《Beads of Time [Short story | Fantasy/Science Fiction]》 Chapter 1: Preparation Like an itchy scab, three long days covered the Ceremony; the more my mind picked at this unsightly clot of time, the worse it got. I¡¯d have surely failed my T¡¯ghasta if not for Tak, who, today, just as each day for three months prior, had dragged me out to work at first light. The hunter¡¯s apprentice, Tak, was fleshing a boar hide strung between two aspens, scraping it with a flake and throwing chunks of fat and meat into a pot simmering over a fire. In typical Tak fashion, he sketched a grid on the flesh side of the hide with a piece of charcoal and worked one rectangular patch at a time. After every few patches, the crude angular features of Tak''s face softened for a brief moment as he surveyed his progress. Though he wouldn¡¯t admit it, I was certain that Tak had long since finished his T¡¯ghasta; that fifteen boar hides, obtained and prepared with nothing but tools he made himself, were already stashed at his hut, waiting to be proudly displayed at the Ceremony. There was too much serenity in Tak¡¯s work for somebody who was yet to meet the quota for the biggest test of his life. Meanwhile, I, a student scribe, had been copying, word for word, a hefty recipe book, which made me both hungry and bored. Time and time again my thoughts drifted to the Ceremony, and time and time again I had to throw away painstakingly calligraphed recipes which got ruined by unrelated thoughts spilling onto the page. Three days and about a hundred pages left, I thought, scrapping yet another page, assuming six hours for sleep per night, it amounts to fifty-four hours or, roughly, one page per ¡ª ¡°Hey,¡± Tak all but barked over the shoulder, jolting me out of my calculation. ¡°Haven¡¯t heard your pen in a while.¡± ¡°I¡¯m practicing silent writing,¡± I jested, ¡°it¡¯s a technique when ¨C¡±. ¡°Nothing gets done,¡± he interjected. ¡°I¡¯ve heard you¡¯re a master.¡± ¡°Listen, Tak, I just can¡¯t work like that,¡± I said, laying down my pen. ¡°It¡¯s not like your hunting when you, well, concentrate for a bit to get the kill, but then can just let your hands work and your mind wander.¡± I glanced at my friend, realizing that such words might offend him, but Tak¡¯s back looked unperturbed. ¡°Here I need to concentrate all the time, and I just can¡¯t stop thinking about what kind of N¡¯keles we¡¯re going to get.¡± The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Kanne,¡± Tak spoke in a soft voice, putting down his flake and turning to me, ¡°you know precious little about hunting. If I let my mind wander, I¡¯d ruin this hide sooner than you put a single word on the page.¡± I nodded in apology and picked up the pen. ### Late that night, stumbling home in exhaustion, I tripped over a root and flopped face down, spilling ink and smearing dirt over half of the thirty pages I¡¯d managed to copy. The quill in my breast pocket snapped in two, and with it, my will to resist the temptation that I¡¯d shunned for the last week. I picked up the remnants of my day¡¯s work and snuck away from the main trail towards Joso¡¯s hut. Joso, or M¡¯Joso as he demanded to be called after passing the Ceremony last year, stood at the threshold, fidgeting with his N¡¯Kele. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it,¡± he said, as I approached him. ¡°I won¡¯t help.¡± ¡°But Joso. . . Sorry, M¡¯Joso, look!¡± I said, showing him the ruined pages, ¡°I was gonna finish it myself, but this. . . It¡¯s not my fault, is it? Just fifteen pages to get me back on track, please, I¡¯ll do anything.¡± ¡°No, Kanne,¡± Joso said. ¡°I am sorry.¡± ¡°I helped you, did I not?¡± I demanded. ¡°So you did,¡± Joso said. ¡°And I¡¯ve since paid my debt, have I not?¡± He poked at the knife hanging at my waist ¨C his bribe from a year ago. "Fine, then I¡¯ll tell the elders how you cheated!" I blurted out, ashamed of my own words. Joso said nothing, squeezed his eyes and pinched one of the beads on his N¡¯Kele between his thumb and forefinger. He then moved one bead ahead and pinched it too, all the way till the last, fourth bead. A minute passed, filling my heart with repentance and self-loathing; I resolved to take my words back when Joso was done, regardless of his decision. ¡°You won¡¯t do it,¡± he said at last. ¡°You will finish your T¡¯ghasta, but it will be without my help.