by B L Barkey
“For the fun of it,” Torin said with a smile.
“Hey, no reading my thoughts,” Lyon said.
“Ah yes. That is only fair,” Torin laughed.
“Things are rapidly progressing,” Lyon started, answering the previous question. “As of yet, it waivers between good and bad. The one sure thing is, things are moving.”
“As true as that is, I’m afraid it’s an understatement,” Torin said, looking down.
He walked over to Lyon’s fireplace, which suddenly caught flame, illuminating a foot-high sculpture of a wolf on the mantle. Lyon had shaped it from clay himself years ago, when he had first seen the Mother-Wolf. Torin picked it up, turning it in his soft, hardened hands.
“Didn’t you feel it?” Without another word, Lyon understood his meaning.
“The shift,” Lyon whispered, almost to himself. “They have four now. The upper hand. The balance tips towards the darkness.”
Torin nodded. “The Stone of Energy has been taken. The island of Etheria has fallen.”
“But how…,” Lyon started.
“Same as the others,” said Torin.
Lyon fell into his chair.
“It’s all moving too fast.” He stroked his beard while looking off into the distance, then sighed. He looked to Torin, seeking comfort in his expression. Though he carried hope with him endlessly, Torin still wore concern in his eyes. This scared Lyon more than anything.
“There is more,” Torin said. “They have found your island. One pursues Cephas as we speak. Another will surely be on its way. They are using the same techniques, following the old scents.”
“What do you mean?” Lyon asked, though he knew the answer. He had felt that, too. The rising darkness. The feelings were related of course. The shifting, rising darkness was coming for them.
In just the last few days, there had been several incidences, all of which pointed to a substance long forgotten. These were ‘the scents’ Torin referred to. They were the signs of darkness returning to the mortal realm, bringing with it disease and decay.
“Temptation,” Lyon said, his eyelids wavering. “But the children, Torin. They’re not ready for this. Not yet.”
“When will they be ready, Lyon?”
“I… I don’t know. Maybe in a couple years, but not now. Not when…”
“Lyon, be calm,” Torin spoke, bringing peace to his creation. “One can never be fully prepared for darkness. It is always there in some form, after all. The best you can do is resist it, no matter what form or force it takes. From there, you will grow stronger. And in the end, chance will prevail. It is then, through this window of chance, that I may help you, reaching through without breaking my word.”
He placed his hand on Lyon’s shoulder. “I know it is hard. This mortal life is not meant to be easy. Why, many other realms are also challenging. That’s the way of things.”
Lyon relaxed, then nodded. “I know. Yes, Torin,” he exhaled. “I do know this. It can be difficult to remember this, when trapped inside time. That is why we have you.”
Torin grinned. “Indeed, my son.”
Lyon placed his own hand on the hands which shaped the world.
“How can you not be the God of old legends?” he asked.
Torin laughed hard then. He has that look of remembrance in his eye.
“You know, I once had a friend who asked me the same thing. I’ll tell you what I told her. This being called God is real, though he does not exist. If you seek him, seek understanding. You will need questions before you can receive the answers, else they will slip away like water poured over stone.”
“You told me one thing, though,” Lyon said, grinning. “You referred to God as a man. Does he approve of this?”
“Ah, did I? Well, I suppose that’s because it fits. Though in many cultures, if there are both boys and girls present, then the masculine form of the word is sufficient. Kind of like saying, ‘hey guys’, though there may be girls.”
“Hmm,” Lyon grumbled, questioning Torin with a side-glance.
“So anyways, this rising darkness,” Lyon said. “You speak of the Whirlpool. The fish there are dying, crumbling into white ash for no reason. Even the smaller creatures of the island seem dormant, as if sick.”
“Among other things, though that is the least of it,” Torin answered. Lyon saw something then he hadn’t noticed at first. Torin was somber. This made Lyon’s heart beat faster. Yet he still felt hope. Torin always brought hope along.
“It is here in their hearts,” Torin finally said. “Just a seedling. Though that is all it takes to summon the darkest of them.”
Lyon nodded. “Which hearts?”
“Well, the seed was only an intangible idea a short time ago. Even so, it has quickly rooted within the hearts of the younglings. For now, I believe it is only two. It will move swiftly from there, infecting others nearby. Then it will call to its master. Though I wonder if it hasn’t already done so.”
Lyon shuddered deep in his core. Jinn Morningstar. Wielder of Darkness, Lord of Dark Angels. Lyon thought these titles for the dark one, though he left them unspoken. It was unnecessary to form them into words, and speaking them often brought more harm than good. It gave Morning power in some way, making him more real, more tangible. For his true form, as it was told, lacked any true definition. So, though it took much effort, as it always did resisting the darkness, he redirected his thoughts.
