his friends.

  “My favorite degenerates! What brings you here this fine evening?” Chalice called, whipping his black hair back to his shoulders.

  “Oh, we heard some sounds called… music?” Bastion mocked, waving his hands about with gestures, one of which was strikingly similar to a bird. “We thought we would check it out. Is it some kind of party?”

  All but Chalice and Maison laughed. Leilani guffawed, then covered her dimpled face with her arm. The smug grin on Chalice’s face vanished. Maison stood several paces behind Chalice, seeming disinterested in all things surrounding. Though I would wager, he is watching closer than it appears, Ammon thought. It was a flawless performance, of which he was oft to give.

  And then Ammon did what he always does when searching for truth. He looked deep into the heart of things. He looked into the distant eyes of Maison. It had been a while since he had last seen the boy, at least two months. But he could still pick up on the subtle change in appearance.

  His eyes looked yellow, spotted with pools of quicksilver. They were the color of metal, emanating the lifelessness of the same. And as he traced the movements within the eyes for further understanding, he saw the pools of silver seem to die further, reaching past lifelessness, surpassing invitality. Sinking into the iris, just as new spots of silver appeared, only to die once more. It is not a living silver, but dead, Ammon thought. Yet the thought seemed foreign and not his own, similar to his dark dreams.

  Quickened silver, or alas, deadsilver. Quickened, then ever-fading. The thought was awful. Draining. But it came with its own truth. It was something he had never seen in any eyes before. Except… Well, there was one story he had stumbled upon in the Leviticum which spoke of such a phenomenon. The story had given no implications of whether the illusion was good or bad, though it did mention one thing in particular. Silver pools are the sign of a changed heart.

  Ammon seemed to fall back into the present moment, realizing he was in the center of a conversational silence, which was now reaching awkward length. He looked to his friends and then to Chalice for any indication of what was last said. A discomforting grin slid onto Chalice’s lips.

  “I thought not. Well, can’t say I blame you. I wouldn’t be preparing for the Sector Guard Trials either, if I were you. Not since Maison and I are entering, which leaves zero chances for you to be accepted.”

  “What’s your deal, man?” Krystal asked, her voice defensive and genuinely expecting an answer.

  “My deal, as you have so eloquently put it, my dear, is that you children have been following in my footsteps ever since we grew apart as kids,” said Chalice, speaking as if it were sheer fact, and nothing more.

  “Following in your… You’ve got to be kidding me,” Krystal said, taking a step forward. Bastion shifted slightly towards her, as if holding her back without actually doing so. Her eyes flickered towards Bastion, then back to Chalice.

  “What else would you call it, then? I start going to Master Bozolf’s class to learn about Worlds, and soon after, all five of you do the exact same thing.”

  “Everyone takes that class!” she yelled, taking another step forward and showing no awareness whatsoever of Bastion’s concern. The concern was that Krys would end up hitting the boy first, perhaps continuing to pummel him further. They held her back then, not for her own safety, but for the safety of those whom offended her. Her anger, once kindled, burned as roaring forest-fire.

  Ammon finally spoke. “I’m sure Chalice knows we joined the class much later. He must also know that we joined the class long after we joined Master Kodin’s class, which is the counterpart to Bozolf’s Worlds class. He most definitely knows that every such course in the Leviticum is organized with two opposing parts. And I suspect he also knows that literally every other interest we have, despite this one, differs greatly.”

  Ammon winked at Krys, then turned to glare at Chalice, challenging him. Say something. Say anything, you fool. He was about to go too far. He could barely contain himself. Well, I could stop myself, he thought. But I don’t want to.

  “I also suspect that he’s quite ignorant of why we joined Bozolf’s class, which was in fact by recommendation of Master Kodin. But alas, we should move on, lest we completely exhaust the tiny collection that is Chalice’s knowledge of things. Strange, using the word ‘knowledge’ when referring to you, my dear, dear child.”

  Ammon was shocked by the malice in his own words. And yet, he stood firm. Though Chalice wore a look of injury, he also seemed elated. He had wanted Ammon to insult him. And that was fine. Ammon wasn’t ruthless. He would give to those who asked. Even to his enemies.

  The rest of their groups snickered at the comments. All except Maison who
stood in the background, arms folded and motionless.

  “You are wrong about one thing,” Chalice spit. “We have one other common interest, you and I.” His grin towards Ammon was all but comforting. Ammon knew what he meant. Or rather, who he meant. Sadie Iceland.

  “Yeah, well. Lucky for me, she only likes real men, not weak boys. And further, she looks upon the heart of a person. And I suspect yours is rather unpleasant to behold. And say you did have a change of heart in the future? Well, your face should still be enough to scare her away.”

  Chalice frowned tight, his jaw clenching while his face flushed red as raspberries. But then he relaxed, calming himself. At least his self-control is improving, Ammon thought.

  After a few more seconds, Chalice responded with a low, cool voice. “Like I said, following in my footsteps, you and the other Delkai spawn will no doubt chase me to the Trials of Guardians. But be you warned, it will just be a waste of your time. And who knows, you may even hurt yourselves.”

  Ammon hardly heard these final words. He had already turned and begun to walk away. “Yeah yeah,” he said, flicking his right hand into the air as he treaded towards the Wind Caves.

  Several steps later, he was directly before Maison. He could hear ragged breathing from the boy, as if he was choking something down. A sudden sensation burst through Ammon’s veins. It was so strikingly similar to jumping into Mirror Lake that he sucked in a sharp breath. He then paused for only a heartbeat, not looking towards Maison, but reaching out with his mind in the boy’s direction. He found nothing of which to soothe his discomfort, spiking his curiosity further.

  He continued forward, pulled now by the gravity of music. As he drifted away, he thought, Disinterest. That is Maison. He placed both hands in his pockets. That’s all I can read for now. Disinterest. Impatience. And perhaps, even, a subtle wanting for one thing in particular. Like the doting of a servant on his master. But who is servant, and who is master?