Neophytes of the Stone

by C Lee Tocci

  “Oh, good!” Marla whispered to Todd, one hand clutching the stone at her neck. “Kamama Hollow is at the mouth of the Nadri caverns. Ulex can watch!” Even with all four sets of eyelids shut, the young Netherrockian could not stay long in the bright sun of the valley.

  “Lucky!” Todd whispered back. “Maybe you could sit with him and still watch the lesson.”

  Not all girls improved when they blushed, Todd thought, but Marla was definitely one of those that looked prettier. She stuck out her tongue but walked with a very satisfied strut as she joined the pack of neophytes heading down to the Hollow.

  Lilibit trotted to keep up with Cohanna but kept getting elbowed by the boys who also wanted to get close to the white lady. After getting bumped to the ground for the second time, she crossed her arms and sat fuming, watching the others walk ahead.

  “C’mon Lilibit!” Marla pulled Lilibit to her feet. “Sometimes there’s nothing you can do about boys but get out of their way.”

  Kamama Hollow was a large crater bowl dominated by towering oak trees dripping with scarves of moss. The trees were spaced so their branches created a shady roof over the clearing. Above the basin, Mount Paptchu loomed, rocky and bleak.

  The neophytes sat in a rough circle in the center of the clearing. Todd counted them. If you included Marla and Ulex who sat in shadow of the cave, all ninety-four neophytes were there. It was rare that they all took a lesson together and even rarer when all of them showed up, but it seemed that no one wanted to miss whatever it was that Cohanna was teaching.

  Even more surprising was who else was there. The people of the Valley, hearing through whatever grapevine they had, poured into the basin as well. There were perhaps another two or three hundred people gathered, old men and women, mothers with babies, hunters and farmers, and children too young to pledge. They made a second circle outside the neophytes and sat crosslegged and patient. Even their teachers, Jojoba and Hihomay were there. Someone had woken Rastor Skywatcher as well, and his attendants carried him to the circle. It seemed that everyone in the valley that could spare the time had come to hear Cohanna’s lesson.

  Except Keotak-se. Todd scanned the crowd but could see no sign of the Stone Warrior until Lilibit nudged his arm.

  “Look!” she whispered, pointing to an oak tree about a hundred yards away.

  Keotak-se stood motionless. The tree’s branches hung low and Todd was surprised that Lilibit had been able to spot him. He stood in the shadows and if you didn’t know where to look, you’d never notice him. You couldn’t make out his face in the dark but his stance was taut. He still looked angry.

  “Told you!” Lilibit said. “I don’t think they like each other!”

  Todd wasn’t about to argue. He looked towards the center of the circle where Cohanna stood, seemingly oblivious to the glaring Stone Warrior on other side of the dale. What quiet chatter there was died out as she sunk to the ground and sat crosslegged on the earth, her hands splayed on the soil.

  “Every particle of creation,” she began, her voice carrying over the crowd, “carries an imprint of the Creator. Not a mindless image, but an individual element capable of emitting its own interpretation of how it perceives creation. As every entity is unique, so is its level of awareness. And its voice. Now, not every element has meaning, but every element is worth listening to.”

  Looking around, Todd wasn’t surprised that most of the other neophytes looked as completely lost as he felt, but in the outer circle, the oldest people were nodding. Nov’m, too, had on his all-knowing sage face, but Todd had his number and figured he was bluffing.

  “The earth, the animals, even the wind, all have voices,” Cohanna continued. “To hear them, and to understand them, you must let them speak to you in their own languages. You must learn to listen, not with your ears, but with your entire bodies.”

  “Todd?” Jeff leaned over and whispered. “I can’t tell. Is she making any sense at all?”

  “Does it matter?” Todd answered, still spellbound by the vision.

  “I guess not.” Jeff had a dumb smile on his face. Todd hoped he didn’t look that stupid.

  “We shall start by opening ourselves to the earth beneath us. Take off your shoes and sit with the soles of your feet on the soil. Place your palms on the earth as well. Close your eyes and breathe deeply. In. Out. In. Empty your mind and then let it fill with the songs of all of creation around you.”

