Stone Of Matter

by B L Barkey

  “…It’s supposed to grow in the brush of the North Mounts, deep in the crevices. That’s where it germinates, spreading through the rock and shattering it, emerging like a legion of small lizards.”

  Ammon knew what he was talking about. It was the cauterizing plant called Clonem. It grew in the North Hills just south of the North Mounts, springing up in small patches where the tropical air spiraled and mixed with the drier forest humidity.

  The herb had two effects. The first was its wonderful taste. It was truly delicious when sprinkled onto pretty much anything. The second was its ability to slow blood flow by increasing the oxygen content of the blood. Both effects were desirable, but the herb was in limited supply. It was a wonderful source for those stuck in the Seventh Stair medical wing for days at a time, helping their wounds heal and spirits stay lifted.

  Others would venture up to the hills in small groups, playing and flirting, just to lick the leaves. After finding and consuming a patch, the boys would then duke it out with each other, feeling tougher since they didn’t bleed. Ammon had once watched Krystal pummel a guy twice her size after he had consumed several leaves. She had licked none, and still the boy was left bloody.

  There were similar herbs spoken of in the ancient texts, though none were quite as potent.

  “They just got a new batch in Seventh Stair. We nabbed some yesterday and brawled in High Forest. I won three fights in a row,” Chalice continued, showing a cut on his arm that was bleeding slightly. It looks self-inflicted, thought Ammon, rolling his eyes.

  Chalice was loud. He loved to hear his own voice. So when Ammon scoffed, he had to do it quite loud for Chalice to even notice.

  There was a quick silence as the posse surrounding Chalice looked toward Ammon. “Of course it would be you,” Chalice started.

  Ammon looked around, incredulous and searching for someone else who had just heard Chalice speak.

  “Of course. This is only the same seat I have sat in for the last five years,” Ammon said, shaking his head and sighing.

  “Like I care where you sit,” Chalice responded, laughing to his friends. Most of them didn’t do much more than smile. They knew Chalice could be obnoxious. Ammon was impressed at their patience with dealing with him. They were better people than Ammon, for he could hardly stand a full minute around the boy.

  Ammon had shared his feelings about Chalice with Mother and Father one evening. Bastion and Mikael had been there, and had supported his claims. “I want to love everyone, but he makes it really hard to even like him, let alone love him.”

  Mother had laughed before looking at him. “Ammon, liking someone and loving someone are two different things. You can still love everyone without liking everyone. You can still hope for the best for others without wanting to spend your free time with them. I even dislike your Father sometimes, wishing he would go read a book and leave me alone. But I always love him.”

  She had given Father a sideways glance, at which point Father had pretended to be heartbroken, only to then agree with her. Ammon wished that Chalice would be less loud, and would mature. Yet he still didn’t want any harm or misfortune to befall his fellow Cephasonian. He kept this memory in mind now, though he still wanted to pull Chalice’s arm hairs out until he stopped talking.

  Someone stood up, towering over them all. It was Maison. Everyone grew silent. His expression remained neutral as an unexplained tension arose in the air. Maison looked around, as if all in front of him were beneath him. His hood is down, yet he acts like the Hooded, Ammon thought. And then Maison walked out the door, his footsteps clicking down the hallway.

  A chill washed down Ammon’s spine. Chalice stood halfway as if to follow Maison, but sat back down. He flipped up his own hood then, concealing his face. Ammon wondered then if Master Bozolf would indeed ban Maison from the Trials, should he remain absent from class.

  Seconds later, and ten minutes late, Bozolf rushed into the classroom as if looking for a fire. He stood in front of the class, looking over them with that creepy smile of his. They all knew to quiet down soon, lest Bozolf assign another four-page paper. The noise faded, with Chalice’s obnoxious laugh the last thing to echo.

  “Good. Glad you’re ready to learn,” Bozolf said, his voice smooth and cool as ocean mist on a cloudy day. “I read through your papers from last week. It seems none of you were able to grasp the concept. Therefore, each of you will redo it, twice-over. The paper will now be eight pages instead of four. Perhaps with more pages, you will be able to show me you understand.”