¡° I nodded, mumbled ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± while staring at my feet, then trudged back home. ¡°One piece of advice,¡± Joso said, catching up with me, ¡°finish it yourself. I don¡¯t care how little you sleep or how much your hand cramps. Finish it yourself, in clear conscience. Trust me, you¡¯ll thank me for that.¡± Chapter 2: The Ceremony Three days later, and just one hour before the Ceremony, I stood in Master M¡¯Onnse¡¯s study ¨C an adobe hut of red clay ¨C examining my middle finger which had developed a peculiar calloused groove at the point of contact with the quill. Would it stay that way forever? If so, is this change in my body for better or for worse? Master M¡¯Onnse was leafing through my copy, stopping at times at one page or another to peruse it in detail and compare with the source. In those moments, with a dry whisper, her bony fingers glided across the rough paper in strict unison, tracing the same words in different volumes with uncanny precision. ¡°Alright, Kanne,¡± she said at last, closing both books. ¡°¡®Tis the last time, perhaps, I shall call you so.¡± The meaning of these words plowed towards me through the viscous fog of sleeplessness like a fisherman rowing on a lake of pine-sap glue. Leaning with her sinuous hands against the desk, the Master raised her withered body and made a few shuffling steps towards me. Only then I had the presence of mind to thank her for accepting my T¡¯ghasta, and for the many years of teaching she¡¯d devoted to my education. The gentle squeeze of her hands on mine, the stillness of the spider web of wrinkles around her deep-set eyes, all spoke of commiseration more than joy, and for an instant, I felt a strange urge to run away, away from the Ceremony I¡¯d been yearning for, for so long. ### I bid Master M¡¯Onnse goodbye, took my copy from the desk, and left, hoping to be alone, but soon engulfed by the flow of merriment and laughter, scanty parti-colored ceremonial clothes, faces and bodies, young and old, daubed with redolent ointments reflecting light from paper-mache lanterns shaped as watches or clocks, suns, moons, and stars, all drifting toward N¡¯Kele square. Like an ice floe in spring waters, my worries melted, and I soon, too, sang, and laughed, and stripped to the waist, and yearned for the hour to both wane away and last forever. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. And when the time came, a score of merry, greasy hands pushed me toward the pyre in the center of the square, and I flung my book into it, and saw it land among bore hides, fruit and herbs, hand-carved furniture and spoked wooden wheels, swords and arrows, a decanter of wrought iron, and a score of clay sculptures. Of these items, some were yet to catch fire, some already burned in full might, and some were never destined to burn but still joined in the offering, as each T¡¯Ghasta was meant to. When the pyre calmed down, the youngest masters of each craft, most of whom had received their N¡¯Keles no more than a year or two ago, separated themselves from the crowd and lined behind the Maker to perform the rite. Within a minute, silence took over the square, all eyes focused on the dozen figures who stood with their eyes closed, most pinching a bead on their N¡¯Keles, while a few, Joso among them, struggled instead to find a dignified pose for their idling hands. Trembling fingers, furrows on foreheads, and lips bitten by some, moving in others, all reminded that for them, it was also a test ¨C the time to demonstrate, by performing the rite in an orderly manner, the mastery of N¡¯Keles they¡¯d been honored to bear. Without any signal, Master M¡¯Hanno, a young hunter, quietly raised his hand and stood still for a minute. Opening his eyes at last, he surveyed his companions and sighed with relief, seeing that no other hand was raised, as that would befall disgrace on both him and the other who failed to see clearly into what was to be, into who was to be first in this year¡¯s rite. ¡°Step forth, Tak,¡± Master M''Hanno announced, and Tak stood forth. M¡¯Hanno fed the Token to the Maker and leaned on the lever