Legend of the Book Keeper

by Daniel Blackaby

  The sound of the doors opening drew his attention away from the statue. A young man wearing a long black robe emerged from the open doors. His hood was down revealing him to be a boy around Cody’s age with short black hair and a mischievous face. Reaching Cody, the boy gave a slight bow, “So, you are Cody, the one Prince Kantan informed us of?” he asked in a monotone voice balancing between indifference and irritation. Cody nodded. The young man sighed. “Well, you are late. What a splendid beginning for the new savior of Atlantis to start his training. Master Stalkton is inside. Waiting.” Without allowing time for Cody’s reply, the boy turned and disappeared through the doors from which he came. Cody’s stomach tightened: Strike one.

  Cody quickly followed after the boy’s fading footsteps. The room where he now stood was breathtaking. A dome ceiling stretched ten stories high. The assembly hall itself was circular with ten balconies spiraling around the elegantly adorned walls, one for each story. The mosaic floor was decorated with thousands of tiny, colorful stones that fashioned a beautiful swirling design. Inside, several robed men held books, although none appeared to be reading. Instead, every eye focused on Cody. The expressions on their faces were not ones of welcome.

  Following the boy, Cody passed through another door which led him into a second circular chamber, although much smaller than the previous. The room was completely empty. Nothing hung from the walls, and even the floor consisted of simple gray stone. There were no windows in the dark room. Only a single lit torch provided its meager lighting. The lone object in the empty room was a cushion lying in the floor’s center, and on that cushion, was a man.

  The man had his back to Cody, his thick snow-white hair rested against his neck. He was muttering softly to himself as though engaged in an urgent conversation. “Sit,” the man murmured, keeping his back to Cody. Cody looked to the young boy, who rolled his eyes, and motioned with his head for Cody to obey. The stone floor was cold against Cody’s legs as he folded them on the ground. He hesitated, waiting for the white-haired man to address him again, but the man had returned to his incoherent muttering.

  Cody cleared his throat, “Um, Sir,” he began, “I have been sent by Prince Kantan and Lady Cia to be trained in the power of the Orb. I am looking for the High Priest Lamgorious Stalkton,” Cody finished softy.

  No immediate answer came from the man. Slowly his muttering ceased. “Then you foolishly have come looking for the wrong thing,” replied the man finally, his voice smooth like the gentle rush of a river.

  “Excuse me?” asked Cody confused.

  The elder man remained still as he answered, “You come in search of a Lamgorious Stalkton, a meek, humble servant to the Orb. Not worthy of any seeking, except I guess for those questing for meek, humble servants.” The man paused and inhaled a wheezy breath before continuing, “You also come at the command of others to be trained, a puppet in the war effort of the nobility.”

  Cody threw up his arms in frustration. “Well, then, why should I have come? And who are you anyways?” he asked bitterly.

  The soft sound of chuckling came from the man’s hidden face. As the man slowly turned to face him, Cody stumbled back, startled by what he saw—the man sitting before him was an albino. His pale skin mirrored his pure white hair. His face was smooth and unwrinkled, and pressed tightly against his pointy bones.

  “I am he whom you seek; the Low Priest, Lamgorious Stalkton. And the only reason one should enter this Monastery is to unlock the wonders of the universe.” The albino paused, sighing, “Although you are a special case. Very special, indeed.” A grunt came from the boy standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, that is enough Xerx; leave us. Return to your studies.” With another snort, the boy stomped out of the room, closing the door with a bang. An uncomfortable moment ensued.

  Cody squirmed on the rough ground. “Sir, did I do something wrong?” he asked hesitantly.

  Stalkton unexpectedly smiled. “Son, you have done a great many things wrong! As have we all. But don’t you worry about Xerx. He’ll warm up to you.” Stalkton was interrupted by the sound of an angry shout followed by a loud crashing noise outside the door. The priest grinned. “Or at least stop brainstorming ways to murder you in your sleep! You see, young Xerxus has been my pupil for many years now. He is, how shall I put this . . . less than enthused about me taking on another pupil. To be quite frank, he loathes your very existence. I would suggest that for now, you lock your bedroom door before you sleep.”

