The Return of the Fifth Stone

by Vincent Todarello

  We approached the table, and Bantas motioned for Patreus to lay Deius down before the robed Lapisian.

  “This is Ernticholok. He is a healer,” Bantas explained. “We must leave and let him channel his power. The room will be filled with energy that can be dangerous to those without his gift, and your impurity may reverse any progress he might be able to make if you are nearby.”

  We left the atrium and Bantas closed a large glass door behind us. We watched Ernticholok as he began his healing ritual.

  He raised his arms in the air, summoning an unseen but great force. He spoke yet another language that I did not understand. I thought perhaps I would understand it as I had understood the Lapisians earlier, but I did not. “What language is that?” I asked.

  “It is the language of the Divinae,” he explained. “There are very few who know it. It has been lost, even to us, for many hundreds of cycles.”

  Suddenly what appeared to be storm clouds appeared above the glass domed atrium. Lightning began to strike all around the outside of the glass, but there was no thunder. The light was so bright and flickered so quickly and intensely that it was disorienting. We all shielded our eyes; even Bantas.

  There was a long, low rumble that sounded like an earthquake building up from a distance. Slowly and gradually it became very loud. Then, suddenly, there was complete silence. The lightning stopped, the rumbling was cut instantly, and there was a sense of extreme calmness all around us. A moment later there was a familiar sound that began to fill the atrium. It faded in as fast as it faded out. It was ethereal. Harmonic. Soothing. I soon realized that it was the same sound I heard during my dream, or astral projection, after my father was taken by the impure. It was the sound I heard when I saw Hemela in my vision.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked.

  “Hear what? The rumbling?” asked Peitus.

  “No. That sound, or voice music, after the rumbling stopped.”

  “You heard her?” asked Bantas.

  “I…”

  “No one can hear her,” Bantas interrupted. “Not even Ernticholok, and he is the temporary guardian of the Airstone in her absence.”

  “The Airstone? May we see it?” Lunaris begged with curiosity.

  “Never. We will never reveal its location to groundsmen. We are sworn to protect it.”

  “Pardon my interruption, but then why does Ernticholok not guard it now?” asked Peitus.

  “Perhaps he still does guard it. Perhaps he is in two places at once.”

  “How can that be?” I asked.

  “Ernticholok can do many things beyond normal comprehension.”

  “I see,” said Fiama. “And what was he doing just now?” she asked, bringing the subject back to her wounded son.

  “He is asking Hemela to help your son. She can hear him, but he cannot hear her. This boy is the first that we know of who can hear her since Scievah banished her in the ancient times.”

  “The boy has heard Hemela before, in the past. I believe he has been visited by her,” explained Patreus.

  “But there were no words. Only sounds,” I added.

  “Hemela does not deal in words. After all, words are limited in conveying the true feelings and emotions that we experience inside. In any case, she has not been heard since the banishment, when the stones were left unprotected and the Divinae returned to Eterna with the king. I do not think she will ever return.”

  “We believe all the Divinae will return, are returning. We believe that Valdren is the Unity, sent here to put an end to Scievah’s tyranny,” Fiama explained.

  “I am familiar with your prophecy. But your plight with Scievah seems to me a fitting punishment for your peoples’ betrayal of the king. Besides, this is your prophecy, not ours.”

  “Indeed any punishment, including death, would be just for the transgressions of our people. But does your kind believe in forgiveness? Or the intermingling of fates?” Patreus asked.

  “We have no need for forgiveness. There is no wrongdoing in our world that requires forgiveness. Our fate is separate from yours because of this,” Bantas responded.

  “Surely you can understand temptation and desire,” Fiama stated incredulously.

  “Those are the attributes of the fallen. Like your son,” he said coldly as he looked down his nose, out into the atrium.

  Perhaps Hemela refused to help him because he was impure, I thought. Maybe he did drink from the fountain and she somehow knew.

  “Are there criminals here? Moral violations?” Fiama asked.

