Deep breaths helped ease some of the tension in her neck and the ache at the base of her skull. She kept a constant focus on clenching cool sand between her toes until the ruddy hues of day’s end marbled the horizon. Relaxed again, she crawled from the petal onto the cooling sand and lay on her back.

Sprays of fine dots freckled the darkening sky.

“So many of them,” she murmured.

The stars and the suns were illusions, she reminded herself. They were a boundary separating this world from her realm. She imagined this planet floating on its pedestal in the Vault, where projects cluttered the vast chamber.

Supported by hundreds of simple white pillars and plinths, the expansive room archived living worlds worthy of study. There they remained, evolving and ageing until they winked out of existence and then were replaced with newer models.

Some worlds spun on daises, others hung suspended from the ceiling, and the older ones, those which had flourished for generations, were tucked away in niches or alcoves.

For an eon, she had longed to return to studying in the Vault, where the vastness suggested no end to satisfying her curiosity. Yet, all it took to make her want to leave, to descend into Elish, was a brief encounter with Ibe.

She had waited for him, hoping to explain that her dancing wasn’t intended for his friend’s laughter or the reprimand of their Master. She hoped to soothe Ibe, but when he arrived, he wasn’t alone.

She ducked into the shadow of an alcove and watched as he and one of his Students approached a dais. Speaking quietly to one another, a deep, resonating laughter suddenly burst from Ibe. He nudged the young man playfully, who smiled in return.

Yearning to bask in Ibe’s laughter, Ule emerged from the shadow, and joined them at the dais where a binary system whorled. She broke the silence. “Will you be descending?”

The Student wrinkled his nose at her.

She knew immediately her presence was unwanted. “It looks beautiful,” she cooed, hoping to be invited along.

Ibe’s wince was slight but noticeable. The brilliance in his eyes hadn’t lessened any, so she knew he couldn’t be angry with her. Something she said had annoyed him, however, and she remembered her Master’s note about how she made Ibe uncomfortable.

She stared at the binary system, waiting for Ibe to respond. Life was more evident in the world than in him during the moments that followed. Deflected by his blank look, the world drew her into a swirling dance of colours looping in a figure eight around two tiny stars.

Ibe and the Student diminished. The stars began swelling in size and intensity. Unconsciously she had begun to descend, and just as she dipped into the world, a fierce unbridled thrum of energy blasted her.

“Ule, stop!”

She shook her head, felt her body snap back to the Vault. Orange and cinnamon overwhelmed her nostrils, and she knew from the magic scent that the binary system belonged to Ibe, not the Student. Any invitation would need to be granted by her Mentor.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean--”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You know the rules, Smashcrow.”

The Student smirked at the nickname Ibe had given her, and she shuddered at the reference he made to her past transgression.

“Do you want to be punished again?”

The rules of conduct among her kind were numerous: Students could explore another Student’s creation by invitation only. Mentors required invitations from everyone except the Students assigned to them. Yet Masters could descend into any world of their choosing, for any reason, at any time.

The rules were always heeded and the breaking of the rules seldom ignored. Ule knew this from experience.

“Can I join you?” she asked Ibe.

He always appreciated candour in his other students, and she hoped he warmed to her forwardness.

He shook his head. “A world can be more than a single planet, yet that’s all you could envision during Isolation.”

“I had to relearn everything.” The words felt heavy in her mouth.

“The An Energy responds to what’s in our minds, doesn’t it?”

Ibe’s Student nodded.

“And out of your infinite potential, from a clean slate,” Ibe pointed to his head, referring to her memory loss, “you create a rudimentary world. How can you appreciate the sophistication of my work or anyone else’s for that matter?”

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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.