“How long do we have?” Lyon asked, his voice raspy.
“It’s hard to say. Best to prepare, even now. Even always.”
Torin continued to fiddle with the wolf. As he twisted it in his hands, the light of the fireplace danced upon it, shifting its shape. Then, for just a moment, Lyon saw it actually move.
It broke from its cast of stone, then bounded to the shoulder of Torin, before it slid back down into the Creator’s hand. It regained its original shape so perfectly, Lyon wondered if it had moved at all. He found himself smiling, his heart and thoughts back in warm places.
“Thank you,” Lyon said.
Torin smiled. “Let us speak of brighter things. The boy. He has passed your first test, has he not? Compassion towards another. Romance blooming within a reluctant, driven heart. He will have some exciting choices to make soon.”
Lyon nodded. “He has passed the first of her trials, along with the second.”
“Yes, the vortex!” Torin cried. “What a thrill that was, and a close call. Only to come face to face with doubt and despair. Miraculous.”
“Hmm. A miracle indeed,” Lyon said, looking sideways at Torin. “You sure you didn’t have a hand in that?”
Torin chuckled. “I will neither confirm nor deny. As I said. Miraculous.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lyon said, before letting his doubts sweep over him.
“You seem worried, Lyon. Tell me.”
“I just… I wonder if we are too hard on him at times.”
“You mean, you wonder if I am too hard on him,” Torin chuckled.
Lyon donned a sheepish grin.
“You are correct,” Torin said. “I am very hard on him. For two reasons. One, I know he can handle it. Two, growth comes quickest when comfort is furthest.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“Well, of course it is.”
“Har har.”
“Hmm. The Whirlpool,” Lyon mused. “We wanted to see him break from the grasp of a vortex. I did not foresee it being such a literal one, nor so vast. I had inferred something more… emotional. Or perhaps, spiritual.”
“Are you saying it wasn’t these things?
“Well, I suppose it was... But in addition to those. Also a literal whirlpool? You sure have your way about things.”
He paused, then chuckled, warmth settling upon his heart. “You like to do that to us, don’t you? Placing the answers right before our eyes.”
The Being smiled.
“I am always right before them. And as I said, the answers slip away without questions to hold t
hem.”
Torin set the wolf down, then walked closer to Lyon.
“So that makes two of your three tests. What of the third?”
“That goes back to the seed of this conversation. He must face actual darkness.”
“Oh come now,” Torin said, disbelieving. “A diseased, disintegrating shark in the gravity of a whirlpool wasn’t dark enough for her?”
They both laughed at this. The boy really was going through a lot.
“You have a point,” Lyon said. “But no, that wasn’t enough. In fact, he came closer to this darkness just after he escaped the whirlpool, when he faced the boy Maison.”
“Mmm, yes. Troubled, that one.”
“What else must he do?”
“He must face it. Greater darkness. True, deep, soul-ripping darkness. It’ll be hard to watch, though it is necessary.”
The whole thing was making Lyon nervous. Even with his perfect trust in Torin, he still worried like a human.
“So then,” Torin started. “He is on her last trial. Quite impressive, I must say. And what of the other part? What of his understanding?”
Lyon felt proud at the mention of this. Ammon was his apprentice. His future, in a way.
“As was said before, he has shown understanding in water, wind, rock, energy, and peace. This leaves only the creative essences of dominion and gravity.
“Dominion may be his strongest of them all. His love for animals is inspiring. They look to him for supreme comfort. His understanding pales in comparison only to his friend Bastion, though that is no surprise. As far as gravity… No. He knows nothing more about it than that it holds him to this planet. He studies it, sure. But he still does not grasp its true essence. Its true destruction to parallel creation.”
“So, there is momentum on both sides. Darkness against light, the Greater War rages on. As it was said, things are changing everywhere. But in the end, which will prevail?”
“Isn’t that a great question,” Torin said.
“His Guardian Trials are coming up. Assuming the Guardians will have him.”
“Do you think they will?”
“Well, I dunno. You know them. They can be unpredictable,” Lyon said.
“Hmm. Let me say this then. Though the skies are blue and the grass is green, prepare for a storm your island’s never seen’. How’s that?”
“It’s not particularly comforting,” said Lyon.
“Good. It will keep you on your toes,” Torin teased.
Lyon faked a scowl at the man who had created his world. Comfort is the enemy of growth, I suppose. Still, I hope my island family will be okay.
Chapter XXIII
Cold Blood
Fivesday
Ammon rolled over to his calendar in his cube, and sighed. It was finally the end of the week. The last day of the Prelims. If he made it through today without being approached by a Levitian, he would make it to the Trials. In addition, the long-awaited game of Equilibria would take place later that afternoon.