  Cody gulped. “Great. Just great. I’ve been here only sixty seconds and I’ve already made an enemy. I’m not off to a great start, am I?”

  “Oh, no, not at all. Absolutely dreadful, actually.” The man took a sip from the wooden cup in his hands, and shook like a wet dog as the liquid ran down his throat. “But, if it’s any consolation,” the man continued, “things aren’t as bad as they will be soon. At least for now only one boy hates you and not legions of people petitioning for your brutal death,” the man concluded matter-of-factly.

  “What! Why would anyone want to kill me? What have I done wrong? I don’t want people to hate me!” Cody asked desperately.

  The pale-skinned man chuckled. “Oh, want really has nothing to do with it. You see, as the Book Keeper, you have become powerful, and power and hatred go together as inevitably as lava-shakes and crisp earthworm de-fossilized cucumber sandwiches.”

  Cody had no clue whether this was a positive or negative example, but was anxious to change the subject.

  “Sir, just a moment ago you referred to yourself as the Low Priest; did you not mean High priest?” Cody asked.

  The pale man brought his boney finger up to his left nostril as he answered, “No. Well, yes. You see, I am high only to the extent of my lowness.” Having depleted the mine, the old man sought new fortune in his right nostril. “You will soon learn in your training that to be low is to be high, and to be high is simply another reminder of why we must be low. I actually knew a lad once whose birth name was Low. But then he died . . .” The man’s voice trailed off.

  Cody shuffled himself forward. “So, I am to be your pupil?” he asked excitedly, feeling it best to push the conversation along.

  Stalkton nodded. “Yes and no. But perhaps more yes than no.”

  Cody looked puzzled at the white-skinned High—or was it Low?—Priest who stared absently at the wall behind Cody’s head. Cody glanced down at the wooden cup in the man’s hands and arrived at several logical conclusions as to what must be in it.

  “So, you are going to train me?” Cody pressed, slowly feeling his patience fading.

  The old man sighed. “Youth. So passionate and yet so reckless. Did you expect to come in here and learn how to become a creator of worlds in one day?” The old man said in a soft tone pointing his finger at Cody. “You have much to learn, but I suppose that is why you have come . . . or are you that Jack fellow who delivers my mail? I’ve never been much of a wizard with faces . . .”

  “Um, no, Sir, my name isn’t Jack. It’s Cody.”

  The pasty-skinned man leaned forward, his face an inch from Cody’s. “No, no, you must be Jack. It’s that lumpish double chin of yours . . .”

  “Sir,” Cody interrupted impatiently, “I am not Jack, I am Cody. I am the Book Keeper. I am here to receive your training.” The old man gave one last examination before sitting back down, finally at peace that the boy before him was indeed not Jack.

  “I will not train you. . . . Unless you desire my wisdom on the perfect earthworm and cucumber sandwich, which you undoubtedly do. . . . But with regard to the Orb, I will not train you. . . . I shall merely guide you to discover the power for yourself. Speaking of which, I believe this belongs to you.” Stalkton reached behind his back and produced a familiar Book, the scarlet ‘A’ illuminating in the darkened room.

  A familiar jolt of energy ran up Cody’s arm as he took the Book into his arms. He looked down at the simple leather cover with a deeper appreciation than he had had during his flight to
Atlantis. He now felt that he and the Book were connected, as though the Book was alive.

  “What do you know about this Book and the Great Orb?” questioned Stalkton, taking another sip from his cup.

  Cody paused, in truth he did not know a lot about either.

  “Well, I know that it is called The Code; that it has a sister called The Key which resides in El Dorado. I know that it was created by King Ishmael and his brother, the Golden King. I know that it funnels the power of the Orb.”

  “It doesn’t just funnel the power,” cut in Stalkton, leaning his head forward, “it funnels the power to you.” He pushed against Cody’s chest with his long, boney index finger, “Only you can access its power.”

