by B L Barkey
Then a thought struck him. It came from nowhere seen like lightning from clear, thunderless clouds. A glass orb floated into his mind’s eye, like a dream upon waking. Within, the thought started. What if the universe is not about what is further and further outside, but rather what is inside? There has to be a point within where it all ends, right? Or where it all begins… All at one point. Yes, that has to be it. Truth is inside. That is Wayothe. All things revolving around one light, like the Sun, collecting until itself, new order…
He felt like a top, revolving around this one new point in the universe. Spinning. Growing dizzy. And then…
It was gone. Remnants such as inside and one light stuck in his mind, like echoes of revelation. They remained as pieces to a puzzle still far from complete. He clung to them, hoping the thought would return soon. Inside, he thought again, trying to rekindle the experience. The center. Snow leopard. There is something there. There has to be…
He heard the stars whisper to one another. A whisper between lovers. With the voices of Mother and Father.
Ammon sat up. There was a thin line of light streaming from the downstairs living room out onto the autumn ground. He heard his parents’ voices again, though he could only make out a few words. Feeling like he should crawl back inside and go to bed, he crept from the loft and sidled down to the edge of the roof on his stomach. His heart was thumping hard in his chest. He grinned to himself, knowing he was breaking some smaller law. It was invigorating.
He saw their soft shadows interrupt the light as they walked around.
“I just worry about them. How will they ever be ready?” It was Mother’s voice.
“Who is ever truly ready for what they must become?” Father answered patiently. “We weren’t even ready when we first got sealed to one another. Ready to build our own house, to branch out on our own. To raise our own little people. Yet here we are. We jumped into it with hope. It made us grow.”
“Yes, but they’re our children,” Mother pleaded. What is she so worried about? Ammon wondered.
“Even more of a reason for us to have faith. They have good blood flowing through their veins,” Father said. Mother hummed, seeming comforted. After a few moments, Father spoke once more.
“Head to bed, sweetie. You’re falling asleep in my arms.”
There was quiet movement, followed by the creaking of stairs. A single shadow returned to the light, before the light disappeared altogether.
So that’s it, huh. The idle worries of a caring mother, Ammon thought. A part of him was glad that he had not heard something important. At the same time, he was disappointed.
The backdoor to the patio opened, then closed. Ammon froze, lying flat on the roof. He closed his eyes and listened.
Footsteps approached from the trees. Two legs, the stride of a human. Who is visiting at this hour…
The steps continued up to the wooden stairs from the ground up to the patio, then crossed over the patio and stopped where Father was most likely standing.
“Master,” came Father’s voice. It was full of true respect. There was only one person Father would speak to in that manner. It was Master Lyon.
“Erick. How’ve you been, old friend?”
“Oh, same as usual, really. Raising two adventurous boys. Providing for a wonderful and stubborn woman. Helping in the Gardens and building new homes. No news is good news, yes?”
“Hmm,” Master Lyon responded, sounding warm and content. “Do you miss your true calling at all?”
There was a brief pause.
“You know I do,” Father said. “Remember how much we used to fish before our own trials? We had hooks in the water more often than we slept!”
Both men laughed, sharing a memory. Then they hushed their voices as if to stay out of trouble, just as Ammon did with his own friends so often. Ammon grinned wide, feeling blessed for getting to hear this true friendship between his Father and the Master of the Leviticum. Though he couldn’t hear them, he wondered about the secrets hidden in their whispers. Only one word rang clear. ‘Return’.
As the conversation grew longer, it also grew louder, less concealed. Ammon was soon able to make out the words.
“I just hope they don’t grow to hate me,” Father said. He released a low laugh, though it sounded more concerned than jovial.
Ammon heard what could have been a pat on the back.
“Many men have similar worries. That their family will be lost in the pursuit of one’s personal legend,” Lyon said. “I’m the same way. But your boys are special, as is your lovely bride. I’m sure they understand.”
“I just hope they know the truth. Life spent in my study can be excruciating, day in and day out. But what’s approaching… It’s all for them. All of it.”
“Have you told them so?” Lyon asked. “I mean, I’m no master in such things.”
Both men laughed.
“I have, in different ways. Though it never hurts to remind them,” Father said. “To remind myself.”
“For the young ones. As a Levitian. It’s a balancing act,” Lyon said. “You must get creative in how you share such things. I have often found it funny, how rarely we tell others how special they are. Instead, we push them, driving them to become even better. Rarely, if ever, do they realize how well they’re doing, right here, right now.”
He licked his lips, then continued, slowly.
“Words have a curious power. They endow fire in human souls. With this power we can create things, reshape matter. Though if misused, the same power becomes harmful in its reshaping, perhaps taking away what was first desired. Thus it is. I remind the young ones how incomprehensibly powerful they are, though just enough, to deter from limiting their growth.”
“Thus it is,” Father repeated. “And yet my wife is still upset. She’s dreading the distance. She likes her boys close to home. She’s hurting.”