four times. With a clank, Tak¡¯s N¡¯Kele dropped into the Maker¡¯s maw. ¡°Kneel,¡± Master M¡¯Hanno said, retrieving the N¡¯Kele. Tak kneeled and bowed so low that Master M¡¯Hanno had to pull him gently up by the hair, to the great amusement of the crowd, to hang the N¡¯Kele over Tak¡¯s neck without its beads touching the ground. Two more hands went up in silence, and two more apprentices received their N¡¯Keles before I was called forth by Joso. ¡°Told you¡± he whispered, as I felt, for the first time, the gentle but incisive pull of the beads that, till the end of my days, I was to carry on my chest. Chapter 3: A Lesson The next morning, Tak and I met in the empty barn by my family house, hoping that a full night¡¯s rest had given our N¡¯Keles enough time to attune to their bearers. The cold, dewy dawn unearthed the dampness sleeping amid the wood-plank walls and straw-covered floor, while the overcast sky seeped inside through cracks in the roof and window blinds hanging askance on rotten hinges. Leaning against a wooden beam, I sat on the ground, and, cautious not to touch any of the four beads, pulled my N¡¯Kele from under the collar. ¡°You haven¡¯t touched yours yet, have you?¡± I asked. ¡°Sorry, I know you haven¡¯t,¡± I added before Tak could reply. ¡°Have you?¡± he asked. I shook my head. ¡°Wanna go first?¡± Tak nodded, closed his eyes, and pinched the leftmost bead on his N¡¯Kele. Furrowing his brows and forehead, he puffed through his nose with a faint wheeze, like a baby concentrating on a new toy, trying and failing to grasp it with hands she¡¯s yet to learn to control. Tak went through all four beads, spending about half a minute on each. At last, he opened his eyes, blinked, looked around as if he¡¯d forgotten where he was, then smiled at me. ¡°What did you see?¡± I asked, agitated by the wait. ¡°It¡¯s ¨C¡± he began, but cut himself short and fell into quiet rumination. ¡°It¡¯s what?¡± ¡°I think, ¡®see¡¯ is not the right word,¡± he finally concluded. ¡°I felt, on the first bead, a sense of familiarity, two shapes, I think they were you and I. I. . . I think it was just us sitting here, though I am not sure. . .¡± ¡°And then? Come on, Tak, go on!¡± ¡°Then on the second one I saw some other presence, also familiar, and there was also a gap or an opening of some kind, and more light around, but it was even harder to make out. The rest of the beads felt very bright and fresh, and they had a sense of moving, perhaps walking, but I can¡¯t make out anything else, it got more and more blurry as I went up the beads, as if it were a dream I was forgetting more and more at each next bead.¡± ¡°I see,¡± I said, having nothing to add. For a long moment, we sat, consumed in our thoughts, listening to a lonely crow cawing outside. Me ¨C looking at the beads on my N¡¯Kele and gathering the strength to touch it, Tak ¨C going over his once again. Without warning, Tak jumped up and yelled ¡°It changed, I saw it tick, it just ticked!¡± I stared at my friend, stupefied by his uncharacteristic excitement. ¡°Remember I said I felt a presence,¡± he went on, almost tripping over his words, ¡°somebody familiar, but not very close, and also an opening, on the second bead? It now jumped to the first! I felt it tick!¡± ¡°So yours probably ticks every few minutes then, like you always wanted?¡± ¡°Like I always wanted, yes! Oh, Kanne, I am so ¨C¡± He kneeled beside me and gave me a tight hug. ¡°I was so scared mine would tick on weeks, or, God forbid, months. That my N¡¯Kele would be useless for hunting and that ¨C¡± Before he could finish the phrase, the barn gate creaked. Light flooded in through the entrance, and it took a moment for my squinted eyes to discern that the silhouette in the doorframe was none other than Joso. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°Oh just look at you, lovebirds,¡± Joso said. Tak released his embrace and sat a few feet away from me, red-faced and embarrassed. ¡°Anyways. . . Kanne, come with me, I need to teach you something. It¡¯s urgent,¡± Joso commanded. ¡°Um. . . Tak, do you know who he refers to?