Stone Of Matter

by B L Barkey

  Sadie said nothing.

  Ivani continued to play his Imion, while Daren approached with Chalice’s shirt in hand.

  “Don’t do it Ammon,” Daren said. “He is speaking with heat-stroke and lack of oxygen. The challenge is unjustified.”

  Ammon knew he was right.

  “Ok,” said Ammon.

  It was a vague response.

  “Ok what?” asked Mikael.

  Ammon sighed.

  “Ok, I’ll do it. As long as…”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” said Liz casually, as if Ammon were joking.

  “I will do it,” Ammon repeated. “As long as Chalice will admit to intentionally soaking all of our towels, and will take one slap from each of the girls across his cheek. The cheek on his face, in case the pervert decides to get clever.”

  “How can I admit to something I didn’t do,” Chalice coughed. His lips were dry and cracked.

  “Regardless, you will admit to it and take the punishment. Afterwards, you will bow to each lady individually and thank them.”

  Ammon’s friends stood as if waiting for the punchline. But there wasn’t one. Ammon had already thought about heading closer to the whirlpool ever since they had stepped onto the beach. This way he could have it all. A climb over the whirlpool. A childhood mystery fulfilled. Chalice’s apology for essentially being a rude human being. It would be the grandest of prizes.

  “Deal,” said Chalice, sticking out his hand. They shook, and it was on.

  “I will say it then, though I confess to nothing. I soaked your stuff intentionally. Even the wench’s precious book.”

  It happened before Ammon could do it himself. Liz stepped forward out of nowhere and cracked Chalice across the face. Spit and tears flew away from her hand. As Chalice whipped back and wound up, Sadie came in with another slap on his other cheek, sending the boy to the ground. Chalice paused, fuming palpably with rage. He jumped up, clearly ready to strike the girls.

  Mikael stepped in between them. Chalice looked even more enraged, though he lowered his fists.

  “Fine,” Chalice spit through gritted teeth. “Now, climb to your death.

  Ammon turned and headed towards the Cliff.

  “Brother,” Mikael called. “Don’t do this. It’s stupid and not worth the risk.” His voice carried more weight than all the others. Mikael, the boy who had swam the Corals with him so many years ago, the brother who had followed him on many other reckless adventures, was asking him to back down.

  Ammon stopped, and smiled.

  “I’ve got this,” he said. He held his hand skyward in the same gesture as before, his thumb and pinky up, then stepped towards the Cliff.

  Chapter XIX

  Emerald Whirlpool

  Ammon had accepted the challenge for one reason. It was not for Chalice, nor for his own pride. He was doing it out of sincere curiosity. He had wanted to climb the Cliff before that day. He had just needed the nudge.

  Shards of rock scratched his calloused fingers. Sea-foam sprayed from below, salting his eyes and wounds. His bare feet screamed for relief. All seemed hushed as the rock face blocked the wind. It was a solemn silence, as if a crowd were watching a doomed fate. It made Ammon uneasy.

  Though he was strong, his grip strength was lacking. On a normal day, he could climb through the morning with ease. But after the long day he had already experienced, his endurance was running low.

  Luckily, he held other techniques to keep him climbing well. He kept his hips into the wall, as if trying to flatten himself into its surface. He focused on climbing upwards with legs, using his hands only for balance. So far, it was working well enough.

  He had ran up to the cliff wall, then followed a path that stretched out to sea along the foot of the rock face. The trail ended halfway along the cliff, where he had started the climb. Just before that though, he had looked back just once towards his friends, wondering if they would be watching.

  Chalice would be there to see the deal carried out, though the foolish boy would hardly know what to do if Ammon actually fell from the cliffside. When he looked back, he saw the outlines of each person he left behind. Five humans, one Tobias. Someone was holding his pup back, who he realized was his sweet Sadie. Good thing she did too, or else Tobias would have followed him into the very depths of the water, swimming below his master until he found a way up, or died trying.

  He had held his gaze on Sadie, hoping she understood him. Something had told him she did.

  He had mostly worked his way sideways further out to sea, yet would also climb upwards when a simpler path presented itself. Occasionally he had to climb down a few feet, only to then ascend even further.

  He was now several holds away from the point of the cliff face. Once there, he would be able to swing around and catch his first glimpse of the void that was calling to him. The vortex that was the Emerald Whirlpool.

  His heart was pounding, his arms throbbing. He found a deep nook in the rock and leaned into it for a quick respite. After a few minutes, his breathing slowed and he was ready. He thought of all he could remember of the Whirlpool, which wasn’t much. He thought again of the quick trip he had taken with Father. It is a death of a different sort, Father had said.

  And then, the rest of the memory trickled back into his mind as if he were looking through fogged glass, just now polished clear. Whether it was the natural chemicals of endorphins now flooding his veins, adrenaline pumping into his heart, or a vision that he was walking the line of mortality, he couldn’t be sure. Still, the memory played in his mind like a glisc.