  Though the class remained silent, Ammon could almost hear groaning within each of them. The man knows we have the Trials next week, Ammon thought, clenching his fists beneath the desk. Can he really be this miserable?

  “As for today’s class, let’s make it quick. Since your papers were convoluted, my time was used up, thus making me late to class.” He was still smiling, as if it were all a joke. Ammon thought it to be the most menacing expression possible.

  “The topic today is simple. Just answer this one question. What is a world?”

  He stepped to the side, folded his arms, and started pacing. After almost a full minute of absolute silence, Bozolf spoke again.

  “For several years now, each of you has come to the Worlds class in hopes to learn all things. We have talked about factual history. We have discussed theorems of physics, chemistry, biology and the other sciences. Though I am sure Master Kodin has taught you his… differing opinions on the matter, some things are certain. Gravity pulls all mass to the planet’s center. Sunlight gives us energy and illumination. With this preface, I ask you again. What is a world?”

  Another full five minutes passed without a single attempt to answer the question. This did not surprise Ammon. There was a different dynamic in Bozolf’s class than others. Every other class in the Leviticum promoted questions. The other Levitians truly believed and embodied the principle that all questions are valuable in some way. It was damnear the opposite in the eyes of Bozolf. A question, unless paralleling his own opinions, was worthless.

  It was the same with conjecture. Unless you could answer with perfect confidence, Bozolf considered your response to be a question. And coming full circle, a question was worse than an answer. It was an insult to Bozolf.

  Some days he was more reasonable. He would let you off the hook with unsubtle, syllabic slaps. Yet it was impossible to determine what kind of day it was until one of them raised their hand and found out. Like mine-fields of old, Ammon thought. Watching friends get blown to pieces.

  “Mikael, would you mind sharing with us? We haven’t heard from you in a while.” You heard from him just last week, Ammon thought. Ammon was going to keep his mouth shut today. He was not going to argue with Bozolf, for the man would have a say in Ammon’s future.

  “Surely you have some sort of wisdom to impart with us?” Bozolf continued.

  Mikael spoke. Ammon was surprised at how calm he sounded.

  “A world is a sphere of influence that was set in place, with its own rules and characteristics, to allow growth to equilibrium. From this, new life is born in many forms.”

  “No, Mikael. I would say you quite missed the mark on that one. Not what I’m looking for. Anyone else?” Bozolf asked cheerily.

  Unbelievable, Ammon thought. He watched, feeling the heat rising within him. His foot bounced to an inaudible beat. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. The Lone Levitian is asking for it, he thought. It was a mistake to call out my won brother.

  “Master Bozolf, I have an answer for you. May I respond in parable?” Ammon asked.

  Bozolf paused, seeming calm, though his eyes were looking over Ammon.

  “Nothing would delight us more,” Bozolf responded, spreading his hands out to the class. He then took a seat in an empty chair near the front.

  “Master Bozolf, I would liken your question to your classroom, for it is a world of its own.”

  “Hmm. Yes, very good. Please continue,” Bozolf muse
d, stroking his thin beard with one hand.

  “Worlds have structure and rules set in place before their conception. Certain elements create a world and sustain it, making it what it is. They are the fingerprint of places. The individual person. As such, many are wonderful and lovely, if only in their rarity.”

  Bozolf smiled, then looked down at his tablet where he was scribbling. It was the motion which Ammon had been waiting for. He looked at his classmates, his eyes ebbing like the ocean tide.

  “Others are terrifying. Downright unpleasant, really.” His expression froze. He felt the class tense up, their muscles constricting in defense.

  “Some worlds we are trapped in, and based on the rules thereof, we must learn to live in them. Yet there is still hope. We become one with them. In this, we may create our own little worlds to escape into, within our minds, while our bodies remain in the same dreadful space from before. This is the parable of your classroom. And thank goodness for daydreaming.”