¡± I asked, feigning confusion and raising my eyebrows. ¡°No idea,¡± Tak said with no trace of irony, already regaining his composure. ¡°Alright, alright, M¡¯Tak, M¡¯Kanne,¡± Joso said with a smile, ¡°I¡¯ll treat you with due respect. Would you be so kind as to walk with me, Master M¡¯Kanne? Master M¡¯Tak, you are most welcome to accompany us.¡± ### The three of us went along the main trail, treading in the wake of yesterday¡¯s carnival, the remnants of which now lay abandoned and trampled into the dust: brooches and kerchiefs, bracelets and sandals with torn straps, brightly painted ribbons and feathers, clay ocarinas, and origami figures of various kinds ranging from birds to fantastic geometric shapes. Those whose huts faced the road were left with the task of cleaning these remnants of revelry, which might turn out to be a boon or a burden, as decided by the ratio of bracelets to sandals lost on a given year. ¡°Now listen carefully, Masters,¡± Joso said, breaking the silence as we approached the N¡¯Kele square. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve already figured it out, but you can¡¯t move the sightings around. If a bead shows, say, what will happen at seven o¡¯five February twenty-seventh, that¡¯s what it will show until a tick,¡± ¨C Tak and I nodded, unsure where Joso was leading. ¨C ¡°And even then, if the gap between bead sightings is, say, three hours and fifteen seconds, it will always stay the same. A tick does not change that ¨C it simply shifts all sightings by one bead to the left, discarding the one that shows the present, and adding a new one in the future. ¡°Now, you see,¡± he continued, ¡°very few among the young Masters get a click lined up with the exact time during the Ceremony when they need to raise their hand and step forward. And that¡¯s the problem you¡¯ll have to solve a year from now,¡± Joso concluded with a smile, stopping next to the Maker, which was now covered in hides and hidden under a makeshift tent for protection against elements. ¡°So you¡¯ve brought us here to brag about a problem that you¡¯ve solved?¡± I asked. ¡°You¡¯re too mean to me,¡± Joso said. ¡°I¡¯ll show you my solution, just like my predecessor did. Although it might not work for your N¡¯Kele, depending on its timing, you might be able to adapt it. You see, my beads are spaced by exactly seventeen hours, twenty-six minutes and thirty-one seconds, and, before the Ceremony, I happened to see myself standing in this very spot and naming my position in the Ceremony order.¡± ¡°We only have a watch this precise at M¡¯Julu¡¯s laboratory,¡± I said. ¡°Are you going to stand here for the better part of the hour, repeating ¡®I was fourth, I was fourth?¡¯ That¡¯d be quite a sight,¡± I added, nudging Tak with an elbow. ¡°No, I¡¯ll say it just once, thanks to this ¨C¡± Saying that, Joso brought his hand to my face, hiding something in it. As I bent to look, he pinched my nose with two fingers and yelled ¡°Joso from the past, you were fourth,¡± after which he let me go and laughed. ¡°Sorry, young Master,¡± he added, now enunciating ¡°Master¡± with unrestrained irony, ¡°but that¡¯s exactly what I saw seventeen hours ago. Since I doubt you¡¯d let me repeat the process, I must have guessed the right moment, and Joso from the past is now all set for the Ceremony yesterday.¡± Try as I might to find a proper retort, nothing better came than a surprise shin kick, which Joso dodged. ¡°Such a precious lesson, and that¡¯s what I get for gratitude!¡± Joso teased, backing off. After a few steps, he spun around and trod away, knowing that though he was two years older, we¡¯d be evenly matched in a scuffle. Tak and I returned to the barn, devising a thousand and one ways to get back at Joso. In no more than fifteen minutes, however, both the grievance and our stratagems were forgotten. Like a match thrown into the heart of a blazing star, all the worries I¡¯d had till that moment evaporated in the instant my fingers squeezed the cold bead of my N¡¯Kele, and when, no matter how hard I tried, I felt nothing but a muddled confusion of colors, smells, and sounds. Chapter 4: The First Vision Perhaps in your tribe, reader, you treat N¡¯Keles as simple trinkets, or, perhaps, you have no N¡¯Keles at all and don¡¯t see what a blow it was for me to receive these chaotic, useless visions. In our tribe, it is believed that the Maker crafts each N¡¯Kele to best suit its