Forever Shores (37 page)

And if we could show you how it was at that moment. Our Captain knew with all his heart, how it was at the last, before the fleets met and the sky, yet again, rained fire and ruin, and the chevron plunged into the fire
we
made—the belltrees—how the tribes, the humans in their pride and disregard, had forgotten that, having tasted life, we too would strive, learn, borrow, use everything we had, would rise up and protect our own, what
we
had made.

Our
Tom Rynosseros. Ours.

Stone Gift
Robert N. Stephenson

Myulli gazed awestruck at the distant Kyjihm mountain range. Her young eyes were wide and glistening as she stared at the craggy peaks. The great, black walls frowned under the weight of the billowing dark sky. ‘It brings Gallerra,' whispered Myulli.

‘It will bring nothing but much needed rain,' growled Fiali, Myulli's uncle. He wore orange robes, was tall, lean and cantankerous.

‘But the message on the stone of coming? Gallerra prophesied …'

‘You know nothing about the stone, child,' growled her uncle. ‘Every storm brings with it the prophecy of Gallerra and the Waiters' usual claims to have seen it foretold in the stone.' Fiali looked down on the girl. ‘The Waiters are fools, Myulli, and the sooner you see them for what they are the better.'

The storm clouds embraced the mountains, cutting off their tops. They swallowed the sky like a growing, angry mouth. The range was shrouded with dread. A vibrant contrast against the black and grey cliffs were the Pellin tree forests, their brilliant red foliage spread out like a fluorescing fan at the foot of the ranges. It was through this forest that Gallerra had fled during the Great Expulsion.

Fiali turned to look down into the girl's face. ‘Not since the Great Storm sixty years ago has anything come from such prophecies.' The memory of the time eased back like a drop of water over parched earth. He knew these clouds. He shook his head and looked down at the girl. ‘All the sky has ever brought is rain.' He offered a faint smile. ‘Today will be a wet day, let us go inside and throw some bones to pass the hours.'

‘No!' Myulli stamped her bare foot. ‘Jashm showed me what to look for, Uncle. She knows things about Gallerra.' Myulli's eyes sparkled with wonder and excitement at the mere mention of the ancient oracle. ‘As a Waiter, she knows the signs, she knows …'

‘Enough of this foolishness, child. Your sister has filled your head with her misty truths and bleary-eyed visions. If this is Gallerra's return where is she? Where is your all-knowing sister?' Myulli looks more like her father each day, he thought. The tightness of the girl's square face and the liveliness of her green eyes, even the subtle wave in her shoulder-length hair resembled her father's dark locks.

‘Jashm knows!' Myulli stamped her foot again. She winced as her bare foot scraped against the raised edge of a paving stone. ‘You'll see it is so, Uncle. You will see.'

Fiali turned from the girl, shrugging off her childish indignation and started back towards the house. He knew the truth about the Great Storm, he knew the truth behind Gallerra and he also knew it was best kept secret.

The family dwelling stood barren amongst the orchard of blood fruit trees, its windowless walls of ochre stone and mud mortar deepened in colour and texture under the fading light. Fiali watched as the matted leaves of the thatched roof shivered under the caress of the increasing bluster. ‘Come now, child, before it rains.'

‘But …'

‘I said enough!' Fiali stood, his back towards Myulli, facing the heavy slatted wood door. He waited for the following steps of his niece, but all he heard was the strengthening breeze brushing against the wide leaves of the blood fruit trees. Foolish child, he thought to himself as he headed to the door.

Beneath the dim light of an oil lamp, Jashm wove the thick strands of spun balla ox hair. A small loom, held deftly in her slight hands, held a good day's work. Jashm hoped to finish the hat before the next harvest gathering so that her father would not suffer under the parching heat of the sun. From beyond the door she heard her Uncle's voice bellowing. What has Myulli done now? she wondered. With haste she stowed the half-finished hat under her thick woollen clothing. Maybe her father's early return from the fields had hastened Uncle Fiali's coming inside. Jashm turned on her stool to face the door.

‘Jaja,' called Fiali, opening the door and pulling back the draft curtain.

‘Yes Uncle,' she answered. Her voice was soft, so as not to disturb the peacefulness of the room. Jashm's bald head shone under the flickering yellow lamplight and her blue eyes sparkled, reflecting the small flame.

