by B L Barkey
They paused, providing him a brief respite.
“How do you know you will ever see us again?” asked the Third.
“Something tells me I will… But just in case, when I need to ask it, how may I find you?”
The Second answered. “When the time comes that you want to ask your final question, we will be there.”
The Third spoke up. “It hardly matters, he just used up his third question.” She grinned as she leaned back and folded her arms.
“Ah, but you asked me a question first!” Ammon said. He had been ready for this. “Therefore, I should have the right to another question without consequence.” He hadn’t been sure how this would go over. They were obviously very intelligent, powerful beings. He did not want to insult them. Yet he also sensed something else. They were playful, if that was the right word for it. This feeling, similar to the Wayothe, gave him confidence.
A low rumble grew from the head of the table. It started low, then crescendoed throughout the entire wooden table. Ammon felt it in his chair, through both the heavy wood and cushion. The First was laughing. Actually laughing. He laughed more and more inside, as if a vase were overfilling with water. It poured out of him, coalescing around them all.
His perfect teeth shined as he rolled back and forth in his chair. Tears fell from his eyes. Ammon felt growing warmth in his heart, as if being showered by sunlight. It filled him with elation to make this stranger laugh, though he knew not why, and soon found himself laughing along. The whole experience made him wonder if the First was really a stranger after all, for he felt like an old friend.
“Ammon!” cried the First, wiping his eyes with massive, sturdy hands. “What a magnificent young man you have become. And how much more you will grow… I can see it. You are truly inspiring.”
He cleared his throat, and the Third then spoke, as if continuing the response of the First. “Ammon, you may save your final question for when you see fit. As the Second has spoken, we will be there when you want to ask it.”
The First continued to beam at Ammon as the other two revealed similar expressions.
“Who are you?” Ammon asked, though he felt he already knew the answer. Deep down, he knew them, like waking from a deep dream. But just like his deepest dreams, all that remained was a feeling, while the pictures and details faded away, only to be remembered another day. Such was the way of things.
Ammon then became acutely aware of his fatigue. His head grew heavy, rolling around on his shoulders. The strength required to even smile now seemed impossible. He was exhausted past any level he had ever experienced. His head fell towards the table, but he caught it, holding his eyes open.
“What…” he started, but then he paused as hands fell upon his shoulders, as well as the crown of his head. All three held him. They cradled him like an infant. This is not to say that he felt childish. They held him patiently, having themselves stepped into higher glories closer to their true forms. In this, he saw light and reached out for it.
And in this, he knew. He could reach this light. He could become this light. He wasn’t there yet, and there were steps required to get there, just like climbing the steps to High Forest. Taking steps towards home. He could get there, and where this could have discouraged him, instead it motivated him past anything he had ever felt. It was the only thing still keeping his conscious.
“Peace, my child. You have completed your Trials. You will be cared for and returned to your island.”
He could barely hear her voice. It seemed to be coming through a very far away tunnel. He could see the three beings. And then, through a haze, he thought he saw a fourth. A woman with brilliantly green eyes. She was slender and brunette, and held herself with the elegance of a mother. He wanted to kiss her. She peered at him, giving him warmth without even a smile.
He heard their three voices in perfect harmony. “You have done well… Seek the light in all your endeavors… We will be there when you need us… Follow your own path, Ammon…”
Memories… and spheres… Are those their words, or my own thoughts?
He faded away into a dreamless sleep.
II
Ammon awoke upon the western shore of Cephas. He was back in his original clothing, cleaned up and fresh, as if he had fallen asleep on the beach instead of entering the Trials. He wondered for a second if that was the actual truth. Soreness in his muscles quickly argued against the theory.
He sat up, seeing the Sun at noon-day. He slowly arose to his feet, waiting for any or all parts of him to fail. He was sore, though not as much as he’d expected. He stood taller then and stretched.
Seconds later, he spotted Master Lyon sitting upon a nearby rock. He was not in his usual robes, but in a tighter-fitting suit of cloth, most likely meant for physical training. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a dead piece of wheat grass in his lips. He was looking away to the ocean, though Ammon knew he was watching him.
Ammon approached the master, eager to touch back to his reality.
“Master Lyon. Have I completed the Trials?”
“Yes my boy, you have indeed.” He stood, keeping his arms folded. “Walk with me.”
He gently pushed off the rock and began walking back towards High Forest. Ammon caught up with him in a few hurried steps, matching his stride. They walked then, side by side, remaining silent. It was over half an hour before Master Lyon finally spoke, filling Ammon with new energy and anticipation.
“What you saw in the temple is for you to know, and for no one else. Do you understand?” His tone was firm.
Ammon nodded.
Master Lyon relaxed some, speaking softer. “You performed very well. It is tradition for the Master Levitian to witness different portions of the Trials. However, some phases are witnessed by the apprentice alone, where instead only the results are judged.”