  “No.” Bantas spoke promptly. “Our people are not in need of salvation or saviors, atonement or forgiveness, as are your people.”

  “But even the Aquidians have shown that they can fall victim to corruption.” Patreus referred, no doubt, to Ergomet of the Saubit, who he suspected was impure.

  “That may be, but Lapisians are not Aquidians,” Bantas responded.

  I soon came to understand that this was what was described earlier as the Lapisian grudge, but it wasn’t really a grudge at all. It was not contempt; it was separation. There was no arrogance in Bantas’ statements, only truth. The Lapisians were a people uncorrupted by desire. They were truly pure and therefore could not imagine a life filled with corruption, or a struggle for purity, as we knew it. They did not understand the lives and complications of the groundsmen; they could not even comprehend it even though they knew of it. Due to this, they shut themselves away from the corrupted groundsmen, protecting their purity with an isolationism that was much more easily accomplished up here in the air than it was out at sea, like the Aquidians had done to some extent.

  “Is that why Lapisians are not involved with the affairs of groundsmen?” I asked.

  “Your affairs do not concern us,” he answered.

  “But they do,” I tried to explain.

  “How is that?”

  “Hemela is gone because of the actions of groundsmen, and the very trees that hold your world so close to the stars are in danger of being destroyed by Scievah due to his use of the Firestone. Those trees are connected to our lands, and our lands hold up yours. What effects one effects us all,” I reasoned.

  “That may be, but it is no cause for us to react with vengeance,” Bantas retorted.

  “What about justice?” argued Peitus. “It is not vengeful to right a wrong.”

  “The justice you seek involves a war, killing. We are reluctant to engage in such actions, despite the possibility that the affairs of groundsmen might have some effect on us."

  “With the amount of sentinels you have on guard throughout your lands, armed to the teeth, I find that surprising,” Peitus argued. “If Scievah acquires another power stone, your world could be in danger again.”

  “We believe the king will protect us.”

  “You seem perfectly capable of protecting yourselves.” Peitus continued.

  “Taking a life is not something we do lightly.”

  “Neither do we, but taking the life of one who takes innocent lives is less like ending a life, and more like removing an agent of death. It is justice,” explained Peitus. “That is a valid and noble reason to go to war, and those who selflessly risk their lives to save others should be honored and respected. Faith that the king will protect you is one thing, but hope cannot validate inaction.”

  “You make points that are worth consideration, young man,” Bantas pondered. “As you can see, we are a people more concerned with maintaining life,” he said as he motioned toward Ernticholok and Deius. “You are strangers. You are fallen. We view you as a danger, and yet we still rushed to your aid.”

  “Yes. And we are very grateful for that,” Patreus injected. “You and your people are gracious indeed. Please, forgive our arguments.”

  Bantas’ position seemed self defeating to me. He claimed to be concerned with preserving life, but by avoiding war at all costs, he could potentially allow the destruction of even more lives, including his own. I wanted to try to continue to point this out t
o him, but Patreus’ demeanor and tone suggested that this was not the time or place to discuss such things. He did not want to impose or make demands of the Lapisians.

  “It seems Ernticholok is finished with his procedure,” Bantas said as the old flier slowly lowered his arms. He approached us and opened the elegant glass doors of the atrium.

  “He is alive, but Hemela did not seem to respond as I anticipated. He must remain here with me until I can convince her,” explained Ernticholok.

  “Convince her of what?” Fiama asked, with tears welling in her eyes.

  “To use the power of the Airstone to bring the spirit back to your boy.”

  “No one must use the powers of the Airstone,” Patreus warned.

  “Yes. That is why I must convince her to use it. Not me. I do not use the power of the Airstone. It is forbidden by the king and would only cause destruction,” Ernticholok explained.

  “You must tell her of our mission. Tell her about Valdren!” Fiama cried.

  “I will, but I must regain my strength before I can attempt to contact her again.”

  “How long?” Patreus asked.

  “A few days perhaps, maybe much longer. It is not a set thing you see,” said Ernticholok.

