Spite possessed her. Ule trembled at the memory. She had struck her Master with both fists. Then she wrenched the lava world from its dais in the Vault. Racing through hallways, she dove into the Laboratory, let out a wild shriek, and smashed the planet against a wall of rock samples.

The planet’s atmosphere ignited on impact. Whips of energy lacerated everything in the room, including her. Laboratory tables and shelves buckled from the force of the planet’s iron core exploding. Nearby, two other worlds, both with emerging new life forms, were knocked from their pedestals. They spun briefly before erupting into flame.

“Destruction is forbidden,” her Master had told her repeatedly. Of all their laws, this one remained absolute. “It’s a delicate matter. There is protocol. Done incorrectly, destruction will diminish the An Energy within our realm and every world we’ve constructed.”

The resulting criminal inquiry had been a lengthy process of being mentally poked and prodded by the Council and her Master. The calm temperament of her Master faltered twice during the process. At the start of the inquiry, he admonished her glib remarks in a burst of fury—“Wipe that smirk from your face!”

Near the end, an unnerving despair shuddered through him when the Council announced its disciplinary action. She remembered their steely tones and grim appearances as they explained the punishment, none of them bothering to speak with her telepathically as was the custom.

“You will have your memories temporarily blocked. You will be detained in a holding cell in The Void, where invisible walls will confine you in quarantine.” Their voices droned on. “There will be no supervision. You will be alone. You will be expected to tap into and remember the joy of creating, without influence.”

She understood, yet their chorus of contempt continued.

“You will be denied the comfort of belonging until you can prove to respect our ways. You must learn to understand your failing toward us.”

Within her prison cell, after her memories had returned, she had felt remorse for destroying the world of lava and granite people. Yet persistent Isolation only urged her to interact with Elish, the new world she had created, making reintegration back into society difficult.

No one had recognized her at first glance. She had left a vivacious, expressive child yet returned a subdued and deeply introverted adult. Though her Master did well to coax what little remained of her personality from a guarded, internal place, his effort failed to bridge their divide. Those who remembered her, kept their distance. Friends from her youth had developed close bonds with one another of which Ule was no longer a part.

She walked in the realm yet did not belong. Her distrust for everyone grew, no matter how hard she tried to fit in. No amount of effort changed their opinion of her. At times she wanted to knock their heads together, pull down the Laboratory and the Vault stone by stone so she could rebuild their realm into a place where she did belong.

“It’s the lava world all over again,” Ule moaned, peering across the desert. The urge to destroy everything pulsed within her mind.

A young man stopped to ask if she was well.

She shook her head. “There used to be rolling fields and gardens.” She gestured to the desert, nearly shouting. “Green, green, and more green everywhere. And there!” She pointed to the east of her. “Where’s the grove of oranges gone? They had the sweetest nectar. And here!” She indicated the area about the flower. “There was a wondrous temple with Priests and Mystics. They documented rituals, squabbled, and argued. Wow, could they bicker! Where has it all gone?”

According to the young man, there had always been desert.

She stamped her foot with a huff. Another wave of mourning swelled inside. She swiped at tears dampening her cheek and shouted at no one in particular, hoping to gain everyone’s attention.

“This is Elishevera and I’m Ule!”

Sharp pain jabbed within her temples.

A woman clucked and shook her head. She squeezed Ule’s shoulder and spoke the true name of the place—Lishev. She reeked of old sweat and fresh ale, and her fingers felt like bark as she explained the sanctity of the place.

Ule squirmed from the woman’s grip. She knew better than anyone what Elishevera meant.

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The Forgotten Gemstone, Book One in A Xiinisi Trilogy

© Kit Daven & Eager Eye Books, 2013.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any matter whatsoever without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review or critical article.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, situations, and references portrayed in this story either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

Cover art by Sean Chappell, RedFracture.com.