by B L Barkey
“During the phantom storm, streaks of lightning touched down in High Forest. One such home was struck in such a place that supercharged their electric generator, causing an explosion that evaporated the home, as well as claiming the lives of the mother and father inside of it. As of yesterday, Mother and Father Arcanum, the parents of the very same injured Jonah and Lumena, have been declared as deceased.”
Lyon paused as gasps rose from all corners. Even so, Bastion heard none of it. His mind was distant, floating.
“We would like to perform their burials during this Gathering, and pay our respects.”
Lyon turned and pointed eastward.
“The Arcanum Ansemithum flower cube built by their very own hands will be dedicated as a lovely shrine to their family. It will be the most sacred monument in our Gardens, paying tribute to a family that has given us so much. Their rare collection of flowers will be cared for and cultivated to achieve their mortal dream.
“Let us be clear. No one can hope to replicate the tender love those two sweet people gave freely. They can never be replaced. Given this, we have skilled Levitians who specialize in the most ancient scripts of Old World. These gifted few will aid in cultivating the Ansemithum flower to its fruition. Though the serum may never reach completion, let our efforts be a symbol to those lost. A symbol, to remember the Arcanums.”
There was another pause, though this one was filled with violent weeping. Master Lyon spoke louder and gentler, showing respect for those in mourning.
“Please keep your thoughts on Jonah and Lumena, to help them get through this dark time. How one family, one sweet and ambitious family could be the target of so much change and darkness in one night, I will never begin to fathom. They will need your love now more than ever. Thank you for coming, dear family. Let us remember that we are one, whether in life or in death. Let us remember our fallen brothers and sisters. Let us remember the Arcanums.”
Light trickled through the leaves. Wind passed thin clouds above. Flowers turned their heads to the Sun, while animals scampered about the gathered people. Master Lyon left them then, initiating a time of solemnity which purveyed through the morning light.
Bastion watched birds flock to the horizon. Like so many times before, he wished he could be one of them. To take flight so casually, leaving his feelings and sorrows behind.
END OF PART III
✽✽✽
PART IV
TRIALS OF GUARDIANS
Chapter XXIX
Interlude - Light Foreseen
Lyon left the Gathering with the other Levitians, before pulling off into the trees alone. Though he had not planned on this, it felt like something he should do. He walked the paths alone, recalling his own memories he had once shared with the Arcanums.
He had once had a crush on Mother Arcanum, long before she had even become a wife. Yet when he had heard of her betrothal to Terra, he remembered feeling only happiness. The two had seemed almost made for each other, and he had gladly stepped aside to let it happen. But what was the point of it all, if they were only meant to die soon after?
As the thought formed within him, he knew from whence it had come. Darkness. Though the storm had gone, its influences still lingered, it seemed. And this is only the beginning. As despair threatened to consume him, a pillar of light descended down into the trees. Lyon stepped back, startled. No matter how many times he’d seen it, the pillar always surpassed his memories of it.
The green leaves above, and the orange ones below, all seemed to catch fire, though only for a moment as the sphere of influence surrounding the pillar translated the circumferential area. Lyon looked around, realizing he had walked much further into the North Mounts than he had planned.
“Lyon,” came the deep, rumbling voice of Torin. He stepped from the light, taking shape. He was in his human form, though Lyon saw the last echoes of enormous eagle wings fading behind him. This made Lyon smile. It was one of the intricacies of Torin’s personality. The powerful being would have no need for actual wings, as he had full control over his creations. And yet he still bound himself, placing limitations on his power in what he called ‘fun’. Lyon laughed, thinking of all the people in the world who thought of stoic seriousness when they thought of gods.
Lyon looked down at himself, recognizing his own translated form. It had been raised to its higher form granted to him when in the presence of Torin. It was not something that could happen to just anyone. It took a certain level of understanding and habitual living in the ways of light. It was the same form he found himself when when wandering the forested pathways of his vivid dreaming.
“Torin,” Lyon said, smiling. They embraced each other, then turned to continue walking along the path. The plants and animals were also transcended, as their understanding was naturally greater, as they were not ones to willfully defy their creator. They were also not ones to create order themselves, and thus, there was balance.
“You are hurting,” Torin said. Lyon nodded, all thoughts of sarcasm fleeting away in his mind.
“I am. They were a wonderful family. I feel for their children.”
“Jonah and Lumena,” Torin said, taking a fruit hanging from a nearby tree. “The little one is unbelievably receptive. I sometimes find her looking right at me, through my creations. She will become something special, should she choose to make her trials her strength, instead of her chains. Yet for now, she is too young to comprehend it.”
Torin took a bite of the fruit.
“Do you even taste it?” Lyon laughed.
“Of course! My body has taste buds, doesn’t it?”
“One would assume,” Lyon said, putting his hands into the pockets of his cloak.
