by B L Barkey
Father fell silent mid-sentence. Somberness dawned on his face. Soon, he spoke again, this time slow, as if watching the words take form and float away before him.
“Master Lyon arrived on the beach shortly after the events. He gathered a few of the young ones and asked them about what happened. They showed him the glass tree, then described the intensity of the storm. Master Lyon then passed this to the rest of us, warning us of some of the effects the event might have on our children.”
“And then what?” Ammon pushed. “Does he know where the storm came from? Were the Guardians there?”
Father gave him a questioning look. “Ammon, it was hardly serious enough to warrant the Guardians’ involvement. You should know that, if you truly plan to join them. It was intense, yes. But it was only a storm.”
“So Master Lyon didn’t mention where it came from?” repeated Ammon.
“What do you mean, where it came from? It was a storm, Ammon. Where does any storm come from?” Father said.
Bastion and the others kept silent. They knew what Ammon was referring to. They wanted to hear Father’s answer as well, even though they themselves were skeptical. To Bastion’s surprise, Ammon clenched his jaw and kept his mouth shut, incredulity howling in his eyes. Then Bastion noticed something else. It appeared in his head, as though strategically placed there by his subconscious.
“Father, you mentioned the tree. What did they tell Master Lyon about the two trees?” Bastion asked.
“They told him it was made of sand, hardened into a rough and opaque glass. It was in the form of a tree, though shorter and obviously leafless.”
Opaque? That thing was crystal clear when they saw it, Bastion thought.
Ammon looked at Bastion, catching on. “Did he mention the other tree?”
Father looked at him, then tilted his head towards the others. Mother appeared from the hallway, leaning against the wall. She looked leagues beyond worried. “What other tree?” Mother asked.
Ammon took the lead. He described both trees with intricate detail. The velvety black-wooded void. The pulsing light through glass branches. He ended with the feelings each brought. Despair, then hope.
“Hmm,” Father mumbled, stroking his beard. Finally, he spoke. “Master Lyon mentioned nothing of another tree. Boys, this is very strange. You seem to have had a much different experience than the rest of the younglings we spoke to.”
It appears that way, thought Bastion. Ammon sat back in his seat, having leaned on his knees during his explanation of the trees. Mother crossed the room, laying on top of Ammon and Mikael. She was trying to lighten the mood, hiding her own concern behind a new veil of indifference.
“The Levitians announced that we will all be meeting tomorrow. In the Gardens, nine in the morning, per usual. I will see you all tomorrow, my beautiful family.” He hugged them all, then headed upstairs. Bastion listened closely then. A door closed upstairs. It was not the door to Father’s bedroom, but to his study.
Bastion thought about heading home then, though the thought of being alone was dreadful. He wasn’t afraid to be alone. The threat had long since left. However, the idea of not being with his friends sounded absolutely appalling. Besides, he had already taken care of his Vivarium animals. They would be fine until morning.
He settled further into the couch cushions, as did Ammon and Krystal. After a while longer, Mikael stood up and retired to bed. Krystal followed soon after. There were two guest rooms on the second floor, which unanimously belonged to the two adopted children of the family. Bastion stood up to head to his usual guest room, then saw that Ammon was still deep in thought, staring into the carpet, shadows of the fire flickering on his face. Bastion sat next to him, lightly punching his thigh. Ammon jumped, as if snapping back into his own body from faraway places.
“Hey buddy. It’ll be alright. I know a lot happened tonight. I didn’t see the creatures in the sky, although I wish I had so I could back you up.”
Every time Bastion ignored his memories of the creatures, it seemed more like the truth. I saw only lightning and rain clouds, Bastion told himself. Ammon nodded at the floor, sitting up further in his seat.
Bastion continued. “I did see both those trees though, and it’s very suspicious that the other is no longer there. That being said, I do believe you saw something tonight, whether someone else did or not.”
Ammon looked up at him with surprise, then slight relief. Bastion heard him exhale, then felt Ammon’s hand on his shoulder.
“Thanks Bastion, I appreciate it. It’s more than a belief for me, though. I know I saw something tonight. Yet I don’t know what it means.”
Bastion patted him on the back. “You’ll find your answers soon enough. You always do.”
He had nothing else to say. No words seemed good enough to convey at that moment. Soon, they both stood up and went to bed, punching each other’s fists before splitting at the stairs. Bastion entered his guest room, finding his favorite blanket from his blood-father buried underneath multiple other layers of cloth.
His father had visited the island one morning when he was ten. His resentment towards his father had already begun by then, though it was still overshadowed by a son’s unconditional love for his father. The blanket was made from the fur of a rare mountain beast, founded in the floating mountains of the north. He thought he might die if anything ever happened to it. His father felt closest when he wore it.
The floating mountains appeared in several modern myths, supposedly lingering far north of Monoruin. They were said to be made of only ice and onyx. No one knew why they were referred to as ‘floating, though Bastion believed it to be a glacier, if it existed at all.