  Todd closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, in and out. He wasn’t too sure how to empty his mind, so he tried to think of nothing, but nothing, when you think about it, is something, so that didn’t work. Then he concentrated on breathing. He figured that since he’d been practicing that long enough, he couldn’t screw it up.

  Minutes passed. And then he felt something. Something small and fleeting. Something that grew within him, something getting stronger and bigger. He felt…

  Very silly.

  He sighed quietly. The hollow was silent. He opened one eye to peek.

  Everyone was staring at him. For one brain-paralyzing moment, he thought that the entire lesson had been a hoax setup to make fun of him, but then he realized that they were all staring behind him, their mouths gaping. He turned slowly.

  The oak tree directly behind him was filled with crows. Hundreds of them settled on every branch, not moving. They just seemed to be staring.

  At him.

  From the topmost branch, one crow launched itself. It circled the hollow once before landing on the ground in front of him. It stared at him with black unblinking eyes and he stared back.

  What do you call it when two crows crash into each other?

  Todd glanced around, wondering where the voice came from. Then he realized that it came from inside his own head. He looked back at the crow. The question tickled a memory, but he couldn’t quite remember it.

  “A head-on caw-llision?” Todd barely mouthed the words.

  The crow flapped its wings and backstepped, before freezing, its wings fully flexed.

  “A head-on caw-llision?” It sounded aghast as it crowed loudly to the birds behind him.

  Suddenly, all the birds launched themselves into the air, cawing wildly, zooming all over the hollow, through the tree branches and dive-bombing the neophytes. Everyone hit the ground, their arms covering their heads. Everyone except Todd, who was too mortified to move, and Cohanna, who sat upright, head cocked as if she could hear something more than the raucous racket.

  Todd flinched as the birds’ wings skimmed his head, but their claws weren’t extended and they had amazing control. Each time they ruffled his hair, he heard yet another voice echoing A head-on caw-llision! After the dozenth or so pass, Todd realized that their caws were the bird-equivalent of laughter. They thought it was funny.

  Finally, Keotak-se stepped out of the shadows and struck his staff on the ground. A leaf-shaking boom silenced the crows. They scattered into the trees and huddled on the branches.

  When Todd turned back, he found that Cohanna had risen and now stood in front of him. A shaft of sunlight hit her, making her shine even brighter.

  “How long have you been able to speak to the crows?” Cohanna’s voice was soft and even.

  “For a blond time,” he said.

  Cohanna’s eyebrows rose slightly.

  “I mean … long time. I don’t, I mean, you can’t…” Todd struggled to regain coherency. He looked down to the ground and whispered, almost to himself. “Birds can’t talk.”

  That’s what the grownups said. His teachers. The social worker. And when he’d first arrived at the foster home, that’s what the older kids had beaten in to him. Birds don’t talk.

  “Perhaps not,” Cohanna said coolly, “but they do speak.”

  Surprised, Todd glanced up and then looked over to the trees where the birds waited.

  “What do the birds speak of, when they do not talk to you?”

  “They just tell jokes,” Todd mumbled. “Just dumb jokes.”

  “Jokes?”r />
  “You know, riddles. When I was a little kid, I used to pretend that they told me stories. Silly stories.”

  “Pretend?” Cohanna picked out the word and gently challenged Todd with it, but Todd’s thoughts were years away.

  “There was a time, when I was little, that I lived by myself, on the streets.” He spoke more to himself than to anyone else. “The crows used to bring me food. Fruit, stale donuts from the dumpsters.” Todd stared at the birds that were calmly roosting in the trees. “I never thanked them.”

  “They do not require thanks,” said Cohanna. “They take care of their own.”

  Todd would have asked her what she meant by that, but he had no chance.

  “That is sufficient for this day.” Cohanna announced. And without another word, she swept from the hollow and disappeared into the trees.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Legend of Witanya

  The evening meal was Lilibit’s favorite part of the day.