‘What have you filled that girl's head with?' Fiali growled, crashing through what she had tried in vain to preserve. ‘She's standing waiting for the rain again.'

‘I don't know what you mean, Uncle. I have told her nothing other than truths.'

‘Truths! Do you call the prophecy of Gallerra truth? Myulli is at this moment standing out in the courtyard waiting for the approaching storm to bring a legend to life.' Fiali rubbed his arms with vigour. ‘It grows colder by the moment,' he huffed. ‘That girl will catch the sniffing death if she does not come inside.'

Jashm stood from her stool and handed her uncle a blanket.

‘What storm?' she asked. Jashm fought her excitement. Can it be? ‘Why didn't you tell me a storm was coming. You know the signs, you know …'

‘I know nothing, Jaja.' Fiali snatched the blanket from her and wrapped it around his shoulders. The old man sagged and his aged grey eyes closed. ‘There is a storm approaching from over the mountains,' he said. He opened his eyes and stared into Jashm's face. ‘It is just a seasonal rain storm, nothing more.'

‘Is it as black as the night?' Jashm asked, as she pulled a small cloth sack from inside her vest. ‘Do the clouds swallow the sky?'

‘Yes, as do all storm clouds,' he sighed. ‘Why do you Waiters persist in your quest?' Fiali scowled. ‘Gallerra will not return.'

Jashm stiffened in defence. ‘You forget, Uncle, that Gallerra was a great teacher, a diviner. He brought us prosperity from out of the fires of despair.'

‘He was a fraud who stole the village's wealth,' Fiali scoffed.

‘He is the promise of the future,' Jashm cried. ‘When he left he gave us his promise and left a stone engraved with the scene of his return.'

‘Gallerra was a thief and the stone is loot he could not carry,' grunted Fiali. ‘It is only coincidence that his leaving saw the arrival of the rains again.'

‘And the rains still come on time each year,' Jashm felt angry with her uncle. He would never believe in the prophecy and this saddened her.

‘You worship a thief!'

‘Lies!' Jashm felt her face reddened with rage. ‘You disbelievers spread lies about Gallerra and have failed to stop us Waiters. Gallerra will come back to us and he will bring with him great wealth to share with his people, as he has promised.' She clenched her fists. ‘He will come and the stone does not lie.'

Fiali looked long and hard into her eyes before he broke contact. ‘Go,' he breathed, ‘Myulli waits for you.'

Jashm nodded once at her uncle, stepped around him, pulled back the curtain and slipped out the door. The stiffening wind that swept down the courtyard to the house halted her. A smile spread across her face. The sky overhead was a rich blue but the coming darkness was consuming its colour with its rolling, thick clouds. Leaves, dancing together, filled the air with hissing. It was the singing of nature's song, as was prophesied.

‘Is it the sign?' called Myulli standing at the edge of the courtyard, one hand holding a branch of an old blood fruit tree.

‘Can you see the path?' Jashm called, as she braced herself against one of the stone pots that dotted the courtyard. She leaned forward against the wind, her slight body trembling with the bracing cold. The Waiters had taught her the signs over the last five years and they were now clear in the heavens and the earth. She patted the offering she'd collected from the secret place—the place in the mountains the Waiters said couldn't be found. ‘Faith,' Jashm laughed softly to herself. Her faith in the secret place had driven her to search, and the voice of Gallerra from the sky made it possible. The voice guided her through the mountain forests to a white-stoned clearing barely three paces across. Here she found her offering, and now she would be the one to greet Gallerra.

‘Yes, I see it.' Myulli's small voice, picked up by the wind, was thrust into Jashm's ears. She was facing the shadows at the base of the mountains. Myulli shielded her eyes from the dust-filled air with her hand.

Jashm pushed against the wind to stand beside her sister. Both took shelter behind the thick trunk of the tree. They looked towards the base of the mountain. Jashm recalled her return from the mountain forest only yesterday and she was disappointed at not being there now. The crooked line of a path lay out in the distant tight foliage of the pellin trees. It glowed white within the shadows. Jashm dropped to her knees and began chanting the song of welcome, casting out each word like a ship on a rolling sea.

From beyond the walls

of yesterday's promise

You bring to us a new dawn.

From beyond the walls

that imprison our hearts

You bring freshness to our lands.

Gallerra we wait.

For the spirit of rebirth.

Gallerra we chant.

For we are the Waiters.

The keepers of your stone.

