Force

by A.R. Rivera

  Postcards From The End

  Traveling messes with my head. Some days my brain feels like a scrambled egg, but today it’s clear.

  Remembering the past is important when wanting to avoid repeating mistakes. This notebook is to help you, my only son, keep track of things that are too important to forget. Don’t be a dumbass. Use it. Write it all down and when it’s all used up, get another one and use that, too.

  The following is a brief history of our ancestry, passed from the mouth of the first finder to the ear of his only child where it was carried on by his eldest who shared the knowledge with his heir, and so on. The stones and their secrets have been passed down in this manner within our family ever since. No other proof of the first finding exists outside of memory and though my goal is to keep you from making the same mistakes I made, I would not leave you ignorant of your destiny. Well, not completely.

  So here goes:

  The three stones are actually three parts of one, (I can’t explain it any better than that, so don’t ask) and as such, their formal name is Threestone. It’s no exaggeration to they are all-powerful and utterly inseparable. Three ovals: one white, one black, one red. Identical in shape, size, and quality; appearing as either mineral or crystal, most times it’s a strange meld of both. Aside from color, the only other distinguishing features are the faint symbols carved into the tops of each. What they do is unimaginable.

  An indefinite number of generations have passed since the discovery of the ancient stones. If I recall correctly, they were first unearthed by an archaeologist on an expedition in South America, during or before the American war with Mexico. Doesn’t sound like it was that long ago, does it? But it was.

  There was this group, comprised of graduate students and experienced archeologists. They risked life and limb in hopes of finding proof of an ancient Southern tribe known as the Suma, believed to be descendants of the Sumerians. To this day, little is known about the day-to-day life of the nomadic tribe. How and when they migrated to this continent is also unknown.

  I was told Hieroglyphs discovered in some cave in the Middle East depicted what experts believed to be three men guarding an albino child. Up to that point, most illustrations depicting children were that of young Royals or the telling of a sweeping tragedy. No weeping women or thrones marked those pictured walls though. Historically, glyphs did not portray that type of abnormality so the discovery was thought unusual and intriguing. Experts that studied the hieroglyphs said they told a story of three families who defied a Kingdom to protect the albino infant. The men and their families were banished as betrayers. It was believed by some—and I am not sure why—that a handful of the banished tribesmen managed to make it to the southern shores of the Americas.

  It was this mystery that drove the troupe into a mass of dense forest, compact greenery which bordered an odd circle which appeared to have been painted in varying shades of brown. (Sound familiar?) The curious research team followed the trail of dead flora to a rock wall. Along the brittle barrier, they found a low cave where the fertile soil beneath their trampling feet turned to sand. It was in this place the stones were first unearthed.

  The expedition leader was fascinated by the unassuming strength and beauty of the rocks that stood out amongst the other delicate relics they discovered within that cave. The stones qualities resembled that of crystal but bore no reflection against the light of a lamp. In fact, the characteristics could not be classified by any mineral ever studied. In a moment of weakness, the principal father to our great catastrophe became consumed with greed over the potential of this discovery and thrust the rocks into his pocket, never reporting the finding to his peers.

  The night before the group was to leave the dig site, our ancestor sat near the campfire, feeling colder than usual. He wondered to other members of the party if he might have contracted something in the dank cave. Nearing the flames for warmth, the fire waned, appearing to bend nearer to the breast of his jacket—the pocket that held the stones. When one fellow asked after the strange phenomenon, our forebear excused himself.

  That same night a lightning storm broke out across the steppe. As the other workers scrambled to protect the artifacts, our ancestor ran away, screaming that he was being chased by lightning. They said his hair stood on end as bolts struck near his feet.

  I recall this part of an old newspaper clipping perfectly, for it happened to me once:

  “‘We were all asleep until we heard the rain.” A fellow lineman relayed the accounting, “We had to ensure the artifacts would remain dry in the deluge. The smallest measure of damp could reduce them to ruin and months of toil would come to naught.

  “I stopped when I heard the shouts. I have never seen anything like it! The bolts of lightning were hitting the ground all around him, barely missing his heels as he ran. I’d run too if the lightning were chasing me like that. Then, a cyclone swallowed him.’”

  I realize I’ve sent you off with little more than a “because I said so.” It’s not my intention to make this necessary evil any more difficult than it has to be.

  As you know, I am consumed with regrets. You see, because of my father’s rigorous training I thought was prepared for any eventuality. When the unexpected arose, I had no idea how to react because I wasn’t trained for surprises. My father spent his life preparing me for what I had to do. He was a careful man. He was also convinced he could save the world. If he could just train me hard enough, make me smart enough, I could accomplish what he could not.

  Power does that to people, makes them think they’re able to perform the work of God. It’s nothing more than hubris—which, as I look at the page, I see is only three letters away from human.

  But when surprise-push came to unexpected-shove, I had nothing in my arsenal.

  Remember this, son: Knowledge does not make wisdom. All my training had trained me not to think, but to react. And in the end, I reacted badly.

  I’m still not sure that this is the right direction to take, so I’ll have to be vague. If you’re meant to understand, you will. If not, then I guess this whole process will just continue as it always has.

  So here’s my shortlist of absolutes:

  1. Stay away from Nahuiollin. Period.

  2. Always go back and check. In your travels, you’ll meet people. Those people’s lives could be shifted in an entirely different direction because of their interactions with you, so always go back and check.

  3. I don’t know if you ever remember your dreams, but if you do, pay attention. They may mean something.

   

  Book II