by B L Barkey
Another thought came to Ammon then. Something he had never thought of before, and perhaps never would have, if he hadn’t taken this opportunity. Such is the way of things, he thought before continuing.
“I suppose our ideas and actions in this world might also live on even after our death, helping others in our world to keep going.”
Ammon wanted to ride this train of thought further. There are some wonderful gems to be mined here, he thought, shaking with excitement. Yet he knew he should return to the main theme, lest his words lose meaning. “Given this, I would like to bring it all back to the original question, ‘what is a world’.
“I think a world is a living thing. It has similar qualities to plants, to animals, to humans. It grows, changes, and even acts upon us in both obvious and secret ways. In listing these characteristics of worlds, it is only fair to give a few examples.
“Our island is a world of its own. The Leviticum seems like a small world, a piece of the greater world of Cephas Island. The Sector Guard Isle, along with its secrets, is a world.
“Our families, our homes. Our memories. Even the entire planet of Proelum. From miniscule to gargantuan, all these things are worlds. And I find myself wondering how many different kinds there are. Counting the stars seems more possible than counting the worlds.”
Ammon closed his mouth. His lips were dry. He was done speaking. He hoped his words had made sense. Though at the same time, he felt a familiar sensation. It was a warmth in his heart. It was peaceful. In the past, this feeling meant he’d done the right thing, regardless of how others would react.
Master Kodin stroked his white beard with one hand, the other crossed in front of him. He was looking unceasingly at Ammon, though his eyes were far away, reeling in a galactic pool of truth.
“That,” he finally said, “was... I don’t even know. That…”
“Wow,” came another voice from the back. “I’d never thought of it like that before.”
Ammon looked to where the voice had come from, spotting the young boy scribbling in notes.
“Thanks for that, Ammon. Like he said. Wow…” he shook his head, looking down to the floor.
Ammon smiled, relieved Kodin was finally looking away from him.
“What do you all suppose Ammon means by growth?” Kodin asked, winking at Ammon.
A few hands from the younger disciples sprung up.
“Growth like a puppy,” said a sweet voice from the front. “It starts as a dot in the mama’s belly, and then it grows and grows until it comes into this world. Then it grows fur, its eyes and ears open, and it learns to feed. It’ll learn to walk and to talk the language of all animals. And then, it will grow stronger until it looks like a dog.”
“What happens after that, Celina?” Kodin asked.
“Hmm,” she tapped her chin, looking to the ceiling, ignoring her older brother at the front who was clearly embarrassed by her. “Well, the dog looks the same for a long while after that, until it grows old. Then it looks gray and tired, and eventually passes on.”
Her tone grew somber at the end, as if thinking of a personal experience. Ammon then remembered it was her family who bred most dogs for the Cephasonians. But not Tobias. He had been rescued by Bastion’s father, then brought to the Delkai’s as a gift.
“Wonderful, my dear. The simplicity of it… Just wonderful. If I may, I would generalize what you have just said.
“So the puppy starts its life somewhere, tiny and barely recognizable. It then grows and learns, eventually reaching its peak. It then stays at its peak for years, until it begins to fade and eventually passes on. So basically, growth is starting at some stage, and progressing further and further until one cannot grow anymore. Did I say that right?”
“Mhmm,” Celina agreed, looking at her brother and sticking out her tongue. Kodin smiled, for these were his own two children. And Vothek the storyteller was their grandfather. The oldest man on the island, and the only one left of the third generation.
“My next question stems from there. When do we as humans cease to grow? When have we reached our peak, if each day we can exercise our bodies and minds and spirits? Likewise, when does a world cease to grow? When do we truly die?”
“Maybe never, Master,” said one.
“Curious. And perhaps true,” Kodin responded.
“Maybe tomorrow,” said Mikael. Some laughed at this, while Kodin jumped up.
“Yes! Right on the mark! We die when we stop growing,” Kodin yelled.