  Huddled in a circle within the huge hall, the flame of Gil-Salla flickering in the center of the chamber, surrounded by all the other neophytes along with the People of the Valley, she feasted on mango and cornbread and soft cheese and idle chatter.

  She was easily the smallest of all the neophytes and she wandered from clan to clan, from family to family, chatting merrily to everyone. With the exception of Nov’m and his closest sycophants, she was welcomed by all with either amused tolerance or open friendliness, and they answered with patience and good humor the random questions that she would fire at them with her alarming intensity.

  When the meal was over and the bowls cleared away, the hall grew quiet. She wandered back to the cluster of the Ravens, wedging herself into their midst. She shrugged off Marla’s insistence that she wipe her face and hands as she waited with ill-concealed impatience for that evening’s tale.

  Every night, Gil-Salla or one of the other elders would tell a story from the Annals of Kiva. Stories of the battles of Stone Warriors against evil armies or terrifying monsters, or sagas that told of the wisdom and glory of an ancient Stone Voice. Ballads that had been repeated around flickering hearths for generations uncounted.

  It was as good as a book. Maybe even better. Gil-Salla cleared her throat. Lilibit, her chin in her hands, could hardly wait.

  “The third age of Quapan was drawing to a close, though no one knew, at that time, that the era would be ending and that the world was about to change so drastically and so quickly.” Gil-Salla’s voice vibrated through the hush of the hall. “The Stone Voice, Witanya, had risen young, barely sixteen when she defeated the revered Cohletta, the incumbent Stone Voice. The ritual of Klamareath, the traditional confrontation in which the rising Stone Voice vanquishes the passing Stone Voice, was strictly a token battle; Cohletta had been waiting for centuries for her successor to rise so that she could transcend to her next incarnation and take her place in the heavens. And now, Witanya, joyous in her wish to serve both the Earth Stone and the People of the Earth with wisdom and courage, began her reign as the Stone Voice.

  “The conflict had started long before the rise of Witanya, perhaps even centuries before the rise of Cohletta, but it grew to a crisis during the first year of Witanya’s reign. There has always been war, at some level, in the world of men, and there always will be until the greater struggle between the Creator and the Decreator is resolved. Yet the warfare that escalated during this time threatened the very future of all humankind.

  “Mankind was dividing, not based on race or language since there was, at that time, only one race and only one language. The cause of the fissure may have seemed trivial, but the hand of the Decreator was strong and his minion, the Deceiver, was busy. Not for wealth, nor power, nor land, nor glory were the People fighting. The root of their conflict was their choice of their path to their knowledge of the Creator.

  “How clever of the Evil One to corrupt the very source of the Peace of the People, their bond with their Creator, into a weapon that could so thoroughly destroy them all.

  “The People were divided by their choices of their paths. There were those who sought the knowledge of the Creator by searching the skies and studying the stars. And there were some who listened to the wisdom of the animals and the whispers of the trees and heard the Words of the Creator there. Some felt that awareness of the Creator came only from within themselves and denounced all who sought the Creator elsewhere. And still there were those who listened to the Song of the Earth Stone and heard the echo of the Creator in the soles of their feet and the souls of their hearts.

  “The violence grew and the carnage mounted. Witanya, watching from the Tower of Quapan, saw the hand of the Decreator and called to her council the Elders of all four factions. For fifteen days the Elders met and argued, fought and condemned, and still no mediation was had, no peace was found. On the sixteenth day, Witanya stood and spoke to the council.

  “‘Elders of Quapan’ she said. ‘The Ears of the Creator and the Heart of the Earth Stone hear your words with great pain. There is the seed of truth in each of your hearts, yet it is being choked by the fears that have been planted by the Deceiver. All of your choices may lead you to the Creator, for there are as many paths to the Creator as there are People of Quapan. Do not condemn the paths of your brothers and sisters if they vary from yours, but rejoice with them, since they may find a truth within their choices that they may share with us all, and in doing so, make us all the stronger and wiser.’