  Father’s voice continued the story. “It is a death of a different sort. Tell me, have you ever stepped on an ant?”

  “Yes,” Ammon had answered. “Many.”

  “Have you ever picked a flower?”

  “Yes! Did you see mommy’s new bow-kay?”

  Father laughed. “Yes, it was lovely. But did you know you killed the ant and those flowers?”

  “I did?”

  “Yes. They experienced death. You took their life away. Now, have you ever killed a puppy?”

  “Of course not!” little Ammon answered, horrified.

  “Absolutely not! Correct! Never dream of it. But you see, there are deaths of different sorts. Perhaps there are different levels of life. Different hierarchies of intelligence.”

  “Harkies?” Ammon asked..

  “Sorry m’boy,” Father laughed. “Sometimes I forget myself. I mean there are just different levels of life.”

  “But doesn’t all life matter?”

  “Yes,” Father had assured him, placing an arm around his son and pulling him tight. “Yes, and never forget it. All life matters.”

  The memory faded. Ammon shook his head and forearms, preparing himself for what was about to happen. The Emerald Whirlpool. He was about to see it with his adult eyes, with a new level of understanding. Levels… The word echoed in his mind like a voice in a cave. Different understanding, different intelligences. Would he now be able to understand Father’s words from years back? Perhaps. But it would have to wait.

  He stepped back out onto the ledge. The wind blasted him in the face. He caught himself, then leaned into the wall. He was about forty-feet above the water. It was high enough where falling wouldn’t kill him, though it would certainly sting. However, he was unsure of what lurked beneath the surface, and there was a good chance of sharp rocks resting there, patiently waiting to take his life.

  He slid along the ledge, then engaged his core for strength, reserving his arms for balance. He found the next few holds easy enough, proving the brief rest had been a good decision. He felt the sunlight warm his back muscles, while the cool rock held him up against the perpetual call of gravity. He kept moving, then stopped a foot from the edge. This is it, he thought. And with a deep breath, he swung to the other side.

  There it was. The Emerald Whirlpool, spinning true to its name. The anticipation of seeing the vortex for himself had summoned a fear that the Whirlpoo
l would be gone, perhaps dissipated or unspun. Yet despite his fear, the vortex was there.

  It was the reason why so many avoided the North Beach altogether. Within it was both life and death, a revolution continued by recycling matter.

  At first glance, he saw a shifting version of the painting in his Mother’s study. It was a vortex of blue and green gems, glassed over into one coalescing entity of motion. In the center was sputtering white foam indicative of the teaming life beneath its surface. And still, if Mother’s painting was accurate, he was only seeing a small piece of the vortex.

  Everything in the scene before him seemed to have a new pinpoint of attraction. Instead of all things falling towards the center of the planet, they now spun towards the center of the Whirlpool, though in a way that was unsure. Not one thing took the direct path to the center. Instead, all things rotated about their own center of mass, all while coalescing into the larger rotation of the entire force. Even his gaze spun in new waves, following the tendrils of the foam.

  Vertigo wrenched at his heart. He gasped, realizing his own body was seeking the center of the Whirlpool for an unknown tranquility. He held tight, looking at the rock face and pulling himself close.

  Two things happened then. His forearms began to scream as a warning to his spirit that his body was in danger. At the same time, pangs of remembrance washed over him like the ocean waves below, carrying blow after blow of surreality into his mind. He remembered the descriptions of the thousand various sea creatures which could be found here.

  His body moved before he could make a conscious decision. He descended, hoping his muscles would hold. Each new grip was weaker than the last. He was running out of time. He had plenty of energy, but his muscles needed rest. Yet he also needed to see it. To see what lurked beneath the waters.

  As he continued, another part of his survival instincts kicked in. It gnashed its teeth with insults and curses spewing at himself, wondering how he could be so foolish. He did his best to ignore this voice, even though it often proved to be the same voice to keep him from danger. He knew what he had to do. He was going against all his better instincts by doing it. But he had to.

  He thought about jumping in from twenty-feet up, then decided against it. If he was going to do this, he would take at least a few precautions. He expected his forearms to burst into flame at any moment, but it seemed crucial to enter the waters without drawing unwanted attention. Every second now agonizing, his toes finally reached the frigid waters. This in itself was proof of the depths below, as well as the constant motion of waters of the deep mixing in waters of light.

  He kept his back turned to the whirlpool. He let go and slid into the water with only a ripple. His body was shocked with cold, though the flames of fatigue were quenched. He then floated at the surface, eyes closed, hands on firm stone. His entire body rejoiced in the reprieve, but his insides ached with tension. Death could strike at any moment.

  He breathed in deep. And slow.

  He found his peace, his balance. Finally, he turned, sank into the water, and opened his eyes.

  It was an entirely different world of life. Endless life. Intermingled death. Motion and energy without limitation. Unheard sounds. Fish, larger and larger from bottom to top. He could see the lower point of the vortex, though it spun beneath a shroud of obscured darkness.