But before then, Ammon had one last daunting task of the week to accomplish. It made it seem as if the game were several months away, rather than several hours.
It was the final day of Worlds class before they went through the SG Trials. That meant it was the final day for Bozolf to sabotage Ammon and Mikael, in hopes to prevent them from entering the Trials. Though there seemed to be no possible way to ruin this for them in the space of a single hour, Ammon knew that if anyone could pull it off, could conjure despair from joy, it would be Bozolf.
Ammon went for another morning jog with Tobias, knocked out his cleaning responsibilities with Krystal, then met up with Mikael in Bozolf’s onyx classroom. Tobias often spent a few hours in Ammon’s cubicle, glad to rest in the scent of his master, and was there now with a thick bone.
Chalice was sitting in the back of the classroom, unusually quiet. He had a light bruise on his neck. He would not look Mikael in the eye. Maison was, again, nowhere to be seen. A chill touched Ammon’s bones.
Bozolf walked in looking entirely too happy. A wide smile like his would be delightful on any other face, except for perhaps Maison. This is not going to be pleasant, Ammon thought.
As class started, he was surprised to see everything progressing as usual. Of course, this meant flippant insults to the quality of their work, along with general remarks about their poor progress as a generation. But that was normal. It was familiar. It was nice.
“Now, we will spend the rest of our time together discussing this single question. How do you create or destroy a world?”
Ammon kept his hand down, though he had a few thoughts on the matter. They lower he laid that day, the better.
There were a few comments, but none were particularly interesting.
“Remember what we discussed earlier this week. The different types of worlds and such.”
Bozolf’s tone did not hold its usual contempt. This was discomforting, far moreso than if he were flinging desks and chairs at them. Some students cringed as if he were doing just that.
One girl near the front raised her hand.
“I would guess that there are three ways. Either from within, from without, or it is impossible.” A few hoods went down at this, though half as many went up. Mikael stirred in his chair, and Ammon sat up a bit. It was an interesting comment.
A boy then raised his hand near the back. He was sitting next to Chalice, who was leaning away from the boy while hiding the bruises on his face.
“We talked about all the different types of worlds in Kodin’s class, how even a book can be a world in its own.”
References to Kodin’s class was like walking into a minefield. You never knew when it would blow up in your face. Today, however, Bozolf acted alarmingly tolerant.
“That sounds accurate to me. What of it?” Bozolf inquired.
“Well, I was just thinking. You could destroy the book itself, the material substance of it. The physical matter it is made up of, but not the actual matter of a different sort that it speaks of.”
“So, is anything remembered of a world once it is destroyed?” Bozolf further questioned.
The boy answered. “Well, it depends on the type of world. But in general, I would say yes. There are memories of it, and the impacts it had while it existed.”
“Ok. That is good,” Bozolf said. Holy Cephas, Ammon thought. Did he just give a compliment?
“So now, let us just discuss one sort of world. Planets. Our planet. Proelum. How was it created, and how could it possibly be destroyed?”
There were a few other comments, and then one in particular finally got Ammon to speak.
Another girl had said, “I believe our world was created in another plane of existence altogether. From there, it has moved through space, gathering matter unto itself. Thus it began a process where it had to fall, where it will ultimately become whole and immortal. So, there are possible ways that Proelum could be destroyed. So many, in fact, that we could spend every day worrying about a new cataclysmic event. But I don’t believe this will happen. Proelum will not be destroyed. It will be made perfect.”
Ammon saw a look cross Bozolf’s face that appeared as if he were about to strike her. He quickly raised his hand in her defense, then began speaking when Bozolf looked at him. Sometimes it was the only way to be heard in his class.
“My Mother says the same thing. That we as people are also on a similar journey, and will someday become whole, to live on our perfected planet. That’s not to say we won’t die. Many of us have already died. But none of us are destroyed. Though not alive in this world, many still exist somewhere else.”
“Hmmm,” Bozolf started, looking sideways at them all. “So, Ammon, do you think the world will die before reaching this perfected state?”
Ammon thought on that. “I don’t know. Maybe.” It was the best answer he could give.
Bozolf nodded. “Thus are the words from a young boy, who was raised believing in an all-powerful creator.” The way he
said this held more contempt that an entire prison. He held Ammon’s eyes, then looked away.
“That is sufficient for today,” Bozolf announced. He picked up a stock of papers and straightened them out with several ominous taps, introducing a staccato to his next words. Tension crept into the air. He appeared giddy. Ammon could see it. This is not good, Ammon thought.
“Okay, so. Before we all leave, I will be returning your papers you were required to write and turn in from the end of last class, discussing what Ammon himself had said about my classroom being like a world.