bearer. Though it might not always be apparent, in the end, everybody learns that what they¡¯d gotten is what they needed most. If there is a primal myth in our tribe, a narrative that unites us all, it is the myth of ¡°learning to see¡±, in all the various shapes it takes. Through mother¡¯s milk, through sermons by elders and conversations with young bearers, through bedtime tales, theater plays, and songs, we learn a myriad of stories with characters, who, through cunning or artifice, honest work, or good-hearted patience learn to love the gift they¡¯ve received, ¡°learn to see¡± through their N¡¯Kele in the way the Maker intended. My favorite was always the story about a C¡¯Hassa player who, at first, frowned at his N¡¯Kele with beads spaced by a full day, as no C¡¯Hassa game lasts that long. Though he sometimes happened to foresee a position from a future game and think about it in advance, usually, the visions did not align with the time of the match and thus were of no use. Soon, however, the player devised to ask, disguised as an old man, about the winning move in his own game from the day prior. Now he could peek into the future before the game, see his disguised self discover what the key move will be, then use it over the board. He became unbeatable, and the word about him spread around like the wind, with more and more C¡¯Hassa Masters from neighboring tribes coming to visit and challenge the famed player. The secret was eventually revealed, but by then the man had grown so good at C¡¯Hassa that he did not need the trick anymore. N¡¯Kele had taught him confidence in his own skill. There are many other stories, like that of O¡¯Cono, a hunter tribe member with year-spaced beads which she despised as useless in a hunt, until she foresaw a three-year long drought, saving the tribe from starvation and becoming the elder. Or the bittersweet tale of Julusa, a skilled musician who yearned to write his own songs, but thought he had no talent for it. When he first looked through his N¡¯Kele, he saw himself performing a new piece at a time a week ahead. He let go of the bead, and, being a skilled musician, wrote down what he heard. He did the very same thing every week, writing down and performing more and more new songs till a very old age, until, one day, his new bead showed the tavern where he always performed, but instead of the usual crowd, only Julussa¡¯s three closest friends drank quietly at one occupied table, all wearing black. It was then, when Julussa stared into the approaching darkness, that he realized he¡¯d never written a single song himself: they all came from his N¡¯Kele. Devastated, he cried through the night, cried the quiet tears of an old man who had nothing to show for his long life. In those tears, Julusa heard a melody ¨C the very first of his own. At Julusa¡¯s request, the melody was played at his funeral, four weeks and three days later. Till this day, when a musician¡¯s heart yearns for hopeful melancholy, as musicians¡¯ hearts often do, ¡°Julusa¡¯s Song¡± can be heard. ¡°Learning to see¡± tales always preach balance between the N¡¯Kele and its bearer. But what balance could there be for me, when all I got from my N¡¯Kele was little more than what you¡¯d see if you squeeze your eyes and rub your hands against your ears ¨C senseless blotches of color and sound? ### This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Sit down, young Master,¡± M¡¯Onnse said after hearing me blubber about my predicament. It¡¯d been three days since I first tried to use my N¡¯Kele, and still all I could see on different beads were various shades of chaos. Each had its own character, enough for me to distinguish between the beads, but not enough for anything else. Wiping my eyes, I sat on a wooden stool, listening to the muted clanking of mysterious sundries as M¡¯Onnse rummaged through her carved sandalwood coffret. At last, she took out a magnifying glass and handed it to me. ¡°Can you use this?¡± she asked. ¡°Of course. Anybody can use it,¡± I said, puzzled by the strange question. ¡°Good. And can you use that?¡± M¡¯Onnse pointed towards the only window in her study, beside which lurked an ominous angular shape draped in gray. ¡°Your telescope?¡± I asked, confused even more. ¡°You never taught me how!