  “Yet the minds of the Elders were hardened and the hearts of the People were closed. The fighting grew and Witanya saw the destruction of all mankind loom close. The Decreator rejoiced and Witanya despaired.

  “Leaving the Tower of Quapan, she climbed to the summit of Mount Idawan’a and there she stayed for seven days while she spoke with the Earth Stone and begged for the wisdom to save her people. On the seventh day, she pulled her palms from the soil and raised them to the sky. As she lowered her arms, she transformed into a giant maniraptora, a golden bird with long colorful plumes and sharp finger-like claws on her wings. She flew into the rising sun to a place where the fighting between the Peoples of Quapan was most fierce.

  “Hovering above the carnage and violence, the sunlight glittered off her wings and, for a moment, the People stopped their fighting to admire the glory of the vision. Then, and no one knows who would do such a thing, someone shot an arrow at the bird, and while Witanya caught the shaft easily within her claws, the People were outraged and the short peace was destroyed and the fighting continued with an even greater ferocity.

  “Sorrow in her heart, Witanya landed amidst the battle and transformed back into her human form. The combatants ignored her as she walked through the battlefield, tears blinding her eyes. Standing on the plateau of El-Bab, she raised her quaybo high in the air and with the butt of the staff, stabbed the ground.

  “The earth shook. The battle paused. The combatants froze in terror. For there, at the point where her staff had split the ground, two fractures formed, like a cross and the land of Quapan separated, never to be whole again. It divided into quarters and, like four titanic turtles, each land moved slowly away from its root.

  “On the plateau of El-Bab, the combatants scrambled to return to their own land as their continent pulled away. Uncounted thousands leapt the gorge and uncounted thousands fell into the abyss. Those left stranded in the land of their enemies were quickly slaughtered by their merciless foes.

  “The carnage of that day would haunt the nights of Witanya for the rest of her reign. The solace of the Earth Stone could not appease her grief. Yet there was little else she could have done. Unable to reach the hearts of the warring factions, she could do little to save them except to separate them.

  “As the abyss grew, the great waters rushed in to fill the chasm, creating the new ocean. The Earth Stone populated this sea with horrific monsters to prevent the Peoples from crossing to the lands of their enemies.

  “The People of the Stars took the land
that moved south where they studied the skies undisturbed. They slowly forgot about their mother, the Earth Stone, and the fealty they owed to the Stone Voice. They embraced the night and worshipped the stars and their knowledge of all else gradually ebbed away.

  “It is said that the land of the People of the Trees still lies to the north, but that, in some later age, it was covered with ice and snow and now lies dormant beneath a mantle of frost. Most believe that the People of the Trees have long since died out, but others, seeing that the trees still thrive, believe that they are hidden and await the coming of the Fifth Age of Quapan when the Peoples of the Earth will unite once more.

  “The People of the Mind took the land that moved eastward from the rift. Their anger at the Stone Voice was great for they believed that they would have triumphed in that battle and that it was their destiny to rule the entire land of Quapan. They denounced the Stone Voice as an evil witch and purged all knowledge of the glory of Quapan and the bounty of the Earth Stone and the legends of the Stone Voices from their history. And while there rose from their midst many true Voices of the Creator, the hand of the Deceiver worked quickly in that bleak land and too often these Voices were silenced before their words were done.

  “The People of the Land rode the back of their turtle as it moved westward from the cataclysm. The Tower of Quapan and the throne of the Stone Voice lay in the heart of this land, and while many of the Peoples may have forgotten some of the heritage of Quapan, there hides here amongst the People of the Land the roots of those people that retained their loyalty to the Earth Stone and their fealty to the Stone Voice.”

  Under the dusky skies, the Crescent Courtyard was unusually silent as the People of the Valley wandered out of the Hall of the Flame and back to their homes.

  Even Lilibit was subdued as the Ravens entered their hogan. She washed her face in the spring-fed fountain that bubbled quietly in the corner of the common chamber and wiped her hands on her pant legs.