Forge of Stones

by Vasileios Kalampakas

  By the horns of the bull

  Hilderich had finally slept, his protestations about the lack of a night sky silently put aside when his fatigue took over and the anxiety and nervousness subsided after their thirst had been quenched; when the warm, tasty meal of mushrooms sat comfortably in their bellies.

  He was snoring heavily and though it would have normally been less than a pleasant sound, under the circumstances it was mildly comforting. It let Amonas know that not everything was amiss, that some things were still normal albeit frustrating and hard to deal with.

  Such a thing was the sound of Hilderich’s snore. Amonas tried to picture a future lady D’Augnacy going to sleep next to the somewhat handsome young man, but failed to end his train of thought in anything other than a grin or a hearty laughter.

  He nodded to himself thinking it was a good thing that Hilderich had slept after all that had befallen him; he definitely needed to sleep more than he did so himself. Not that he didn’t wish for sleep to come and bless him with a few precious hours of oblivion and rest, but he could cope while Hilderich could not.

  He had a nagging feeling, he knew; rest would not come even in his sleep. Nightmares would haunt him as long as he was away from Celia, as long as he couldn’t know what fortune held in stock for her should he fail to return. He had to entertain the idea that he could be stranded in this lush version of hell with Hilderich as his sole companion for the rest of their lives. The thought alone was unbearable. It wasn’t because of Hilderich, the man kept interesting company; living without Celia though would be impossible for him. He’d rather take his own life than be forced to live with memories of her alone, each waking moment.

  Amonas was sitting cross-legged without the cover of the small makeshift shelter he had fashioned; most of it was taken over by the sprawled figure of Hilderich who seemed to be thankfully quite at ease sleeping on the almost bare ground, with nothing but his already muddied and stained cloak as a mattress.

  On the other hand, he could not let himself surrender to sleep. It was not the lack of night or the invariably harsh conditions of continuous lighting, unbearable heat, and sticky moisture that prevented him from having some kind of much needed rest.

  It was, as was the case most of the time, his mind that could not be appeased, that could not be turned off as it should. The immediate necessities had taken their toll of thoughts already. The water, which he still didn’t know whether or not was indeed drinkable; the food he hoped would not prove much of a problem now that they knew there was at least something edible to be found.

  But it was not just the simple minded anxiety of surviving: it was this strange new environment, totally unlike anything he had experienced before. Certainly nothing he had ever known to exist, not even on the most faraway of lands.

  The suns were wrong as well. He was beginning to accept the possibility they might not even be on their own world. The thought had unconsciously been formed before, when they had first seen that clear, harsh sky. Now though, it took form and voice; he could hear the thought ringing loudly in his head. ‘This might be another world’.

  The ultimate truth was revealed in form and substance all over him. And he had no one to share it with but Hilderich, who might even hold such a fact as suspicious but implausible at best. Another world with no animals to speak of and no people, however queer or similar, friendly or hostile they might have been.

  He suddenly felt terribly alone; the thought of them being the sole two individuals on this other world was weighing him down, grinding him to the damp, muddy ground. Just the two of them wandering like castaways on a strange and mysterious island where no ship would ever sail to. An uncharted land with its existence always hidden away, never to be revealed; a future that would see their bones bleached and turned into lime for the wild growths to set their roots in.

  His gaze turned to the tiny flickers of the fire; a few coals were still red hot and thin lines of smoke rose from the perpetually wet wood. He focused on the fire, marveling at its simple avarice. It consumed the wood steadily and unperturbed, without a care for the world at large. It was a force of nature, a universal truth: eating away as much as it can and then perishing of its own accord, accepting its inevitable fate to end.

  How he longed for such simplicity in his own life. Away from this world, as well as the world he had known as home. Away from the Castigator’s tyranny and its false Gods. Away from poverty, the coming war and the misery that would ensue no matter who the victor was. How much he had wanted to get away from all that with Celia by his side. Had she been with him here, he could have let the world burn for all he cared. Just like fire, burning through wood.