  All was still. Ammon could see thoughts circulating throughout the room. ‘What is he doing?’ ‘Isn’t Ammon Delkai trying out for the SG this weekend?’ ‘Is he mad?’ ‘That was amazing. About time someone said something to him. Someone other than me, of course.’

  Slowly, all turned towards Bozolf. Who, as Ammon had noticed before, was still staring at his own tablet, sifting through his files.

  “Yes, that sounds about right. Okay, everyone. Write a ten-page paper on what you think a world is, and how it is similar to what Ammon just said. Especially the bit about the classroom being a world, and emphasizing which are the good ones.” Bozolf winked at Ammon then. Ammon stifled a laugh.

  “It is due at the end of the week.” He stood, stretched, then left the classroom in stunned silence.

  He hadn’t listened past Ammon’s first compliment. At some point he had slid out his own notes and had tuned out. Ammon knew the queues for the man, to tell when he was or wasn’t listening. Hence why Ammon had finally spoken truth during the class period. His true opinion on the abomination of a class.

  II

  After a brief lunch and walk in the Sun, Ammon and Mikael found their way to the Marble wing. Ammon loved it here. He had once assumed that it was everyone’s favorite wing, only to find out later it was split nearly even. This had been one of his first lessons on the difference between truth and opinion.

  He still couldn’t fathom how others preferred the Onyx wing over the other. The Marble wing held subtle tinges of blue laced in its pure-white walls, appearing to be glass, or light, or remnants of stories. Quarried, then etched with these tales, the marble a life force all its own.

  A steady ‘hush’ suspended throughout this wing, created by the many springs and waterfalls carried through the walls and floors. Some streams passed right under their feet, encased in glass, and channeling black-and-white fish. There was no buildup of algae or waste in any of these glass tanks.

  Ammon had kept a fish in a glass bowl once as a kid. After one week, he had to dip his finger inside the bowl and wipe the glass to see what was inside. In the end, he had learned a life lesson. Keeping a fishbowl clean was a truly miraculous feat.

  They walked up the stone stairs in their padded sandals, their steps sounding like taps of a hand on the palm of another. Plants weaved through the banisters, organized yet wildly free. The floral greens were given blue hues from the glass windows, creating countless different shades. Never had Ammon seen a yellowing leaf on these arrangements. The Onyx wing had plants too, though they were fewer and all-flowering, always blooming between the colors of vibrant yellow and crimson.

  Master Kodin’s class was like a column of sunshine breaking through storm clouds. They stepped through its doors and found their usual seats in the left center. The location kept Ammon attentive, without being the center of attention.

  He could see all of the same students from Bozolf’s class, and more. Nearly twice as many. It was almost too crowded in the room, yet it still felt far easier to breathe than in the hollow room of Bozolf.

  Maison was sitting in the back, seeming to be staring at an serious piece of nothing on his desk. Chalice was nowhere to be seen, along with a few others from his quasi-posse. There were fewer Hooded in the room as well. In fact, there was only one.

  Kodin arrived a few minutes early, stepping in front of the class as if this were the highlight of his day. He embodied the essence of the wing he taught in. His robes were a subtle gray, stitched with pure whites, emphasized with more hues of blue than the entire Marble wing. The blue patterns were reminiscent of trees and waterfall mist, though none of the shapes were perfectly defined. His hair was white, though much shorter than the white hair of Master Lyon, and spiked up from his plentiful swims in the ocean.

  When he spoke, Ammon thought of a creaking willow branch rocking with the wind. His voice was one of learned patience, to rival that of a great stone. His eyes were as blue as crystal skies after rain. As blue as the eyes of the snow leopard, Ammon thought. Even his white hair seems akin to my dream beast. It was an interesting coincidence, though it felt of little import.

  Kodin smiled, genuine and warm. All went quiet. His smile was less in his lips than it was in his expressions. It was clear he cared for his students. He understood them.

  He had not forgotten what it was like to be a youngling on Cephas. He remembers when he himself had first taken Worlds class, Ammon thought. He is one who remembers. This seemed to be the root issue with Bozolf. The bitter man had forgotten things, and in his confusion, his world now revolved around himself. He wore it on his shoulders as it bore him down.