Wherever the rare creature actually lived, his father had found it. Bastion was sure there were more than one of the creatures, for his father wasn’t one to kill without justified reason. In fact, there was a good chance the animal was found dead, though fresh enough to harvest for good use.
Preserved by the ice, the fur would have been easy to separate from the corpse. It seemed whole, without a single patch. It was three times the width of his body, and twice the length. It was unbelievably warm, always maintaining a comfortable body temp in both hot and cold weather. Simply put, it was amazing. Of course, he would’ve traded it easily for just a few more childhood memories with his blood-father.
Even so, the father of Ammon and Mikael had always taken care of Bastion. He was his father as well. But he wasn’t his real father. He wasn’t the man who had summoned his spirit to this planet. He wasn’t the father that had weird quirks similar to his own son. He wasn’t the father that shared the same extreme passion for animal life and biology.
Still, he was the father that had been there. He was the father who had given his own time to Bastion. Perhaps this meant more than everything else.
Bastion removed his top layer of clothing, climbed underneath his blanket, and quickly drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
II
The next morning, Bastion rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes, then laid there with the utmost desire to never move from his bed for the rest of his life. If he wasn’t up soon, though, Krystal would give him a hard time. Still, it was difficult to sit up out of bed. Sleeping often left him feeling more drained than rested.
Within the first waking moments of every morning, he fell into a heavy depression. He always felt like something was missing from his life. Loneliness seeped into every ounce of his being, isolating each atom in his body to the point of agony. That’s how it felt. Nearly unbearable.
But then it would fade. Thoughts of the day would fill his mind, and the distractions would bring him back to the present. He always assumed this came from his fear of abandonment brought on by his father, although it felt quite different than the pain he felt when thinking of his father any other time of day.
But if his heart didn’t ache for his father, he had no idea who else it would ache for. His mother? He never knew his mother. That didn’t particu
larly bother him, though he often thought it should.
Alright, enough thinking. Time to shut off the brain. He got up and met with the rest of his friends, Krystal still gone from the table. As he started to make jests at her absence, she walked around the corner, soaking in her workout clothes. So much for being a slacker, he thought.
“Krys. You don’t ever workout on Sevensday. What gives?” Bastion asked.
“I woke up early and couldn’t sleep, so I went to burn off some energy.” Her tone was rather defensive. Cephasonians usually reserved Sevensday for rest and contemplation. “Anyway, this isn’t exactly a normal day.”
And there it was. Confirmation that it had not been a dream. So many times he had experienced horrible, life-altering events, only to wake up from them, and to feel the sweetest relief that life was still simple. This time, however, the nightmare was real. The storm. The trees. The beasts. All real. There was death this night. He hated this thought as an intruder. Yet somehow, deep inside him, he knew it to be true.
They all ate their breakfast, dressed in their clean cloaks, then gathered out front. It was a beautiful day. One would never guess a storm had just ravaged their lives. The air was still nippy from forest climate, forcing them to wear a thicker top layer under their cloaks. They joined the crowds of families making their way down to the Gardens, filing down the eastern staircase, then trekking north. Everyone was talking about it.
Bastion caught glimpses here and there of different parts of the story, all but chronological. Some details had already been blown out of proportion, which he found honestly impressive considering the short time that had passed, and the already colossal size of the event. He shook his head in disbelief. Humans. Sometimes I wish I were something else.
They approached the Gardens, then found their large oak tree which typically served as their familial back rest. It was comfortable enough for the hour-long Gatherings. Usually, the Gathering was a peaceful time. Every soul on Cephas would come with their families, seeking to humble themselves, reflect on their blessings, and share stories of their experiences.
When Bastion was young, he could hardly survive the Gathering. It was the most boring thing in creation. He would attend with Ammon and Mikael’s family, having already been adopted into their den. However, despite being with his best friends, it was excruciating. This was the one time where he was forced to think of his father, as he had zero distractions to block out the repressed thoughts. It was misery. It was growth.
He had learned to like it for this, for the growth, though it had taken much practice. He had slowly learned how to reflect on the things he held in life, rather than what was missing.
Losing his parents so young was a significant burden. He didn’t want to underplay it, for it shaped him always. But thinking of them too often left him in a state of mind that was dangerous both for him and others. Ammon helped him a lot with it. Their friendship oft kept his mind from the sorrows. Bastion knew he would be a much darker person without Ammon and his family.
Multiple people would get up throughout the Gathering, describing some of the events of their week, and thanking those that had helped them achieve new goals. Every week had different speakers. No one on Cephas had an absolutely life-changing experience occur every week.
That was, except for Jelly. Jelly spoke almost every week. He was thirty years old, with the mental mechanics of a toddler. He was the sweetest man, always smiling and helping others with yard work. His motor skills and languages had certain barriers, however… some of which he would never overcome.