“Now, back to the children,” Torin continued. “Lumena may be too young, but Jonah is not. He is quickening into his prime, already showing incredible potential to convert his sorrows into energy. He is showing potential akin to only one other I’ve ever known…”
“Hey now,” Lyon teased.
Torin laughed. “It’s the truth! And don’t say you can’t see it, else it is definitely true. You always had an understanding about you. Yet did you ever lose your parents?”
“No, and for it I’m glad.”
“As am I,” said Torin, “and yet, there is strength in sorrow. Such is the divine comedy of darkness. When Morning strikes my creation, he is tempering steel, either breaking it down or making it stronger. Should he do nothing at all, I daresay the light wouldn’t be as bright as it is in this world.”
“It’s humorous when discussing it from the outside,” Lyon said, sounding almost defensive. “It’s another thing when living inside the moment. Enveloped and consumed by it.”
“I know,” Torin said. His words brought the smoothness chastisement Lyon had ever felt. “Do you mean to say I don’t remember being human myself?” He looked at Lyon, he glanced at him sideways. Both looked straight ahead then, and laughed.
“Of course not,” Lyon said. “I suppose I was saying it more for myself. Though forgetfulness may escape you, it is all to prevalent in our mortal realm. Even I forget things I should remember most.”
“And yet,” Torin started, “you are made stronger from it, relearning it twice over.”
“And we come full circle,” Lyon said, waving his arms.
Torin smiled. “And so it goes.”
Lyon frowned then, biting his lip. “It really is hard sometimes, though. It never gets easier, being mortal. All we know is the present, with foggy, narrow windows to help us peer into the past and future. It takes so much believing, all of the time.”
“That it does,” Torin nodded.
“And that is the point,” Lyon finished for him, sighing. “I mean, I knew it would get ugly, giving power back to Morning. Gruesome, even. But this?” Lyon shook his head. “Torin, I must ask. Did you foresee it becoming this dark?”
Torin looked forward and down, stroking his white beard in contemplation. “It’s difficult to measure darknes
s. Once in it, the shadows envelope you and boundaries are blurred until they vanish entirely, inconspicuously. Measuring things without reference is impossible. We can try to quantify pain, but it is all relative to what we know. The pain I have known is different than yours.”
Lyon understood, though he still felt impatient.
“Remember, my son. All things lost will someday be restored,” Torin said, placing his hand on Lyon’s shoulder.
“Should we prevail,” Lyon said, disliking his own doubt.
“Should you prevail,” Torin repeated. His tone was perfectly balanced, giving no credence to what the true outcome of Proelum would be.
Lyon sighed, speaking thoughts from deep within his heart. “Can’t you tell us how to win? How to make it through? You don’t have to tell us everything. Just a few things, to make it easier.”
“Haven’t I?” Torin asked, raising one white eyebrow.
“Yes, you have. Well, sort of. None of it is definitive. All of it can be argued one way or the other, requiring one to decide what is true.”
“Mhmm,” Torin hummed, nodding.
“So… Can’t you tell us something more definitive. Even just one thing?”
“Lyon,” Torin said, raising both eyebrows this time. “One might wonder if you lack faith in me?”
Lyon grimaced, though his shoulders remained level and strong.
“But I know your meaning,” Torin continued. “What you ask, you ask for others. For those who suffer in their choices. You ask out of love for others. I can see it in your heart.”
Lyon found a tear in his eye then, realizing that Torin’s words were more comforting than he would have ever thought. They soothed a worry within himself, like cool aloe on a persistent, seering scar.
“I wish to tell you more. Believe me, I do. Yet I cannot, lest I both ruin the purpose of all creation, and doom it all to oblivion. Thus is the same reason I require wings to fly in this atmosphere, or eat of fruit. Do you understand?”
Lyon nodded. He did understand. Torin had placed bounds on himself within this realm, making an oath to all creation. Thus, he was unable to break his word.
“It hurts me more than you could ever know,” Torin continued, his tone more somber than Lyon had ever heard before. “Imagine it from my eyes. Imagine watching your child walking into a bear trap, while having no way to warn him. As he steps into it, you feel the pain twice over, watching your child suffer, while knowing you could do nothing to help. And the worst part? You also watched your child set up this very same bear trap, thinking themselves wiser than you who warned against it.
“Now, take that pain and multiply it by near-infinite. That is my burden. That is my pain. It counters my joy. To keep the balance, as is the way of things. No matter how great the pain, no matter how much my child suffers within the self-set bear trap, I cannot help him beyond my predetermined, oath-sealed bounds.”
Lyon sighed then, casting away a weight he had been carrying unknowingly.
Squirrels and chipmunks scampered under the rising roots of trees, catching glimpses of the creator. Several bounded up to Torin, dancing along his shoulders and expressive arms. One animal in particular, a young bobcat, landed on Torin’s shoulder, sitting in place as if it belonged there more than any other. Lyon and Torin both laughed, causing the cat to whip its tail back and forth, and start tumbling the ball of joy in its chest.