‘Is it Gallerra?' Myulli called.

‘Yes, little sister, it is.' Embracing her, Jashm's eyes filled with tears of joy.

Fiali scooped another ladle of soup into his bowl and sat on one of the stools arranged around the central stone table. The walls of the room were cluttered with shelves, filled with pots, bowls, boxes, furs, clothing, everything that its four occupants owned—it pressed against him with the warmth of memory. This place, of all places, always calmed his heart, eased his mind's wanderings into the past. The only other place he gained comfort from was the other room, the place where they all slept. During the bitterly cold nights they would all huddle around its central pit furnace. Dank smoke rose through an iron flue in the middle of the ceiling to stain the crisp night sky. It was in this room that they would whisper secrets to each other until sleep claimed them. Fiali longed for the return of those nights. Perhaps today's weather will bring a shard of it back this evening, he pondered as he sipped his soup.

On the second mouthful of the rich spicy soup Fiali felt a tingling in his mind. The storm was awakening something deep within his guts, the familiarity of the clouds. The secret he was forced to keep by his father and the curse promised by his grandfather. He remembered the night his father had come down from the Kyjihm Mountains. His face bright with the excitement of discovery, and Grandfather—yes!—Grandfather had cried and cursed father for his foolishness. He remembered the truth behind the Great Storm. Fiali could see the scene as if it had happened this morning.

It was the day of the Great Storm. Grandfather thought he was sleeping, but he heard his tale of the ancient mountaintop clearing, of Basstel and the mysteries of the past. He spoke of the secrets of the Kyjihm Mountains. He admonished his father. Fiali paused. His spoon hovered above the bowl. The thick brown soup trickled over its edge to fall on the table in soft splashes. He could see Grandfather snatch a cloth bag from his father's hand and shake a gnarled fist in his face.

‘You fool! May the bells of the night riders steal your dreams.' He shook the bag in front of father's face. ‘These are Basstel's chattels. A sacrifice must now be paid and, damn it, I'll let it be you.' Grandfather stormed from the room. Father fell to his knees.

Fiali thought about the long forgotten legend of Basstel, the butcher priest of the virgin sacrifice. He was so evil that all banished even the thought of him from their minds. He was the bringer of the darkness, the infertility of the land. His temple now lay in ruins, hidden somewhere in the mountains, but his curse still haunted the people.

‘Move one stone and I will seek sacrifice.' It was his father who brought the Great Storm on the land and it was his grandfather who paid the sacrifice to Basstel.

The Temple of Basstel! Fiali recalled. Jashm's journey yesterday. Her triumphant return from the mountains. Her wide eyes smile. His mind grasped the meaning like a callused hand on a hot fire poker. The storm?

Fiali leapt up from the table, tore the curtain from the doorway and rushed out into the courtyard screaming.

‘Jashm, No!' he screamed into the fierce wind.

Jashm held up the small bag to the blackening sky. ‘My gift, Gallerra, my offering to your return.'

‘Jashm! Myulli! It is not a storm. Quick children, get inside. It is not a storm!' Fiali pushed against the wind. He faltered under its strength.

‘It is Gallerra,' Myulli smiled.

Fiali had almost reached Jashm when the wind turned into a gale and blew him from his feet. Myulli, standing a few paces from the tree, stumbled and slid several arm lengths to be caught by Fiali who had managed to grab hold of one of the heavy flowerpots. Jashm stood facing into the wind, one arm tightly embracing the tree's trunk, the other holding up her gift. Her wet clothes slapped about her, as the light rain began to fall harder.

‘Myulli!' yelled Fiali into the girl's face. ‘Get inside, this is not a storm, it is Basstel coming for his sacrifice.'

‘It is Gallerra,' Myulli cried, her eyes still wild with excitement.

‘Get inside, girl! Gallerra is a lie,' Fiali cried out. ‘Watch through the cracks in the door if you must but get inside.' Fiali released the girl and pushed her hard in the back towards the house, the gale tumbled her until she connected with its hard stone walls. Myulli pushed against the wind and crawled inside. Fiali watched the girl struggle to close the door. Once it was closed Fiali turned to Jashm.

The rain fell heavily, sleeting into his eyes. The clear blue of the sky was now night black, it was hard to see in the deepening gloom. Jashm stood less than five arm lengths from him but the wind was too strong. He saw with horror the bag Jashm held up to the sky.