His real name was Jerry, but the way he said it had everyone refer to him by his nickname. Each week he would get up, and tell all the island, to the best of his ability, how happy he was for the Sun, for the moon, for the trees that whisper at night, and the birds that sing during the day. He was grateful for the apples of the trees, and the fish of the seas. And most of all, he was grateful for the fall.
Bastion always cringed at the last part. He knew ‘the fall’ referred to the season of autumn, though he also suspected it carried an undertone, perhaps referring to the accident which had caused Jelly’s speech impediments. He really loved the little guy, though he didn’t spend much time with him. He would have to do more for Jelly someday.
As the crowds poured in, wrapped in cloaks and neck-cloths, the buzz of conversation grew thick. There were typically less hooded folk at the Gathering. Today, there were none. Darkness had shown its true form last night.
Though they would all grow numb again in time, their wounds were still fresh. The hollowness in the eyes of the entirely unhooded sought answers in the eyes of one another. No one thought themselves above others, spinning dark threads of thought into ideas of superiority. After last night, the blatant reality of their small size and mortality was all-too-real to play pretend. Today, darkness was seen. A marked predator, poised to strike the killing blow.
Also against pattern was the absence of cheerfulness. They would greet each other with smiling faces and words of welcome, hardly satiable in their hunger for conversation. Today, all talk was consumed with the storm the night before. It was unsettling how just one event could darken their entire life.
Bastion looked around for signs of a limping Jonah, though he knew the boy would still be in the hospital. Instead, he looked for Jonah’s parents, mother and father Arcanum. They were also nowhere to be seen. Probably with their son, watching over him, Bastion thought. That’s where I would be.
As Bastion settled into his spot on the oak tree, Ammon paced back and forth. He watched his restless friend while twisting a dry leaf to pieces in his hands. He wanted to forget about the glowing shapes in the sky, though to do so would mean leaving Ammon entirely alone. He had thought about admitting his own witness to his friends, though the possibility grew more and more unlikely as time wore on. It was easier to forget it. To write it off as imagination.
Bastion looked to Mother and Father Delkai, whom also appeared uncharacteristically distraught. Mother was held in Father’s arms, standing just around the tree trunk, as if shielding themselves from something. As if hiding.
The crowd fell to a hush with sweeping waves. Levitians appeared to the right, walking to the front. Their voices arose in song, summoning a low hum from the people. They knew this song. ‘The Song of Mourning’. It was short and sweet, despite its meaning. Then came the silence of anticipation, vibrant and heavy, all understanding what was about to happen.
Master Lyon stepped from the crowd in his normal garb, dark rings under his eyes. He must not have slept at all, Bastion thought, feeling sorry for the leader. This then brought new worries to his mind. Was it because Jonah had complications? The voice from before returned to his mind. There was death this night.
He pushed the thoughts away, hoping with all his being that Master Lyon would shed light on the matter, reassuring that all was well. Confirming that there indeed had been no death that night. Master Lyon looked out over his people, searching them. Back and forth. Back and forth. Wind blew leaves to about the crowds.
“My fellow islanders. My brothers and sisters. My family. Sorrow has struck our island. Our home.”
This is it, thought Bastion gratefully. Straight to the point.
“On the evening of Sixday, an unforeseen storm fell upon South Bay. It was in the midst of the bonfire, both in time and space. Little evidence of this storm was seen on the horizon at sunset. It is unknown how such a phantom storm could be conjured, particularly one with such destructive power.”
Many nodded their heads, confirming Lyon’s words.
“Flames were high, though eventually quenched. Trees were decimated. Animals lost their lives. Such signs are common, though never to this degree. And that is not all. Lightning struck the sand, crystalizing the particles into an ominous glass figure. This can happen, as such phenomena are recorded in our ancient texts, though we have never seen it here. Having seen this glass figure, this…tree, for myself, I find myself quite star
tled by its structure. Levitians will continue to study it for signs of the nature of our phantom storm.
“Observing these events altogether creates quite a recipe for concern. As if this wasn’t enough, one of our very own children was struck down from the shards of tree bark. Jonah Arcanum was struck in the left leg and in both hips, leaving his pelvis broken in three places, and his femur snapped in half. His friends were able to stop the bleeding and carry him towards the Leviticum on a stretcher, and for that, his life was undoubtedly spared. What wonderful friends he has.”
Bastion felt a pang of guilt at this, knowing who had truly saved Jonah with Clonem. Thank goodness for Chalice. Who is the true friend after all? He cursed himself for feeling jealous, though the feeling remained.
“However, the most horrific repercussion of the storm has yet to be addressed. We have been slow to confirm our suspicions, exploring all possibilities. Yet as of early this morning, we have come to a conclusion, of which we would now share with you all.
There was an eerie silence then, as if even the trees slowed their breathing.