Ammon was confused at this. Far from home? Guardian Isle is but a swim away. He rolled his eyes at the thought, then laughed. He felt some pain for his mother, though he knew she’d be okay. The absence would be short and sweet. And at the end, her boys would be Guardians.
“Your family is built in love,” Lyon said. “You will all succeed in your paths. I’m sure of it.”
“Yeah. Yeah, they will,” Father said. There was a deep thud then as both men hugged. As the footsteps of Master Lyon faded as quickly as they had approached, Ammon slid back inside his window. Though perfectly awake only seconds ago, he felt heavy as lead chains. He clambered onto his mattress, thanking all heavens above for the warmth his blankets held, then swiftly drifted back to the realm of dreams.
Chapter XXVII
The Glass Storm
Ammon awoke to the morning mist creeping through the windows. He couldn’t quite recall when he had returned to bed from the roof. He felt rejuvenated, ready to start his next adventure. Today he planned on hiking Cloud Mountain before the beach bonfire. This would give him some time alone, allowing him to meditate on his thoughts and prepare for the Trials.
He lay in bed for another few minutes, looking at the cool mountains to the west, where only the peaks showed signs of another rising Sun. For it always rises, Ammon thought warmly.
He got up and changed his clothes. The cool morning was slightly uncomfortable, though it helped his body wake up faster and begin functioning properly. He packed a small bag, trying to be quiet as to not wake Mikael.
“Off already?” Mikael mumbled into his pillow, his words barely distinguishable. Ammon threw a pillow at his head. Mikael didn’t react.
“Yup, gotta beat the Sun. I’ve got plenty to think about today,” Ammon said, zipping up his bag. He walked over and grabbed his pillow, bringing it down once more on Mikael’s head. Still, no reaction ensued.
“Things like Maison?” Mikael asked through muffled grumbles.
Ammon understood his meaning. Both knew they had kept these happenings from Mother and Father. Why hadn’t they told him, to receive protectio
n and understanding? Ammon didn’t know either. They just… hadn’t.
“Hmph. Have fun,” said Mikael, pulling his blanket over his head. Ammon smiled at his brother, then made his way downstairs. His parents were still in bed. Early morning my butt, thought Ammon, knowing that Father had probably already gotten up and returned to bed.
He liked to study in the earliest morning hours of each day, even if that meant returning to bed afterwards.
And then he remembered the night before. It truly felt like a different reality then, as often things are in the night. But again, the aching pain in his foot reminded him that it had truly happened. Another ache came unto him as pangs of remembrance. Glass orb. Inside. Snow leopard. Goodbyes. Growth. Death.
He walked downstairs to find Mother in the kitchen. She greeted him without looking up from her book on the counter. He walked up behind her and hugged her. He held her for a long while then.
Many feelings of love passed through his mind, especially a gratefulness for all she had sacrificed to bring him into this world. He kissed her on the cheek, then rummaged through the cabinet for a few bars of condensed fruit and oats. For now and for later, he thought, stuffing one of blackberries into his mouth.
He told Mother no thank you for the wheat bread, then grabbed a glistening strawberry still wet in a glass bowl.
He filled up his water sack, strapped on his shoes, then stumbled out the door. The misty mountains engulfed him then, arising goosebumps down his back. He wore two layers of t-shirts, the top layer light blue and long-sleeved with a hood. He wore a knitted hat his mother had made for him, depicting a black-and-white scene from one of his favorite movies from the Leviticum gliscs. He figured Bastion would be up taking care of his animals, and headed in that direction.
A slight frost hung from the fingers of the evergreen pines. Needles and pinecones were frozen in place, only to be melted by the sure-rise of the Sun. Ammon walked up to Bastion’s house, which was a small cabin with few windows and a modest chimney. The outward appearance of the home gave no warning of the creative world that lied within its walls. A world of kingdoms.
Ammon continued inside, the screen door crashing behind him. The home was not particularly clean, with dishes and books scattered about, scraps of food remaining on many of the dishes, and scribbled note sheets tossed about.
A strong smell lingered immediately upon opening the door. It was not quite stench-y, nor was it pleasant. Still, no matter how many times Ammon had been in the home, the strong smell always startled him. He made his way down the wooden steps, dropped his bag to the floor, then made his way down a flights of stairs, heavy footed and whistling a random tune.
Bastion had two basement levels, both anchored widely underground. His home was the only one of its kind. It had started when his own father had lived on Cephas. It then expanded further with Bastion’s inherited interest in caring for animals. None of his neighbors had desired a subsurface level, so there had been extra space available.
In addition, and more importantly, the ARC had been searching for a place to keep animals who would never be fit to release into the wild again. Thus, Bastion’s home became a refuge to forever-injured animals.
Bastion didn’t see them this way though, perhaps making him the sole inheritor of such a calling. He saw the animals as whole creatures, with different callings of their own. He gave them a place of life. Full life. From hence came the name of his home, the “Vivarium”. It was a place of life, to learn about life. On afternoons of Sixday, children would oft come to visit the animals. Such visits would fortify both animal and child, bringing the usually reclusive Bastion great joy.