He turned to the back wall, grabbed some chalk, then scribbled furiously. “We will continue the beginning and ending of worlds next class. For now, let’s return to the essence of worlds. I’m going to start with some other things we’ve discussed, then bring it back to what Ammon said.”
Kodin finished his sketch. He had drawn a small chart with many blank rows, with the ones at the top filled in with single words. The words seemed random at first, but Ammon realized they were the examples already given. They read ‘planets, gardens, homes, Leviticum, Cephas Island, Monoruin, individual people, anthill, whale herds, wolf packs’. They then spent some time adding more things to the list that fit their definition of ‘worlds’.
“Each of these things are worlds in their own right. They vary in size, shape, importance, structure, rules… to name a few. Yet they are all worlds.”
He dropped the chalk in its tray. “To wrap up the lesson, I would ask you this. How do you learn about other worlds which you cannot see or understand?”
“You read books,” Ammon said aloud before thinking. He felt his cheeks redden.
“Yes, that would work. What is a book?” asked Kodin.
“Hmm. Well. Before gliscs, books were made of many words written on many pages, compiled into one whole.”
“Yes indeed. But that is what books are made of. I asked you what books are,” Kodin said, grinning patiently.
Ammon thought about it. “Books are usually a record of things. A record of someone else’s words.. concerning either their thoughts or certain events. And the events can be real or unreal. Books tell stories of.. the way of things.”
“Mm. Go on.” Kodin looked eager. Ammon felt his own excitement rising in his chest.
“Well, these stories exist in these books. They can change people and the way they think. They can change depending on the circumstances whence they are read. They are alive.”
Kodin raised his eyebrows. “And so?”
“Stories and books are alive!” Ammon shouted.
“Ha-ha! Yes, m’boy! And following that, what is our only logical conclusion?”
“Books are stories. Stories are worlds. So.. books are worlds!”
Kodin inhaled deeply, then exhaled, nodding his head in approval while looking over the whole class.
“You are all worlds. You are the creators. You are the author of your own book of life.”
Despite the class period running late, they all sat in stunned amazement.
“We will end our lesson here for today. Incredible work, everyone. We will pick up from here next time. The lines on this lesson may be hazy, though your ponderings will make it clearer. Such is the way of worlds. Such is the way of things.”
Chapter XVI
Gardens
You really shouldn’t do that, Ammon,” Jonah said as they made their way to the Gardens. “One of these days Bozolf will be listening. Why would you risk it so close to the Trials?”
Ammon had just told Jonah about class, still laughing at how it sounded retold. Mikael was not laughing, nor was he reacting in any other way. His face looked peaceful. This was his look when his mind was elsewhere.
“Jonah,” Ammon continued. “I’ve been in that class for years now. I know how Bozolf works. Sort of, at least. He only hears what he wants to hear. I saw him look down after I dropped the few vague compliments to his class. He was done listening after that, trust me. Dunno why he is like that. I just know that he is like that. It’s just the way of things,” he
said with a wry smile.
It’s just the way of things, Ammon repeated in his mind. It was how Kodin ended all lessons when the topic could be broken down no further. To him, it was the atom of conversation.
“Hmmm. Still. He might be listening closer than you think,” Jonah mused.
“Ok, minnow. That’s enough out of you. Respect your elders,” Ammon said, pulling Jonah into a headlock and tousling his hair.
“Hate it when you call me that,” Jonah said, though he barely resisted. “And I hate it when you do that.” He combed his hands through his hair after finally pulling away.
They left the Leviticum, following parallel to the North Hills. The Sun was high in the sky, slightly concealed by large puffs of white clouds. Even then, the air was still hot.
Ammon hated being outside at midday. He would much rather read books in a chilled room of the Leviticum, or swim in the ocean. He could never work in the Gardens for a living. To him, it seemed like the hardest apprenticeship of the island. He could respect the community surrounding the calling, and was extremely grateful for the food they provided. He was also proud to have parents that worked hard in the Gardens. Yet it didn’t call to him. Not like the Sector Guard did.