He threw the wheat grass from his lips, spat in the dirt, then grabbed a low-hanging fruit from a tree that loomed over the path. He took a bite and handed the rest to Ammon, who devoured it. It was delicious to the taste, though his hunger was insatiable. Even so, all he wanted was to know was if he passed the Trials.
“How did Mikael perform?” he asked, hoping to spark the conversation.
“As well as can be expected, and better. He has been accepted into the Sector Guard. He will undergo their training for two years, before returning home. He will prove a fine Guardian.”
“That’s incredible!” Ammon said, thinking of the crippled puppet he had seen in the second phase. He knew now that it was never the real Mikael. Still, he felt relieved to know his brother had found success. He turned towards Master Lyon, wanting to celebrate but restraining himself.
“Has he already returned to High Forest?”
“I’m afraid not. His trials did resolve before yours. However, those who will be continuing in the apprenticeship will not see their homes for the entire two years.”
His underlying message sunk into Ammon’s chest. He knew what it meant, but couldn't accept it. A cold fell over him, spilling like slow water over stone. He couldn't blink. He heard his own voice as a distant echo rippling in a shallow pond.
“So I…”
Master Lyon interrupted. “You have failed the Sector Guard Trials, Ammon Delkai.”
III
Ammon couldn’t look up. His eyes traced the rocks on the ground, half-hearing and half-absent as they continued along the path. If all his mind were in that moment, he might have surely died from the trauma. The impact to his heart had been very real. He felt as if he were shrinking to a point, while the rest of the world was expanding endlessly. Every moment that passed made him evermore insignificant. Hours before, he had thought anything possible, if only he worked hard for it. Now… Now he had no idea what to believe. He observed the over-ripened fruits that littered the trail. He wished to wither away like them. Flowered past his prime and then rejected, never to reach his true purpose or potential.
He felt hollow. Useless. Worthless. He d
idn't want his parents to see him like this. He didn't want to see their shame. The forest called to him, beckoning him to slip away and die, becoming soil for them to draw upon forever. At least then he would have purpose.
“Ammon, I want to be perfectly clear.”
His voice sounded miles away, as if passing through a damp, underground tunnel, heavy with darkness and despair.
“You performed marvelously. Far beyond the average apprentice in many regards.”
Ammon couldn't listen. He was inconsolable. It didn’t matter what Master Lyon said. Ammon had failed. He would never be a Guardian. He would never fulfill his dream. He had left his brother alone. Or was it him that left me?
“We saw things during your Trials that no one has ever seen before. There's a certain aspect of spontaneity left to the powers of the temple to determine your destiny. While you handled yourself admirably, based on what appeared in your Trials, it was clear to the Guardians that you are not meant to join their ranks.”
They were both silent then for almost an hour. The Sun began its descent. Ammon wished he could jump into that burning ball, disappearing from this life. He wished he could swim out to sea with the dolphins, either adapting their ability to swim, or drown trying. He never wanted to show his face again. What will I become?
They stopped at the foot of the western staircase to High Forest. Ammon felt Master Lyon looking at him, though he couldn't bring himself to match his gaze.
Finally, with the weight of Proelum upon his head, Ammon inched his eyes upward. And the eyes he found looking back at him were not those of disapproval or shame. The only word he could find to describe them was… awe. Sheer awe. This doesn’t make any sense, Ammon thought, wanting to scream the words aloud. I've failed. I’m a failure. Look at me for what I am! Tears poured from his eyes, soaking his shirt. His shame only grew, confusing him more. Quit looking at me as if you’re proud. You liar. He fell to his knees, then fell forward.
“I don’t understand,” Ammon sputtered into the dirt. “What hope is there now? What am I to become? What is my purpose…” His fists were clenched, ready to fissure the toughest of stones. He wanted to run. To run until he collapsed unto death. If his jaw clenched any tighter, his teeth would surely shatter. Master Lyon reached out to touch his shoulder. It took everything Ammon had not to strike him.
“You’ve done well in your years at the Leviticum. You have volunteered for many tests, performing admirably through every one. Your writing and reading skills could use some work, though they are still in the top ten-percent of the island. Your math and logic is astounding, top scores in all courses.
“You possess a great measure of faith. Having faith in your studies, you spent countless hours in the Leviticum after others had returned to High Forest. Having faith in your mother and father, you honor them through your actions and words.
"With all my being, I encourage you to discover who you really are. I urge you to discern through things that are unseen, to grow from them. I exhort you to consciously make worthy choices that will lead you to realize your full potential."
He gave one last soothing smile to Ammon, rubbing him on the back. Ammon hated that he felt comforted by the man. As Lyon turned to walk away, Ammon stomped his foot in his direction.
“Just tell me! Stop trying to comfort me! What is wrong with me?”