  He smirked despite himself, thinking he was letting himself down somehow. Perhaps he had been too morose in his thoughts; their plight so far had sunk his feelings even more than he had realized. Such a mood would do him no good, that he knew. No matter whether any of these thoughts hold any truth, in the end they would do him no real good.

  He knew that thinking too much and acting too little had somehow brought everything to this point. A rule of tyranny, based on lies and deceit. People dying everyday of famine, people rotting away in eternally dark dungeons for stealing a loaf of bread, or having children without the blessed permission of the Ministry.

  He shook his head. Permission was needed to create life. As if any God would need to hinder the inevitable, unimpeachable, unstoppable force of life that permeated everything, from the worms in the ground to the stars themselves.

  It was indeed a sad moment when a star fell; he remembered having heard though that another one was born at the same time. He had no way of knowing that for sure though; who could count the innumerable stars or the grains of sand in a beach? But he knew it in his heart to be true.

  Life just keeps happening. Whether anyone permits it or not, it doesn’t seem to care; it blindly goes on whatever the cost. Even in this place. They might have encountered no animals so far, but the vegetation was astounding. Lush, vivid green, everywhere the eye could see. If it wasn’t so damn hot and humid he could have felt like living here for ever. Him, Celia, and their children. The many more to come after his firstborn.

  Would he ever live to see all that come true?

  He sighed. He knew that thinking in such an almost saturnine way did not suit him. He stood up and decided to clear his mind, flush it clean of any thought. Any kind of action would do his spirits good. Since he couldn’t rest or sleep, a mild activity that would not drain him of much energy would be a welcome change in pace.

  He would go for a walk, in a way to explore their immediate surroundings. Perhaps, he thought, he could even scout ahead their path to the bull-horned structure, that huge fork that had seemed so impeccably dominating even from afar.

  Hilderich stirred in his sleep mumbling something inaudible; he licked his lips and smiled lightly. ‘He must be dreaming,’ Amonas thought.

  The fact that Hilderich could sleep as if nothing of import had transpired over the past few days brought a smile of hope to Amonas’ lips. Perhaps not everyone looked on things so dourly, and had good reason not to. So did he, he thought to himself, bringing an image of lovely Celia to his mind.

  Lovely Celia; her hair touching her slender body with grace enough to make any man weep from the joyful sight and instantly adore her beyond reason. Her face would have had a sweet and mellow taste if his eyes could swallow her whole, and forever feel her smile. Celia beloved, and to the death his mate and pair. His firstborn’s mother to be, his miraculous haven where every storm subsided, where all the seas came to rest and all the rivers ran home.

  She was not far from giving birth to their child and though they had known bloody times of fire, steel and death were drawing close, he at least had the surety of her touch and her smile to count on to meet life or death by.

  Now he was denied of her touch, the smell of her breath, the feeling of her body clasped against his own. He could not look upon her gaze locked with his o
wn and see the oceans of time passing by in mere moments. Damn them! For that hurt alone, he would make them pay. Whoever was indeed behind all the lies and curtains of deceit. Behind the Castigator. He could feel there must be something to the Gods. Every lie, he had observed, has been sown from some sort truth.

  As he walked about the place, he noticed more and more beauty; life was celebrating in this otherwise simmering cauldron of green. Small colorful flowers with overgrown petals and fat, juicy stems. Lithe trees that could be easily bent without being broken, and thick overgrown plants that dared climb the huge trees hugging them, curled around them like charmed snakes.

  It was indeed a place teeming with life. It remained a mystery to Amonas why they had come across no animals at all and barely enough insects to simply make their unwanted stay even more miserable. He mused for a while at the strange color of the suns, and decided he could not come up with anything resembling an explanation other than this was another world to their own indeed wholly alien and undecipherable, at least with the knowledge at hand.