  “You are welcome to stay here as long as you need,” offered Bantas.

  “Thank you,” replied Patreus. “Your kindness is immeasurable. I think we will accept your offer.”

  Before we left the atrium, a strange yellow mist filled the air around Deius, and Ernticholok stood beside him.

  #

  Bantas showed us to our guest quarters. We were escorted out of the palace on the ground level. Evening crept down from the heavens like a gently falling wave of darkness, and soon the vibrant colors of the Lapisian sky were replaced with a vast sea of stars above. The white foliage of the treetops could be seen in the distance. Although it was not snow, the leaves looked as if they were coated with an icy frost. A tree-lined lane led us closer to the center of the city.

  “What is this place called?” I asked Bantas as I stared up at the seemingly frozen trees.

  “It is Akinos. Our main city here. We have explored far and wide, up into the sky and beyond, but this is always considered our home,” he explained.

  As we walked onward, we strolled through well manicured gardens with trimmed white hedges that seemed more like works of art than marvels of nature. In one of these gardens we passed a strange statue of an animal I had never seen or learned of. Its ears were thin and wide, flopping downward on the side of its face. Its four legs were the thickness of small tree trunks, and it stood as tall as two men. Its nose hung down from its face all the way to the ground with a gentle curling slope, but, at the end, it seemed to grasp at a bundle of hay straw.

  “What is that!” asked Lunaris with puzzlement.

  “That is called an elephant, though none of us have ever seen one,” Bantas answered.

  “Has its kind died off due to Scievah’s destruction of Haaret?” she asked.

  “I do not know. We have rarely traveled to the lowlands since our escape in the ancient times. This statue has been here since before Alapis crumbled into the Ahaareta plains. During that disaster we lost much of the knowledge we acquired, even much of our own prophecy, since our libraries and places of learning were located in that part of Alapis. That used to be our main city; Aspina.

  “Scievah could most certainly be the cause of this animal’s disappearance, or it could be an animal from a distant land; one of the realms inhabited by the king’s other subjects,” Bantas explained.

  “The king has other subjects?” Fiama asked, confused about the idea. "Other than the Haareti?"

  “It is believed that the ancient Lapisians communicated with other subjects, far away in the sky. Since the fall of Aspina we’ve learned to spread our knowledge amongst the cities, so that if one is lost again, we are not devoid of our history and knowledge all over again.”

  We looked at each other in a strange manner, as Bantas had suggested a most outlandish idea – life apart from Haaret – out in the stars somewhere.

  “There is nothing in our ancient history to suggest such a proposition,” Patreus added. “We have managed to keep a fairly complete record of historical events despite Scievah’s destruction of our documents and his forbidding of worship or any mention of the king.”

  “Well, those are your stories, chronicling your peoples’ history. We had our own as well.”

  “None of our people have been visited by these other subjects, and nothing in our history speaks of the king having other subjects aside from the four races of Haaret,” Patreus added.

  “Oh? And why can’t he? Our history is the story of the king as it relates to us. This does not preclude the possibility of other subjects existing elsewhere,” he reasoned. “Part of our prophecy was said to have involved both the Haareti people and the king’s other subjects. The Lapisians were to be a link of sorts between their world and ours, but all that knowledge is lost. Those prophecies are gone. They did not come to pass. Since then we have simply tried to exist in solitude.”

  He made an interesting point, and I suppose the myths and legends of the Lapisians were not contrary to our history; they were supplemental in nature. They added knowledge rather than contradicted the truth. But if their prophecy did not come true, what did that mean about ours? I could not help but feel a sense of relief in a way, as this meant I would escape death and I could be with Lunaris. Then again, there would be much more at stake than just my life if Scievah were to acquire another power stone or continue his reign of terror unchecked.

  "Why don't you go back into the ruins to reclaim some of your peoples' lost knowledge?" I asked.

  "Those grounds have become a treacherous place. It is too dangerous," he said.