Master Lyon kept his stride as he spoke coolly and clear.
“It is because of your pride and lack of charity for others. You will be declined access into the training for the Sector Guard for the entirety of your life. You will instead be enrolled in a solo apprenticeship. Await at your home for your new master, whom will visit you soon.”
His voice was firm and emotionless as a stone. Heavy silence hung in the air before he continued. “A final word, born solely from my respect for you. Follow the path towards what you need to grow, and you will find what you want to become. That is your focus. To become. To undergo shaping. Of course, the choice will always be yours, whether to grow or to give up.”
And with that, Ammon was left to ascend the staircase alone. To walk home alone. To confront his parents alone. His brother was gone. And he was now.. alone.
Chapter XXXV
Kokua Alone
Facing his parents after his failure had been excruciating. At the time, it felt like one of the hardest things he would ever do. He had stood at the foot of the front door for nigh an entire afternoon, wondering what he would say once they returned from the Gardens.
They had approached in good spirits, obviously hoping to see their sons again. They were surprised to see just Ammon, but ran to him begging to know how he did. All he could do was sob. They figured it out pretty quick. Mother and Father had hugged him from opposite sides while he cried into their shoulders for what felt like hours.
What a mess I am. How weak. But what does it matter? He no longer had to be strong, after all. He wouldn’t be among the Guardians who protected his home.
Ammon now sat in the Shadows to the north. Ironsands swirled with the slight pulls of a passing magnetic tide. Thickets of trees reached out from behind him. Tide waters licked the beach around the rock on which he sat, meditating. Mindful meditation was a practice Mother had shown him years ago. He and Mikael had hardly given it any thought or value before. Now, meditation was the only thing that brought him peace. He focused on his breathing, forgetting everything else. That was all.
It was tough at first, for his mind kept drifting back to his fears and failures. After one afternoon of sincere effort, he had found his own trick to it, allowing him to finally exhale his worries and clear his mind with relative ease. The trick was to focus only on the basic senses of sound, scent, touch, and sight. He would then focus only on what happened around him, right at that exact moment, using his senses to imprint the moment into his memory.
He was experiencing them now. He closed his eyes. He breathed in, held it, then exhaled slowly. Senses swirled within him. Sounds of ocean waves, germinating winds, hanging leaves. Scents of sea salts, sweet fruits, fresh air. Sight of glistening waters through nearly sealed eyelids.
The touch of the Sun, its heat upon him. The cool breeze, beads of sweat and condensation rolling down his body. By the end, he would blend into nature with all its exquisite variance, all by accident as a result of each step. It held a truth that comforted him, though he still couldn’t put that truth into words. So for now he accepted the process for what it was, and repeated it.
It had been two weeks since his return from the Trials. He dodged his friends, though he knew he must face them eventually. He missed them all, despite his shame. Bastion’s home was often dark, and soon he heard rumors of his friends Bastion, Jonah, and Krystal pursuing endeavors on their own. Jonah’s endeavor was clear, for he had yet to fully heal and leave the medical wing. Even then, the Levitians kept a close eye on him, making sure he remained mentally balanced after hearing about the death of his parents. Ammon had yet to process the loss of the Arcanums himself.
He spent most his time at home either reading, running, or meditating. He had already completed his entire to-read list from his family’s library.
Book after book, he felt a growing peace about his situation that he never would have anticipated. He felt it originated from making some sort of progress, any sort of growth that separated him from the person he once was. Every new book changed him from the Ammon who failed the Trials. The meditation also helped, for during that time he would reflect upon all the remaining good in his life.
In this way, he held on to the good, banished the darkness, and gathered new experiences. In this, he found a curious happiness that seemed to surpass even his brightest memories.
But then his heavy heart would plummet again. The blackness of the pain would swell within him, quieted only by his daily distractions. Nights were horrible. Memories plagued his mind unceasingly and clutched at his dreams upon sleep. He felt more rested after meditating than after sleep these days. It was a
n odd period of his life, one that he observed whilst living, hoping that it would end with every tomorrow.
The week before, Father had suggested Ammon cast in a fishing line during meditation by the sea. Upon considering this, Ammon recalled his usual spot, remembering a flat rock that rose above the ocean surface. He had been tempted himself to swim out to this rock, as he knew fishing would undoubtedly be plentiful further from the beach.
Yesterday he had swam out to the rock, fishing pole in his mouth, treading water through the surf. He caught three sizable whitefish, which were every color but white, along with several smaller ones which he released right after. He liked releasing the fish, for showing mercy during dark times helped lift his burdens, even if just a little. Mother cooked the large whitefish that night filling them all to the point of sickness and laughter.
As the heat became too much, he stood and stretched, grabbed his fishing pole, checked his bait in his pocket, then waded out into the tide.