¡± ¡°But nobody taught you how to use the looking glass either,¡± M¡¯Onnse exclaimed. ¡°You see, M¡¯Kanne, the more intricate your instrument ¨C the longer it takes to learn it. Those who are blessed to see far through their N¡¯Keles take longer to accustom. Give it a few more days, a week, maybe, and time itself will disperse your worries.¡± When neither a week nor even a month had helped to resolve my misfortune, her words still gave me hope; her words, and knowing that my suffering could not be the Maker¡¯s punishment for cheating, for which I owed Joso. In gratitude, I returned him his knife: it seemed the right thing to do even if he¡¯d foreseen this yield and communicated it to himself through a chain of visions; even more so if he gave his advice out of kindness, foreseeing only my struggle, or out of wisdom, foreseeing nothing at all. ### The summer waned into the past, when, as if inspired by the falling leaves, the first bead of my N¡¯Kele shed its opaque crust. Through it I now saw, smelled, and felt what appeared to be our village, but, though most buildings seemed the same, I recognized none of the faces. It was clear that what I saw came from far beyond my lifetime. At first it came as a great blow as it meant that I won¡¯t witness a single click on my N¡¯Kele ¨C it was to be static for the rest of my life. Soon I learned it was not without compensation: for most people, N¡¯Keles only showed a brief glimpse ¨C a scene, a few seconds, perhaps a minute, while mine seemed so stretched in time that the vision let me explore itself for hours on end. The vision always first brought me to the N¡¯Kele square, from which I could float, like a ghost, in any direction. I¡¯d learned every dweller¡¯s name and occupation, their habits, and, sometimes, I am ashamed to admit, their secrets. I¡¯d hoped to glean some new ideas, farming implements, hunting techniques, or advances in writing that could help the tribe today, but none were present. When I informed the Elder of my findings, this stagnation seeded a glint of melancholy in his wise eyes. Through the fall, the seed grew and blossomed, poisoning the Elder¡¯s teachings and sprawling its tendrils through the village. Those tangled in them now crowded our pub, trying to free themselves by drinking, guffawing, and bellowing boisterous songs into the night. This lasted until, in the depth of winter, the second bead revealed itself. The village in it was a little smaller, but far more advanced. The dwellers used tools of a kind I¡¯d never seen before: a strange ax that roared with a terrifying noise and felled trees in little more than a blink of an eye, a mechanical horse with two wheels that carried its bearer along roads paved with some unknown substance ¨C hard like stone, but flat, smooth, and showing no seams. At night, people burned little Suns in their huts and sometimes on the streets, as if somehow they¡¯d learned to condense the essence of fire into little spheres of glass that now followed their whims. By Spring, the bar stood forlorn, as, invigorated by the newfound pride for our descendents, everyone yearned to work, learn, and live. Chapter 5: Devastation Of the next vision that came in late April, I told no one, not even Tak. Like a putrid, decaying corpse with a heart that keeps on beating through devilry or witchcraft, the village, razed to the ground by some unthinkable force, lay in a dying heap around the Maker who stood alone on what was once N¡¯Kele square, reflecting the bloody evening sun with its bare metallic body. Floating amid the ruins, I saw myriad contraptions I had not a name for and whose purpose I could not begin to guess. Shapes of metal or glass that not even the most skilled of our artisans could attempt, were strewn everywhere around me, abandoned, shattered, melted, or burnt. Heaps of dusty gray stone that must have once been houses, lay crushed on the ground, still taller, in their demise, than all the huts we¡¯d ever build. I could not conceive that Nature could have brought such devastation to the peoples who¡¯d seemed to conquer it through their craft and knowledge. Nor could I imagine that these peoples could bring such devastation upon themselves, for if even a child in