  The tree lined lane came to an end, and we were on a street with rows of homes perched on posts in the air. Bantas took us to an empty triple-sphere shaped stone hut just outside the market and central rings of the city. It seemed all of the homes provided access into the spheres through a stairway in the post that held them up; this was an alternative to the higher flight-accessible platforms.

  The stairway up the post was similar to the stairway within the giant tree, only much smaller and made of stone. We climbed up about three or four stories before coming to a hatch that opened into the center of the largest sphere, which was a sitting room.

  The interior was much more comfortable than it appeared from the outside. The rooms all contained a bedding that covered the entire surface of the floor like a rug, only thicker and softer. Everyone’s feet sank in when they stood on it, as if standing on a pillow, but I noticed that Bantas’ feet did not sink in, making him seem much taller. My only explanation was that Lapisians were somehow lighter than others.

  “It is my hope that these quarters are suitable for you,” said Bantas.

  “Yes, this is quite comfortable and generous of you,” said Fiama graciously.

  “I wonder if I might speak with you outside in private for a moment, Bantas,” asked Patreus.

  “Of course,” he replied, and the two went back down the hatch, leaving us inside.

  We quietly looked around the home, which was almost all white and grey inside with the exception of the colorful stained glass windows and some cooking utensils. It felt like being inside a padded cave high up within a tree. The craftsmanship was remarkable and seemed nothing like the traditional homes where we lived.

  A moment later Patreus returned.

  “Valdren, may I borrow your journal for a moment?” he asked. I handed it to him after retrieving it from my pack. “And the Hope, please,” he added. I obliged.

  I assumed he was going to explain more to Bantas about the prophecy, me, and the coming of the Divinae.

  “Do you need me to explain—”

  “No,” he interrupted me. “You’ve told your story plenty. Rest now with the others. I will likely see you all in the morning. I want to learn as muc
h as I can about this place and the unfulfilled Lapisian prophecy, and I intend to stay near Deius.” Fiama hugged and kissed him, and tears began to fill her eyes. “It will be alright,” he told her. “We must have faith in that.”

  “We’ll see you in the morning,” she said, and he exited the hatch again.

  The mood suddenly became somber. Perhaps the shock of the day’s events finally passed and reality set in. Everything happened so fast, and Deius’ life hung in the balance. We all showed concern in our demeanor.

  Lunaris offered a suggestion that we share fond memories of Deius with each other, rather than sit in sadness, expecting the worst. And so we did. We each took turns telling stories of Deius, many of which we all knew and added to, but I thought this was a much better way of remembering and celebrating a loved one who has passed or was ill; much better than what was traditionally done in mourning.

  Afterward, we became tired and went to sleep, but through the night I recounted to myself fond memories of my parents in the same way we did for Deius. I missed them so much, and for the first time I had ever done so alone, I called upon the king. I asked him to look after them and keep them safe. I don’t know if he heard me, but I felt a sense of ease that carried me into a deep and peaceful slumber.

  CHAPTER 15

  Despite the comfort of my sleep, I awoke late in the night with several sharp pangs on either side of my back, high up near my shoulder blades. Two distinct spots burned and welled up as if something was beneath the surface, each pushing its way out like a tooth emerging from the gums. I tried to reach around to feel them with my fingers but I could not reach. I squirmed in my bed, rubbing and itching the areas on the padding. I felt what seemed to be two lumps or nubs. I could not fall back to sleep, so I decided to wake Lunaris to ask for help.

  "What is it, Valdren?" she groaned.

  "There's something wrong with my back. Would you check it for me?" She nodded, and I lifted my shirt over my head.

  "Wings!" she cried. "Valdren, you are growing wings!"

  I twisted my body and craned my neck as far back as I could to try to see for myself, but it was no use. Lunaris noticed my struggle and quickly retrieved a shiny, reflective silver tray from the kitchen area. She held it behind me as I looked over my shoulder. Through the foggy, warped reflection I could see that two nubs had emerged near my shoulder blades. The skin around them was reddened with irritation and pain.