  Cody stroked his hand across the Book’s leather cover. “So only I can use the power of the Orb?” he asked.

  Stalkton shook his head with impatient disgust. “No, no, no. Your mind really is slow. Anyone can use the Orb’s power assuming, of course, they are within a reasonable distance from it. Think of the Book as an extra boost. It funnels the power directly to you, effortlessly giving you more power than even the most skilled man could ever obtain without the Book. You see, using the power is a straining activity. Even the good creator of the earth rested on the seventh day, did he not? The Book functions as your energy reserve. Do you follow?”

  Cody nodded adamantly. “So, how do I use it?” he asked eagerly.

  Stalkton frowned. “Slow down, son. We will get to that in time. However, your first lesson is that everything functions according to rules. We live in a world constructed to function by rules. The Orb is no different. The first rule is that the Orb is responsive to the High Language, and to it alone. In order to create, you must know the creation language.”

  “Which is contained within the two Books created by Ishmael and the Golden King,” concluded Cody attentively.

  Stalkton shook his head, “You are partially correct. The words contained within the Books are indeed the High Language, or more specifically, the forbidden High Language.”

  Cody raised his eyebrow as the old man continued, “You see, the words in your Book contain the instructions on how to create worlds. Endless galaxies full of suns, stars, and moons. Of course, these words are useless without the second Book, The Key, to decipher them. But if ever these two Books should be brought together it would give its Keeper endless power—even the power to create and control human life.”

  Cody noticed a serious expression come over the man’s frail face. “Well, if you don’t mind me asking, it seems that without The Key, this Book is useless. I mean, how can I create without knowing what the words are?” he asked, feeling a sense of disappointment. “That is where I come in,” Stalkton replied mysteriously. Cody was no longer blinking; he was a complete slave to the old man’s words. “You see. Not all of the language was strictly forbidden. While Ishmael and his prodigal brother agreed to restrict the knowledge of creating worlds, they overlooked the small areas of life. For example, the High Language for human life was prohibited and slowly forgotten from human thought, but the words for things, such as water and light were not. Yes, for most people these words were lost to their memory and faded out of their lexicon, but not for all. The Brotherhood of Light is dedicated to preserving this knowledge. For example, seamour!”

  At first nothing happened. Cody froze. A drop of water spilled out of Stalkton’s cup. Another splash rolled over the edge. Suddenly water was pouring out like a fountain. It continued to gush out, soaking the floor. “Gai da Gasme.” At the sound of Stalkton’s voice, the water ceased. Cody stared in amazement at the tiny streams of water that ran like rivers across the floor. His gaze rose to the small wooden cup in Stalkton’s hands, the same cup that produced several gallons of water.

  “How did . . . how is that even . . . how could . . .” Cody stuttered as the floor streams collided with his foot like a dam. He lifted his shoe to allow the water to flow past.

  Stalkton took a sip from his now-full cup. “It is possible because of the Orb. You see, the word seamour is the High Language for water. By using the word, and focusing on the inside of my cup, I brought the energy from the Orb together into the form of water. You see, all of life is made up from energy. Even your distastefully scrawny body is merely a dense compression of energy that forms together to appear as a body to our naked human eyes. Fire, or fraymour in the High Language, is also just high concentration of energy producing friction. That power, that energy— that is the Orb. By using the High Language we can control that energy.”

  “And, how did you make it stop?” asked Cody, biting his lip and trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

  “Gai da Gasme,” responded Stalkton. “Its literal meaning is impossible in our human tongue. However, it is roughly the equivalent to ‘done it be’, or ‘good it is’. Whatever the translation, it serves as a plug, stopping the flow of energy. It ends the process of creation. Had I not uttered it, the water would have simply remained flowing out of my glass forever, or at least until the extensive use of the Orb drained and killed me, which for most common folk, would be only five minutes of continual creating. This, of course, is the second rule of creating: that you can only use as much power as your mental strength allows, a rule that has less significance for you as the Book Keeper. Now, do you see the water on the floor?”