  Sharks were near the top, swimming circles in the water as if each new revolution were another ocean. The sharks ate the large fish. The large fish ate the medium fish. The medium fish ate the small ones, which had eaten the minnows that ate the algae and plankton. The algae and plankton fed and grew on the bones of the dead sharks, and so the cycle continued, perhaps never to end.

  One shark the size of a house drifted past, deep blue on top and sand white on bottom, spotted like the milky galaxy in a midnight sky. These particular creatures were harmless to him. He recognized them from the gliscs as whale sharks. He knew they ate only plankton, even though they could effortlessly fit himself into their toothless, gaping mouths.

  Another breed of shark appeared, this time the size of three houses, with teeth shaped like jagged mountain peaks. This species was best avoided at all costs due to its extreme territorial instincts. These sharks were the leading cause of injury for many of the sea creatures who were rescued near Cephas and cared for in the ARC.

  None of the sea mammals that often came to the ARC were present. No mammals, only fish. A seemingly endless supply of fish. So why were we told fish are running low?

  He resurfaced for a few breaths, then re-submerged. The majesty of the sight wouldn’t stick in his memory. No matter how he tried, he could not comprehend all that was before him. Thousands of sea creatures, and thousands more. Spurts of crimson clouds appeared here and there, only to dilute and disappear into the closed universe of the cyclone.

  The Whirlpool was almost a creature itself, alive from stitching the fabric of life together from each of the individual pieces caught in its revolutions. It seemed to breathe, to pulse. To swell and then shrink. Though Ammon was not pulled in himself, he saw specks of floating matter drift past his face before leaving to get closer to the core of this immortal creature. For how could something made of smaller pieces of renewing life ever cease to exist?

  Then something caught his eye. Something entirely too white. It was a pale fish, appearing as if its life were actually sucked from out of it. It was dead, breaking apart into dust like two rocks rubbed together. Like an autumn leaf crumbled in his palm. The bits were then eaten by other fish, who themselves did not appear entirely too colorful.

  Many of them had new white spots. These were not cosmetic marks for camouflage or mate attraction. They were indications of a frantic struggle for life. Something about the spots did not seem right. It did not seem to be the natural way of things.

  Some fish began to float on their sides and then backs, floating upwards before kicking again and righting themselves. They were dying. This only made up about a third of all the fish, but it appeared to be spreading. A word came to his mind from the Old World. From his visit to the Arcanums in the Gardens. ‘Disease and decay’. Could it be?

  This was far more terrifying to him than the sharks that lurked on the outside layers of the whirlpool. They were fish, and seemed to rejoice in killing their own kind if it meant sustenance. He had also seen many wounds in the creatures of the ARC, showing that the larger beasts found joy in the fight, tearing into the flesh of the ocean mammals as they headed towards the whirlpool of life. Of death. Calling to them.

  Something called to Ammon now. Called to him to ponderance. He wondered what was at the center of such a colossal entity. An urge fell upon him. A desire to push off and drift into the center himself, to find the center of all things. Of all these things around him. It struck him with curiosity how easy it would be to do this thing. To push off and spin into emanate death, with little but a decision to prevent him from doing so.

  Come and see, it called out to him. The thing in the center. Perhaps the center itself, pulling all nearby matter unto itself.

  Come unto me and see. I will show you many great things. Give you great power… It will only cost you your life. It flattered him. It intrigued him. It terrified him. He felt panicked. Like he was dying. He realized he forgotten to take a breath.

  He shot from the waters and climbed back upon the rocks, muscles soothed and spirit alight. Gasping for air, he clung to the rocks. He had to escape. Now. They would cry out again before long he had to hurry. The call came again, tugging him backwards, he held tight, muscles already begging to rebel. He pushed it aside, then looked to the apex of the cliff. It was at least one hundred feet up. He needed to move.

  His senses were sharpened, his soul finally committed to survival and escape from the vortex. He kept the pressure on his legs, moving with a grace that comes only a handful of times in an average life. He passed the point where he had first started his descent, then doubled that. His body was aching, but it did not matter. He
exhaled the pain, then inhaled another burst of energy. His hand slapped air, then dirt. He had made it to the top of the lip. Another few feet and he would be safe.

  Vertigo hit him once more, his mind unable to accept that he was so close from escaping danger. His heart pounded, unrelenting. After a few deep breaths, his breathing slowed but his instincts remained sharpened as his body and mind synchronized. Ammon grunted and stood the last few feet, reaching out for one final grip.

  A deep shadow came upon him then. He looked up, and realized in sudden horror why his body was still tense. There was Maison, towering over him. Within the space of a small inhale, Maison jumped to the ground with unprecedented passion, gripping both of Ammon’s forearms in his own. Ammon screamed out in pain as the grip twisted his muscles. The wind howled back. Ammon heard his own ragged breathing. Surely this is not happening, he thought. How could this be happening? Does he really mean to do it?