As they turned back towards the Leviticum, they stepped amidst shadow made lighter from Torin’s light. Like the atmosphere, so too did the conversation seem to step into shadow. Such symbolism, Lyon thought, smiling. Only when Torin is near.
“So what of the one who led them here? Their beacon of darkness. You say it follows the pattern they’ve used to capture the other hidden islands. Yet we prevailed. Obviously, I’m not complaining. But Torin, what happened?”
The bobcat bounded from Torin’s shoulder, barely catching the branch above. It clawed at the bark before it slipped, falling back to the ground. Torin waved his hand, causing a change so subtle, not even Lyon could pinpoint it. Yet the bobcat was twisted ever-so-slightly that it landed on all four paws, prancing away on the high of luck.
“They found their beacon, placing a seed of darkness in his heart. They followed this growing darkness, just as you say. Just as they have for the other islands. Yet that’s where the similarities ended.
“It seems Morning sent not one, but two of his Stone-bearers after your island. For reasons we have discussed before, he is desperate for the Stone of Matter, even above all the rest. He lacks a true body of his own, as do his followers. He believes power over the Stone of Matter will make him more real. He is not entirely wrong.
“Before the assault, Morning held four of the Creation Stones. Water, Energy, Voids, and Dominion. He sent Water ahead of the others, thinking Energy would catch up. He was not wrong in this, except he did not foresee our own Stone-wielder’s interference. Naomi, the one who wields your island’s Stone of Matter, intercepted the one called Drowning of Water. She found him parting molecules in the ocean to increase his speed. As you know, the disturbance in the ways of matter, should it be within her sphere of influence, is easily detected.
“She caught him in his own arrogance, trapping him within an island she arose from the depths. It was quite magnificent, really. She was able to separate him and the Stone without killing him immediately, which is a feat once thought impossible by your kind’s understanding. Even so, Drowning rebelled, demanding his own destruction. Lest he build more damnation upon himself, Naomi dispatched his ghost.
“You still with me?” Torin asked, chuckling.
Lyon laughed himself, his eyes wide and mouth agape. “Am I? Why wouldn’t I be? Listening to stories of Naomi are like reading a fantasy novel. She is quite theatrical and astonishing, isn’t she?”
“That she is,” Torin mused. “Well, since I still have you. After capturing the Water Stone, she took it one step further. It turned out she had also been studying the ways of water, as she does through sleeping and waking realms. This had aided in her finding of Drowning in the first place, and soon after returning to Cephas, she took the Water Stone within herself. I watched every last part of it. It took longer than when she re-incorporates the Stone of Matter into her heart, but still. The Water Stone opened up to her, and she accepted them both into her heart.
“She wields two Stones now?” There was a hint of jealousy in his voice that he would have preferred remained hidden, though nothing from the heart was ever hidden from Torin.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“No need, my son,” Torin said. “I understand your desire. The Stones are overwhelming in their beauty and allure. Your future has yet to be seen in their influence.”
Lyon nodded, consoled by Torin’s words yet again. “No wonder they didn’t stand a chance,” Lyon exclaimed. “She held two Stones. And it was Naomi, after all.”
“Actually,” Torin started, raising his hand slightly. “She only wielded the Stone of Matter at first. Wielding both still takes its toll on her, and she was barely able to take Matter upon her before striking back at the assailant.
“The Dulkrye of Energy, whom they call Reverence, which I suspect is an attempt to offend me,” Torin chuckled, “struck during what you call the phantom storm. The excess lightning is testament to this.”
Torin paused then, using Lyon’s shoulder for support as he lifted up his foot. He pulled a pinecone away from it, shaking off leaves. Lyon rolled his eyes, knowing such a thing could not afflict Torin.
“Really?” Lyon said, smirking.
Torin continued, answering Lyon with only a wink.
“She fought this Reverence, casting it out in her smooth efficiency, though not before the Dulkrye was able to raise their dark tree in the sands. In response to this, it seems Naomi clashed with Reverence, grasping her heart along with the Stone of Energy, and summoning enough power to strike the sands herself. Thus came the glass tree, to counter the dark one, in
what she wished to be a symbol of hope to the young ones.”
Lyon nearly leapt in his next step. “So that’s what Ammon spoke of!”
Torin grinned. “Oh, he did?”
Lyon scoffed. “As if you weren’t watching. But if you insist to play that game. Yes, during the Gathering. It seems Ammon saw the glows, even as much as to recognize them as beasts tussling in the sky. HIs understanding…” Lyon shook his head. “It surpasses even my own in some ways.”
“Now,” Torin started. “Don’t sell yourself short. But yes, Ammon is an impressive one, to be sure.”
“If you say so,” Lyon teased. “But yes, the boy saw the beasts, and attested to two trees, when none other would back him up. Despite his solitude in his experience, the boy stared me down, daring me to say more. His spirit is strong. We would be lucky to have him as a Guardian.”