Ammon looked out over the enormous room of the first basement floor, taking in yet another experience that always caught him by surprise. Its sheer immensity was astounding, with its vaulted ceiling, distant walls, and glass columns separating certain habitats. Despite this, little of the floor was visible. It was quite comparable to the ARC itself. Thriving, alive, and full.
Dozens of different ecosystems were scattered throughout, allowing only thin isles to pass between them. Columns of reptilian abodes were stacked upon one another as water-misters showered upon the scaled creatures.
Lizards and snakes of all sizes, colors shining brightly underneath the multitudes of heat lamps. A small lagoon resided in the far corner, home to two dwarf alligators found in the swamps on the northeast corner of Cephas.
These two punks had gotten themselves caught up in a tangle of weeds, and Ammon had helped Bastion free them and transport them back to High Forest. It had been a very, very long walk home. He had a few scars to remember the sweet experience by, lest he forget such happy times.
The two alligators floated on the top of the water, their heads level with the surface and their bodies dangling down in the aquatic plants. A clear glass material was created by Bastion himself for their swamp pond, allowing visitors to see underneath the water. Several fish and frogs also lived in this swamp, providing an equilibrium of life and nutrients in the pool. In the adjacent corner, another large glass tank was housed, connecting several separate sections of wildlife.
The outcropped tank to the right was a shallow pool, the top open to the atmosphere. Four stingrays glided across the bottom of the sands within this cage, occasionally breaking the smooth surface with their wings or tail.
The tank to the left was also open-topped, but with much taller walls and with only one obnoxious beast inhabiting its waters. This was where Bastion kept the octopus. They had named him Squirt, partially because of his stunted growth, and also because of his behavior whenever touched by human hand.
Once freed from the water, Squirt was mild and easily handled. Even so, it appeared he had been a vicious warrior of his kind, often defending his lonely turf, given the silver scars on his rubber skin. Ammon had a few scars of his own, courtesy of Squirt’s relapses to forgotten times. Ah, the joys of friendship.
In the center of both outcrops was Ammon’s favorite habitat. It was a glass dome aquarium. Taller than it was wide, it was built directly into the roof. A large living community of coral rocks intertwined in the center, providing a panorama of colors and textures.
The sands were pure white, the water a surreal turquoise. Though the tank was anything but still, the peace it brought to Ammon’s soul was immeasurable. Seemingly thousands of different fishes swam about the coral, each acting in a way that seemed unique to its own species.
Each fish seemed to be on its own agenda, carrying on their ancestors’ work from generations before. Ammon and Mikael would often help Bastion expand his collection here, collecting new fish gently within their nets, and transferring to this utopia of ocean life.
Steady currents cruised over the corals, carrying smaller fish along and combing the anemones. The lights in the tank accentuated the colors of both the fish and the abodes. It was a brilliant sight, one Ammon never tired of resting his eyes upon.
And then, he saw it. Once more, the image of death and decay eclipsed his view of all else. Surrounding him were the dusted remains of living things. Creatures infected, killed, then eaten by an approaching darkness. Disease, he heard. Decay. Gray. Temptation, it whispered. With it came a foreign thought. It was not his, though it was in his mind. Climb into the tank and become dust yourself. Is this not truth? For you are all dust…
“You never do make it past the first floor,” came a voice behind. Ammon nearly yelled, his heart in his throat. He lashed out, grabbing the hand now on his shoulder. He turned, ready to strike. Mid-swing, he froze.
“A little jumpy, eh?” Bastion said, giving a nervous laugh. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Ammon responded, though there was little meaning behind the word.
“Just seeing how our little creatures are doing. How did the parrot fish adjust?” Ammon asked, attempting to avoid further questions about his reaction.
Bastion looked at Ammon with a sideways glance, held it, then finally turned away. “Just fine, a
ctually. I wasn’t quite sure it would enjoy the same levels of salts and minerals I have circulating in the tank, but thankfully, I was proven wrong.”
As Bastion said this, the very fish of which they spoke swam underneath a large arch in the coral, sporting several neon colors which shifted continuously. Upon its face was a distinguished beak similar to that of a bird. It drifted about, reigning over the coral below with intimidating size and shimmer.
Ammon had no idea how much effort it took to maintain all of these salt-water tanks, let alone every other animal in the basement. And that didn’t even include the second basement floor.
They watched the fish swim for a minute before Bastion turned and walked towards the stairs. “C’mon, I’ve got something cool to show you.”
Ammon watched the striped orange-fish dive back into its anemone, then turned to follow Bastion. Many other tanks filled the empty voids of this floor, with salamanders, turtles, newts, and lizards so large they were nearly akin to the dragons of legend. They reached the stairs and walked down to the next level. This floor had a much different feel, of which Ammon found much more comfortable.