  Perhaps they could learn more of it before they returned, but that would be something more relevant to Hilderich’s domain and not his own. He was more interested in solving problems, not analyzing them thoroughly and documenting them for posterity and further study.

  He thought with a smile that it would be a strange day indeed when he would be able to sit in a chair and tell his grandchildren stories of the other world. Or maybe even worlds. If there are indeed more than one, why should there only be two?

  The walk had made him thirsty and he felt like maybe it was time for him to return; with his mind put a little bit at ease perhaps he would try and get some restful sleep. Even though he was used to hardship, he did not think sleep was not essential and he knew no one could go more than a day or so without even a few minutes of sleep.

  He had also climbed up an inviting tree in an effort to see over the canopy if at all possible and get their bearings, so they could start off in the right direction for the nearest bull-horn. Getting the direction wrong while already being lost would be a blow to their morale, let alone a waste of precious time and meager resources.

  His thoughts suddenly ran back to his brothers in arms: back in their own world, the Kinsfolk were about to strike for the first and hopefully the last time. Years of planning had led to this culminating point, and an untold number of his brethren had lost their lives in the effort of keeping it a secret alone.

  He knew they were being followed, he knew they were being watched. But he also knew they were waiting for the right time to act and catch them all in one fell blow, root them out forever, crush them utterly and dispense with the notion of a rebellion for untold generations to come.

  He had to be there when the time came, that much was at the least expected of him. And he’d rather die trying rather than abandon and shame his blood and soul brothers, or face the wrathful scorn of Celia; no, that alone, he could never suffer.

  A weak but warm smile crept on his face as he imagined such a scene, Celia engulfed in all-fiery wrath, her gaze searing, boring through him as if he were made of powdery snow. He laughed despite himself, loving memories of her rushing through him like a stream of water on parched land.

  As he approached their tiny camp he could hear Hilderich screaming his name over the top of his lungs, sounding terrified at the thought that he had gone and left him there to die all alone, the final twist of an incongruously ill fate. He answered back, his strong gruff voice undimmed by the blanket of vegetation all around them:

  “Coming, Hilderich! I just went for a walk!”

  Without yet being able to actually see him, Amonas heard Hilderich cry out in a near falsetto:

  “Damn you, I thought you’d left me here to rot!”

  A few more steps brought Amonas nearer to their camp where he could see Hilderich quite evidently disheveled, his thin blond hair in wild disarray from the sleep and the humid hell they had to endure, his clothing almost unrecognizable by now, a uniformly gray and brown mud covering most of it. Amonas waved a dismissing hand from afar, laughed heartily and replied playfully:

  “I’d never leave you behind to rot, Hilderich. Simmer a little perhaps, but never rot!”

  His good humor went largely unnoticed by Hilderich, whose spirits where in sharp contrast. He looked genuinely hurt, glum and uninspired, giving Amonas a picture of how he must’ve looked a couple of hours before. The thought sobered his mood, and thought he had better make Hilderich bounce back from what must have been a seriously rude awakening.

  Hilderich was keeping silent, casting a look of rightful accusation at Amonas, who thought it to be a little childish and perhaps somewhat unbecoming of a man. But their situation was indeed unique and perhaps he had been asking too much of the man already. He cast those blemished thoughts aside and instead spoke from the heart, seeking to calm Hilderich and soothe his fear:

  “I am sorry I left you alone, but I could not sleep. I went for a walk, but I was close by. I heard you when you called, didn’t I? I could not have been very far. You were as safe as I could vouch for in such a place. So please, accept my apologies and think no more of it. It only helps to aggravate you, and lower your spirits. Here, have some of this.”

  Amonas reached into his small sack and brought out a small roundish object covered in what seemed to be something like hair, thin strands of wood or brown parched grass. He used his knife to chop off a small slice from its top, then offered it to Hilderich.

  Hilderich made a gesture to take the proffered little ball of what could have been fruit. It looked to be white on the inside, but he shook his head and gave it back to Amonas with a hesitant look on his face and a quavering quality in his voice:

  “You try it first.”