  Ammon hoped he would never be one to forget, no matter how old he became. There are two kinds of men. One remembers, the other forgets.

  Greetings, young intelligences,” Kodin spoke.

  His voice was smooth as ever, though his eyes held rings of subtle purple. Ammon guessed he’d been studying all night. Though Ammon had been surprised by Master Lyon’s presence last night, it wasn’t uncommon to find Master Kodin in there himself, sometimes all night long. He was a man who loved to learn.

  “Today,” he started, “as I’m sure you’ve heard from my charming counterpart Master Bozolf…” They all chuckled at the emphasis. “…We will be discussing the very essence of this class. As you well know, Worlds is meant to guide you towards your calling in life. It is meant to give you a broad base, to which you will add your own unique desires.

  “From there, you are to take whatever calls to your inner self, hence the name ‘calling’, and develop your interests and talents. I am one who believes, at the risk of sounding redundant, that we will spend more time in our lives remembering than we will learning. Learning is important, yes. But growth more often sprouts from remembering than it does from nothing.”

  Kodin leaned forward on his desk, as if speaking to each of them individually. His tone grew hushed, though never ashamed. He was preparing them for a secret, something sacred.

  “It is of my humble opinion that we once knew nearly all things, before we were born into this planet’s material realm. It’s not the most popular opinion, and I encourage you all to challenge it. To tear it apart and discover it for yourselves. To discuss it with those you love and trust.

  “Saying this, I will also say that I trust you all, for I once knew you all perfectly. Though it seems, I have forgotten a few things. And this is where we will start our discussion.

  “What is a world?”

  It was only a few seconds before seven different hands shot up. Kodin laughed, folding his arms.

  The first several hands were asked to share their thoughts in order.

  “A world is somewhere we live,” said one.

  “It is a place of being,” said another.

  “It comes in all sizes!” said one girl in the front. She said it with such happy inflection, Ammon had to grin. He looked towards the voice and realized it was Jaqlin, a girl on his Equilibria team. She was an excellent athlete and also quite brigh
t, both in mood and intellect.

  “Yes! That is a brilliant way of putting it. Which leads right into the main focus. Let’s get a few more comments, then we’ll circle back. Lovely work, Jaq.”

  Jaqlin nodded, her ponytail bouncing up and down. Her eyes were like spring leaves, green and excited.

  Ammon raised his hand then lowered it, knowing Master Kodin would remember the order of which to call on him. Following that were several other good examples of worlds. All seemed to support the theory he was about to share, though none spoke of it directly. He hoped nobody would.

  “Yes, Ammon? After your comment, we will move on.”

  “A world is alive,” Ammon said, knowing the feeling to be true, while hoping his words were enough to do it justice.

  “Hmmm. Yes. Yes, I quite like that. Would you please explain to us what you mean by ‘alive’?”

  Kodin unfolded his arms and placed them on either side of himself, as if preparing to leap forward..

  “Well, I suppose I could liken it unto a plant,” Ammon said. He kept his eyes on Master Kodin, while all other eyes turned towards himself. He had the basic structure of his comment outlined in his mind, but had yet to fill it in with words. He hoped to communicate his thought in its purest form.

  “A plant is said to be alive because it grows. It starts as a seed, and then changes. Over the years it grows taller, wider, stronger. It grows new chutes, to become branches that will produce leaves, which will then produce flowers and fruit, depending on the tree type. It is alive because it grows, changes, and acts on the world around it. It takes nutrients from the air and soil, before giving back to both. One day, it will stop growing, and fade away. It will cease to affect the world around it. That’s when we call it dead.”

  Ammon took a breath just long enough for Master Kodin to nod. His next thought became clear, though only just far enough to tread upon, like stepping stones in a receding tide.

  “In the same way, we say that we are living. We grow from seedlings, take our first breaths in this world, then continue to grow in new ways. We become. We change. We affect the world around us. Someday, we will die, and cease to grow. At least in this world. We will fade in matter, yes, though never in memory. Or so I hope.”