our time learns how not to touch fire, these people must have, in their wisdom, learned how not to hurt themselves. And so, it must be God¡¯s doing, I decided. And yet, even this conviction I soon had to abandon, when, in my wandering, I discovered the Grave. A stenching pit, perhaps larger than today¡¯s N¡¯Kele square and deeper than it was wide, lay brimming with bodies, old and young, frozen together into a multi-limbed apparition, its thousand eyes gazing into the sky, its thousand hands grasping onto itself like a disfigured aborted fetus. Driven by some perverse impulse, I dove inside, gliding into the depth of the Grave, learning all there was to learn from the dead, from their blackened burned bones covering the bottom, from the newer, fresher corpses that layered the top of the Grave, barely touched by rot, preserved by the freezing air to tell the stories of their recent deaths from cold and starvation. Even God, I thought, could not do that. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. I yearned to leave the vision, but forced myself to remain and explore all I could at once, so that I¡¯d never have to return. After hours of floating amid the boundless sea of devastation, I, at last, stumbled upon life. Dressed in strange clothes, dirty, and disheveled, the life huddled under a slab of gray stone that formed a semblance of a roof. A few damp logs piled in the center of their hideout, which a woman, though casting a small flame from a mysterious device in her hand, could not set on fire. She left without a word, leaving behind a man, who struggled to cobble together a bow from a metal rod and some rags, and a baby wrapped in layers of shabby clothes that were still not enough to guard her from the cold. In half an hour, the woman came back, holding a jar, from which she poured a strange foul-smelling liquid all over the logs. To my astonishment, the logs, which were not simply damp now but thoroughly wet, sprang to fire the instant she brought her flame near. Soon, the logs crackled, whined, and popped, while the baby waved her hands in the air, trying to grasp the flame reflections dancing on the ceiling. Chapter 6: Rebirth The last bead revealed itself in the summer, shortly before the Ceremony. Though I¡¯d spent many nights imagining how the village in my third bead might have looked before its destruction, never, even in my wildest imaginings, had I come close to the sight of its restored glory I now beheld. Houses of glass towered over me, piercing the skies like daggers. Everywhere around, a dazzling horde of metallic beasts bustled about, tame and eager to serve the Man. These obedient minions blazed through the roads faster than our best stallions and flew higher than birds, carrying people inside their welcoming bosoms. The village lay vast and majestic, stretching farther than an eye could see, and on its outskirts, other gigantic beasts labored, knowing no rest, building new dwellings for their masters. ### Eager to unburden my soul, I shared the last two visions with the tribe. The old Masters did not as much as admonish me for concealing the third vision for so long, perhaps forgetting to do so in their joy, perhaps seeing that my motives were pure. Only one thing from the fourth vision I still kept to myself: the fate of the Maker. He stood, humble and mundane among many of his gleaming metallic brethren, all forced to give N¡¯Keles left and right, with no discernment, no Ceremony, and no respect paid to them. Everyone, it seemed, had the Tokens to feed to the Makers, and more than anyone, it was the immature children, who¡¯d hung numerous N¡¯Keles at once all over themselves, playing with them as if they were a mere trifle. Perhaps that was what the Maker foresaw for himself, and who was I to judge his wisdom and will? If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ### My contentment would be complete if not for the Ceremony that encroached towards the present without my notice, and the task of initiating my successor that came with it. Since none of my beads showed this year¡¯s Ceremony, I had to think of how, in the future, I should send a message to myself in the ¡°now¡±. First, I decided that after the Ceremony, I would visit the same forest clearing we¡¯d frequented with Tak in the days before our initiation and plant a few oak seeds in such a way that when they grew, they¡¯d form a number ¨C my position in the rite. But, when I visited the place through my beads, no trees grew where I¡¯d meant to plant them. ¡°Silly you,¡± I thought, slapping myself in the forehead, ¡°what if some of the seeds fail to sprout? What if a hurricane came and tore the saplings down? What if new seeds fell around and formed a grove, so that no numbers can be read?