  Amonas’ pride was stung: Hilderich seemed to imply that he might be trying to poison him. He was about to go off on a rant unfitting his character, about how misguided and foolish a person must be to still be unable to trust him after what had befallen them, but wisely decided against that. After his initial surprise and shock lifted from his expression, he took the strange cross between a hairy nut and a fruit in his hands and drank a good mouthful.

  After he had quite thoroughly sloshed it around his mouth in an evident display of the juice’s potable quality, he swallowed and offered it back to Hilderich who accepted it even though with some reluctance. He sniffed the watery liquid inside the strange fruit and kept his eyes on Amonas, who tried to appease his fears:

  “It’s sweet and refreshing. Almost better than water. Drink up, you’ll like it.”

  Amonas was motioning with his head for Hilderich to drink, urging him to just have a taste, while Hilderich slowly brought the fruit to his lips, constantly eying Amonas warily.

  After a brief pause and a small period of uncertainty Hilderich finally took a small sip, swallowed, and then surprising even himself in the process proceeded to empty the small ball of a fruit of its watery content.

  Amonas grinned in a relaxed manner as he laid down to the ground to enjoy at least a few minutes of sleep. After closing his eyes and covering his face with one arm, he said to Hilderich:

  “I wouldn’t kill you with fruit Hilderich. There were ample opportunities with better tools. We need to trust each other to make it back, that much I can assure you.”

  “Oh, I know about your assurances so far. I can see them all around, sure as hell.”

  Hilderich’s tone was rather that of a grudging complaint rather than a gross accusation. ‘He might be right’, Amonas thought, ‘but now was not the time to settle such a score’. He hoped that they would make it back, become friends, and Hilderich would forgive him for the misfortunes brought upon him. But until then, Amonas’ patience would be tried and tested at almost every chance. He replied in kind, eyes still covered by his arm:

  “Opportunities may arise once more, don’t make me want to take advantage of them.”

  Hilderich opened his mouth wide in what seem
ed a mock expression of shock before he composed himself once more, straightening up and saying in what seemed to be his formal tone:

  “I’ll restrain from further commenting on the problematic issue and instead focus on more worthwhile endeavors, such as getting back.”

  Amonas smiled even as he said in a genuinely friendly tone:

  “That’s more befitting a Curator now, isn’t it?Let me catch some sleep, and then we will be off to those bullhorns.”

  The thought had occurred in Hilderich’s mind but he had not given it much time. With the death of his master and half-way in his apprenticeship, he was now considered officially, though without seat, a Curator, with all the rights and responsibilities his office carried. It was certainly not an apt time but he felt somewhat proud, and suddenly all too grown up and a bit older than he thought possible. Amonas added as an afterthought:

  “Don’t fret over it. You can do whatever you like for a while, as long as you don’t get lost. Study the trees or the insects, do something a Curator would do.”

  Hilderich nodded silently and appreciatively before heading off to a nearby log of wood half of it rotting away, creeping with maggots and worms, what he had been taught was the basis of a healthy and fertile ground.

  Time passed quickly for Hilderich who uncovered all sorts of different layers of decaying wood, taking good notice of its grain and the various kinds of insects that used it as housing, food, or what seemed to be a combination of the two, eating tunnels through it on which then they laid what looked like to be their eggs.

  It was fascinating he thought, to witness a whole civilization of insects in its various stages and levels unfolding in front of you in a simple piece of wood right in front of your eyes, at the tip of your very hands. How tempting it felt to push the eggs around and see how the insects would react, or douse them with water and see whether they’d drown. But he was taught that nature knew best, and men could only learn from it, not change it. At least not for the better. So he decided to let the insects be.

  When he did so and paused his study of the insect-ridden log he noticed Amonas had quietly awoken, seemingly quite refreshed and energized. He asked him if he had slept well, to which Amonas answered laconically after briefly thinking about it: “Good enough.”

