Ule awoke to discover her legs sprawled in the sand, her head and shoulders cradled in the stiff curl of a petal. She imagined herself having slid down the side of the flower during her unconsciousness and thought it strange no one tried to revive her, until she saw others curled up in nearby shadows softly snoring.

Lying there, she felt like a new born being presented to a swelled, radiant father. She winced at the bright sun, at the tightness of her swaddling dress twisted about her thighs and hips, at the sting in her skin after brushing sand from her warm, sticky cheeks. She sighed and crawled deeper into the cool shadow of the petal.

She trailed her fingers over eroded ridges of ancient veins and pockmarks where sunstones were once fixed, and admired what remained of her work. Creating a being that was a mix of animal, vegetable, and mineral had been an interesting exercise, one she had only tried once, a very long time ago. She mentally chastised herself for not checking in on the beast. Now, without her notebooks, she would have to guess at the number of generations since she last descended into the world.

“You must have died shortly after my last departure.” She clicked the tip of her thumbnail against her teeth, staring at nothing in particular. Worry threatened to cloud her thoughts.

“There aren’t any new volcanoes I can see.” Self talk had always helped her stay focused and calm. “No indication of a massive flood, that’s obvious, even though all of this area, in the very beginning, was a salt lake.”

Her foot began to jerk and twitch. “Don’t suppose someone might come look for me since I didn’t bother to tell anyone I was descending.” A wavering breath slipped between down-turned lips. She hoped someone would notice her missing and look for her. “Stupid!”

She flicked the sand with her toes, scanned her mind for details.

“When was I here last, Elishevera?” And she imagined Elishevera responding.

“Shortly after the First Age, little monkey. Shall I tell you a story now?”

“Tell me the one about the An Energy.”

In Ule’s mind, Elishevera cooed to mark the start of a tale. “In the beginning, the An Energy was abundant. It concentrated wherever most of your world building happened, making that place very magical.”

A pang of grief saddened Ule. “You’re magical.”

“Yes, once, long ago,” Elishevera agreed. “Would you like to hear more?”

Ule nodded at the imaginary voice in her mind.

“During the First Age, every living being could speak with me, and you, little monkey, inspired their devotion toward me.”

She remembered now. “The An Energy diminished, shortly after I caused that teeny little earthquake to reveal a quarry of pink marble-”

Someone in a nearby shadow sleepily shushed her.

Reluctant, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Marble holds such pretty architectural details, I just had to unearth it somehow so someone could find it.”

She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on an arm. Setting Elishevera’s story aside, she began reviewing old studies.

“Everything seemed fine. The An Energy diminished beyond Elishian perception; normal.” She drew an imaginary check mark on the petal next to her. “Your psychic voice grew faint; also normal.” Another imaginary check mark. “When devotees couldn’t hear you anymore, they began cultivating a belief system focused on your sacrificial libations. An Energy or not, you still needed nourishment.” Another check mark.

Narrowing her eyes, she frowned. “That’s when it turned strange. Some of the devotees still communicated with you. I didn’t think it possible without concentrated An Energy. And they wanted nothing to do with the rituals being developed.”

The disparity between two types of worship continued to widen. Some insisted the act of ritual was the only way to honour Elishevera while others—the passionate ones—insisted on direct communication. Like the Gypsum and Granite rock races Ule had once created, worshippers fought one another until finally the group split into two separate factions. Those who chose ritual called themselves Priests, and those who desired direct communication with Elishevera were called Mystics.

Hot tears suddenly stung Ule’s eyes. She wondered which of the factions had turned on the flower beast, the Priests or the Mystics.

___________________________________

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.