After shadows shifted, they entered into the first rows of plants for the Gardens. They were comprised of the most beautiful flowers of the island. Many different sections were scattered about, some segregated with their own soil elements to promote optimum growth for the seeds. This was because not all of the flower species were native, nor were many of the crops. Certain plants required certain foods and temperatures. This required different soils, and some plants were even separated with glass cubes, maintaining their appropriate climates.
Thousands of seeds had been stored in the Leviticum from the ancient world, allowing for vast experimentation within the patterns. Again, this was not Ammon’s greatest passion, but he greatly appreciated the beauty of the vast assortments. From pebble-sized fruits to those as large as your face. From vegetables that looked like leaves to those that looked like miniature trees. Acres of rice were planted on the far side, furthest to the west where it flooded most.
Ammon could see the hill of oak trees to the south where the Gathering took place each Sevensday. This preserved area was surrounded by propagated growths of fruit trees, coconut palms, and berry bushels, of which the Cephasonians snacked upon during the Gathering.
It was near the Gathering Valley where the underground Tunnel resurfaced. After fruits and crops were harvested, they were carried into the Tunnels for preservation and transportation to the Leviticum. Much lore and legend surrounded the Tunnels, as only few had explored them.
Ammon had been in them only once, when a powerful storm had slammed Cephas several years back. Their homes had been fine afterward, though Master Lyon had said it was better to play it safe than sorry. The Tunnels also served as an emergency evacuation from the Leviticum to High Forest, should the need ever arise.
They continued on. Jonah took the lead, directing them towards the grove where his parents now worked. They had just started reviving an ancient species of flower in a new glass cube. Ammon was looking forward to seeing the setup. A new world of their own, Ammon thought. A world his mother and father get to build together. How awesome.
Soon, they came upon their destination. Ammon could tell the glass cube was brand-new, what with the spotless glass, moss-less aroma, and rust-less metal fastenings. Atop the front archway hung a wooden sign with the family name carved in deep. The Arcanum Ansemithum. Ammon wondered what the last word meant, though glass cubes were usually named after the flower it nourished.
Jonah opened the glass door, stepped in, and closed the door again all in one motion, fast as lightning. He then disappeared behind rows of tangled green.
“We will just wait here then,” said Mikael, smirking.
Jonah reappeared within the minute.
“Okay guys, I’m going to open the door on three. Be ready to leap in. Ready?”
Ammon and Mikael nodded.
“One, two… three!”
The door rushed open, making little sound. Mikael sprinted in first as if chasing girls, followed closely by Ammon who leaped like he was clearing a mountain stream. Ammon bumped into Mikael, but both were ready for the impact, canceling it out. Jonah slid the door closed. Ammon realized they were standing in a quarantined section of the glass house, which normally sealed the outside from the inside.
“Wait… If this is here, then why did we need to hurry? Can’t we just close the first door and then open the second?”
Jonah didn’t look at him.
“Yeah, sure. But where’s the fun in that?”
Ammon flicked Jonah hard in the ear. The boy cried out and laughed.
“Follow me,” Jonah then barked, stepping through the second door and turning back into the plant rows. They followed him after closing the second door.
As Ammon looked closer at the plants, he realized they had a bluish tint to the leaves. It shifted with the light as a rainbow shifts in raindrops.
“Can we touch these?” Ammon asked. It seemed they could, since they were already brushing by a few with their shoulders.
“Sure. Just be gentle, and don’t get any in your mouth. The leaves are poisonous.”
“And our eyes?” Mikael yelped while tearing up.
“Ah shoot!” Jonah said, reaching into his pockets. “Put these on. My eyes will be fine, they’ve adapted. Sorry guys. Here, wash your hands in this fountain. The water’s clean.”