  Amonas then made some broth of what he had found to be an adequate substitute for uwe, and sipped appreciatively. Like before, he offered some to Hilderich who again politely refused, but did not resort to his small flask of gin. He wisely assumed that they would need more of it to light up a fire, and more than just once. So he kept Amonas some quiet company, until they would move on again.

  Once they did so, Amonas led the way once more with quite deliberation, carefully choosing his path as if he could smell their destination however far it might be.

  To Hilderich, it was unfathomable how any man could navigate practically blind, without a map or a solid point of reference, simply using his hunch and a general feeling of direction. Both seemed to be easily fooled in a chaotic mass of vegetation such as the one they were entangled in currently.

  When Amonas felt Hilderich needed time to rest he paused, and made sure Hilderich was ready to move on before they set off again. Hilderich felt quietly thankful of that small mercy and made every effort to proceed in a timely manner, never dallying for too long. Until they had walked for the better part of what would amount to a day in this accursed place, or until they had reached the bull-horned building he would try his best.

  The heat was as always unbearable and the moisture nearly debilitating, but they trudged along hoping to strike lucky soon. If nothing else, Hilderich hoped they would soon rest for what should have been night time. Lost in thought and numbed by fatigue, Hilderich bumped unwillingly onto Amonas who seemed to have suddenly stopped. Hilderich apologized curtly and asked:

  “Pardon me for running onto you like you were invisible, but why have we stopped? Are we here yet? I can’t see anything like a wall or stones or something resembling a construction. So does that mean we can rest now?”

  Hilderich’s voice had an unmistakably pleading quality and though it would be indeed great if they had reached their intended destination, it would be nothing short of bliss if they could stop and sleep for now. Amonas knew what Hilderich was thinking from the look on his face and the expectancy in his voice, and replied curiously enough with a question:

  “Did you notice something about this place?”

  Hilderich was still catching his breath when he said to Amonas in a knowing manner, somewhat alienated from the strange question:

  “It’s too hot and too wet for comfort, what else is there to notice? That it’s too green?”

  “See here, I like some healthy irony from time to time but right now it’s not what you should be doing. You should be feeling, with all your senses alight. What do you feel, Hilderich?”

  Hilderich was about to make some comment in the same vein as the previous one, complaining about sore feet and an empty stomach, not to mention a dried out mouth.

  But once Hilderich paused for little more than a moment, he felt it. A light breeze, chilly to the touch, a swift rush of air like a cloud from the heavens.

  “The air is chilly. And everything’s not as moist. It’s like.. It’s more like back home..”

  Hilderich was genuinely surprised, and looked fittingly puzzled. As he tried to make some sense of it, Amonas added:

  “Well it’s not chilly. It’s not that hot, cool would be a better choice of words. And the light is less intense, it’s almost like an overcast sky. Like a shadow is hanging over our heads. We’re in its shadow, Hilderich. The shadow of the bullhorns.”

  Hilderich was enjoying the cool breeze when he pleaded once more:

  “Would it be then advisable to get some more sleep now?”

  Amonas laughed out heartily at that display of good-humored single-mindedness, and feeling his spirits lifted laid down and started singing a tune his grandfather used to sing when they were fishing together, on a boat by the river.

  Hilderich was complaining that his stomach felt empty, and that they had not secured a source of fresh water. He could also hear some grumblings noises about him doing all the really necessary stuff, and that Curators should be treated respectfully rather than being ignored profoundly. He stated then that he would nevertheless procure some sort of food since he was quite literally the only reliable and responsible person in this world, a world which might or might not be an entirely different one from the one they called home.

  Amonas kept on singing heedless of Hilderich’s protests, thinking he would be soundly asleep before the song would come to a finish. As the moments went by, his voice became softer and shallower and then he stopped altogether. Indeed within moments he fell into a slumber, where he dreamt of Celia. In the dream he could feel the cool breeze that was her smile.

  Pretty soon he was snoring heavily, as if he had not a worry in this or any other world.