¡± The idea was doomed from the beginning, and my future self must have abandoned the plan. I then resolved to stash a metal figurine ¨C a digit indicating my position in the rite ¨C in the pyre of the old M¡¯Lenssey¡¯s house that¡¯d burned down a few years prior and that was rebuilt in my first bead. If, after the ceremony, I dropped the figurine into the deep crack in the foundation, no one would get to it but me, as in my visions, walls and stone posed no obstacle. But, try as I might to locate the figurine in the restored house, it was not there. I was left to search for another method, hoping it would be final. What I came up with seemed so simple that I immediately chided myself for not thinking of it sooner: after the Ceremony, I was to carve the number in stone. To make sure it works, I decided to leave a mark now, so that my future self knew where to write the message. I borrowed a chisel and a mallet from M¡¯Kimma ¨C a young stonemason ¨C and went on a day¡¯s journey to the Waterfall Crags. Chapter 7: The Final One Under one of the larger falls, I spotted a hidden alcove that would protect my message from unwanted hands and eyes. With water roaring behind my back, I stood on slippery rocks for three full hours, until, at last, a letter ¡°K¡±, written in grooves half an inch deep, could be proudly seen on the stone. Jumping from boulder to boulder, I made it back through the rapids and to the safety of the shore. But when I explored the spot through the bead, no message was left there for me, and worse, I could not even find my own mark. A cold, sticky premonition caught hold of my heart, but I shunned it, telling myself that, perhaps, the mark was too close to the stream and got worn away. I looked up, searching for a clear rock face that would not be touched by water, nor overgrown with moss or debris, and, finding such a spot, began my climb, holding the masonry instruments in my teeth. Halfway through I began to tremble, realizing how wrong I was in thinking the spot to be no more than three of my heights above the ground, in thinking the rocks dry, sturdy and easy to grab. It was then that I fully grasped why it could be that my future self never told me what I needed to know. ¡°A single foot slip,¡± I thought, ¡°and there will be no rite for you.¡± Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Two thirds of the way, unable to progress either up or down, I clambered onto a little platform, pressing my chest into the sharp rock to stay close to the wall. A few feet to the right grew a tree, sinking its gnarled roots into the sheer face of the cliff. If I reached it, from there I could make a jump to the surrounding forest. I rocked back and forth, measuring the leap, when the platform I stood on began tilting under my feet. I jumped at the last instant and, rubbing wrists to blood, clung to the rough bark of the tree, while the platform collapsed into the water with a resounding crash, blocking half of the stream. I made the last leap to the forest, slipped on the mud, and tumbled down the slope, digging my fingers into the ground, grasping onto slippery roots and boulders until, at last, the dense undergrowth had stalled my fall. Scratched, bruised, but alive, I lay there, staring at a house-sized gash marring the face of the cliff where my platform had been. After a while, the bestial fear for my life had loosened its grip, but, while my hands stopped shaking, my heart seemed to have blackened like charcoal. I reached for my N¡¯kele, already certain and terrified of what it would show. On every bead, the very platform that just crashed into the water hung intact on the face of the cliff, waiting for its last straw, for me, to collapse it, waiting through centuries past.