  Cody nodded; he also saw a towering dune of dried boogers on the floor, but he tried focusing on the water. The old man continued, “Note how it did not disappear even after I cut off my creating. The final, and most important rule of creation, is that it cannot be undone. Let me tell you a tale: There was once a young creator who was lounging in his luxury palace that he had just created. It was perfect and he was extremely content. Suddenly a large spider crawled across the floor. The man detested spiders. He uttered a few quick words and created a frog to eat the spider. After some time, the croaking of the frog became unbearable, so the man created a large bird to devour the frog. However, after some time, the bird’s flapping wings made a large mess in his beautiful palace so out of irritation he created a giant boulder to fall from the sky and crush the bird. The boulder, which landed in his bedroom, was too heavy to be moved. Frustrated, he hastily created a great hurricane to come and blow the rock away, which it did. Unfortunately, in the process, the hurricane completely leveled his beautiful palace and buried him beneath the rubble. Why do I tell you this story?” asked Stalkton seriously.

  Cody shook his head. “I don’t know. To tell me that it’s best to just step on the spiders in my room?” Cody answered with a laugh. Stalkton did not join in the laughter. Seeing the deadly serious look on his face, Cody’s laughter died.

  “I tell you this because when abused, the power of the Orb will bring destruction. It’s easy to solve any problem by casually using the High Language. But,” he warned, “what you do cannot be undone. The power should never be used thoughtlessly, and never for personal gain or pleasure. I’ve seen with my own eyes the horrible consequences when one starts down that dangerous path.” His voice trailed off in grim thought. It didn’t matter. Cody could read his mind like a paperback novel—the Golden King.

  A Strange Scent

  Seamour! Gai da Gasme. Fraymour! Gai da Gasme. Seamour! Gai da Gasme.” Cody watched as water rose in his wooden cup and burst into flames before being extinguished by a geyser bursting three-feet high. At Cody’s final words, the water subsided and Cody poured the full cup out his bedroom window into the garden two stories below. His mind felt tingly and his face felt flush. He placed his palm directly on the scarlet ‘A’ of the Book and felt a reviving rush of strength flow into him. He had to admit that being a creator of worlds certainly had it perks.

  He looked down at the garden below. It felt nice to see greenery again. He guessed that gardening in the center of the earth had its complications. When he and Jade had first been shown to their rooms, Cia had explained that the garden was the only garden in Under-Earth. Looking at the rocky terrain bey
ond the city gates to the distant mountains painted on the horizon, he had no reason to doubt her claim.

  He heard the creaking of a door as it opened and closed from beyond the wall. “Cody? You there?” came the soft voice of Jade out her window.

  “Yeah, I’m here. Any luck on tomorrow’s trial? Were you able to uncover anything that might help us win Randilin’s release?” Cody asked, propping himself up onto the ledge of his window.

  “Nada. I went to the library to find some history on him. Absolutely nothing. Not a single, solitary reference to Randilin in any of the historical records. Don’t you find it just a little odd that the number one criminal in the whole land is not recorded anywhere? It’s like he doesn’t exist.” Cody frowned; it was odd,

  “What about Sally? Surely she has some answers,” suggested Cody curiously.

  “Strike two. I’m positive she knows something. She became nervous and fidgety the instant I brought it up. Unfortunately, what she does know, she’s not sharing. Any time I even hinted about the subject she would quickly change the topic toward the techniques for perfect hot chocolate or the delicate art of flawless toast. Whatever Randilin did, Sally’s keeping tight-lipped. But enough about that; how was your training? I see you didn’t get yourself blown up; that’s a nice surprise. What about reverend Lamgorious Stalkton?”

  Cody couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Low Priest Stalkton is, to put it delicately, a crazy hermit. He hasn’t left the Monastery in about fourteen centuries.”

  “Oh, Cody, don’t exaggerate again. You’re making him out to be another Ms. Starky. I’m sure Monastery matters