Mikael almost dove into the fountain as Ammon stepped up, laughing at his brother.
“Mikael, if you’re an idiot, say nothing,” Ammon teased.
All that came from Mikael’s lips were bubbles in the water. Ammon shook his head at Jonah. “Finally he admits it.”
Jonah smiled wide, then said, “If you put geckos in your nose because you like the way it feels, blow more bubbles.”
The bubbles grew larger and louder. Both Ammon and Jonah burst out laughing as Mikael finally emerged, rubbing his eyes.
“Towel,” he called out, holding up his hand. “And what’s so funny?”
Jonah tossed them each a hand towel, which Ammon used to stifle his laughter.
They dried off, then walked further into the glass cube. It was much smaller than their homes, yet it was still the largest glass cube in the Gardens. They came to a cellar door, pulled it open, then stepped down into the cool earth.
It was well-lit, with one light beaming down from the ceiling through a sky light built into the surface. A small ring of plants surrounded the column of sunlight, stacked in three tiers towards the earthen ceiling. Sitting on wooden stools to the side were Mother and Father Arcanum.
Mother Arcanum went by her first name Celia, whereas Father Arcanum liked to be called Terra. Though Ammon had guessed this was his first name, Celia would always roll her eyes when the boys used it, causing Ammon to question it all these years.
In between them was Jonah’s little sister and only blood sibling, Lumena. Her full name was Lumenatia, but it was exhausting to call her that even twice. In fact, Ammon was still unsure if he had ever said her full name correctly.
“Boys, hello! Come to see the new flower of the veil?” Celia called out.
“Yes, please. As long as we aren’t bothering you,” said Ammon. He avoided saying her name, for he still felt uncomfortable referring to parents by their first names.
Terra scoffed. “Oh please. We could use the company. I love my wife, and I love our conversations. But even we run out of things to talk about down here. It’s been a long four months of near sleepless work to get these plants this far.”
Celia nodded in agreement, her cheeks growing round and rosy. Besides Ammon’s own parents, he loved their relationship best.
“Lumena! How are you, little firefly?” said Mikael, scooping her up in his arms. His biceps were twice the size of her head.
“Gutuh,” she responded, her v
oice small and energetic. She was only three years old, and probably knew more about plants than most adults. The Arcanums raised both their children with the same care they gave their flowers, and with one-hundred times the love.
Lumena would undoubtedly become a stunning flower of a woman herself, perhaps comparable to her mother. Jonah was already a stud for his age, and would only continue to grow. He looked mostly like his father. Thin. Brown hair. His eyes, though, came from his mother.
Celia was a beautiful blossom of her own design, shining radiant colors and delightful scents wherever she went. Looking upon her was like seeing a fresh flower open its petals, and then wishing it would never wilt in beauty nor charm, yet knowing it must happen. Except for with Celia, it seemed possible.
Her hair was a red unlike any other. It seemed to sit right on the brink of gold and strawberry, both valuable and luscious. She was training her daughter to do the same, though Lumen currently had patches of dried mud on her face, her auburn hair more subtle. Even with these smudges, she was still an angel of a little girl. Perhaps even more with the mud, for instead of appearing diminished, she gave the mud a shine of its own.
Both Celia and Terra wore the aprons of the Gardeners over their loose-fit clothing. Celia had her hair up in a ponytail. All three of them had been sitting in the earthen room when they had entered, yet it was unclear what they had been doing. Ammon looked around several times, seeing only the column of light, three rings of flowers, and the two benches the Arcanums sat upon.
“Wanna see mai pwetty fowers?” Lumena asked.
“Of course we do, firefly,” Mikael said, setting the tiny human down. Her feet were moving before she touched the ground and she shuffled to the circle. Ammon and Mikael sucked wind through their teeth, worried the little girl would crash into the precious flowers, but no such thing happened. She’s graceful for such a young thing, Ammon thought.